Happy Birthday to Me!

Last weekend my hubby planned a "surprise" birthday party for me. He made spaghetti, the girls all brought something and then we had one of our great game nights! Being my birthday I was allowed to choose the game. Trivial Pursuit-ancient edition. It had such questions as; What quartet inspired the creation of turtle-shaped pasta? and What book was used by 90% of US lawyers who advertised in 1990? The kids were only 14,12, and 9 in 1990. Victory was a shoe-in! Great fun was had by all- I think.

Yes...No...Maybe...

I spend a lot of time in my car driving to work. My commute is anywhere between 40 minutes to 2 hours, depending on traffic and weather. Usually I listen to books on CD or my own music CDs. Indigo Girls, Billy Joel, and Kenny Rogers wear out first. Once in a while I listen to NPR. But mostly this year I have played the Sign Game. I am an undecisive person. I have been known to change my mind over and over and then do nothing, because I can't decide what to do. Should the yarn be blue or green? Should I work on my vacation scrapbook or organize old photos? Should I take the dog for a walk or ride my bike? The Sign Game has helped me with the boredom of my ride and the dilemma of solving life's most pressing questions. Don't know who to vote for? The sign saaaays "right lane must exit". Should we stay in Iraq or get out? The sign says "Work area ahead- left lane rides berm". What about all those aliens trotting over the border? The sign saaays "Jaywalkers will be prosecuted." Don't know what to do with that wild and crazy hubby who wants to do another home improvement project? The sign saaaays - "yield". There are some signs that I look at and wonder, hmmmm...what would the question be for that one? Like..."traffic light activated when lights are flashing", "no left turn 7AM to 9AM", or "detour half mile ahead". And then there are some that I don't even want to think about- "gross wt. 3 tons", "bridge out ahead", and "dead end". My very favorite signs are "duck crossing" and "deer crossing". As you can see, I may not be able to make a decision, but I can certainly waste a lot of time pondering what to do.

"Creighton-Barrow"

"Creighton -Barrow"...Housewares answer to Abercrombie and Fitch. They have something for everybody, even Inspector Gadget could find a cool tool here! However,there were no crates and no barrels! I had heard so much about this wonderful store that I was eager to see it. I must admit, there was one point in our venture where I was heard to say, 'All this cool stuff makes me want cook, almost." Wow! That's saying a lot, because I love to eat, but hate to cook. Another thing that surprised me were all the inventions that I didn't know existed. I felt like The Ice Man after being thawed out. There was an egg timer- that drops in the water with the egg and turns different colors for a soft, medium, or hard boiled egg, there were special tongs for picking up asparagus, and all sorts of glassware. Does anyone know-what's the purpose of a roly-poly shot glass? From a functional point of view, I appreciated the store being small enough to look through completely without my roller blades. Everything was color coordinated so I would have no problem putting together things that match. (Austin Powers will be glad to know that turquoise is groovy again.) For someone who's "fashion-challenged" not having to think about stuff like that is a plus. I'm particularly fond of my new toys: a bendable ice cube tray that makes long cylindrical cubes, a steamer WITH a tall handle, and mini-plastic fruit ice cubes. I'm currently working on my list for my next fun trip to "Creighton-Barrow".

In Memoriam

I learned some hard lessons this week. But this question remains. How can just 8 pounds of fur and whiskers cause your heart to break? I had to put my cat, Nick, to sleep this week. He had been diagnosed as having a hyperthyroid and put on medication. His appetite went down, he was severely anemic, then he caught an upper respiratory virus and couldn't shake it. After two days in the hospital getting meds and fluids through IV's, I got the news- he was getting worse and not going to improve. So we made arrangements for later that afternoon.
Our house is now down to one cat, Griffin, and one dog, Cheyenne. Nick may have been only 8 lbs. but he took up a lot of space in my heart. Griffin and Cheyenne have been wonderful taking up the slack. Griffin sits on my lap in the morning and keeps me company in the bathroom. (Nick never let him do that). Cheyenne makes sure I know she's there at night by sleeping on my feet and laying horizontally in bed. Every animal has its own personality and special qualities. Nick's was sensitivity and kindness. He could read my moods and acted accordingly. He was always around when I needed a pick-me-up. He would cuddle up under my chin and purr, "You are the best person in my world and I love you THIIIIIIIS MMUUUCH." And I would whisper to him, "Thank you for coming to live with me." I think animals select us because we need them. It doesn't matter if they are bought at the store or wander into our lives from the streets. They are a gift to us from the universe. I will spare you the cat stories but suffice it to say-I will miss his presents in my life.

If You Don't Know Jack...

We went to another Explorer series lecture at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History this weekend. The auditorium was packed, the lights were down, and we were treated to a slideshow presentation of the Apollo missions and the cultural and political events that inspired them. David West Reynolds approached the podium sporting tight black jeans tucked into knee high black boots, and a black waist length jacket with gold stripes on the shoulders, reminiscent of Star Wars. He is an archaeologist by day, and an Apollo afficionado by night. The meat of his lecture will be left for another meal, but as he approached the podium I thought- here is a man who still knows how to play. I was green with envy.
Living half a century + , I've had many opportunities to diversify my "life portfolio". The result is when it comes to play I'm a "jack of all trades" and "master of none". My interests skip around like a B8 in a bingo bowl. Two weeks ago crop circles, last week Stonehenge, this week scrapbooking, next week the moons of Jupiter, soon to be followed by digital photography (the bird migration to the shores of Lake Erie peaks in May). If I planned my playtime with as much diligence as I do my work schedule or my social calendar, I'd get a lot more done. Is it bad to be a "jack of all trades"? I got to thinking of all the "jacks" I have known: there's 'Jack be nimble', Jack-o-lantern, and Jack Frost, there's jack-in-the-pulpit, jackdaws, and jackrabbit. I can jack up the car, or jack into my computer. Finally, there's Jack, the Ripper, jackass, "jacks_ _ _", and "You don't know Jack!". Can so many "Jacks" be wrong? So, fine, I accept the title "jack of all trades and master of none" and I'm proud of it. As long as I keep playing with curiosity, passion, and purpose I'm bound to be cracker jack in something sooner or later.

All's Well That Ends Well

I know you're all dying to hear the tail-end of the skunk story - excuse the pun. (See previous post) I blasted WMMS for three days and nights. Luckily, during the night the dog slept with me and with her snoring on the pillow next to me I couldn't hear a thing. By the third day the smell was dissipating. Success! But what does THAT say about WMMS? I had ordered critter repellant and last night we threw a stocking ball of fox urine under the step. This morning the chipmunk is moving his stash. He must be a brave little guy to keep going back in where no critter dares to tread. At least he's got a beautiful day to find a new home. The household is getting back to normal. The cats are less twitchy, the dog is STILL snoring, Chuck survived his "golf bootcamp". All's right with the world.

House of Skunk

As we age it is inevitable that we turn into our parents. (Sorry, kids.) I often looked at my mother and thought that it wouldn't be so bad. Yeah, she had some annoying habits, but basically she was independent and kept her faculties till the last 6 months of her life. But, lately I've been seeing some of my father creeping out. You can call me John. When I was growing up we always had a bird feeder outside the kitchen window. Living just down the street from the Metro Parks interesting birds at our feeder was a common sight, but we also had squirrels. The war constantly waged between my dad and the squirrels. We went through a series of squirrel-proof bird feeders, "special" bird seed, greased poles, and finally a Charlie Chip can mounted on the pole . That seemed to work the best. But those pesky critters eventually found a way around even that. One of my last memories of Dad watching birds was him sitting by the window, the screen up about two inches, and a BB gun aimed at the bird feeder. Obviously the squirrels had driven him round the bend. I, on the other hand, while I don't like the squirrels realize that they gotta eat, too. So I spend tons of money on "bird" seed, fill the feeder, and turn my back to the litttle cardinals waiting in the wings till the squirrels finish feasting. It's just the way it is. I learned from Dad, give up the war, you won't win. However, now I am staging another type of war and I have no choice except to win. Last week Chuck and I awakened at two AM to the distinct aroma of skunk. Burying our noses under the covers we went back to sleep, figuring it would be gone in the morning. Uh, no. It was worse in the morning. The whole house stunk of skunk. We finally decided that he had set up housekeeping under the front steps. I talked to an expert from the Science and Nature Center and she advised me to make him uncomfortable. That means make it wet, noisy, and light. So two days ago I hung bells from the handrail of the steps and they hang right over the opening. He has to touch them when he goes in and out. But he's still there. Yesterday I put the radio in the basement next to the outside wall, set it on 107 and vacated the house before Led Zeppelin drove me over the edge. Today, he is still here. I can smell him from my recliner in the living room. Next I'll be slipping the hose in there and flooding him out. If that doesn't work... well, don't be alarmed if you come over and the front screen door is open just a tad and you catch a glint of steel poking out. I guess one man's squirrel is another man's skunk.