Okay, so I got a little behind on my blogging lately! I figured I'd fill you in on my landscaping project. First, we have to backtrack a little bit to the beginning of July.
I imagine you're already thinking "a landscaping project in July? No one plants anything in July." However, you are so wrong. I plant things in July. Granted, it was not really by choice--it was more that I pretty much had to do something with what was left of the plants I started in February. After all that work with the seeds, and the watering, and the plant tending, I had to have something to show for my landscaping project effort!
So, it's a Sunday in early July. Lucky me, it happens to be one of the hottest Sundays of the whole summer--somewhere around 101 + heat index. And what am I doing? Planting what's left of my plants. I'd venture a guess that of all the seeds I started and all the bulbs I ordered, probably only about 1/3 of them survived to July, when I finally got around to planting what was left. Of the plants that were still living, I'd venture a guess that roughly 10 survived. Alright, so I knew July was a bad time to plant--something about it being to hot and too little rain, but I was going to see this damn project through! On the plus side, I now have 3 new beds dug for next year, so I can start the whole process over again next February!
I'll skim over two of the beds I made that were not so successful (not so successful might be an understatement) and just write about my "bulb garden."
It's Sunday night, Jeremy and I are finally sitting on the porch, relaxing and having a beer. Jeremy says, "It'll be a miracle if anything comes up in that bed besides weeds."
Returning to Sunday morning, it's already upper 80s but I decided I had to get the bed made for my bulbs. Half of them were starting to rot in the bags and the other half were already sprouting. And that was in a dark cupboard in the house. So out I go with my spade. I will just briefly say that there should be a law in Georgia against me operating a spade. I started out working in the shade, which, okay, was still hot as hell. An hour later, I had maybe one edge along the guest house dug up. Every time I sank the stupid spade into the ground, I'd hit a brick. The process went something like this:
1) Me standing on a spade that is not sinking in to the ground
2) Me swaying and spiraling around on the spade like it's some sort of amusement park ride before falling off the spade, which if I was lucky, was now 1 inch into the ground.
3) Me getting back on the spade and repeating the process
4) Me hitting a brick--thud--causing the spade to immediately shoot away from me. Unfortunately, sometimes this meant it bounced into the side of the guest house and then back into me, which meant me falling off the spade again.
5) Me getting hot, chugging water, and running to the bathroom every 15 minutes
6) And repeat
Every so often, I'd actually manage to unearth a brick. After about an hour of this. I got really hot and decided I'd feel a lot cooler if I took off my shoes. That's when I discovered fire ants. Of course, I can't find the fire ant hill when I'm well protected. No, not me. After dancing around and frantically brushing off fire ants, I returned to my tilt-a-spade ride.
About an hour and a half of this went on when Jeremy finally came out to check my progress. By this point, there was no longer any shade at all, and I was a dripping, fire ant bitten, stinky mess. And still I had managed to dig up no more than about a tenth of my bulb bed. I have to admit, it was my fault that I was stuck digging up a flower bed on the hottest day of the year, so I really didn't feel I should complain about the heat. Instead, I complained about the fire ants. Informing Jeremy of my misfortune, I whined, "My feet are so itchy!"
"That's what you get for walking around without your shoes on," he replied. What? How'd he know? Where's the sympathy? I looked down at my feet. My shoes were on. There was no way he could know I had taken them off, so I told him "I have my sandals on (note the "subtle" word play. I didn't say had them on. . .). They just started swarming all over my feet!"
Jeremy looked at me skeptically. I'm pretty sure he didn't believe me but decided it might be better to act like he did. But that was about all he did before he went back inside, and I continued my inept spade work.
After about another hour, Jeremy came back outside. I think he finally took pity on me because he had a shovel this time. In about half an hour, the whole bed was done. Of course, he took the easy part that had no bricks stuck under it, which is why it took him no time at all to do the other 9/10th of the bed (this is my view anyway, and I'm always right, so. . .).
By the time the bed was finally dug up, it was midafternoon, and I needed a break. I decided the best thing to do was clean up, cool off, and wait till it cooled off in the evening to plant the bulbs. It was a good idea at the time.
Evening rolls around, and I gather all my bulbs. Meticulously and carefully, I begin planting all the bulbs, trying to arrange them perfectly so that all the different kinds are intermingled evenly. This meticulousness also meant that I was planting them very slowly. The next thing I know it's starting to get dark, and I still have over 100 bulbs to plant. That was pretty much when I just said screw it. I wanted to be done with this whole project that day. So, I developed a new planting method:
a) Scrape back a pile of dirt
b) Drop in a buttload of bulbs
c) Make a half-assed attempt at covering them
d) Move over a few inches and repeat.
Needless to say, all 100+ bulbs were planted, albiet not very well, in a matter of minutes. Some of them still poked above the ground. Others all you had to do was accidentally brush the dirt and there were the bulbs. I didn't care. I was done.
Jeremy joined me. I was satified. He was shaking his head again. He was positive that there was no way anything was going to grow in my bulb garden. I didn't care. All I cared about was that I had completed my project. Not a single plant or bulb (well none of the ones that were still living) remained--all were stuck in dirt.
Two weeks later, Jeremy came into the house looking incredulous.
"What?" I asked.
"Have you looked at your bulb garden lately?" Of course I hadn't. It was done. I was done. I was pretty sure Jeremy was right and nothing was going to grow, so why bother looking at dirt.
"Nope, why?"
"Go look at it. I don't know how you managed that. I don't know why either." I went outside. Little sprouts were shooting up everywhere. Granted, I know a lot of the bulbs didn't make it, and granted, none of them actually flowered this year, but wait til next year!
I turned around and looked at Jeremy.
"I guess I'll have to buy a few more bulbs next year. I should probably put some foliage plants in there too. I could get some more plant seeds. Maybe some flower seeds too--daisies! I should do some more reasearch and figure out what other kinds of flowers to plant!"
Jeremy just remained silent.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Miscommunication & Communication
Vehicle one had a load of tree branches and an ugly, old bathroom vanity that had been sitting on our back porch for the past year (don't ask about the progress, but the bathroom now has a quarter of a floor in place) loaded into the back. Vehicle two had a dead battery. Vehicle three was the beloved Porsche that I have never been allowed to drive (someone claims I drive too fast). Vehicle three was the only driveable vehicle.
Now, this wouldn't have been so bad if I had not realized I was out of a certain ingredient for a dessert I was making for a Lion's Club cookout that night. It also would not have been so bad if both Jeremy and I had not already had really bad/busy work days, and it was not already 3 in the afternoon (which also meant that I was running the oven, and the kitchen was now a steamy 93 degrees). And, probably, it would not have been so bad if I could have put a little perspective on the situation, and realized I really didn't need to make the raspberry sauce for the chocolate cheesecake. However, none of these things actually happened. Instead. . .
"Crap (insert slightly more offensive word here)! I don't have a vehicle to drive!" I was in a tizzy about not having any raspberries (of course, I haven't yet told Jeremy what the missing ingredient actually was) and burst into the bedroom where he was out cold, exhausted. Well, he wasn't out cold anymore.
"There's the truck and the porsche," he complained, irritated (okay, irritated is an understatement. He was pretty much grumpy and furious about being woken up, especially after the day he'd already had). "We can drive one of those. Why the hell are you waking me up about this now?" This last part, he mumbled angrily as he raced out of the bedroom and away from me. Granted, this is normally the correct response because when I'm all worked up about something as important as raspberries, it is best for both of our sanity that we do not spend any more time together than necessary -- at least enough time apart for me to realize how I might be, slightly, blowing things out of proportion.
Unfortunately, this only made me madder. I looked out the window and fumed. I was stuck driving the truck around town with its load of unsecured, yes, unsecured, crap. I walked out to the truck, jiggled the bathroom vanity, and figured it was wedged in good enough for me to drive the mile to Piglet.
So, off I went, very slowly making my way to the grocery store. Of course, Piglet had no rasperries--none in the frozen section, none in the freezer section. Now I was really stewing. I was stuck with this truck and no raspberries, and the only way I could get raspberries was to drive 20 miles to the nearest Wal-Mart. I realized there was no way I could do this hauling half a tree and a giant bathroom vanity, so I headed for home, resigned.
Now, I probably would have given up on the whole raspberry issue if it weren't for the next chain of events. Crawling down the road at 30 miles per hour, I suddenly hear Crash! Bam! Thud! Yep, the bathroom vanity had departed the vehicle and was now lying in pieces on the road, causing a traffic jam in 100 degree weather. I had been angry before, but now I was irate. I apologize to the nice man who helped me load the thing back into the truck, but I don't think I said anything to him other than "thank you." I just marched my vanity pieces back to the truck and jammed them in wherever I could find room.
Creeping home at about 10 miles per hour, I was now on a mission. I was getting those raspberries no matter what. For about five minutes, I thought about taking the porsche, knowing Jeremy would freak (even though he was the one who suggested it). Then I decided I was in way too bad of a mood to drive a car that can reach 100 mph in less than 2 seconds and keep on accelerating. Instead, I found a pair of jumper cables, jumped my car, and was off to Wal-Mart.
$100 later (apparently shopping, even if it is at Wal-Mart, is very cathartic), I arrived home to find Jeremy sitting on the porch. He had had no clue that I meant I needed a vehicle to drive right away. He had thought I was just saying we had nothing to drive that night to Lion's Club and couldn't figure out why I was freaking out. Additionally, he seemed rather incredulous that I hadn't bothered to fasten any of the stuff in truck's back end (how was I supposed to know? He never mentioned this little tidbit when he suggested that I drive the truck), but completely unsurprised that the vanity had taken a little trip down the road.
Later that night, sitting on the porch after our strenuous day, we finally relaxed and enjoyed some stimulating conversation. The cicadas (also called heat bugs here) were out in full force, almost drowning us out.
"What's the difference between a cicada and a locust? Are they the same thing?" I asked Jeremy.
"No. Locusts are big grasshopper things that swarm and eat crops."
"Why do the cicadas always quit buzzing when it gets dark?"
"I don't know."
"Do bugs sleep?"
"How am I supposed to know? Google it."
"You're supposed to know everything," I calmly replied. This is my response to any question he can't answer.
"Why in the world would I know if bugs sleep?"
"Because it's important, bug related news," I informed him.
"Alright, if you google it and come up with a news article that says 'Important, breaking news about bugs sleeping,' I'll concede your point."
I briefly contemplated how hard it would be to find an article on Google with those exact words. Bugs sleeping I was sure I could find info on, but pretty sure it would never contain the words 'Important news.' Somehow, my mind wandered again. I asked Jeremy a few more things, and suddenly, the only response I was getting from him was: "yup, yup, yup."
"You sound like that one alien on Bert and Ernie."
"Are you calling me an alien?"
"No, you just sound like him. Remember them?"
"Yup. There were two."
"Yes! And they both made different noises! What did the other one say?"
"How should I know? Where do you keep coming up with this stuff?"
"See," I responded, "another important piece of information you should, but don't know. Was it 'yip?'"
"I don't have a clue."
At that point, I think he was pretty much done with the conversation. Yet I continued to ponder Sesame Street, and then the Muppets.
"Why were some characters on Sesame Street and some characters on the Muppets, but very few on both?"
"I have no clue." He is just not very well informed at all!
"Like Grover. I think Grover was on both, but you rarely saw Kermit on Sesame Street or Big Bird on the Muppets."
"Google it," Jeremy replied.
For some reason, I have started considering Jeremy as the human Google, so I was very disappointed with this response. I guess their are limitations to his knowledge, even if he usually refuses to admit this fact. Still on my Sesame Street/Muppets mindset, I next found myself trying to remember the name of Oscar the Grouch's worm friend.
"Wormy," I said, out of the blue.
"Wormy? Why are you calling me by my old nickname?"
"I'm not. Wormy. Wasn't that the name of Oscar's little worm friend?" For some reason, Jeremy decides to contemplate this character more seriously.
"Was he a worm or a caterpillar?"
"I don't know. I remember he was striped. Light orange and dark orange stripes."
"That sounds more like a caterpillar," Jeremy said.
"It might have been. He never talked. He just inched around on strings."
"You will have to Google Oscar's nontalking friend then and find out what his name is."
"I might get Snuffalupagus though if I do that."
"Snuffalupagus?" I'm sure, by now, Jeremy really wasn't wanting to ask about Snuffalupagus, but for some reason, felt compelled to do so.
"Yes, Snuffalupagus. That was Big Bird's invisible friend. I guess he did talk, but noboby else ever saw him except Big Bird."
Silence. It's dark and the cicadas are all quiet.
"I guess you'll just have to Google sleeping bug alien nontalking muppet friends," Jeremy said.
"I can't Google all of those together!"
"Why not?"
"Hmmm. I guess I could. It might bring up some interesting combinations!" I contemplated the possibilities of what could come up with that search.
"What was the search string again?" I asked Jeremy, having forgotten at least half the words he strung together.
"I think it's time for bed," was his only response.
Now, this wouldn't have been so bad if I had not realized I was out of a certain ingredient for a dessert I was making for a Lion's Club cookout that night. It also would not have been so bad if both Jeremy and I had not already had really bad/busy work days, and it was not already 3 in the afternoon (which also meant that I was running the oven, and the kitchen was now a steamy 93 degrees). And, probably, it would not have been so bad if I could have put a little perspective on the situation, and realized I really didn't need to make the raspberry sauce for the chocolate cheesecake. However, none of these things actually happened. Instead. . .
"Crap (insert slightly more offensive word here)! I don't have a vehicle to drive!" I was in a tizzy about not having any raspberries (of course, I haven't yet told Jeremy what the missing ingredient actually was) and burst into the bedroom where he was out cold, exhausted. Well, he wasn't out cold anymore.
"There's the truck and the porsche," he complained, irritated (okay, irritated is an understatement. He was pretty much grumpy and furious about being woken up, especially after the day he'd already had). "We can drive one of those. Why the hell are you waking me up about this now?" This last part, he mumbled angrily as he raced out of the bedroom and away from me. Granted, this is normally the correct response because when I'm all worked up about something as important as raspberries, it is best for both of our sanity that we do not spend any more time together than necessary -- at least enough time apart for me to realize how I might be, slightly, blowing things out of proportion.
Unfortunately, this only made me madder. I looked out the window and fumed. I was stuck driving the truck around town with its load of unsecured, yes, unsecured, crap. I walked out to the truck, jiggled the bathroom vanity, and figured it was wedged in good enough for me to drive the mile to Piglet.
So, off I went, very slowly making my way to the grocery store. Of course, Piglet had no rasperries--none in the frozen section, none in the freezer section. Now I was really stewing. I was stuck with this truck and no raspberries, and the only way I could get raspberries was to drive 20 miles to the nearest Wal-Mart. I realized there was no way I could do this hauling half a tree and a giant bathroom vanity, so I headed for home, resigned.
Now, I probably would have given up on the whole raspberry issue if it weren't for the next chain of events. Crawling down the road at 30 miles per hour, I suddenly hear Crash! Bam! Thud! Yep, the bathroom vanity had departed the vehicle and was now lying in pieces on the road, causing a traffic jam in 100 degree weather. I had been angry before, but now I was irate. I apologize to the nice man who helped me load the thing back into the truck, but I don't think I said anything to him other than "thank you." I just marched my vanity pieces back to the truck and jammed them in wherever I could find room.
Creeping home at about 10 miles per hour, I was now on a mission. I was getting those raspberries no matter what. For about five minutes, I thought about taking the porsche, knowing Jeremy would freak (even though he was the one who suggested it). Then I decided I was in way too bad of a mood to drive a car that can reach 100 mph in less than 2 seconds and keep on accelerating. Instead, I found a pair of jumper cables, jumped my car, and was off to Wal-Mart.
$100 later (apparently shopping, even if it is at Wal-Mart, is very cathartic), I arrived home to find Jeremy sitting on the porch. He had had no clue that I meant I needed a vehicle to drive right away. He had thought I was just saying we had nothing to drive that night to Lion's Club and couldn't figure out why I was freaking out. Additionally, he seemed rather incredulous that I hadn't bothered to fasten any of the stuff in truck's back end (how was I supposed to know? He never mentioned this little tidbit when he suggested that I drive the truck), but completely unsurprised that the vanity had taken a little trip down the road.
Later that night, sitting on the porch after our strenuous day, we finally relaxed and enjoyed some stimulating conversation. The cicadas (also called heat bugs here) were out in full force, almost drowning us out.
"What's the difference between a cicada and a locust? Are they the same thing?" I asked Jeremy.
"No. Locusts are big grasshopper things that swarm and eat crops."
"Why do the cicadas always quit buzzing when it gets dark?"
"I don't know."
"Do bugs sleep?"
"How am I supposed to know? Google it."
"You're supposed to know everything," I calmly replied. This is my response to any question he can't answer.
"Why in the world would I know if bugs sleep?"
"Because it's important, bug related news," I informed him.
"Alright, if you google it and come up with a news article that says 'Important, breaking news about bugs sleeping,' I'll concede your point."
I briefly contemplated how hard it would be to find an article on Google with those exact words. Bugs sleeping I was sure I could find info on, but pretty sure it would never contain the words 'Important news.' Somehow, my mind wandered again. I asked Jeremy a few more things, and suddenly, the only response I was getting from him was: "yup, yup, yup."
"You sound like that one alien on Bert and Ernie."
"Are you calling me an alien?"
"No, you just sound like him. Remember them?"
"Yup. There were two."
"Yes! And they both made different noises! What did the other one say?"
"How should I know? Where do you keep coming up with this stuff?"
"See," I responded, "another important piece of information you should, but don't know. Was it 'yip?'"
"I don't have a clue."
At that point, I think he was pretty much done with the conversation. Yet I continued to ponder Sesame Street, and then the Muppets.
"Why were some characters on Sesame Street and some characters on the Muppets, but very few on both?"
"I have no clue." He is just not very well informed at all!
"Like Grover. I think Grover was on both, but you rarely saw Kermit on Sesame Street or Big Bird on the Muppets."
"Google it," Jeremy replied.
For some reason, I have started considering Jeremy as the human Google, so I was very disappointed with this response. I guess their are limitations to his knowledge, even if he usually refuses to admit this fact. Still on my Sesame Street/Muppets mindset, I next found myself trying to remember the name of Oscar the Grouch's worm friend.
"Wormy," I said, out of the blue.
"Wormy? Why are you calling me by my old nickname?"
"I'm not. Wormy. Wasn't that the name of Oscar's little worm friend?" For some reason, Jeremy decides to contemplate this character more seriously.
"Was he a worm or a caterpillar?"
"I don't know. I remember he was striped. Light orange and dark orange stripes."
"That sounds more like a caterpillar," Jeremy said.
"It might have been. He never talked. He just inched around on strings."
"You will have to Google Oscar's nontalking friend then and find out what his name is."
"I might get Snuffalupagus though if I do that."
"Snuffalupagus?" I'm sure, by now, Jeremy really wasn't wanting to ask about Snuffalupagus, but for some reason, felt compelled to do so.
"Yes, Snuffalupagus. That was Big Bird's invisible friend. I guess he did talk, but noboby else ever saw him except Big Bird."
Silence. It's dark and the cicadas are all quiet.
"I guess you'll just have to Google sleeping bug alien nontalking muppet friends," Jeremy said.
"I can't Google all of those together!"
"Why not?"
"Hmmm. I guess I could. It might bring up some interesting combinations!" I contemplated the possibilities of what could come up with that search.
"What was the search string again?" I asked Jeremy, having forgotten at least half the words he strung together.
"I think it's time for bed," was his only response.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Unappreciated Genius
Jeremy is so pessimistic. Any time I come up with an ingenious idea, he just stomps it flat. As former Catholic Bishop Fulton J. Sheen said, "Jealousy is the tribute mediocrity pays to genius." Obviously, as you will see, he is just jealous of my ideas, wishing he would have thought of them first.
For example, my latest idea was grilled pizza. I have the crusts and all the ingredients, but running the oven means heating up the kitchen to the point where it feels we are residing in one of Dante's rings of hell (I think it's the one for greed--we are coveting our neighbor's air conditioning). So I had a brilliant idea--grill the pizza!
"No," Jeremy said as soon as I vocalized my ingenious plan.
"Why not? I could just put the grill on low, pop the pizza on a pan, and in 10 minutes, viola! Pizza and no hot kitchen!" I'm very thrilled about this prospect, but what do I get?
"No. Don't do it."
"Why not?"
"It won't work." Mr. pessimistic jealous man again.
"Why not?"
"Have you ever heard of anyone grilling anything in layers before?"
I ponder this a moment. Hmmm. "Well, no. Wait! I did grill eggplant parmesan in a pan before!" At least I think I did.
"Don't do it."
"But--" He cut me off.
"Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it." Great. He has a new mantra.
"You know, when you tell me not to do something, it just makes me want to do it more."
Jeremy sighed. "If you're going to do it, wait til sometime when I'm gone. Wait til I have to go back to Winston so I don't have to eat the thing."
But I know I won't do that. If I do, then I can't share my pizza grilling success and rub it in his face (I know this will work, just like most of my other ideas--well, they worked in my head anyway). So, at some point within the next week or so, I know I will be trying to grill a pizza, despite Jeremy's pessimistic view that it won't work. You never know until you try, right?
Granted, some ideas do not work out so well. Like the other night. I needed to get the sprayer back on a running hose. I looked at it, figured I'd get a little wet, but how hard could it really be? Jeremy immediately looked at me and said, "Do you need me to go back and turn the water off?"
"No," I replied. "I can get it." Now, part of this was his own fault. Whenever we work on projects together, no matter how small, he usually ends up irritated with me. This time, we were trying to fit a hose through a little spot in the foundation, and run it under the house and back to the faucet. This meant that Jeremy had to crawl under the house in the back, crawl through tons of spiders and who knows what all else, in the heat, grab the hose, and pull it to the back of the house.
Now, I'm not the greatest with following even the smallest verbal project directions. I try, but somehow what he tells me and what I hear are two, completely different things. I think this time Jeremy was using to many vague pronouns (at least that's what I told him). So when he told me I needed to unattatch everything from "this hose," I assumed he meant I needed to take the sprayer off the hose. That was my first mistake. "This hose" did not refer to the entire clump of hoses, but rather to one, particular hose. So, in reality, all he wanted me to do was detatch one hose from the other (I don't know why he just didn't say this). In the end, my messup ended up meaning he had to crawl back under the house a second time, and that pretty much fried any patience he had. (We won't even get into me trying to tell him something while he was already under the house and couldn't hear me.)
So, that brings us back to reattaching the sprayer. Looking at my irritable husband, I decided it was a far better idea just to put the sprayer back on (the sprayer that never needed to come off in the first place) while it was running, instead of sending him all the way to the backyard to turn the water off.
This was a mistake. The next thing I know, I am soaked from head to foot and the sprayer is still not back on the hose. I just stand there for a little bit, dripping and look at him. He's now laughing his butt off, so at least he's no longer irritated. "I think maybe you need to shut the water off," I told him.
"Really?" Mr. Smartass replied. But, as you can see, this particular idea, the one that didn't work, was entirely his fault anyway, so it should not reflect badly, whatsoever, on my own genius.
But, it's not just the grilled pizza idea he's dumped on, but tons of other brilliant ideas that I've had over the years. For example, my idea for a self washing car. It would just have little wiper type things with cloth, instead of blades, mounted at various places on the car. Then, when you push a button, they come out, run along little tracks or something, and clean the car. Did he think this was a good idea? No, of course not.
Then there was my idea for saving cities money on electricity. Paint companies would just design special, glow in the dark, outdoor paint. People would paint their houses, they would glow in the dark, and suddenly, you no longer need all those big street lights! Genius! Again, he found this idea flawed. The same with the clap on faucet, the net hung under the pecan tree branches that would collect all the nuts and keep them from dropping on our head if we wanted a seating area there, and . . .
The other night, we were sitting on the front porch, talking about doing something to the outside of the house. I had another genius idea!
"We could--" I started excitedly.
"No." Jeremy said. He didn't even give me a chance to say what my idea was, and, sadly, I seem to have lost the idea. It's all his fault. I know it was good, and, eventually, it will come back, but for now, he might have cost me my most valuable idea yet!
For example, my latest idea was grilled pizza. I have the crusts and all the ingredients, but running the oven means heating up the kitchen to the point where it feels we are residing in one of Dante's rings of hell (I think it's the one for greed--we are coveting our neighbor's air conditioning). So I had a brilliant idea--grill the pizza!
"No," Jeremy said as soon as I vocalized my ingenious plan.
"Why not? I could just put the grill on low, pop the pizza on a pan, and in 10 minutes, viola! Pizza and no hot kitchen!" I'm very thrilled about this prospect, but what do I get?
"No. Don't do it."
"Why not?"
"It won't work." Mr. pessimistic jealous man again.
"Why not?"
"Have you ever heard of anyone grilling anything in layers before?"
I ponder this a moment. Hmmm. "Well, no. Wait! I did grill eggplant parmesan in a pan before!" At least I think I did.
"Don't do it."
"But--" He cut me off.
"Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it." Great. He has a new mantra.
"You know, when you tell me not to do something, it just makes me want to do it more."
Jeremy sighed. "If you're going to do it, wait til sometime when I'm gone. Wait til I have to go back to Winston so I don't have to eat the thing."
But I know I won't do that. If I do, then I can't share my pizza grilling success and rub it in his face (I know this will work, just like most of my other ideas--well, they worked in my head anyway). So, at some point within the next week or so, I know I will be trying to grill a pizza, despite Jeremy's pessimistic view that it won't work. You never know until you try, right?
Granted, some ideas do not work out so well. Like the other night. I needed to get the sprayer back on a running hose. I looked at it, figured I'd get a little wet, but how hard could it really be? Jeremy immediately looked at me and said, "Do you need me to go back and turn the water off?"
"No," I replied. "I can get it." Now, part of this was his own fault. Whenever we work on projects together, no matter how small, he usually ends up irritated with me. This time, we were trying to fit a hose through a little spot in the foundation, and run it under the house and back to the faucet. This meant that Jeremy had to crawl under the house in the back, crawl through tons of spiders and who knows what all else, in the heat, grab the hose, and pull it to the back of the house.
Now, I'm not the greatest with following even the smallest verbal project directions. I try, but somehow what he tells me and what I hear are two, completely different things. I think this time Jeremy was using to many vague pronouns (at least that's what I told him). So when he told me I needed to unattatch everything from "this hose," I assumed he meant I needed to take the sprayer off the hose. That was my first mistake. "This hose" did not refer to the entire clump of hoses, but rather to one, particular hose. So, in reality, all he wanted me to do was detatch one hose from the other (I don't know why he just didn't say this). In the end, my messup ended up meaning he had to crawl back under the house a second time, and that pretty much fried any patience he had. (We won't even get into me trying to tell him something while he was already under the house and couldn't hear me.)
So, that brings us back to reattaching the sprayer. Looking at my irritable husband, I decided it was a far better idea just to put the sprayer back on (the sprayer that never needed to come off in the first place) while it was running, instead of sending him all the way to the backyard to turn the water off.
This was a mistake. The next thing I know, I am soaked from head to foot and the sprayer is still not back on the hose. I just stand there for a little bit, dripping and look at him. He's now laughing his butt off, so at least he's no longer irritated. "I think maybe you need to shut the water off," I told him.
"Really?" Mr. Smartass replied. But, as you can see, this particular idea, the one that didn't work, was entirely his fault anyway, so it should not reflect badly, whatsoever, on my own genius.
But, it's not just the grilled pizza idea he's dumped on, but tons of other brilliant ideas that I've had over the years. For example, my idea for a self washing car. It would just have little wiper type things with cloth, instead of blades, mounted at various places on the car. Then, when you push a button, they come out, run along little tracks or something, and clean the car. Did he think this was a good idea? No, of course not.
Then there was my idea for saving cities money on electricity. Paint companies would just design special, glow in the dark, outdoor paint. People would paint their houses, they would glow in the dark, and suddenly, you no longer need all those big street lights! Genius! Again, he found this idea flawed. The same with the clap on faucet, the net hung under the pecan tree branches that would collect all the nuts and keep them from dropping on our head if we wanted a seating area there, and . . .
The other night, we were sitting on the front porch, talking about doing something to the outside of the house. I had another genius idea!
"We could--" I started excitedly.
"No." Jeremy said. He didn't even give me a chance to say what my idea was, and, sadly, I seem to have lost the idea. It's all his fault. I know it was good, and, eventually, it will come back, but for now, he might have cost me my most valuable idea yet!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Good Idea/Bad Idea
Okay, so it's now the end of June, and I still don't have all my flower beds made. I forgot a tiny thing. Well, it's not so much forgot, but didn't realize. I decided to teach 5 classes this summer. I thought, hey, no problem, since I teach 5 during the regular semester. What I forgot was that the summer session is only 5-10 weeks long, depending on whether I'm teaching first, second, or full summer session. So needless to say, once the regular semester finally ended, I had a week to pull everything together for the summer, and it's been a race to stay on top of things.
Last week, I looked around me. Tumblefur everywhere. There was no denying the house was in horrible need of some serious cleaning. Then I went back to my to do list and made a new one. At the top were the never-moving listings for "soot" and "flower beds." I sighed and added about 20 more things to the list.
I started working on the soot in April. Basically, since we used a kerosene heater for heat all winter, the kitchen walls are now covered with the grimy, gray coating of, well, soot. There's various colors, depending on how recently I got the wallpaper border removed (which, yay for me! I finally finished that project!). There are also places where the wallpaper border remover stuff ran down the wall, creating these lovely streaks of drippy soot. I like to think of it as "Modern" art--I call it "Painted Soot." Jeremy just looks at it and shakes his head. I did get most of the soot removed from about a third of the room. Then I sort of got busy. I like to think of it as an excellent portrayal of "before" and "after"--similar to those project photo shoots. Unfortunately, the after is staying around a little longer than anticipated.
I did get a few of the flower beds made, finally! I was very proud of myself. Again, there seems to be a negative side to this as well. For one, it was only a couple weeks ago that I got those done and only the ones in the front yard. I would say at least 50% of the seeds I started in February died. Okay, so it wasn't exactly the seeds that died, but the plants themselves after waiting for roughly 5 months to be planted. Then, right after I got my little tiny plants in out front, it got hot. I'm pretty much guessing another 50% of the plants died. I would say I've learned my lesson, but probably not. I still have about 2 trays of plants that need planted in the back yard, along with about 100 bulbs that I ordered. I keep meaning to make the flower beds for those, but it has just kept getting hotter and hotter (yesterday it was like 105 with the heat index). So instead, I end up on the front porch with a beer in the evening, thinking about the projects. I have to say, more people should do this--it's much cooler and there's a lot less swearing involved in that method.
Then there's the fur problem. I spent all day on Saturday cleaning the house. I swept all the floors, mopped all the floors, did dishes, cleaned the bathroom, organized things. . . I was a cleaning fool. Alright, so I was cleaning just to avoid grading more papers, but by the time I was done, the house looked a lot better! I can't say the same for the papers. . .
That's when I got this brilliant idea. Our cat is long haired, and since we don't have air in the house, I normally take her to get shaved when she starts shedding really bad. However, when I was at Wal-Mart, I saw a pet shaver for like $30. I had to buy it! That would save money year after year, since it usually costs anywhere from $30-$60 to get her shaved. I congratulated myself on my brilliance. Then I grabbed the cat when it was time to start. Really, it wouldn't have been so bad if it didn't take so long. But pretty much after about an hour of shaving her, she lost patience with the whole process, and there was nothing I could do to hold her still.
By the time I quit, I had managed to shave her entire back and most of her sides--but that left all the rest of her fur from lower sides down. Then I also noticed I missed a big clump right on her back end. She looked like some weird alien being with a bad haircut--a cat mullet. Topping it off was the one long clump of fur sticking straight off her butt in the back. I found a little bow and made a little ponytail out of the weird clump and watched her high"tail" it away from me. Then I got busy again--the end of the first 5 week summer session is this week. So basically, the cat's been roaming around the house for almost a week with her bad/half shave job. Maybe it would have been simpler just to take her to a groomer.
Yesterday, I finally decided I needed to do something about the mountain of dirty laundry that's been steadily growing in the bedroom. Since we are working on the master bath, we don't have a place to hook up the washer yet, which means I have to drive the laundry to the next town over to get it done. Which means I often try to ignore the huge mound of dirty clothes. The problem came last week when I had to buy new underwear. Suddenly, doing laundry became a priority. So I sorted everything, loaded it all up, rounded up my quarters, and headed out. I estimated I had about 5 loads of laundry to do, and that I had just enough quarters to do 5 loads of laundry. Well, I did have just enough. I was lost in thought about the water bill. It totaled $100 this month, and they were trying to convince us that we had used 31,700 gallons of water last month (as compared to our normal 2500 gallons. Turns out that despite the fact they claimed to have "reread" the meter, they didn't and were trying to charge us for our total water usage since we moved into the house). Anyway, distracted, I just started popping quarters into a row of 5 machines and turning them on. I opened the first and poured in detergent. I opened the second, and crap! Somebody's clean clothes were in there! I opened the 3rd and the 4th--same thing. Only the 5th was empty. A wonderfully intelligent move on my part, I was now paying to rewash 3 loads of someone else's clothes and now only had enought money for 2 loads. So, I sorted out the most essential (underwear of course) and washed my 2 loads. For now, the rest of the dirty laundry is doing some traveling. Stuck in the back of my car, it's now been to campus, to Wal-Mart, to Subway. . .
Yes, I probably should have gone and finished the rest of the laundry today, but instead I'm blogging. Once I'm finished with my blogging, I think I'm headed for the front porch with a beer. From there, I will enjoy Abbeville's fine entertainment. Maybe the 2 teenage boys in the golf cart with the duck whistle will be back following the not-so-impressed teenage girl out walking. Or maybe hairmetal SUV guy will be cruising around town playing Def Leppard or Ratt. Or maybe one of the numerous town drunks will be out tonight. Oh, the possibilities--as long as it doesn't involve me doing something badly, I'm set!
Last week, I looked around me. Tumblefur everywhere. There was no denying the house was in horrible need of some serious cleaning. Then I went back to my to do list and made a new one. At the top were the never-moving listings for "soot" and "flower beds." I sighed and added about 20 more things to the list.
I started working on the soot in April. Basically, since we used a kerosene heater for heat all winter, the kitchen walls are now covered with the grimy, gray coating of, well, soot. There's various colors, depending on how recently I got the wallpaper border removed (which, yay for me! I finally finished that project!). There are also places where the wallpaper border remover stuff ran down the wall, creating these lovely streaks of drippy soot. I like to think of it as "Modern" art--I call it "Painted Soot." Jeremy just looks at it and shakes his head. I did get most of the soot removed from about a third of the room. Then I sort of got busy. I like to think of it as an excellent portrayal of "before" and "after"--similar to those project photo shoots. Unfortunately, the after is staying around a little longer than anticipated.
I did get a few of the flower beds made, finally! I was very proud of myself. Again, there seems to be a negative side to this as well. For one, it was only a couple weeks ago that I got those done and only the ones in the front yard. I would say at least 50% of the seeds I started in February died. Okay, so it wasn't exactly the seeds that died, but the plants themselves after waiting for roughly 5 months to be planted. Then, right after I got my little tiny plants in out front, it got hot. I'm pretty much guessing another 50% of the plants died. I would say I've learned my lesson, but probably not. I still have about 2 trays of plants that need planted in the back yard, along with about 100 bulbs that I ordered. I keep meaning to make the flower beds for those, but it has just kept getting hotter and hotter (yesterday it was like 105 with the heat index). So instead, I end up on the front porch with a beer in the evening, thinking about the projects. I have to say, more people should do this--it's much cooler and there's a lot less swearing involved in that method.
Then there's the fur problem. I spent all day on Saturday cleaning the house. I swept all the floors, mopped all the floors, did dishes, cleaned the bathroom, organized things. . . I was a cleaning fool. Alright, so I was cleaning just to avoid grading more papers, but by the time I was done, the house looked a lot better! I can't say the same for the papers. . .
That's when I got this brilliant idea. Our cat is long haired, and since we don't have air in the house, I normally take her to get shaved when she starts shedding really bad. However, when I was at Wal-Mart, I saw a pet shaver for like $30. I had to buy it! That would save money year after year, since it usually costs anywhere from $30-$60 to get her shaved. I congratulated myself on my brilliance. Then I grabbed the cat when it was time to start. Really, it wouldn't have been so bad if it didn't take so long. But pretty much after about an hour of shaving her, she lost patience with the whole process, and there was nothing I could do to hold her still.
By the time I quit, I had managed to shave her entire back and most of her sides--but that left all the rest of her fur from lower sides down. Then I also noticed I missed a big clump right on her back end. She looked like some weird alien being with a bad haircut--a cat mullet. Topping it off was the one long clump of fur sticking straight off her butt in the back. I found a little bow and made a little ponytail out of the weird clump and watched her high"tail" it away from me. Then I got busy again--the end of the first 5 week summer session is this week. So basically, the cat's been roaming around the house for almost a week with her bad/half shave job. Maybe it would have been simpler just to take her to a groomer.
Yesterday, I finally decided I needed to do something about the mountain of dirty laundry that's been steadily growing in the bedroom. Since we are working on the master bath, we don't have a place to hook up the washer yet, which means I have to drive the laundry to the next town over to get it done. Which means I often try to ignore the huge mound of dirty clothes. The problem came last week when I had to buy new underwear. Suddenly, doing laundry became a priority. So I sorted everything, loaded it all up, rounded up my quarters, and headed out. I estimated I had about 5 loads of laundry to do, and that I had just enough quarters to do 5 loads of laundry. Well, I did have just enough. I was lost in thought about the water bill. It totaled $100 this month, and they were trying to convince us that we had used 31,700 gallons of water last month (as compared to our normal 2500 gallons. Turns out that despite the fact they claimed to have "reread" the meter, they didn't and were trying to charge us for our total water usage since we moved into the house). Anyway, distracted, I just started popping quarters into a row of 5 machines and turning them on. I opened the first and poured in detergent. I opened the second, and crap! Somebody's clean clothes were in there! I opened the 3rd and the 4th--same thing. Only the 5th was empty. A wonderfully intelligent move on my part, I was now paying to rewash 3 loads of someone else's clothes and now only had enought money for 2 loads. So, I sorted out the most essential (underwear of course) and washed my 2 loads. For now, the rest of the dirty laundry is doing some traveling. Stuck in the back of my car, it's now been to campus, to Wal-Mart, to Subway. . .
Yes, I probably should have gone and finished the rest of the laundry today, but instead I'm blogging. Once I'm finished with my blogging, I think I'm headed for the front porch with a beer. From there, I will enjoy Abbeville's fine entertainment. Maybe the 2 teenage boys in the golf cart with the duck whistle will be back following the not-so-impressed teenage girl out walking. Or maybe hairmetal SUV guy will be cruising around town playing Def Leppard or Ratt. Or maybe one of the numerous town drunks will be out tonight. Oh, the possibilities--as long as it doesn't involve me doing something badly, I'm set!
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Traveling Home: The Trip Back
Both Jeremy and I were very saddened when Jeremy's mom, Diane, called to let us know his grandmother, Blanche, had passed away. We quickly rounded everything up, and headed out the door--yes, driving, rather than flying back to Iowa. Yes, we weren't really thinking very well, which is typically only something I do. Fortunately, for my wonderful husband, he got to spend 22 hours in the car (one way--48-50 hours total) with me, his lovely wife, on our trek back. Unfortunately, for him, I am often not the best passenger (which is usually why I drive) and sometimes am prone to navigational "errors." I like to call them "scenic routes" (this is what my grandpa Wenger always referred to them as), but he just likes to shake his head and groan.
The first part of the trip started out very nice. As a passenger, I looked around at the beautiful, Georgia countryside, at little towns we hadn't yet explored, and then realized I had to pee. Okay, so me being an idyllic passenger lasted roughly one hour.
"Jeremy?"
"Yes?"
"I think I have to pee."
"Already? Didn't you go before we left?"
"Yes, but I think I have to pee again."
"You think? So that means you can wait another half hour or hour?"
"Umm, maybe I've progressed past the 'I think I have to pee stage' to the "I really have to pee soon stage," I replied, giving a sweet little grin to try and lessen his obvious displeasure.
"Then why didn't you just say you have to pee?"
"I was trying to break it to you gently."
Sigh from Jeremy, "Okay, we'll take the next exit and find a gas station then." We take the next exit and slowly meander through a sleepy little town. Unfortunately, this appeared to be the one town without a gas station. On the very far end of town, we finally spot one.
"Jeremy, isn't that gas station on the same road we exited off of to go into town?" I asked. Jeremy sighed again. It was. We had gone through the whole town for no reason at all.
Coming out of the gas station, feeling refreshed and armed with water, soda, and a chocolate milk, Jeremy just stared at me.
"We are not stopping every hour for you to go to the bathroom. We'll never make it back!"
"Yeah, but I was thirsty," I responded. "You don't want to have to stop for me to keep getting drinks, do you?" Another sigh. I had a feeling this might become a trend.
Off we go again. And soon I'm bored again. I would read in the car, but unfortunately, if I read too long, I get carsick. I'm pretty sure Jeremy didn't want to add extra stops for that, so I start developing ideas in my head. You see, there's all these blank billboards everywhere, emphatically calling out to me "Advertise Here!" or "Rent Me!" with phone numbers listed.
"I think I should rent a billboard" I tell Jeremy.
"Why would you want to rent a billboard?"
"Well, I could put up little messages for people stuck driving ."
"Why would you do that?"
"Cuz all the billboards are so boring. I mean really, who actually stops at Pete's Western Wear? And do places like McDonald's and Wendy's really need to advertise?"
"Probably not. But why do you need a billboard? What would you actually put on it?" I pondered this for a bit.
"I don't know. How about I Like Cheese?"
"Why would anyone want to read that?"
"Because it's different. Because it really doesn't say anything at all. Maybe it would get them thinking about cheeses they like or things they like. It would have to be more interesting than Circus Shoes or Jimmy Joe's Jamboree."
"I suppose."
"Or," I said, really getting into my idea, "I could put up thought provoking things for people to debate, like 'Whoppers are Better than Big Macs.' I could have the message changed every few weeks to something new!"
Jeremy looks at me. He doesn't say anything about the idea or how ridiculous it is. He just says, "Do you know how much it would cost to rent a billboard and have it changed every week?" Damn his logic.
Back to driving, driving, driving, driving. Through Georgia, through Alabama, me navigating. Then we get to Birmingham. It really wasn't ALL my fault. You see, the atlas I was using was three years old. It showed, in jagged form, a road that connected with the interstate--a more convenient route than meandering through the north side of Birmingham to catch the same road outside of town. I mean, really, three years later, who wouldn't expect the road to be finished. So I directed Jeremy down the interstate, and roughly 10 miles out of Birmingham, we both came to the conclusion that said road still did not exist. So, we decided to just take an exit and head in the general direction of the road we wanted. This would have been much easier if my out of date atlas actually showed more than just interstates and highways. I have to say, rural, northern Alabama was very beautiful, but the roads really do wind around. We finally stopped at a gas station to figure out where in the world we were (Not my idea--I hate stopping for directions, but Jeremy knew if he didn't, I'd have him meandering for hours through rural Alabama). Fortunately, we had somehow landed less than a mile from the intersection of the road we wanted. Am I an awesome navigator or what! (Okay, so Jeremy insists that I put in here that it was not me that navigated us to that point but him. I really do think he was going off my inspiration though).
By that time, the sun had almost set. We turned onto our road and gaudy, neon glowing signs greeted us on both sides. What in the world. I thought we had hit some sort of weird strip club alley. Neon palm trees, dinosaurs, miners, flashy pink, green, blue, and purple signs shone brightly in the night, each place packed. Then we took a closer look. It was Bingo! The next 10 miles was filled with extravagantly lit Bingo palaces (yes, some of them actually were castles). Despite the fact there had to be at least 50 of them, each place's parking lot was filled with cars. We stared in fascination. Was this where all of the elderly were now retiring? How could so many Bingo joints, on a strip of highway out in the middle of nowhere, all be successful? And why did they all look like strip clubs? Sadly (and I'm sure you're pondering the same questions), I have no answers. Also, I was a bit sad when we finally hit the next town because, once again, there was nothing to look at, especially since it was dark.
So, back to driving. Through the rest of Alabama, a chunk of Mississippi, and then Memphis, Tennessee. We finally hit Memphis, where we were supposed to switch interstates, at about one in the morning. We were both pretty tired at that point, and lets just say my navigational skill might have deteriorated a tad bit more. We were about 25 miles out of Memphis when I noticed, on an acceleration ramp, a sign that said Interstate 40. Interstate 40 runs east-west. We were supposed to be on 55, which ran north-south. Hmmm, something was definitely not right.
"Ummm, Jeremy. I think we're going the wrong direction."
"What? Why?"
"Well, I just saw a sign that said we were on 40." Several rather unsavory words then came out of Jeremy's mouth. And a sigh.
"I guess we'll just have to turn around and go back."
"But we're like a third of the way to Little Rock. Why don't we just take 40 to 35, then head north?" Jeremy just looked at me incredulously.
"Lisa, where does 40 intersect with 35?" I looked through the atlas and said matter-of-factly "Oklahoma City."
"So, you want me to go to Oklahoma City, then head north?"
"Sure!"
"Lisa, look at the map. Where is Oklahoma City? Where is Des Moines, Iowa?" I didn't even need to look at the map as it slowly dawned on my sleep-fogged mind.
"Oh," I said smally. "Maybe that's not the best route."
"You think?" Jeremy asked as he took the next exit. We turned around and made our way back toward Memphis. Definitely quicker to turn around than to take my proposed route. Another hour and a half of driving and we were in southern Missouri. By this point, it was like 3:30 in the morning (2:30 central time). Great, 4 hours of sleep, and we had to be up and on the road again. Jeremy got us a wake-up call and we flopped into bed.
Promptly at 6:30, the phone rang. I usually wake up very cheery and talkative. This time, I was cheery, but not really awake at all.
"Good morning," I happily slurred into the phone.
"It's a recording, isn't it," Jeremy laughed. Well, at least I put somebody in a good mood this morning.
"Ummm, yes," I said, putting the phone down. "I don't think I should be awake yet."
"Too bad. Hit the shower." What is this? Boot camp! I grumbled and stumbled through the dark, preparing for Travel Day 2. I groaned as the lyrics to "On the Road Again," popped into my head. Willie Nelson could not have been writing what he actually felt in that song. That or his on the road again involved a 5 minute trip to a convenience store.
The first part of the trip started out very nice. As a passenger, I looked around at the beautiful, Georgia countryside, at little towns we hadn't yet explored, and then realized I had to pee. Okay, so me being an idyllic passenger lasted roughly one hour.
"Jeremy?"
"Yes?"
"I think I have to pee."
"Already? Didn't you go before we left?"
"Yes, but I think I have to pee again."
"You think? So that means you can wait another half hour or hour?"
"Umm, maybe I've progressed past the 'I think I have to pee stage' to the "I really have to pee soon stage," I replied, giving a sweet little grin to try and lessen his obvious displeasure.
"Then why didn't you just say you have to pee?"
"I was trying to break it to you gently."
Sigh from Jeremy, "Okay, we'll take the next exit and find a gas station then." We take the next exit and slowly meander through a sleepy little town. Unfortunately, this appeared to be the one town without a gas station. On the very far end of town, we finally spot one.
"Jeremy, isn't that gas station on the same road we exited off of to go into town?" I asked. Jeremy sighed again. It was. We had gone through the whole town for no reason at all.
Coming out of the gas station, feeling refreshed and armed with water, soda, and a chocolate milk, Jeremy just stared at me.
"We are not stopping every hour for you to go to the bathroom. We'll never make it back!"
"Yeah, but I was thirsty," I responded. "You don't want to have to stop for me to keep getting drinks, do you?" Another sigh. I had a feeling this might become a trend.
Off we go again. And soon I'm bored again. I would read in the car, but unfortunately, if I read too long, I get carsick. I'm pretty sure Jeremy didn't want to add extra stops for that, so I start developing ideas in my head. You see, there's all these blank billboards everywhere, emphatically calling out to me "Advertise Here!" or "Rent Me!" with phone numbers listed.
"I think I should rent a billboard" I tell Jeremy.
"Why would you want to rent a billboard?"
"Well, I could put up little messages for people stuck driving ."
"Why would you do that?"
"Cuz all the billboards are so boring. I mean really, who actually stops at Pete's Western Wear? And do places like McDonald's and Wendy's really need to advertise?"
"Probably not. But why do you need a billboard? What would you actually put on it?" I pondered this for a bit.
"I don't know. How about I Like Cheese?"
"Why would anyone want to read that?"
"Because it's different. Because it really doesn't say anything at all. Maybe it would get them thinking about cheeses they like or things they like. It would have to be more interesting than Circus Shoes or Jimmy Joe's Jamboree."
"I suppose."
"Or," I said, really getting into my idea, "I could put up thought provoking things for people to debate, like 'Whoppers are Better than Big Macs.' I could have the message changed every few weeks to something new!"
Jeremy looks at me. He doesn't say anything about the idea or how ridiculous it is. He just says, "Do you know how much it would cost to rent a billboard and have it changed every week?" Damn his logic.
Back to driving, driving, driving, driving. Through Georgia, through Alabama, me navigating. Then we get to Birmingham. It really wasn't ALL my fault. You see, the atlas I was using was three years old. It showed, in jagged form, a road that connected with the interstate--a more convenient route than meandering through the north side of Birmingham to catch the same road outside of town. I mean, really, three years later, who wouldn't expect the road to be finished. So I directed Jeremy down the interstate, and roughly 10 miles out of Birmingham, we both came to the conclusion that said road still did not exist. So, we decided to just take an exit and head in the general direction of the road we wanted. This would have been much easier if my out of date atlas actually showed more than just interstates and highways. I have to say, rural, northern Alabama was very beautiful, but the roads really do wind around. We finally stopped at a gas station to figure out where in the world we were (Not my idea--I hate stopping for directions, but Jeremy knew if he didn't, I'd have him meandering for hours through rural Alabama). Fortunately, we had somehow landed less than a mile from the intersection of the road we wanted. Am I an awesome navigator or what! (Okay, so Jeremy insists that I put in here that it was not me that navigated us to that point but him. I really do think he was going off my inspiration though).
By that time, the sun had almost set. We turned onto our road and gaudy, neon glowing signs greeted us on both sides. What in the world. I thought we had hit some sort of weird strip club alley. Neon palm trees, dinosaurs, miners, flashy pink, green, blue, and purple signs shone brightly in the night, each place packed. Then we took a closer look. It was Bingo! The next 10 miles was filled with extravagantly lit Bingo palaces (yes, some of them actually were castles). Despite the fact there had to be at least 50 of them, each place's parking lot was filled with cars. We stared in fascination. Was this where all of the elderly were now retiring? How could so many Bingo joints, on a strip of highway out in the middle of nowhere, all be successful? And why did they all look like strip clubs? Sadly (and I'm sure you're pondering the same questions), I have no answers. Also, I was a bit sad when we finally hit the next town because, once again, there was nothing to look at, especially since it was dark.
So, back to driving. Through the rest of Alabama, a chunk of Mississippi, and then Memphis, Tennessee. We finally hit Memphis, where we were supposed to switch interstates, at about one in the morning. We were both pretty tired at that point, and lets just say my navigational skill might have deteriorated a tad bit more. We were about 25 miles out of Memphis when I noticed, on an acceleration ramp, a sign that said Interstate 40. Interstate 40 runs east-west. We were supposed to be on 55, which ran north-south. Hmmm, something was definitely not right.
"Ummm, Jeremy. I think we're going the wrong direction."
"What? Why?"
"Well, I just saw a sign that said we were on 40." Several rather unsavory words then came out of Jeremy's mouth. And a sigh.
"I guess we'll just have to turn around and go back."
"But we're like a third of the way to Little Rock. Why don't we just take 40 to 35, then head north?" Jeremy just looked at me incredulously.
"Lisa, where does 40 intersect with 35?" I looked through the atlas and said matter-of-factly "Oklahoma City."
"So, you want me to go to Oklahoma City, then head north?"
"Sure!"
"Lisa, look at the map. Where is Oklahoma City? Where is Des Moines, Iowa?" I didn't even need to look at the map as it slowly dawned on my sleep-fogged mind.
"Oh," I said smally. "Maybe that's not the best route."
"You think?" Jeremy asked as he took the next exit. We turned around and made our way back toward Memphis. Definitely quicker to turn around than to take my proposed route. Another hour and a half of driving and we were in southern Missouri. By this point, it was like 3:30 in the morning (2:30 central time). Great, 4 hours of sleep, and we had to be up and on the road again. Jeremy got us a wake-up call and we flopped into bed.
Promptly at 6:30, the phone rang. I usually wake up very cheery and talkative. This time, I was cheery, but not really awake at all.
"Good morning," I happily slurred into the phone.
"It's a recording, isn't it," Jeremy laughed. Well, at least I put somebody in a good mood this morning.
"Ummm, yes," I said, putting the phone down. "I don't think I should be awake yet."
"Too bad. Hit the shower." What is this? Boot camp! I grumbled and stumbled through the dark, preparing for Travel Day 2. I groaned as the lyrics to "On the Road Again," popped into my head. Willie Nelson could not have been writing what he actually felt in that song. That or his on the road again involved a 5 minute trip to a convenience store.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Shopper's Delight: April Edition
November 24
FOR SALE: WWE wrestling figures, new, still in packs, have singles, doubles, and triples, have 3 trash bags full.
Yay! Just what I always wanted! Three garbage bags of plastic, fake wrestlers! I'm guessing, since he's stored them in trash bags, they must be invaluable! I will buy them and make my fortune! I think this might be "recession" investment at it's best!
FOR SALE: 14kt while gold Marquis diamond wedding set with 6 diamond wrap band, valued $1800, sacrifice for $1000 or best offer, worn only one month.
I sense a little bitterness in this add. Wonder who she really wants to sacrifice?
FOR SALE: Antique fireplace heat dispenser with intricate carvings and fins that spread out on each side, hard to explain unless you see it, solid brass, $65.
Jeremy and I actually went to check this out, thinking it might be something we could use for our fireplace. This was around Christmastime, and when we first got to his house, he actually asked me if I "was ready for Santa Claus!" I know sometimes I look young, but, by my estimation, it's been nearly 3 decades since I've been ready for Santa Claus! Thank goodness he didn't ask me if I'd been naughty or nice because I know something smartass would have come out.
Then we looked at the "thing." I call it a thing because neither of us were really sure what exactly it was, which did corroborate his words about it being hard to explain. I think we both explained it as "junk." Same as the delapidated fishing boat and the nonrunning 1954 Plymouth something or other he then tried to sell us. After we left, Jeremy said, "I think he would have sold us his wife if we had asked."
January 5
FOR TRADE: 1965 VW Beetle for a very nice pontoon boat.
I think this guy is a little too optimistic about the worth of his beetle.
January 12
FOR SALE: 7 seasons of Walker Texas Ranger, Chuck Norris. Like new. $75. Also, 2 gun holsters.
Someone is a little too interactive with their television set.
January 26
FOR SALE: 2 guinea pigs, $25 each.
$25 for a guinea pig? Do they poop gold?
February 16
FOR SALE: Baby dwarf bunnies, $10 each, only 4 left, solid black.
Yes! I want these! They'd be a perfect addition to my miniature donkeys and fainting goats! I can have a whole collection of minature animals! Sadly, Jeremy said no again :(
FOR SALE: Pet rats, $3 each.
I can't think this would be the most lucrative business venture. . .
LOST: At Wal-Mart, a finger splint, silver color.
How exactly does one lose a finger splint? Also, I'm beginning to think if you lose anything, it someone magically appears in the Wal-Mart parking lot. It's a conspiracy! Someone needs to look into this!
February 23
FOR TRADE: 4 push lawnmowers in exchange for one good working one, or 3 push mowers in exchange for fixing one of the 4.
Woohoo! Nonworking lawnmowers! I must have them! I will set them up on blocks in a front yard and call it modern art!
March 2
FOR FREE: Yorkie-poo/? puppies.
Oooh, somebody's pedigreed dog went out and had herself a good time!
FOR SALE: Over 2 ft. stack of flattened cardboard boxes, great for packing, $15.
Granted, I often don't think the most logically, but I would pretty much assume that the boxes were great for packing before they were flattened. That and they're asking $15 for a 2 ft stack of garbage.
March 9
God Wants You: Revival!
Yes, there actually was a picture of Uncle Sam under this church revival announcement. I'm not quite sure who the genius was who conflated a patriotic symbol with a church revival--nothing like the separation of church and state.
March 30
FOR FREE: Chickens!! I have too many chickens!
Since this guy is so emphatic, I couldn't help but imagine chickens overrunning his whole house. Chickens on the roof, chickens at the table, chickens playing poker. . . Just how does one end up with too many chickens?
FOR SALE: Dates (editable fruit)
Yes! Finally an editable fruit! Now I can finally correct its bad grammar!
FOR SALE: Fantail pigeons, also Homer pigeons.
This must be part of the new Simpsons breed of pigeons. I think this one roams around with donuts and beer.
FOR SALE: WWE wrestling figures, new, still in packs, have singles, doubles, and triples, have 3 trash bags full.
Yay! Just what I always wanted! Three garbage bags of plastic, fake wrestlers! I'm guessing, since he's stored them in trash bags, they must be invaluable! I will buy them and make my fortune! I think this might be "recession" investment at it's best!
FOR SALE: 14kt while gold Marquis diamond wedding set with 6 diamond wrap band, valued $1800, sacrifice for $1000 or best offer, worn only one month.
I sense a little bitterness in this add. Wonder who she really wants to sacrifice?
FOR SALE: Antique fireplace heat dispenser with intricate carvings and fins that spread out on each side, hard to explain unless you see it, solid brass, $65.
Jeremy and I actually went to check this out, thinking it might be something we could use for our fireplace. This was around Christmastime, and when we first got to his house, he actually asked me if I "was ready for Santa Claus!" I know sometimes I look young, but, by my estimation, it's been nearly 3 decades since I've been ready for Santa Claus! Thank goodness he didn't ask me if I'd been naughty or nice because I know something smartass would have come out.
Then we looked at the "thing." I call it a thing because neither of us were really sure what exactly it was, which did corroborate his words about it being hard to explain. I think we both explained it as "junk." Same as the delapidated fishing boat and the nonrunning 1954 Plymouth something or other he then tried to sell us. After we left, Jeremy said, "I think he would have sold us his wife if we had asked."
January 5
FOR TRADE: 1965 VW Beetle for a very nice pontoon boat.
I think this guy is a little too optimistic about the worth of his beetle.
January 12
FOR SALE: 7 seasons of Walker Texas Ranger, Chuck Norris. Like new. $75. Also, 2 gun holsters.
Someone is a little too interactive with their television set.
January 26
FOR SALE: 2 guinea pigs, $25 each.
$25 for a guinea pig? Do they poop gold?
February 16
FOR SALE: Baby dwarf bunnies, $10 each, only 4 left, solid black.
Yes! I want these! They'd be a perfect addition to my miniature donkeys and fainting goats! I can have a whole collection of minature animals! Sadly, Jeremy said no again :(
FOR SALE: Pet rats, $3 each.
I can't think this would be the most lucrative business venture. . .
LOST: At Wal-Mart, a finger splint, silver color.
How exactly does one lose a finger splint? Also, I'm beginning to think if you lose anything, it someone magically appears in the Wal-Mart parking lot. It's a conspiracy! Someone needs to look into this!
February 23
FOR TRADE: 4 push lawnmowers in exchange for one good working one, or 3 push mowers in exchange for fixing one of the 4.
Woohoo! Nonworking lawnmowers! I must have them! I will set them up on blocks in a front yard and call it modern art!
March 2
FOR FREE: Yorkie-poo/? puppies.
Oooh, somebody's pedigreed dog went out and had herself a good time!
FOR SALE: Over 2 ft. stack of flattened cardboard boxes, great for packing, $15.
Granted, I often don't think the most logically, but I would pretty much assume that the boxes were great for packing before they were flattened. That and they're asking $15 for a 2 ft stack of garbage.
March 9
God Wants You: Revival!
Yes, there actually was a picture of Uncle Sam under this church revival announcement. I'm not quite sure who the genius was who conflated a patriotic symbol with a church revival--nothing like the separation of church and state.
March 30
FOR FREE: Chickens!! I have too many chickens!
Since this guy is so emphatic, I couldn't help but imagine chickens overrunning his whole house. Chickens on the roof, chickens at the table, chickens playing poker. . . Just how does one end up with too many chickens?
FOR SALE: Dates (editable fruit)
Yes! Finally an editable fruit! Now I can finally correct its bad grammar!
FOR SALE: Fantail pigeons, also Homer pigeons.
This must be part of the new Simpsons breed of pigeons. I think this one roams around with donuts and beer.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
The Great White Hunter
It's a peaceful morning. I'm grading my online classes' quizzes, and Jeremy's off to take a quick nap. The cat and both dogs are sleeping. The next thing I know, Jeremy's charging back into the kitchen.
"Where's a big piece of wood?" He asks, as he peers into the kitchen closets. I just stare at him.
"What are you doing? I thought you were taking a nap?"
"There's a huge critter above the bathroom!" He exclaims, as he continues his rampage through the kitchen. "Aha!" He deftly wields a four foot long piece of wood like a club and marches back to the bedroom.
Thud! Thud, thud! Bang, thud, whomp! So much for the peaceful morning. This continues for a good five minutes, then I watch as he scrambles up the stairs, and listen to about 10 minutes more thudding coming from the attic off the upstairs bathroom.
Storming down the stairs into the kitchen, I can't help but laugh at him. He's wearing jammy pants, a t-shirt, his hair is sprouting all over the place, there's a determined look on his face, and his still swinging the wood around like a club--a pajama vigilante.
"What! Why are you laughing at me?" I can't help myself and just keep laughing.
"You look hilarious (probably not the best thing to say to a "club" swinging husband). And the way you're charging after a little critter just adds to it."
"It's not little!" He exclaims in exaggerated outrage. "It's a huge squirrel!"
"Did you get it?" I asked.
Jeremy hesitates, looks a little sheepish, then says "No." I start laughing again. "It's not funny! The thing was huge! And it was clinging to the screen just tugging at it, trying to get out."
"So," I ask, really just wanting to torment him further, "you've armed yourself, barreled through the house, charged after a squirrel, yet the squirrel is still in the attic?"
"He was stuck back in the little corner of the attic! I would have had to scrunch myself up into a little ball to get back there!" He demonstrates the scrunching, but the way he moves his arms up to his chest sort of make him look like a squirrel. I start laughing again. "And what would you have done?" He asks me pointedly.
I know what I would have done. I would have listened to the critter, decided risking my own life (okay, so a squirrel, cat, raccoon--whatever it might have been--isn't really deadly, but. . .) was not worth it, then just listened to it scrambling through the attic. Even if I had gone into the attic, I would have just stared at it, backed out, and closed the door. At some point, it would have stopped making noises, so I could just pretend that it wasn't there. But, that wasn't the point, and I didn't bother telling Jeremy what my plan of action would have been. No sense giving him ammunition. That, and he pretty much knows what I would have done anyway.
"Besides, the thing was so loud! I'm laying there in bed, my head covered, and I can still hear it! I look over at Audrey and she's just laying there, sleeping, not even paying any attention. Some hunting dogs we have." I looked down at Audrey, who had vacated the bed as soon as Jeremy started thudding around. Apparently, Jeremy had disturbed her sleep, so she left the bedroom and was now sleeping next to my feet. We are so well protected--if a cat army decides to take over our house.
Jeremy's still grumbling because he's figured out how the squirrel got into the house. His fault of course, because when he started tearing out the plumbing to redo it, he left a huge vent open, big enough for the squirrel to get in.
By this point he's muttering something about a pellet gun, annoyed that we don't have one.
"We just have the little 22," I said to him, "but I'm pretty sure that's not a good idea."
"Yeah, that would be great, since it'd be aimed right at the courthouse. We need a pellet gun! Why don't we have one?" Jeremy's still grumbling about this as he heads back to bed for a second attempt at a nap. I have a feeling we're going to end up with a pellet gun before long. This made me giggle again, as I imagined Jeremy, decked out in safari clothes, stalking through the house with a pellet gun hunting squirrels. Then I groaned, imagining mounted squirrel heads flanking our hallway walls.
"Where's a big piece of wood?" He asks, as he peers into the kitchen closets. I just stare at him.
"What are you doing? I thought you were taking a nap?"
"There's a huge critter above the bathroom!" He exclaims, as he continues his rampage through the kitchen. "Aha!" He deftly wields a four foot long piece of wood like a club and marches back to the bedroom.
Thud! Thud, thud! Bang, thud, whomp! So much for the peaceful morning. This continues for a good five minutes, then I watch as he scrambles up the stairs, and listen to about 10 minutes more thudding coming from the attic off the upstairs bathroom.
Storming down the stairs into the kitchen, I can't help but laugh at him. He's wearing jammy pants, a t-shirt, his hair is sprouting all over the place, there's a determined look on his face, and his still swinging the wood around like a club--a pajama vigilante.
"What! Why are you laughing at me?" I can't help myself and just keep laughing.
"You look hilarious (probably not the best thing to say to a "club" swinging husband). And the way you're charging after a little critter just adds to it."
"It's not little!" He exclaims in exaggerated outrage. "It's a huge squirrel!"
"Did you get it?" I asked.
Jeremy hesitates, looks a little sheepish, then says "No." I start laughing again. "It's not funny! The thing was huge! And it was clinging to the screen just tugging at it, trying to get out."
"So," I ask, really just wanting to torment him further, "you've armed yourself, barreled through the house, charged after a squirrel, yet the squirrel is still in the attic?"
"He was stuck back in the little corner of the attic! I would have had to scrunch myself up into a little ball to get back there!" He demonstrates the scrunching, but the way he moves his arms up to his chest sort of make him look like a squirrel. I start laughing again. "And what would you have done?" He asks me pointedly.
I know what I would have done. I would have listened to the critter, decided risking my own life (okay, so a squirrel, cat, raccoon--whatever it might have been--isn't really deadly, but. . .) was not worth it, then just listened to it scrambling through the attic. Even if I had gone into the attic, I would have just stared at it, backed out, and closed the door. At some point, it would have stopped making noises, so I could just pretend that it wasn't there. But, that wasn't the point, and I didn't bother telling Jeremy what my plan of action would have been. No sense giving him ammunition. That, and he pretty much knows what I would have done anyway.
"Besides, the thing was so loud! I'm laying there in bed, my head covered, and I can still hear it! I look over at Audrey and she's just laying there, sleeping, not even paying any attention. Some hunting dogs we have." I looked down at Audrey, who had vacated the bed as soon as Jeremy started thudding around. Apparently, Jeremy had disturbed her sleep, so she left the bedroom and was now sleeping next to my feet. We are so well protected--if a cat army decides to take over our house.
Jeremy's still grumbling because he's figured out how the squirrel got into the house. His fault of course, because when he started tearing out the plumbing to redo it, he left a huge vent open, big enough for the squirrel to get in.
By this point he's muttering something about a pellet gun, annoyed that we don't have one.
"We just have the little 22," I said to him, "but I'm pretty sure that's not a good idea."
"Yeah, that would be great, since it'd be aimed right at the courthouse. We need a pellet gun! Why don't we have one?" Jeremy's still grumbling about this as he heads back to bed for a second attempt at a nap. I have a feeling we're going to end up with a pellet gun before long. This made me giggle again, as I imagined Jeremy, decked out in safari clothes, stalking through the house with a pellet gun hunting squirrels. Then I groaned, imagining mounted squirrel heads flanking our hallway walls.
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