Friday, July 27, 2007
Now I eat Tums like they are candy. Especially the Berry flavored ones. Not Rolaides, not Maloxx, not Gaviscon, not Tums Smooth - Nope, Tums Ex 750. And don’t be fooled by the EX there is nothing that stops my problems. EX works no better than regular Tums, I just love the Berry flavor.
You’re thinking a Tums junkie, what gives? Well it’s not just Tums. I take Prilosec, when that run is done, I switch Pepcid, then back to Prilocsec, then on to Pepcid AC. Two weeks and what had been working, with a healthy dose of
Tums, quits working by the end of the box. Hence the Tums addiction.
Ducky’s dad died of esophageal cancer. One of my very closest friends has related how her mother can barely talk because of the damage done by Acid Reflux. I don’t want to go there. And because I have a massive sweet tooth (hence big butt syndrome) the Tums regime continues - for life I assume.
I have bottles of Tums, large bottles – the Costco size bottles – stashed everywhere. Truck, desk, purse (smaller size of course,) computer bag, cupboard, and medicine cabinet. I am an equal opportunity Tums enabler, if you need Tums, I’ve got a Tums…or three with your name on it. I even keep an old bottle next to my bed for those middle of the night moments where you suffer through burning indecision, mentally weighing getting up and disrupting sleep more than already fated, or just living through the burning acid in your throat and the damage to be done.
So last night, after 8 Otterpops while reading through my blog list and deciding if I want to blog SYTYCD, I put three Tums on top of the old beside bottle just in case. Why not inside the bottle? Because, if I do get that burning feeling at two am opening the bottle for relief will wake Ducky, who needs to be up at four am. So on top of the bottle works well.
I should have put this in my weird list last week. I CAN NOT, not make my bed. It’s just not going to happen, I am massively OC about this. Have been since childhood. So after brushing on twenty coats of mascara, I get up and make my bed. And put three more Tums next to my bed. Today is no different than any other. But my night table looks just not right. I move the pictures around, the scarf and love box that Psam and Ben made me. Still not quite right. It’s going to be one of those picky days. I go blog.
Light blog day, laundry started, lawn watered, flower baskets watered, broke fast with a pot off coffee, two slices of toast, and three Tums for good measure and I am ready to get dressed for work. Walking back into the bedroom to dress, yes I set the water in my robe and wet head – don’t you? I find my bed in total disarray, as if someone had happy danced with my Goobie (naughty mind, it’s a fluffy Platypus that lays on my bed) and flung pillows and stuffed ducky astray.
The realization hits me that what has been missing from my bed side is my old Tums bottle. Plus the three Tums I’d put there just an hour and a half earlier. And damn now that I think of that, the three Tums from last night are gone too, because I’d never taken them.
And if you think this might have been the first time I questioned if I’d put Tums next to the bed, it’s not. I had just thought that I’d been confused, didn’t remember taking them at O dark hundred, or maybe I’d knocked them off the bedstand and they were had become the mid night feast for the unmentionables with eight legs that live behind there. It’s not like the 10 second rule stands with Tums behind the bedstand.
No, it’s Arlo, who happy danced all over my bed flinging Goobie, Ducky, and I’m sure effervesant berry pink slobber everywhere at the joy of three small Tums left by the Tums God.
Is there a twelve step plan for Tums addicted dogs?
Monday, July 23, 2007
So your weirdness is my normal frame of thought…er you don’t like snakes do you?
JulieAnn, JulieAnn, JulieAnn, no that’s not my weirdness, it is JulieAnn’s fault I’m in this quandary. I’m really stuck on what is weird.
1) I don’t like talking on the phone. End of story. Well not really. Ducky is a phone addict. He talks to everyone on the phone, all the time. There are two things about Ducky that are a given, when he walks in the door, gets up or mows the lawn the TV is on. And two, if I am gone for more than ten minutes he will call people.
2) I hate reruns. I remember the plot, the dialogue, and what I can’t remember I will guess. Whereas, I despise watching TV shows over and over, I can watch a movie multiple times (as long as there is enough space in between viewings), and books? I’ve read Lord Of The Ring at least seven times. But not TV shows, and I can’t abide stupid demeaning humor – so that lets out 7 out of 10 shows.
3) I am now in my fifth decade and I still don’t feel like a grown up. When does that happen? I am a mother, a grandmother, and married three times, when does growing up happen?
(And no, that doesn’t explain two divorces.)
4) Hobbies burn hot for me and then I burn out, never to go back. I once crocheted twenty five afghans for presents in two years time. That was 14 years ago, I’ve not done one since. I did stained glass at the beginning of marriage number two. Anyone want to buy a grinder, foiler, an assortment of glass cutters, lead came, and soldering irons? How about a box of skeins in various levels of depletion.
5) I love social climate Reality TV. Survivor (except for those friggin’snakes,) Big Brother, even The Surreal Life. It’s watching psychological warfare and strategy. The worst at the games, is the student of the games. Suckas
6) My mother named me Tanglefoot because I can’t walk straight, or remain up right. I fall, trip, slid, you name it I can tangle my feet around it. And I once dreamt of a career as a dancer…a roller derby queen(yes, despite being a tanglefoot I was very adept at skating, and my hipchecks were da bomb - literally, have you seen these hips?)….a marine biologist (no fancy footwork required but 8 years of zoology - I don't think so)… and a cosmetologist (that was a $4100 nightmare. Did you know you can get hair splinters, and the friggin' hurt?)
7) My sister says that she can chart her life by which name I was going by at the time and what new name I gave her.
a. Debbie – no offense, but there were six Debbie’s in my kindergarten class. Who in the heck wants to be part of a six-pack?
Everyone wants a six-pack, but of a different ilk.
e. Then I moved to my middle name – at age 16, ah much better.
f. And Cele, is shortened version of
g. Celebrindal, from Tolkien’s Simarillion. So are you now lost?
8) I can’t hold a grudge. Can’t do it. Life is too long to be unhappy, and far too short to not be happy.
9) I frequently know when the phone is going to ring and often who’s on the other end. I either see their face or I think their name. I can often hear the Jeopardy – double jeopardy jingle before it plays.
10) I have many acquaintances, but very few true friends. When I make a friend, it is for life, whether they are talking to me or not. This causes me to get screwed over on occasion, but you can only be hurt if you give your heart. So to me…
Heart / Heartless
The choice is a no brainer to me.
Now I’m supposed to tag ten people. I don’t know ten people who’ve not already been tagged. But if Miss JulieAnn comes back and tags me my list will be as follows. Hehehe
2) Sister Mary Lisa
5) Sacred Sister
6) CV Rick
7) Bishop Rick
8) Like baseball – A Player To Be Named Laer
9) Marion because, Natalie can’t play because she’s buried by deadlines
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Years ago I was diagnosed with PMS. I put myself on a diet, read up symptoms and causes, and took my syndrome in hand.
PMS fast facts:
♀ There are women who get physical symptoms
♂ There are families who suffer the mental symptoms
♀♂ And there are those of US who get both
♀ 95 percent of the women in the world suffer PMS
♀ 10 percent of those women are either homicidal or suicidal
I was lucky, I only went crazy – I mean screaming insane – once a year – around hunting season (which began in May and ended in late December.) My daughter forgave me; my marriage didn’t survive.
That was 20 years ago, I’m beyond PMS. But now I suffer with an affliction that hits ALL women, to some degree, who live to middle age. MENOPAUSE. I quit smoking at age 42 – I gained 25 pounds the first month. “I can’t find anything to wear” depression set in – I gained a few more pounds, then some more. I tried working out, Nada. I tried dieting (shit, just thinking the word diet added girth to my blossoming butt.)
To battle the ravages of menopause I began an herbal regiment of remedies so many and varied I can’t remember most of their names. Oh, shit is that a sign of senility? Nothing worked.
To all who’ve yet to get here…
To those who are partnered with some one who is/has been/will get here
WE TURN IN TO BITCHES! It is called LACK OF SLEEP.
Nothing worked. My Nurse Practitioner suggested a glass of wine nightly. So I tired a glass of wine, but two nights later (because it didn’t’ work the second night) I tried two glasses. After two nights of frustration I switched to Kalhua and Crème. Then margaritas.
Problem. I get paged in the middle of the night. Often. I can’t be inebriated. So two margaritas a night, as tempting as they are, causes not only an urge for loud, screaming nightly sex (if I can stay awake) but drinking-sleeping-driving syndrome. I’m pretty certain menopause is not a green light to drink and drive to deserted mountain tops in rural Oregon at 3am dressed in my jammies. Although I’m certain I could tempt the judge with loud, screaming sex (if I can stay awake.)
So I became addicted to over the counter sleep aides instead. A much better choice don’t cha think?
Now I had my first night sweat at age 30 (interesting year – night sweats – PMS – and first gray hair in one year.) Weight gain began at 42. Hot flashes started at 43. I read that hot flashes usually last from two to four years. So I figured I’d be affected for six years. But my math (and yes, I am a product of the new math debacle of the early 70s) must be faulty, because that was eight years ago.
The hot flashes kick about five minutes after getting in to bed and don’t stop until 4:15am (15 minutes after Ducky gets out of bed to go to work.) Where as I use to sleep in sexy gray sweats and bulky sweat socks every night snuggled up to Ducky under a down comforter, I am sleeping in cool, slinky silk with one sheet and two fans to cool me off. If I could stay awake (those pills work damn well) Ducky might get lucky. But no, before I can get into the bed and luxuriate in cool sheets for a minute, he has rolled over to sleep on my side of the bed snuggling to his chest my pillow, which are all now as hot as I am.
So much for the urge – maybe I should go back to the margaritas with Tylenol PM chaser so I could forget the heat and enjoy some panting.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
I have yard envy. I want Sideon’s morning glories (I drool for those morning glories so splendid on their matching trellises. Sun kissed petals of deep
blue and violet purple.) And I want Sacred’s hollyhocks.
They don’t have to be black, but they must be singles, gorgeous pinks would be wonderful. What do I have? Rust bitten, spindly doubles in white. Well once there was a pink and another time a burgundy. But while everyone else’s hollyhocks are blooming splendiferous – and each and every year - mine are waiting there on the stocks like plump berrys with no cool whip.
I have owned my house for twenty-six and a half years. I bought it February 19th of 1981 in partnership with my now ex-second husband. Who, believe it or not, just quick deeded the whole thing to me when he left. Now is that a guilt buy out or what? I should have seen it coming. His idea of landscaping was green painted cement. No flowers, no ornamental trees, no up keep.
When he left I really wanted a yard. So I tried and failed miserable and hubby #-3-2-B, took pity on me , married me, and gave me a yard. This is a guy has to mow every weekend or life as we know it comes to a screeching halt. His summer is not complete without a sunny box of petunias growing outside our dining room window. For years it was a running joke between my mother and Ducky that she would give him “real flowers” each year for his birthday. His favorite flowers are petunias, tulips and Asian lilies. Thank goodness I don’t kill any of those.
Before we built the new room and deck I would grow this awesome petunia patch. Lush and colourful, and so full it could take me up to a full hour to deadhead them each weekend. Now a room and deck stand where petunias once flourished.
Every year Ducky and I have chosen a portion of the yard or house to finish. First he dug up the old stumps in the back yard and we planted lawn. Then we built a fence. We re-roofed. Put in a flagstone patio – in the front yard where grass refused to grow.
We built a new room and added a covered deck. I have one section of yard we’ve never worked on. Ducky began building a short fence in between our dead lawn and the forest to the south. It’s a three-year process, because he sidetracks very easily. As in, “look power tools to the left.”
I’ve have decided that in front of Ducky’s short fence will be a lily garden, planted with a varied and profuse arrangement of lilies to the back, maybe some daylilies and lavender in the midst, Russell lupine, gay feathers, columbine to the forward, and petunias to the front in summer and fall, tulips in spring.
I am keeping the grass (I can’t call it lawn yet) next to the flagstone and dividing the two areas with a walk…that is taking me four weeks and a year to build. I cut it out last autumn before the rains came with full intent of finishing it.
So my path way is now half way done. I should have it complete in a week or so.
But this was the year. I went out and bought extra
For years at the end of our sidewalk the city, contractors, and err, um, the people who live in our house have piled their crap. What a friggin’ eye sore. I was going to clean it up one day, until one of the new neighbors made a comment. Seriously, that day! But the guy and his wife walked by, commented on the beautiful job we were doing, “And we need to get rid of that eye sore there.”
I let it sit for two years more, because I’m bitchy and self-defeating like that.
compost and rich potting soil. A four pack of lobelia, two six packs of petunias, and a six-pack of nasturtiums and planted to my hearts content. I hope the city doesn’t want back their cement boxes.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
♥ Grab the nearest book.
♥ Open the book to page 123.
♥ Find the fifth sentence.
♥ Post the text of the next 4 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
♥ Don’t you dare dig for that “cool” or “intellectual” book on your shelf. Don't go to the other room to find that old textbook. I know you were thinking about it. Just pick up whatever is closest.
I nodded, and we went up the stairs. A sign on the front door said WELCOME TO THE DOLLHOUSE AND BUTTERFLY MUSEUM.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Beware sustainable rants ahead…
I stand behind the concept of a greener earth. I believe hot house gases are changing our atmosphere (but I also believe in weather cycles.) I believe we have a responsibility to be better stewards of our planet. I recycle more each and everyday. I have recycled for years; I don’t know anyone in Oregon who doesn’t. I’m sure there are, but the western part of the state appears pretty green despite one or three glaring exceptions.
My truck gets mileage a bit on the higher edge than I’d like, but I only live a mile from work, from my grocery store, three miles to the post office, and my favorite nursery is….er…hptf!…a mile or so beyond the bridge (er 5 miles away - near my parents.) Ducky on the other hand has a 180 mile daily commute. His car, a 1997 Aspire, gets pretty great gas mileage, 32 to 35mph highway, and as soon as my truck is paid off he will be getting the
Mini Cooper of his dreams. He’s thinking forest green with black top, standard features, nothing too fancy. We feel that we’re doing pretty good. Of course that is relative. We’re not as good as my friend Sparks who drives a bio diesel rabbit one day and his electric vehicle the next, his house and hot tub both run on solar energy. As most would say Sparks walks the talk.
My energy consumption is relatively low; my PUD bill last month was 48 dollars. I use fans and a coastal air conditioner (one a door or window at the north end of the house, and an opposing one on the south end) with winds at a constant 25mph or higher it is a pretty efficient way at cooling a house off. I work hard to not use more than I feel is my fair share or what I need to reasonably survive.
So this morning I was a little bit ire-ed to hear that South California Edison (a company I am quite acquainted with despite living in Oregon) and Ford have teamed up to make available an Plug in Electric hybrid vehicle. Now I’m not against the concept on a whole. Electric cars are very possibly the wave of the future. What does bother me is the though that Southern California already has power issues. I’m not against hybrids or electric cars in the least, but I’ve already been asked, more than once, to show restraint in my electric use so that California will have more power during the hot summer months. Oregon has experienced brown outs to send more power to California. Now they want people to buy as many electric hybrids as possible, thereby increasing California’s power thirst.
It would be much better if at the same time they were creating a campaign to get solar panels on each and every house. Both are spendy, I noted the CNN article quoted no projected price, and well solar panels are generally out of reach of the average household. So maybe they should just start building new homes with solar panels.
Now so you don’t thing I feel my gorgeous state isn’t above creating more power drains and hot house gases, consider Marathon Motor Coaches. Based in Coburg, Marathon arms retired men and women with a home on wheels, guzzling petrol by the barrels each day. What, 5 or 6 miles to the gallon? These belching leviathans poison the atmosphere, hog the roadways, and cause havoc everywhere they go.
To drive a public bus, dump truck, or street sweeper you have to have a special license. When you’re retired and can afford to buy one of these environmental threats all you need is an everyday license…er and enough money to fill ‘er up. Disgusting.
I will continue to rant and rave over gluttonous, polluting motor homes, and abusive taxation. I will continue lust after solar panels (it would be much easier if I could talk Ducky into it.) But Americans will continue to suck up and demand more gas. Plug in more appliances expecting the power company to acquiesce to their demands, and they will. It’s kind of like expecting too much from the government but not realizing it takes effort from you too.
Am I unreasonable? I guess if you live in Southern California you might think so. My cousin, who lives in Elsinor, (in so many words) told me to suck it up because she’s not giving up her air conditioning. This conversation was a year or two ago, but I’m fairly certain it’s not changed.
So am I unreasonable? What’s your energy pet peeve?
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
A pot of coffee, Oreos, and 21 blogs – the breakfast of champions – no wonder I wear size relaxed elastic waist. I’m an addict. Addictive personalities run in my family, but could I become addicted to something my husband could appreciate or participate in?
♂ My husband is a TV “reruns don’t bother me” junkie
♀ I’m hooked on the Internet.
♂ He can’ get enough of baseball
♀ I can’t get enough of my favorite blogs.
♂ He turns the TV on the moment he…Wakes up…Walks in the house…When he breathes
♀ I check my emails and blog during breakfast…during work…at lunch…when I get home….after dinner….before I go to bed…(and no, I have not woken up in the middle of the night or stopped sex to check my email, so there maybe be hope for me.) Hey! I can quit anytime I want to.
♂ On the other hand I’m glad we don’t have a TV in the bedroom.
♂ He has to watch sports on TV
♀ I can listen to any sport on radio.
♂ He’ll rant at the Yankees/Duck (depending on the season.)
♀ I will listen to him and do a Sudoko puzzle or three (that I printed off the internet) to spend time with him.
♂ He and sports are kind of like a train wreck, you can’t help but watch, but when he starts cussing out Mariano Rivera….again…
♀ I’ll go check my email and blogs to tune him out.
Despite being ♂ visual / ♀ audio challenged couple we really are quite compatible and have many pastimes that we share. We both love gardening, home improvement, and baseball, college football “Go Ducks!” just not necessarily in that order. And we both adore our grandson.
There are several TV shows we watch together. Not everything has to be reruns. He loves Dancing with the Stars – no shit, he really does. Natalie got me into watching So You Think You Can Dance, Ducky wasn’t so impressed…"It's not Dancing with the Stars," until the actual competition started, now he is totally a Hok fan. He’s really into Ice Road Truckers, Ghost Hunters (despite having a health fear of ghosts), NCIS and we’ll at least begin both, Survivor and Big Brother before the personalities make us quit.
In all fairness I have to say, Ducky did try out the Internet, but it requires reading and anything outside of the newspaper is a no go for him. He doesn’t mind my Internet habit. He knows who my internet friends are (and keeps them straight,) he finds them interesting, and ask what they are up to. He serves me ice cream on Friday nights during chat, and he gladly agreed to DSL to make my surfing experience faster. He even reads my blogs and on occasion will comment.
“You’re printing that on the internet?”
But, I have no delusions that he will suddenly pick up my laptop and start blogging along with me, joining me in chat, IMing me between innings or during pitching changes. He’s just not interested in the Internet. Well unless I begin cybering and then like every man I know, he’d want to watch.