Life After Life - Savor Every Day!

I think MY Date of Birth is Pretty Much MY Business.

2010-04-09T00:16:00.005-05:00

I can't believe that EVERYONE isn't completely outraged at the very idea that advertisers, both on and off the Internet, believe they have the right to know an individual's date of birth! It's not that I'm trying to hide the fact that I'M OLD - when you get as old as I am, there's no hiding it. I just find it offensive that anyone, and especially folks who exist for the purpose of trying to sell things to me, think that my private information should belong to them as a matter of course. (I have an ex-husband who still doesn't know my date of birth, or how old I was, or am - why the heck should a group of strangers have that info?)

Seriously, almost everything online now includes a DOB space - as if a webpage provider (free or paid) needs to know how old I am! All they need to do is verify that I'm over 18, thank you very much.

It's the same thing for contests. They can verify that anyone who enters is over 18, and that's all they need. Anything more is none of their business.

Why, if I weren't so scatterbrained, I'd start a revolution against all this invasion of privacy! But it's time for my third nap, darn it. Lucky for them, by God!

Yawn. . . . .

April 3, 2010 - Happy Birthday to Bobbie Lay!

2010-04-03T10:33:00.003-05:00

My best friend, Bobbie Lay, has a birthday today. I'd call her with birthday greetings, but she's IN IRELAND!!! So I'll use this forum to wish her a very happy birthday:

Dear Bobbie ~

Happy Birthday to You, Sweetie!
May this year be your very best yet.
I hope it's filled with good surprises.

P.S. I hope you know I expect you to bring me a leprechaun - or, at least, a lot of pictures, so I can live through you vicariously.
No, wait, I take it back - I don't want a leprechaun. I heard about the movie. Just take some pictures.

Please, everyone reading this blog join me in wishing Bobbie a happy birthday.

Thanks!

April 2, 2010 - A Day of Loss

2010-04-03T10:22:00.002-05:00

Yesterday morning at 2:10 a.m., my beloved Rottweiler, Splendid Glory, passed away. She was elderly - 11-1/2 years old is quite old for a big Rottie - and she'd just beat cancer. I knew she hadn't been feeling well for a couple of days, as she hadn't been eating as much as usual (she'd always been food-oriented). Considerate as always, she'd gone outside to relieve herself; as soon as I'd brought her back inside, she sat down abruptly in the kitchen, cocked her head to one side and gave me an odd look - and then fell over and died of a heart attack. It was very quick.

While I was sobbing over her loss, I was also thankful for the way she'd left me. A long, painful, drawn-out death is not something I wish on anyone or anything.

I thought I was handling it all right until Jim brought the mail in yesterday afternoon. I opened a small package and completely lost it. Inside was a special toy I'd ordered for Splendid - a new kind that doesn't have any stuffing. Too bad it didn't get here a couple of days earlier.

I know she's fine now. But I'm so very sad. Splendid was my constant companion for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, for the past 11-1/2 years. Even with all these darned cats around, there's a big hole in my life - and in my heart.

Enough moaning. Must sign off. I have self-pity scheduled for the rest of the day.

I am such a bum

2010-03-30T10:02:00.002-05:00

God, I just found emails in my "Draft" folder that I wrote in December! Apparently, I didn't hit "Send" on them, so they've been sitting in there all this time! So I've been wondering why my friends haven't written back to me - ha! ha! ha! Maybe it's because they never receive my emails in the first place.

I wonder if there's an alternative email program that works with the Firefox browser? I'd like to find one that offers a split-screen viewer for email, and allows you to download all your email to your hard drive (just like when we had dial-up). Anyone know if such a thing exists?

Enough daydreaming of pretend software. I'd better get busy and send those draft emails from months ago!

Natural Selection - A Remembrance

2010-03-30T09:53:00.004-05:00

I used to have an acquaintance who insisted that "Life is only what you make of it, darling." She was a cruel woman; she knew the only thing I was really good at was making a mess. Sarcasm flowed from her the way lava flowed from a volcano - just a natural, inevitable, dangerous thing. She was so talented that most people never saw her zingers coming, although some of them did catch on several hours later. By then she was safely gone, of course, which I assume is the reason she's managed to survive this long.

I was going to say I miss her, but I've changed my mind. I think I'm okay with her absence. My friends now are wonderfully supportive and that's a great thing. With their support, I've learned that I do have a few talents, and I'm not afraid to try things even when it's a pretty sure bet I won't succeed the first time. Failure can be enlightening.

My life may be a study in unnatural selection, but it works for me.

MY POLITICAL RANTING

2010-03-26T10:32:00.002-05:00

After the health care reform vote, Sarah Palin told supporters, "Don't Retreat—Reload," and then targeted the members of Congress she considered to be politically vulnerable.

Palin is the worst kind of paper tiger – she has never served her country in battle, yet she’s the first to call for violence. This is a woman who shoots animals from a helicopter, in order to eliminate risk to herself, and she has the gall to call it sport hunting. She minimizes the effects of her actions on others and dismisses the consequences of her ill-considered comments.

Now Republican Party leaders are encouraging bigotry, racism, and violence against members of Congress who voted in favor of the health reform bill. These are NOT isolated incidents; this behavior is being deliberately incited.

Remember when Republicans lost the election? Instead of congratulating the new president, they accused him of not being a US citizen. Do you really think that would have happened if he hadn’t been black? Of course not.

The Republican Party claims it protects the rights of individuals; in fact, it protects the interests of big corporations and big money at the expense of individuals and small business. And although it’s true that Democrats do tax and spend, it’s also true that Republicans borrow and spend. The spending continues, it just goes to other things. Republicans may roll back our taxes a little, but our deficit goes up a lot.

It's time for people to stop listening to the baloney and start looking at what our representatives are actually DOING. Today a Republican moved to block benefits to the jobless. Does that sound like he's interested in the people? No, he's representing big business. How can we convince the people in this country to wake up, stop watching Fox News, and find the facts for themselves?
Okay, I'm through ranting now. Thanks.

BACK AT LAST - STARTING 2010 A BIT LATE!

2010-03-13T23:26:00.006-06:00

Well, this year has started off at a lively pace. Everything has been happening so fast that today is the first opportunity I've had to get back to my blog since December. That's pretty sad for a writer.

I just overheard - okay, I was shamelessly eavesdropping on - a conversation between two strangers who were discussing writer's block and it was everything I could to keep from interrupting them to ask what it's like to have this alleged "writer's block" I keep hearing about. Is it real? I've never had it. I've never even had the opportunity to have it!

My day consists of a very long series of endless interruptions, punctuated by tiny bits of writing. I'm lucky if I get to finish a whole sentence; an entire paragraph is out of the question. Between our pets, the merciless telephone, and the pesky responsibilities of adulthood, the day is gone before I know it. Here, let me give you an example of my typical day:

Until I have coffee, I am not actually alive. I inhale two cups the second it's brewed; then I can eat some breakfast, take my meds, and start prying my eyes open. My third cup of coffee accompanies me outside as I take my beloved, elderly Rottweiler, Splendid Glory, on her morning constitutional. We come back inside and she gets a drink of water, then immediately goes back to bed for her morning nap. (I did mention she was old, right?) I shower and dress, feed the cats, and get settled at my desk to start writing.

As soon as I sit down to write, Splendid appears at my elbow to remind me that she is desperate for breakfast. Mortified that I haven't fed her yet (because she's been asleep), I promptly get up and feed her, usually apologizing about 35 times before getting her bowl in front of her. Then I sit back down at the desk and begin to write. At that point, a fight usually breaks out in the bedroom. I can tell it's a fight because of the horrible language the cats are using. I hobble back there, threatening them all the way. Sometimes they stop fighting before I get all the way back there, which is great for me, as I can return to my desk. Other times, I have to go all the way back there, grab the perpetrator, and sentence him to time-out in the dreaded "dungeon" room; i.e., the bathroom, for 20 blissful minutes (blissful for me, that is).

I return to my desk and begin writing. While working through a phrase, I hear a distinct "click-click-click" not unlike the sounds made by the dinosaurs' claws on the tile floor in JURASSIC PARK. The noise jolts me out of my concentration and tickles my brain until I get up to see what the heck it is. It turns out to be Splendid - she's dreaming about running, apparently, because she's fast asleep, with all four paws wiggling wildly, her nails clicking against the plastic of her bed. Instead of being annoyed, I stand there grinning like an idiot because she looks so adorable. Finally, I acknowledge that I will never have a video camera if I don't get busy and write something that will sell, so I return to my desk.

You get the idea - it continues like this until Jim gets home, at which point any hope of writing is dashed like an egg dropped on a rock. So maybe tomorrow. . . .

SEARCH FOR WORK

2009-12-29T16:21:00.003-06:00

I sure wish I had some terrific news to post under this subject. Alas - I haven't found the right at-home, part-time job yet. But since so many people have lost their full-time jobs, perhaps I shouldn't be complaining, eh? I receive SSDI, and I thank God for that assistance every day. Without it, we'd be so poor we wouldn't even be able to live under a bridge. (What? You think bridges are free? Ha! Think again.)

Ever hear of a story called "Three Billy Goats Gruff?" Yep, I'm talking about the TROLL FACTOR - and it's extraordinarily high under bridges around the world. If you don't believe me, just ask the next homeless person you actually SEE living under a bridge. But take cash with you, because everyone's time is valuable.

How did I get onto this subject?

WHY IS EVERYTHING "BREAKING NEWS" THESE DAYS?

2009-12-13T12:19:00.004-06:00

Could someone please explain to me why almost EVERY bit of news is considered to be "Breaking News" and worthy of 30-second spots throughout the day? Come on, few things are that important. I especially resent "Breaking News" spots focusing on sports. What's the problem? We HAVE news programs every day, in virtually every media, so why can't they confirm their "special reports" to those programs?

It seems to me that news of every sort should be covered in those programs. The only type of news truly worthy of being called "Breaking News" is that which affects public safety; i.e., a tornado or other weather warning, or perhaps a chemical spill's a poisonous cloud which is heading for downtown.

I mean, SERIOUSLY!!!

NO, THAT'S NOT MY ACTUAL PHOTO, SILLY

2009-12-09T23:38:00.006-06:00

It is, in fact, a picture of my cousin, Leticia. No? Okay, I admit it: the photo is of a cartoon flower. But it represents me on so many levels! Besides, I don't HAVE a current photo of myself - and that might be to everyone's benefit.

I promise to replace the cartoon photo with my own as soon as I get a digital camera and/or someone who has a digital camera helps me out with this issue. I am not at all photogenic; perhaps I'll just find a photo of someone with a paper bag over his/her head and upload that, instead. No, someone is bound to figure it out. I'll pose for the "bag over the head" photo myself, and wear a name badge. There! The problem has been solved!

TsigiliKarma
feeling pretty clever

HELP! HAVE MERCY, I BEG YOU!!!

2009-11-27T00:58:00.011-06:00

Why can't I figure out how to create PARAGRAPHS in this blog? I put in the returns, but somewhere between draft and post, they all go missing. The result is one long, meandering paragraph that makes MY head hurt - and I'm the one who wrote it! [Eternally optimistic, I insert multiple returns, but still just one long, run-on blog... sniff-sniff]

I tried the FAQ page, and thought I understood about creating a new paragraph (it requires a special code, so I copied it and inserted it - repeatedly); however, I must have been thinking of how things are done ON MARS, as nothing has improved here, format-wise.

Look, I don't understand html (and I don't like the term, as it looks too much like "hatemail" for my tastes). I don't write - or read - code, but I dread a future without paragraphs. Please, somebody have mercy and help me with this! [Oh, wise queen of formats, please grant me a new paragraph NOW!]

Crud. The queen of formats is apparently not accepting calls. Anybody else?

STATE FAIR PARENTING EXAMPLE

2009-11-25T21:23:00.007-06:00

I’m disabled with a neurological disease, so I can’t do a lot of walking at once; I have to stop frequently to rest. But I don’t just lounge around on benches all day, waiting for something to happen. Really, I don’t. However, when I just happened to be resting on a bench at the State Fair, a man and his son (a toddler) walked up and stopped directly in front of me. They were obviously having a “visitation” day, as the man clearly adored his son, but had no idea how to take care of him.

Dad unwrapped an enormous whistle on a white card. He hung it around the boy’s neck and the whistle dangled to the kid's knees.

“There now,” said Dad. “I want you to blow that whistle every five steps you take, okay? I won’t have to watch you every minute, but I’ll still know exactly where you are.” Grinning, Dad stood up and turned to go, and the boy blew the whistle. I thought I was having a seizure. Honestly, I lost vision in one eye. I think a couple of birds fell over, dead, right out of the tree beside me. Never in my entire life have I heard anything like that whistle.

Before I could recover from the assault, the little darling had taken five steps, and he blew the whistle AGAIN. I saw an elderly lady stagger, and two of the midway rides stalled. Before I could even mutter something sarcastic, the little guy had taken five MORE steps and yes, he blew the whistle AGAIN. I should have been bleeding from the ears. Slow the Hell down, I thought. They did not.

By then I was feeling around in my purse. I'd decided that if I just had a pair of cute little embroidery scissors, I could cut the cord and capture the whistle. But no such luck. As I was frantically searching, elbow-deep in my purse, the Dad continued his path to the Automobile Building, his son following in a five-paces-shrieking-whistle parade behind him. I was confidant Dad would have significant hearing loss by day’s end. Frankly, he deserved it.

INVASION OF THE MONSTER PIG

2009-11-22T20:46:00.030-06:00

This happened a few years ago, but it made an indelible impression on me. I decided to post about the incident, in case something similar happened to any of my readers. I previously wrote a brief account of this incident, because I was a bit ashamed of being such a ninny. I'm past all that now. Here's the entire story, with all the details. Enjoy!

I was in the shower when the dog started barking. By the time I’d pulled on some clothes, my sweet Rottie was alternating between turning circles on my bed and lunging at the window. I’d just retrieved the mini-blinds tangled around her head when I glanced up and found myself staring into the face of the most enormous pig I’d ever seen.

Being an idiot, I stepped outside for a better look. The pig was much larger than I’d realized – easily over six feet long – and its girth was breathtaking. It looked as if it were planning to stay awhile. I promptly called Animal Control.

“There’s an enormous pig right outside my window,” I said. “And there’s something wrong with it, so you need to come get it, right away.”

“Whaddya mean? What's wrong with it?” the operator asked.

“He might be hurt. He has something stuck in his mouth – like tubes, white tubes. Maybe he’s been rooting in garbage?” The operator snorted.

“Honey, those aren’t tubes. They’re tusks.”

“Tusks? Pigs have tusks? Like elephants?”

“Yep. If it’s over six feet long and as big around as you say, then those are definitely tusks. I’d guess it weighs over 600 lbs, and that’s on the low side.” She sounded amused.

“I’ll take your word for it. I’ve never estimated pig weight,” I said.

“You say it’s a male?” she asked.

"Hoo-boy, it's definitely a male."

“And it’s not your pig?”

“No, he just showed up in my yard. My dog went crazy and tore up my blinds when she saw him. When I put her in the backyard, the pig tried to get through the gate, to be with her. The barking didn’t bother him a bit. Apparently, he likes dogs.”

“Hmph. Whoever owns him probably has a dog, too.”

“But there aren’t any farms around here. This is the city,” I pointed out.

“Honey, people keep all kinds of things they’re not supposed to. He probably belongs to one of your neighbors.” She sounded a bit weary.

“Well, I haven’t see anyone walking THIS pig,” I said. She laughed.

“I’ll put an emergency pick-up call in right now,” she promised. “Just sit tight, and keep that pig right there!”

I hung up, wondering how I was supposed to do that. I had no idea how to entertain any kind of farm animal, much less a 600-lb pig with tusks. What did pigs like? Magazines, documentaries? What would interest a pig? Wait – of course, food!

I slipped back into the kitchen and made a sandwich – well, four sandwiches, actually. He WAS a pig, after all. I searched the kitchen for a container large enough to serve as a water bowl, and finally had to settle for a gigantic plastic Jack-o-lantern. When I struggled out to place the Halloween bowl in front of him, water sloshing everywhere, the pig looked wary. To put him at ease, I splashed my hand in the water a little, then licked my fingers.

“See?” I coaxed. “It’s just water. Have a drink while I go get your sandwiches.” He seemed to be thinking. So did my neighbor, who was standing about 12 feet away, peeking around the corner of her house.

“Just where did you get THAT?” she demanded in horror.

“No, no, not mine,” I promised. “He's lost.” I hurried past her to my kitchen door to get the sandwiches.

“What are those white things in his mouth?”

“Tusks. You know, like an elephant.” She was gone before I could blink.

After polishing off all of the sandwiches and drinking most of the water, the pig seemed a bit restless. He stood up and sort of ambled around in a circle before targeting a spot alongside our house. He dug those little pig feet into my grass, and in about two minutes, he’d carved out a lovely bed for himself. Then he dropped down into the bare earth and sighed with content.

I excused myself to go back inside and call Animal Control again. A different person answered, and made me go through the entire story. When he finally finished guffawing, I said, “I’m glad you’re amused. Now, when will you be picking up this pig?” I hung up with another promise ringing in my ears – but I was getting suspicious about my would-be rescuers.

I grabbed the newspaper and took another plateful of sandwiches out to my guest, who munched as I read to him. He seemed to especially enjoy “Dear Abby” and “Ann Landers” – I could tell by the grunting. He liked the opinion columns, the letters, and most of the features, especially when I read them with different voices. When we finished the paper, I stepped back inside to find alternative reading material. I spotted “The Pokey Little Puppy” in the bookcase (from when my daughter was little - I prefer biographies) and grabbed it.

As expected, the pig loved the book even more than the newspapers. I read it to him twice. He looked like he was smiling. I think the pig was having a pretty good time at my house. Since I didn't have anything else to read to him that I thought he'd be interested in, I sang "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" to him, doing all the hand gestures. He really liked that one.

"Hmm... want me to read you the book again?" I offered. He did, so I did.

After another two hours, I called Animal Control again – apparently after a shift change. When I asked what time they’d be arriving, I got a different answer:

“Oh, no, we’re not coming out there! Those things are extremely dangerous! Uh-uh, no way - that’s a job for the sheriff’s department. Here, let me give you the number.”

I sat down, still holding the receiver. Extremely dangerous? Really? I peeked out at the pig, who was napping in his “dug-out.”

I called the sheriff’s office and went immediately to the cheerful music of “hold purgatory” before finally reaching an actual officer. Hanging up the phone, I sat back down with the pig to wait. I apologized for getting him in trouble with the law. I’m a good judge of character, and I could tell he was a good pig at heart. I doubt if he'd ever been arrested before.

Much later, the sheriff’s department finally called me back to say that they’d be stopping by soon to pick up the pig. I had no idea what I was in for. For some reason, I expected a squad car (in retrospect, I realize that the pig could never have fit into an SUV, much less a sedan). But the men arrived in force – with a truck, a livestock trailer, a deputy on horseback, and a couple of husky officers with ropes and heavy gloves. I was shocked – a HORSE?

I tried to explain that they didn’t need all that stuff, when one of the deputies tossed a rope over the pig. My docile guest transformed into a snarling, snapping, monster pig – and that was before they even tightened the rope. I was appalled.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded. I couldn’t believe they’d started without warning. The deputy ignored me and tossed a second rope over the pig.

“Stop it! Stop! You’re scaring the pig!” I yelled. “Look at him! Can’t you see he’s alarmed?”

Everyone but the pig looked at me as if I had lobsters growing out of my ears. As the pig thrust its head back and forth, the men stepped lively to avoid the tusks.

“I’m mean it!” I continued. “You be gentle with him! He’s . . . he’s sensitive! And I think he’s afraid of that horse. If you’ll just show him where you want him to go, I’m sure he’ll be agreeable.”

That’s when the laughing started. As the deputies on foot and the one on horseback guided the roped, snarling, fighting pig into the trailer, they continued to snicker. The only time they stopped was when the pig lunged a bit and scared the horse, causing it to rear up, which in turn terrified the pig. He pulled harder against the ropes, trying to get back to my house. I felt like such a heel for turning him in.

After they secured the pig in the trailer, the rider tended to his horse as the other two deputies returned to take my statement. They were still snickering.

“Is he okay?” I asked. More snickering. “You didn’t hurt him? Are you sure?"

“No, ma’am, we didn’t hurt him. It IS possible that we hurt his feelings, but not deliberately.”

He couldn’t continue until he stopped laughing. Another officer stepped forward to take over.

“Ma’am, is this your animal?”

“No! Why would I call you to come pick up my own pig? I just looked out my bedroom window and – well, there he was.”

“When was that?”

“This morning.”

“Morning? He’s been here all day?”

“Yes. Animal Control kept promising to come pick him up, until a couple of hours ago, when they told me I’d have to call you guys instead.”

“How did you keep him here?”

When I explained, the lead deputy kept breaking into laughter, bending over at the waist and laughing hysterically as he whispered, “She fed it sandwiches?” and “She read to it!” then hooting until he was out of breath, finally waving the tablet at the other deputy until that fellow took it and finished asking me questions. It took forever to give my statement, what with those guys laughing and punching each other in the shoulder. MEN!

“Where are you taking him?” I asked.

“Who?”

“The pig, of course.”

“To Pig Jail,” the deputy said, cracking up again. "Did you want to call his lawyer?"

“Very funny. Is it a long ride?” I persisted.

“What? No, just a few minutes away. Why?”

“I’m concerned, that’s all. He’s really upset. Will you make sure he gets food and water as soon as you get him there, please?”

The deputy straightened up, obviously offended.

“We do that with all animals, ma’am.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” I said. “I’m just asking you to take extra care with this pig, because he’s so unsettled. I don’t want him to have a heart attack or a stroke or anything.” More snickering.

“Wait!” I yelled, as a horrible thought occurred to me. “He won’t get eaten, right? Nobody’s going to have him for bacon or ham or anything, right?”

“Don’t you worry about a thing, ma’am. He’ll be just fine.” They started to walk toward the trailer. I didn't care for his tone.

“Promise me that he won’t be eaten or sold to someone who will eat him.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Then don’t take him.”

The deputy sighed deeply. I prayed desperately that he wouldn’t call my bluff; I did NOT want to have to explain a 600+ lb. pig in the backyard to my family that evening.

“Okay. I PROMISE you that he won’t be eaten, or sold to anyone who will eat him. All right?”

“All right. Just remember, you gave me your word –” I squinted to see his nameplate – “Duane. I’m trusting you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” They walked away, towards the trailer, laughing again.

When my husband got home that afternoon, I showed him the dug-out the pig had left in our yard. (We measured it at seven feet plus in length.) Then I told him the whole story. You guessed it – he laughed, too.

Wherever that pig is today, I hope he’s happy and comfortable. After all, Duane promised he wouldn't be eaten, and I took him at his word.

MY DREADFUL - AND FUNNY - ACCIDENTAL FALL!

2009-11-20T00:15:00.013-06:00

I've never pretended to be graceful or to have any sense of balance. That stipulation out of the way, last night's swan dive onto our concrete floor was a highlight, even in my bandaged life. So I ask: Have you ever had one of those awful, slow-motion falls that seems to take forever, even though everything is happening too fast for you to react? Yeah, it was one of those.

I'd been clearing out some boxes that had been sitting around for way too long. It was about midnight, and I was tired, so I should have realized there was danger of a mishap. I stepped over my dog's crate (okay, just the bottom half of a dog crate, since I don't believe in crating dogs) to put a book on our overcrowded bookshelf. When I stepped back, I managed to step right onto one of her tennis balls, and the dance began. As my foot slid down the ball, I lurched forward. Flailing wildly, I managed to grab the edge of our bookcase. Unfortunately, there was already too much momentum, so instead of stopping my fall, the bookcase shook violently and promptly emptied the contents of its top two shelves all over one end of the living room. (I'd never seen a bookcase throw up before!) But I had no time to worry about it, as by then I was sliding the other way.

I scrabbled for a handhold somewhere, and snagged the right side of our huge entertainment system - one of those old, massive beasts. I felt confident this would stop my fall. I was wrong. Instead, I pulled the structure AWAY from the wall, gasped, and pushed as hard as I could. The result was that it slammed back into the wall behind it. Approximately 60 DVDs jumped to safety - and joined the pile of CD cases on the floor.

Momentarily upright, I stepped back to try to escape the vicious dog toys, and instead caught the back of my calf on the edge of the dog crate. I fell backwards (I had to, as I was completely out of furniture to terrorize) and landed on the floor, knocking over two small tables on my way. One table HAD been covered with neatly sorted papers, ready to file. The other held stacks of publications, a cup filled with pens and pencils, and a container of paper clips - at least, before I mowed them down.

The noise of my fall frightened my cats, who tore down the hall and knocked over two bowls of cat food and a bowl of water.

Lying on the floor, paper clips pressing into my flesh, I noticed the papers gently floating down towards me. My first thought was, "Thank God I'm fat!" I'm serious. If I'd been skinny, I probably would have broken my hip. Thanks to my built-in airbags, I was bruised and pulled a muscle, but no broken bones. Ta-da!

I sat up and looked at the damage: 60 CDs plus two dozen books, intermingled with 50+ DVDs, and maybe a dozen pens and pencils, with paper clips sprinkled liberally over everything. It looked like a rhino had done the cha-cha in there.

You'll love this part: My husband, who had been sleeping in the room that shares a wall with the living room (the wall behind the entertainment center) - was a total of seven feet (including the wall) from the scene, yet he never heard ANY of the banging, flailing, or falling. It's a good thing I wasn't seriously injured, as I could have laid there for God only knows how long.

I spent the next two hours picking up debris and replacing it on the shelves. At 2:30 am, my husband shuffled by on his way to the bathroom, stopped, then backed up to check out the mess.

"What's up, babe?" he asked sleepily.

"I'm cleaning out the bookshelves, can't you tell?" I cannot resist sarcasm when physical pain is coupled with a terrible mess.

"Huh. Looks different. Why are you still up?"

"I have to pick up all this stuff that fell down before I go to bed," I answered.

"No you don't," he said. "Why don't you go on to bed and worry about it tomorrow?"

"Why don't I?" I wondered. I noticed him waving as he shuffle-shuffle-shuffled back to bed. Since I had no sensible answer, that's exactly what I did.

Tomorrow I will complain long and loudly about how sore I am, etc. - and pretend I've been skiing. It's about as close as I'll ever get.

THE NIGHTMARE CONTINUES WITH DIRECTV!

2009-11-19T23:53:00.003-06:00

Okay, I've explained in a prior post why I detest DirecTV. Since I never felt like anyone there was ever listening when I tried to explain the situation, I wrote an official (yet heartfelt) letter to DirecTV when I cancelled my service. They never even acknowledged it. They did have the nerve to send me a bill for over $400 - an early termination fee ("ETF"), which I'd already addressed in my letter. (Psssst: For those just tuning in, I'm not paying it. I never signed a contract with them, and they never delivered uninterrupted service to my home for even ONE FULL DAY during the entire 3+ weeks we had them.) I thought the issue was resolved. How wrong I was - now DirecTV has actually placed this matter with a third-party collection agency! The nerve! This means I have to write ANOTHER letter, this time to the collection agency, explaining that I won't deal with any third-parties in this matter.

In other states, the courts have declared DirecTV's ETFs to be excessive and unwarranted. Hopefully, Texas will soon follow suit - at least, if the politicians in Texas figure out that their campaign money may come from corporations, but the votes come from PEOPLE.

We'll see what happens!

TAKES A LICKING. . . .

2009-11-17T13:42:00.008-06:00

My beloved, elderly Rottweiler, Splendid Glory, has a habit of licking - everything! She licks her paws, her coat, the cats, the floor, etc. It drives me nuts! We used to think she was doing it because she had fleas, so we started bathing her regularly. It makes no difference whatsoever. She can be just dried from her bath, perfectly clean, and she starts the licking. Ack!

My vet, Dr. Charlie Proshak* (The BEST vet in the world, incidentally. If you live in the Dallas, TX area and need an outstanding vet, let me know. I'll send you his address and phone number. Be warned, though: Once you take your pet to Dr. Charlie, you'll never settle for anyone else!), told me that her licking was anxiety-based. I know he's right, but I wonder WHAT in the world does a dog have to be anxious about? She doesn't have a job or a boss or a lengthy commute to work. She doesn't have to face dressing room mirrors as she tries on clothes that rarely fit. She doesn't have to deal with the struggles of marriage. So what IS the problem? It's not as if we have a lot of yelling or screaming, or anything like that.

Splendid's a house dog, practically a lap dog, and has never spent more than two hours outside - and that was with supervision. In fact, she doesn't even like going outside. If it's raining, I have to take an umbrella out with us, because she won't stand in the rain to relieve herself. (This means, of course, that I'm the one standing in the rain while holding the umbrella over the dog.) Okay, so she's a little bit spoiled.

I even stopped biting my nails, thinking I was a bad influence. It didn't matter one bit.

Splendid is 11 years old now, which is elderly for a Rottweiler. I just learned that she has a tumor on her bladder, which is probably malignant. Dr. Charlie is going to perform surgery on the Tuesday before Thanksgiving - I just realized that's next week! Yikes!

I can't imagine not having Splendid in my life. She's a rock of support, always there, always loving, and never judgmental. I know she loves me every single day, no matter what happens in the world.

So I've asked everyone I know to keep good thoughts in their hearts for her. Some folks have offered to pray for her, and I accepted. To my readers: please keep positive thoughts for my Splendid. I'd do the same for you, anytime.

Until later,

GET INVOLVED!

2009-11-08T16:28:00.005-06:00

Are you busy? Overwhelmed? Do you feel like there's not enough time in a day to get everything done? Welcome to the club. I think everyone feels that way. The best way to get past it is to get involved with something bigger - something that will benefit someone else.

If you believe you can't spare the time, then you might re-examine your priorities. Serving as an Independent Advocate for the Elderly has been difficult and time-consuming for me (especially since I'm gimpy myself), but it's also been one of the most rewarding things I've ever done. (Sometimes most of the work is done via telephone and email, so not being able to drive isn't such a hindrance for me.)

If you insist that you absolutely cannot spare the time, you can become a virtual volunteer, and help charitable organizations without ever leaving your home computer.

Just my opinion, of course. Your mileage may vary.

ANYONE HAVING A DIRECTV NIGHTMARE?

2009-07-13T10:42:00.014-05:00

Has anyone else experienced a Directv Nightmare? We signed up (leaving Dish Network for them), expecting the promised "incredible" picture quality, big savings, new DVR, etc., etc. What a total disappointment. To be fair, the good points were: (a) an installation guy who was on time, friendly, not afraid of our Rottweiler, and who got the job done quickly; and (b) very tidy equipment that didn't take up much space. The bad points take up the rest of this blog, so brace yourself.

We discovered during installation that, if the installer has to do any "extensive" work or wiring in your attic, Directv charges you extra, despite the "free installation" claim. By the way, "extensive" = if the installer has to run a line from the telephone box in your attic down to your entertainment center - you know, the usual stuff done in installations.

Later that day, remote control in hand, we experienced the first of what would become daily frustrations. The screen displayed the message "SEARCHING FOR SATELLITE 771" sometimes in the middle of a program, sometimes in the program guide, and nearly always if we were recording something. After awhile of this nonsense, it switched to a blue screen with the Directv logo bouncing around on it. We learned that, if we moved fast enough, we could get our original screen back; otherwise, it meant resetting the damned equipment - a good 30 minutes of time wasted waiting.

We called Directv, foolishly expecting customer service/support. What we got was this: "Oh, your problem is obviously in your connections. Go through and check both ends of all your connections; and that will take care of it." So that's what we did. It had no effect whatsoever. We called Directv again, tried to explain the problem remained, and received the same advice more emphatically (Is this like shouting at someone who speaks a foreign language?), this time suggesting that we check ALL the connectors, including the ones in the attic. It's a good thing I had someone to help me with this, as I'm gimpy and couldn't possibly climb a ladder.

You can guess what happened next, right? We did the whole check-the-connectors-routine, and again, it didn't work. But we were in a pattern now: We call Directv, and they give lousy customer service. They simply couldn't go past the "check your connectors" stage.

So in the three weeks we had Directv, we didn't have ONE SINGLE DAY of uninterrupted service. Not one. Seriously. Wait, now, it gets better. The change to Directv was supposed to save me money. I just received my first bill (for 3 weeks of service?) and it was $22 MORE than Dish's bill for a full month of service! AAARRRGGHH!!!

After a rotten three weeks of this, I called to cancel my service, so I could return to Dish. Only then did I learn that we supposedly had "a contract" with Directv - news to me, as they neglected to mention this during our sign-up. When I explained that we hadn't known about, much less signed, a contract with them, they tried to tell me that when we signed our approval of installation - after the fact - that was the contract. Ha Ha Ha! What crap.

I told them that it's illegal to try to impose a contract after the fact, but the representative didn't believe me. When I explained the nightmarish situation we'd dealt with for three weeks, only then did they offer a service call - finally. But I told them that it was too little, too late, and told them to send me the boxes to return their crummy equipment. And that's what we did.

Yes, they did send me a second bill for over $400, claiming it was a "termination fee," but I told them to forget it. Nice try, though. (Further research online showed me that Directv has a reputation for sending clients old/refurbished receivers, which often don't work. Consumer websites have pages of complaints about this.)

We're back with Dish now, and very happy.
Okay, deep breath. . . inhale - - - - - exhale - - - - - - okay, I'm relaxed now. Totally relaxed.

LIFE & DEATH: A MERRI-G0-ROUND

2007-08-14T21:20:00.000-05:00

We all have our own ideas about death and the afterlife. Some folks believe in heaven and hell, some don't, while still others believe we're destined to roam the earth as ghostly spirits, etc. Sure, I believe in ghosts, and I've seen plenty - but none of them were wearing designer sheets or moaning any more than most of the people I knew in college.

Reincarnation is an essential part of my belief system, but not the "Hollywood" kind of reincarnation that's so popular right now. I believe that we live many times, hopefully learning more each time, until we finally get it right, settle up our karmic debt, and move on. I also believe that we're involved with many of the same souls each time. Have you ever met someone for the first time, and felt a strong (perhaps bizarre) feeling as you reached to shake his/her hand? Yep, that's it. You're recognizing that person from your last time around. {Note: I often call it "the last time" or "last time around" because saying "your last life" sounds ghastly and trite, thanks to film and far too many would-be experts.}

The souls you're involved with in every life have different names in various cultures. I call them Anchors for the obvious reason that they "anchor" us in each life, helping us build a physical and emotional foundation for the life we're in, regardless of how the last time turned out. Anchor souls play different roles in different lives; i.e., the soul that was your mother in one life may be your best friend in another, your nephew in another, your wife in another, etc. Souls have no gender - that's the stuff of physical bodies.

Time's up! My obligations in my real life this time are howling for me, so that's all for now. More to come later!

Thanks for stopping by. Your comments and opinions are welcome. If you've had a reincarnation/past life experience, please share it here. If you have a blog, please be sure to leave your blog's address.

- TsigiliKarma

Remember: Celebrate Your Life!

Savor every day you have as if it were your last.

Trust me, there's nothing like being ill to make you cherish life.