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Member since 09/2009

5 posts categorized "Silliness"


Picking up Strays

I come from a long line of rescuers. Kittens, bunnies, puppies, I've rescued them all. My first rescue came when I was about five years old. I saw my cat carrying something that looked like a baby bunny in it's mouth. I took it away, discovered it was just a mouse and handed it back to the cat. The mouse thought that was a terrible plan and promptly bit me. I became my doctor's first mouse bite victim. I don't know whether he ever had another.

My mom had the best rescue story. We had a cat that went missing. My mom and dad adopted Niki before I was born and she was a treasured member of the family. She was also a notorious slut and a couple of time a year after a brief disappearance, she blessed us with a litter of kittens. One time she left and didn't come back. My mom was worried sick. Her first baby was missing. She walked the neighborhood calling her name, she talked to the neighbors. She might have placed an ad in the paper, still no Niki.

One day a filthy, tattered, half starved kitty showed up at our house. Mama cried with relief. She grabbed the wayward Niki and carried her inside. She bathed and dried her. Tempted her with treats and rushed her to the vets office to make sure she was okay. She spent a great deal of money that we probably didn't have to save her precious Niki and the cat ate up the attention. And then a few days later, Niki walked up to the door looking as sleek, fat and satisfied as she always did after one of her excursions.

Mom had rescued the wrong cat. I don't remember keeping the usurper, but I'm sure my mom found it a wonderful home. That poor bedraggled stray hit the jackpot when he met my mom.


The Week My Appliances Went On Strike

Underwires and casings 01  For those of you that don't recognize the small picture to the left, it's an underwire from a bra. Those of you that have done laundry and like me are too lazy or disorganized to use those neat little lingerie bags for your pretty underthings, you know that underwires after a few washes will come out of your bra. But that's the end of my story, not the beginning. Let's start at the beginning, which is also an end of sorts.

Last spring, shortly after my mother passed away, I mean like minutes after, the lock on her oven door locked and wouldn't release. I know this because I had a house full of people and I was trying to make them biscuits and gravy for breakfast. It was my mom's oven. She picked it out and purchased it and I guess it was in mourning with the rest of us. We had our gravy on toast. At that point and after the week we had all been through, we could have eaten it on cornflakes and it would have been fine. 

The oven was still under warranty. The Sears guy was lovely and after only having to reorder the part twice we got it fixed. While we were still waiting for the oven to be fixed, I opened the dishwasher and heard a loud pop. When I let go of the door, it slammed to the floor smacking my shin on the way down. I shifted my eyes skyward for a moment and sent a questioning message to my mom. She didn't answer, but I might have heard the echo of celestial laughter. The repairman was duly called and the next day after two minutes of work, the dishwasher door was fixed. We were still waiting on the oven parts, but one broken appliance was working again, so all was well. 

The next day, I jumped in my dad's pickup truck and ran to town with my youngest son. When I stepped on the brakes, the pedal went all the way to the floor and the truck didn't slow noticeably. As soon as I had a free second after bringing the truck to a stop at the tire shop, I glanced up and heard the distinct sound of laughter. Mama never did like that truck. Two hours and four hundred dollars later, the truck had new brakes, the dishwasher was fixed and we were still waiting for oven parts.

After only a couple more days, the oven parts arrived for the second time, the oven was fixed and all was right in my world, well mostly. At least all the appliance were working. Later that evening after dinner, I went downstairs to change the laundry around from the washer to the dryer. The load in the dryer was still damp, so I cleaned the lint trap, set the timer and turned on the dryer. A horrible clanging sound started coming from the machine. This time I didn't roll my eyes heavenward, I looked up and threw my hands up and muttered 'Seriously?". Oh yes, there was laughter. But it was about to get louder.

I called my nice appliance repairman and he agreed to come out and take a look at the dryer the next afternoon. That was great, I've known my appliance repair guy for years. Once a long time ago in another lifetime, he was my boss. He's a great guy. I know him well. I think it would have been better if he'd been a stranger.

 The next afternoon he arrived and headed for the basement with his little box of dryer repair tools. The first thing he did was pull out the lint trap. Caught in the lint trap was the underwire from a bra. He plucked it out with a grin and handed it to me. My repairman laughed, my mother was collapsed on a cloud crying with hysterical laughter. I could hear her. I swear. Trusty repairman stabbed the lint trap back in place and turned on the dryer. The only unusual noises were coming from my repairman as he tried to hold back his laughter. He didn't charge me for the visit.

This little episode and other's like it is where I get the material for my Randi Black series. If you want to find out what disasters Randi get's to deal with, take a peek at Murder at Timber Bridge. Signed copies are available here.


Hit the Bricks, Literally

The Fulton Street Fair started as a great success. The booth set up was great and drew a lot of attention. I talked to a lot a great people, listened to some great music and got my yearly dose of fried Oreo cookies.

Here's a couple of pictures of the booth.


Photo 2

Photo 3

Friday night at midnight, I raced back downtown after the fair was closed and deserted, to batten down the hatches and prepare for the giant storm that was heading our way. As I walked into the fair on Saturday morning, past the twisted wreckage of fair booth's whose owners hadn't been as weather savvy as me, I quietly gloated. Not over their damage, cause those folks do fairs and festivals for a living and I don't wish misfortune on anyone, more self satisfaction that I'd foreseen a problem and averted it. Then the storm blew in Saturday afternoon.

Photo 4
 And this is all that was left of my EZ up tent after the first gust. Yes, the tent was down. Yes we were prepared for the storm. No, it didn't do a bit of good. Underneath the sound of falling rain and blowing wind and crashing displays, I heard mother nature laughing. See that sandwich in the lower left hand corner of the picture? Yeah, that was my lunch. I didn't get to eat that either. Mother nature is somewhat vindictive.


I've Lost My Mind

I believe over the last ten days, I have begun a rapid decline into senility. Let me tell you why. Somewhere around ten days ago, I lost my iPhone. I don't mean I misplaced it. I lost it. Gone. Dead. I had to purchase a new phone. That was somewhat unsettling, because until that time, the closest I'd ever come to losing a cell phone was if I left it in the other room of the house when I went in to watch the ball game. I survived and now I have a nice shiny new phone.

Almost a week went by, and on a sunny, humid, storm clouds building afternoon, I took my Kindle and myself out to lunch. It was good. Good food, good book, a waitress that didn't interrupt every two minutes to ask if I was doing alright. I left her a nice tip and pointed my car homeward. The sunny skies were dark and rain drops were just starting to splatter the ground when I ran inside. I complimented myself on my excellent timing and reached in my purse for my phone. It was gone. My shiny new cell phone was gone. I ran out into the rain and searched my car. No phone. I drove back to the restaurant and the sweet little waitress came running up with my phone in her hand. I left my brand new phone at the the pizza joint. I got back in my car, drove home in a crashing thunderstorm and got thoroughly soaked because I left my phone at restaurant. I gave myself a mental head slap and moved on.

Two days later I treated myself to a manicure and a pedicure. I read my Kindle while my legs and feet were massaged. Seriously, almost better than sex. I mean really. I paid my money and left the salon in a fog of relaxation and happiness. I hopped in my car and drove fifty miles, stopped for lunch, reached in my bag for my Kindle and realized I had left it at the salon. Are You Kidding Me? I left my Kindle AT THE SALON FIFTY MILES AWAY. So, I called the salon, gobbled my lunch, because I couldn't enjoy it, my poor Kindle had been abandoned 50 miles away and was all alone and sad, or maybe it was me that felt all alone and sad. I picked up my Kindle and drove the fifty miles back to where I started, found a motel for the next couple of days and settled in.

The next afternoon, I ran to Wal-Mart. Just needed to pick up a few things. I didn't even take my purse just grabbed my wallet and my phone and headed out. I left my phone in the car and ran into the story to do my quick shopping. I grabbed my things, one of them being a bag of ice, and trotted out to my car ready to go home, make a drink, settle back with my little electronic book and listen to the storm that was about to hit, rage while I was snuggled up inside. When I got to my car, I didn't have any keys. I checked the ignition. No Keys. I checked the passenger seat. I've been known to drop them there on occasion. I haven't ever locked them in my car, but, hey, there's always a first time. No Keys on the seat. I rechecked my pockets. Nope. I went back into the store and checked at the service desk to see if anyone had turned in a set of keys. No Keys. I left my cart at the front of the store and made a circuit of everywhere I had wondered while I shopped. No Keys. As I made my way back to the front of the store, I accosted a young man and asked to borrow his phone to call roadside assistance. He was an angel, and he let me use his phone and wouldn't even let me pay him. Roadside assistance assured me they would be there in 45 minutes or so. I got my cart and rolled it outside. Wal-Mart, at least the one I was in, didn't have any handy waiting benches inside or out, and no room for me with my cart and melting bag of ice to wait and still be able to see the locked out of my car rescue guys when they arrived. So, I waited. Outside. In the Rain. While my ice melted.

There is a happy ending to the key story. Some good samaritan found my keys and took them to lost and found, so I got them back the next day. The rescue guy was there in less then 30 minutes. He is a hero. My spare key happened to actually be in my car, so I could drive home. I wasn't stranded. So all is well, except for the fact that in the last ten days or so, I've lost or left almost everything of value that I own. So even though All of my toys are replaced or returned, I still haven't managed to find my mind.

If you see it out and about anywhere, would you send it home? I miss it. You'll be able to recognize it. It'll be the one wandering around aimlessly somewhere looking for it's car keys.


When Punctuation Goes Bad