Breathe deep the gathering bloom

In North Carolina, there is a fifth season.  It is the shortest of all seasons, but it has significant impact on each and every person within the central and eastern regions in particular.

This, is pollen season.  Pine pollen, to be precise.  And it’s happening right now.

The first time I experienced it was right after I moved to NC (10 YEARS AGO!).  I was just staring out a window at the office and noticed that the air seemed…thick.  Translucent, even.  As though there was a pall of smoke drifting, perhaps a small forest fire was happening, but no, this was different.  And why was my car green at the end of the day rather than its usual white?  That was pollen, all pollen.  Amazing.

Today, as I was driving in to work, I saw an AMAZING manifestation of just how hot for it the pine trees are right now.  The tree circled in the below pic was the hottest of them all, for as I passed it a puff of wind caught its branches and a thick CLOUD of pollen was released into the wild.  It was really very impressive, and I’m sure the sticky tips of all nearby cones are ripening with new life even as I type this.  Just that one outburst alone could likely have populated hundreds of acres of pines if it had been more precisely applied!

Nature is messy.

I now regret leaving the house windows open this morning. 

---

We finally waved the green flag at a foundation company to come shore up the underpinnings of our saggy ol’ house.  Apparently, foundation business is really great right now, as the earliest they could get us on the schedule is 11 May.

One more month of fun-house bouncy floors!  Whee!!

---

I think that because I came in late today I should leave early, don’t you?  There are bad storms coming into the area and I’d like to be home before they start.  A man was killed last night when a storm front came through.  He was struck by lightning in the parking lot of a Michael’s craft store and died later at the hospital.  Scary stuff.  Nobody ever really expects to get struck by lightning and killed, you know?

Also what nobody really expects, but  I saw yesterday:  a car wreck that tore the front off one car and completely bashed in the side of another, in a WALMART PARKING LOT.

Parking. Lot.

How recklessly do you have to drive to get into THAT kind of an accident in a PARKING LOT?

So yes, two things to not expect, both of which can kill you nearly dead (or, all the way, as the unfortunate young man at Michael’s discovered (or didn’t, depending on his state of consciousness.)).  PLENTY of reason for me to go home and hunker down with some HP Lovecraft, wouldn’t you agree?

Tiff out.

Escape artist

This is  a story about a dog.

OUR dog, Wernstrom.

Yay!  A Wern story!

Gather ‘round kiddies, and learn about freedom and what one dog would trade it for.

---

This morning, as I was getting ready to leave for work, I put Wern the dog out in the backyard to get some fresh air and make his last biological deposits to the yard for the morning.  Because our backyard is fenced (and doubly fenced on the side he knows he can jump over!), I didn’t feel it was necessary to watch over him while he was doing his ablutional activities.  The worst he could do would be to chase some birds and maybe dig a(nother) hole.

I had things to do, people!

After putting on the ol’ war paint and combing my hair, I went to fetch the puppy from the yard, having fully expected to hear him pounding at the back door as he does when he realizes he’s outside, alone.  But no pounding had occurred and I was proud of him for being such a big boy and not a big ol’ ‘fraidy cat as has been his MOA forever.

Opened the back door, stepped out onto the deck.  This usually brings him running like a deer, quick like a bunny.  But….no Wern.

“Oh crap, he’s learned to jump the OTHER side of the fence,” thought I.

But he was not in the lot next door.

He must have been gone a while by this point.  Several minutes at least!  He could be anywhere!  A mild panic began to sneak through the OPEN GATE to the driveway!!  Gah!  No jumpy, just a little stroll through the freaking open gate that I didn’t check before I put him out.

Now he SERIOUSLY could be anywhere.  So I  put on my shoes and prepared to take a quick stroll through the neighborhood with a treat in hand to tempt him back home.

It was a really quick walk, as he was nosing around in the front garden, sniffing at the weird-smelling dirt in The World Out Front.  I called his name, he looked at me.  I called more encouragingly, he looked up the street, as if to bolt.

Then I said the magic words:

“Come on in, Wern, let’s get a cookie!”

And like a black bolt of lightning, he raced in the door, a dog with a mission.  His momentary freedom squandered, all for a dried pig’s ear.

Pretty sure he thinks it was a good trade.

---

Tiff out.

Scene, not seen

There is an ox reclining on a turned-leg spindle table next to the inglenook at the Lemon and Stick.

To be more precise, the table, inglenook, and ox are in the back room of the L &S, because the inhabitants of the front room can, on occasion, bump wobbily into things and people and the ox doesn't care for all that hot nonsense, so he stays where it's safer for him.

Oxen are notoriously fussy about their bodies, and the care thereof.

The Lemon and Stick has two main rooms, the pub in front and the kitchen at back.  To one side of the kitchen, pressed against the great stone fireplace, shouldered in next to the warming oven and fuel depot, is the inglenook.  It is the only dependably warm spot on cold days and the only dependably cool one on summer days, when the cooking goes outdoors and the folks of Banner Bank eat from the large pot that hangs over a fire in the pit out back.  Season after season, warm and cool both, the ox reclines, comfortable in his frail skin, content to observe that comes and goes through both front and back doors.

The ox doesn't have a name.  This troubles him, but not to the point of saying anything about it.  To say anything about it would reveal too much about him, and he has had enough revelation in his past to know the comfort of a good long silence.  He can accept namelessness, for in that anonymity his past is kept a secret, though he knows well what he is supposed to be called.

It was a long time ago though when last his name was spoken, those who brought him here don't come around anymore.  The ox espies an afternoon sunbeam creeping across the far lip of the spindle-leg table and decides, for the the fourth time today, to nap and reflect on when next to blink.

Don't be me

Hey y'all.

It is 7 a.m., and I have been run over by a stampeding horde of giant bunnies. 

Which is to say, apparently I have sleep-talked all night long.  The LOML tells me so.

With my hands.

Now, I have felt this happening before - when I fall asleep, my fingers start to twitch and jump like they are trying to convey something.   It's annoying to my bed partner, I'm sure, so I try to keep them digits cornered to make life more tranquil, but lat night, it seems, things were terrifically free range.  FOR HOURS.

The dreams that came with?  Let's just say that my first novel is written.  Oh, it's a good one too.  Full of Stuff I don't yet get, but my hand will tell me in time, I'm sure.


So, happy Tuesday, I hope you are sharp of mind and clear of purpose this morning. It's a good day to question something!

Putting down a stray thought.

Banner Bank wasn't much, at first look to a wanderer.  A few houses, a wide spot of flat earth where a barn was built.  A pub, 5 homes in a cluster with three more up the hillsides, some wisps of smoke.

Banner was three days' walk from the nearest inland hamlet, which wasn't much itself but had a smith and shop, which was something.  Banner was a days' boat ride Northward from the nearest Keep, but that was in good weather, and the seas almost never had that in store except in Sommer.

The Bank on which Banner Bank was set wasn't much to speak of either, but it was enough to keep the Winter spray from the roads and the babies from braving a tumble down its side to get to the water below.  Folds of hills rose from the bank and cradled Banner Bank in velvet hands to shield it from the winds from the East that roared over, creating many interesting cloud formations for the sedentary babies that lived below.

A quiet place of 40 souls or so, who kept tight-knit and shared meals of aspen and fish, of algae and pemmican, of grain and roots.  One pot fed the whole of them, and when from time to time a stray goat of stoat or garblin hit a snare, then they'd feast. 

Not much happened in Banner Bank, a wanderer would say.

-Tiff out.

NOW what?

Fair warning, this is turning into a weather blog, because chit's been crazy around these parts lately what with All the Winter and Suchlike.

No kidding, fully one MONTH of winter.  It's like living in the Arctic, or Connecticut!

So, naturally, after all that winter, comes this forecast for tomorrow:

Y'all.

Y'ALL.

Today = gray and rainy and wet wet wet and cold (again); tomorrow will be, apparently, MAY.

And almost no chance of rain.

<Celebration break> Oooo-WEE!  Happy happy happy dance, move yo' tiny feet!  Happy happy happy dance, to the Springtime beat!  Wooo!!!!!</Celebration break>

It's a though the weather has heard the collective groaning in NC and allowed a 1-day respite, a reversion to what it's almost supposed to be like here at this time of year (normally closer to mid-50's), to tease us and please us before bringing back the rest of the week's weather woes:

• Thursday - high of 50, rainy
• Friday - high of 38, cloudy
• Saturday - high of 53, partly cloudy
• Sunday - high of 60, partly cloudy.

Well, OK.  Friday will be a pure misery, but maybe I can allow my hopeful heart to allow in a speck of positive thinking that the Terrible Month of Winter might finally be leaving town.

Please God, make it so.  Hear my prayer.

NOooOOOOOOOOOOOoooooo!!!!!!!!



Tiff out.

Nature doesn't understand hyperbole.

OK, the last time I posted I was being 'funny.'

No, really.

It was meant to be a humorous look at the way Southerners react to the portend of dire weather conditions, and not AN ACTUAL INVITATION for such direness to show up and stay awhile.

Let me complain:

We got snow.  Many snow.  Many much snows, to heaping proportions.  Like, 6 inches.

If it had be fluffy-bunny snow, it would have been 2 feet.

Alas.

Not fluffy bunny snow here, but CLYDESDALE snow, with tromping clods of slush being flung from on high, so dense that it was, nearly, coming down in already-formed snowballs.

Then, some folks lost power.  We did not, and felt happy.

Then, it started to melt, then froze over.  Nothing good can come of this.

By last Friday, the ice of the morning gave way to a reasonably clear afternoon, so I ventured out to get supplies and to see what and-of-days things were going on since I last glimpsed the bigger world three days before.

Kind of like this...the snowslides

Nothing much had changed, but the size of the puddles.  And the amount of snow sliding off the roof, which, because it was so heavy, completely obliterated the boxwoods out front.

Ka-RASH.  Goodbye, shrubs.

That was the 'good' day.  Then Saturday came, with more precipitation, ice, general horribleness to scare one into a preppers lifestyle at least as far as stocking up on good movies and batteries are concerned.

Today?  FREEZING RAIN.  Temps hovering around freezing, so any trip out would be a real adventure of 'spot the black ice!' before spinning out and over and an embankment, where you'd join several other cars who Also Did Not See It Coming.

All the while, the rain came down.

I think we own lakefront property now, is what I'm hinting at.

And I don't own a pair of boots.

On the upside, it's supposed to be in the upper 50's on Wednesday!  And then Thursday?  35 degrees and RAIN.

We need to go buy some paddles.

Tiff out.

Oh, whar is my fainting couch?

Y'all.

We are supposed to get more snow here tonight.  Third time in a WEEK.  OH, sure, it snows one day and is melted the next, but OH!  Dreadful.

I only half overstate, as it snowed all day yesterday, started really piling up to a massive 2 inches or so.  Funny, but the flakes kept coming but the totals never went as high as it looked like it was supposed to be.  No matter, as the runoff from the roof this morning when temps got back above freezing was pretty impressive.  When I went out for supplies this afternoon it was a chilly 43F, so keep us in your prayers.

It's supposed to snow again tonight.  Between 4 and a million inches.  Forecasts vary, as do enthusiasms.  Kids were out of school nearly all last week, have been out this week, and will likely not return until April, when all threat of snow in the Rockies (the lower elevations) has passed.

We entertain ourselves here as best we can, between storms.  Life can throw some curveballs, but if we can get to the McDonald's for Mint Mocha Chip Frappes at least once a week then everything is OK in our book.

Boy, sure hope this winter is over soon.  I almost had to wear gloves today.

Tiff out.

----

PS - This was originally (2 minutes ago) sent to my family as an overall update of what's going on around the NC regions, and I liked it enough to share with you, mostly people to whom I an NOT, in fact, related.

Everything about this post except the MMCF's at McD's is true.

It's always something

Homeownership:

If it's not one thing, it's another.

If it's not needing a new water heater, it's having to re-side the house.

If it's not being snowed in, it's needing to prop up the entire house's foundation.

If it's not chocolate, it's pralines and cream.

You heard me!

We need a new water heater, a sump system to ensure the crawlspace doesn't flood (AGAIN!  WHO KNEW?!?), new pilings to shore up the 'overspanned' floor joists, and, well, pretty much an entire new sill girder thing that apparently holds up the entire house.

Oh, it's just that thet house might fall in, someday, is all.  No bigs.

Silly me for being concerned about that bouncy floor.  It made all those contractors poke around in our crawlspace and find things they should have just not looked at.  I mean, I KNEW the floors weren't level, but the house is 114 years old, so some amount of sagging was expected.

Our house is super-good at sagging, it appears.

SoooOOOooo, sometime in the not-too-distant future we shall be purchasing a firm set of undergarments for the Tiny House, and she shall be perky as a moderately middle aged lady once more.

All it's going to take is time, and multiple thousands of dollars.

Good thing we have the time.  Have to work on the money angle.

Send help.

Tiff out.

'Stash it!

To-day, because there was a Big Storm headed our way and I was working at home (WAH!), I took my usual lunch break to go run a few errands before all Hades broke loose and we were covered in 10 feet of snow up to our necks and armpits.

Or, the 2 inches of predicted snow fell, along with a nice coating of freezing rain and sleet.

It's the South, y'all.  We can get worked up over much MUCH less winter weather.

So, I toodled up to the gas station to get myself some gas, but instead of just pumping at the pump like one does in this day and age,  I wanted to get maybe a little cash so went indoors to use the debit portion of my card, thinking that 20 bucks in hand for a meteorological Armageddon would be a good idea.

No, I don't know why.

Whatever.

I swiped my card, clicked in my PIN, realized that the gas station don't give OUT no cash back y'all, stashed my card, signed the pad, and went to pump my gas.

And realized that on the 30-foot walk from the register to my car, I'd lost the card.

The card I pay for EVERYTHING with.  The card for which I'd just punched in the PIN, in full view of more than one person because I just wasn't being that careful about the full body shield and such.

That card was GONE.  Not in the regular par of my wallet, not in the other parts of my wallet, not in the OTHER parts of my purse, not in my jacket pockets, not in the car.  It. Was. GONE.

I walked the route twice, hoping to see it, very gratified when a lovely woman in a sharp blue SUV asked me with great concern in her voice if I needed help looking for something.  No, I needed no help, it would be tough to miss a card the color of mine in the short distance from pump to front door.

I figure I was in for a call to the bank.  Report in a possibly stolen card.  Bonus points: the bank is closed for President's Day.  So, yeah, whoever now has my card might have an extra day to purchase things from my account.  I could see the dollars flying past, me grabbing futilely at them while some dark menace sucked them away into its gawping greedy maw.  MY MONEY!

Well, I had one more stop to make, and another way to pay for that purchase, and determined that the first order of business once I got home would be to call the bank's service line and hope they could help me.  As I sat down in Carl (our new van!), something poked my hip.  It made an owie, and I hoped for a moment it wasn't a scorpion or assassin's poison dart.  Knowing, of course, that that owie was more likely something more mundane, I reached to my hip and discovered that....

My pants have pockets and this is where I put the card.

Pants have pockets!  The pants I am wearing today have pockets!  In which I had put my card!

Happy days are here again!!

I, therefore, could stop being suspicious of the guy behind me in line who I was working up to being SURE was a pro pickpocket, could stop fussing mentally about the hassle of having to procure another card and in the meantime having to deal with the bank and alternate methods of payments, could rest easy knowing that full of the fact that I am a dumbass and forgot my pants have pockets, sometimes.

Just another day in the life...

Tiff out.

Small blessings, a passing thought.

One day, not but a few years ago, when we were members of the local YMCA, the boys are I were swimming during 'free swim' time.

No big, we were horsing around, me swirling them around, racing them in the shallow water, tossing them and joking around.

It was lovely.

We had fun.

Sometime during that time, a woman came up to me, goggles on and breathless, and said: I love how you play with your kids.  That made me happy.

And I thought - OK.  Are we that special?

Well, maybe we are, and have been.  Special, lucky, tactile, loving, it doesn't matter.  What matters is that when my boys were beyond little children age, they played with me and I with them, as we had always done.

Maybe this is all hand's-on needs to be.  Just playing around.

Take time to play with your kids.  Treat them like you would want to be treated.  Live with them, and their bodies and their spectacular brains, for as long as you can.

Because romps in the pool with your kids come with an expiration date.

And then?  More fun, if you shift the rear-view mirror and adjust your shades.

But of course, don't you?

Thing 1 is into the cosplay thing.

I wholeheartedly support this course of action.  It's a creative use of time that involves planning, execution of an idea, effort, and creativity.

To that end, I encased his face in plaster of Paris tonight, and made him lie still for 20 minutes, on order to cast his gorgeous face for a mask.

If only I could make Wern do the same!

As it was our inaugural outing with such shenanigans, I had no high hopes for the final outcome, but let me say: those three instructional sites I read and the research, however penurious, that we did, resulted in a semi-successful outcome.

To wit: there is now a likeness of his face resting on our mantel, drying.

A Mother's love, right there.

The mask will, in time, be turned into (I think) a skull mask, but that is up to himself.  I just know I had fun plastering plaster-of-paris-infused webbing all over his face and watching him have to sit still for 20 minutes.

Oh, if only this had worked when he was a toddler.

-Tiff out.

Hummmmmm-us

The very last thing that can be sponsored, has been sponsored, for this is the statement I just gawped at for 30 seconds trying to figure out how it has any relevance or financial value:

"Sabra is the official dip sponsor of the NFL."

Proof that I am not making this up.

Y'all.  HUMMUS is the official 'dip sponsor' of the NFL!  Not your dandified French Onion Dip (way to drop the ball there, Helluva Good company!) or Beefy Queso dip (Velveeta, did you not snap to attention when you learned this golden opportunity was open?), no!  It's Hummus, beaches, and it's official!  What other dip is manly enough to handle the NFL?  None, that's how many.  Hummus takes on the NFL like a boss and comes out on top!

It also contains no transfats or cholesterol and is gluten free.  The trifecta of thumbs up for hummus, The Official Dip Sponsor of the NFL!  Wait....it's also KOSHER!  A fourfecta!!  Oh happy day!

When eaten with a goodly handful of pretzel crisps (also many enough for the NFL even though it is sans trans fat, sat fat, and cholesterol), one can feel pretty good about one's snacking choices, NFL-wise.

Just be sure to drink a  LOT of water before, during and after, because you're sucking down spoonsful of salt while enjoying the Official Dip Sponsor of the NFL and it's crunchylicious foodmate.

There's always a downside, isn't there?

Tiff out

PS - their company motto/tagline is "Dip life to the fullest."  What does that even mean??

PPS - here is an interesting article about NFL sponsors.  I did not realize that there is an official motor oil of the NFL.  Learn something new every dang day!

PIZZA NIGHT!!!!

Proper folding technique

Every Friday around these parts it's pizza night.  Generally, we order out for delivery, because we live in the city and we can do things like that.  It's a treat.

Sometime,s we make pizza, but that's kid of a pain and takes energy and sometimes it's just not worth it and besides, pizza if kind of cheap even with delivery and tipping.

Our pizza is better, by far, but delivery is the lazy girl's savior.  We don't have enough delivery places around here.

Tonight we moved up pizza night because 2 of us (originally 3 of us!) weren't going to be around tomorrow night to indulge.  Turns out?  Moving it was a good idea.  Here's why:

Pizza discounts -

1 extra large 3-topping 'za - 13 dollars
1 large 3-topping - 0 dollars because REWARD POINTS!
1 other XL 'whatever you want' 'za with a 40% web 'za discount - 14 dollah.

13 + 14 = 27, but with delivery charges, taxes, and 5 dollar tip, came to 35 bucks, which is OK for my wallet and please, cold pizza for breakfast?  YES.

Also, free pizza.

---

I know, I know.  PIZZA.  GAWD.

Sometimes I just don't want to chef it up, OK?  And sometimes the kids just want to indulge in a tradition when they know the rock-solid foursome won't be around on the designated day.

Fine by me.

Don't let the calender rule your life, is how I try to be.  Or other people's tastes.

Do take advantage of free pizza days.  They won't be around forever.

---

This post won't go down in the 'greatest posts of NAY, ever ever ever,' and that's OK.  It's what's going on right now, and it's a moment to  capture.

That, and one of the kids just burped.

Oh, such bliss.

Tiff out.

I married a what?

Recently, Biff joined forced with some guys with a Wild Obsession here in the Triangle area and is now back to playing bass and rocking the socks off the general populace.

Part of this required that he, somehow, was tasked with putting together a sound system for the band.  Tasked might actually be too strong a word.  Volunteered could be more like it, but as I'm unsure of the genesis of his recent projects I shall assign blame to the band and not volunteer Biff for such flights of fancy.

At any rate, over the past couple of months he's been amassing, by many a clever means, things with buttons and knobs and wires and more knobs and some sliders and displays, and has built an amp rack and ramp and cases and organizers and All One Might Need to be a Rock Star.

I did not know he could do this, or knew so much.

OK, the DO it part I might have guessed at, because at this point in our relationship if one day he woke up and said "I've figured out dark matter, let me go to the shed and make some" I wouldn't be all that terribly surprised.  He's Frigging smart, is what I'm saying, and can cobble together may a thing the mere man might hesitate to tackle.

The KNOWING stuff though.  Damn.

So, like any good wife, I asked him about it this evening as he was rhapsodizing about a new thing he just purchased on eBay that will act as a subspace partition to create a vacuum in the Heygate Continuum (his words) that will allow enough rigid leeway in the aural vorticies to engage equilibrium and, emphasis here, DAMPEN ALL FEEDBACK!

"How you know all this stuff, man?'

"Well dear, let me just dust off my smoking jacket of the smattering of awesome I just emitted and tell you a tale of how this new hobby of mine, the, oh, demi obsession, has writ large in my life as a closet gearhead.  Why, as  boy I was engaged in learning about all things mechanical and mineral. of mathical and biographical, of anthropomorphical and physical, and I determined that I am, what is known in the common parlance, as a bit of a gearhead."

"But gears, dear?  Aren't they for steampunks?"

"Tish tosh, my lady!  Gears are for people who like GEAR!  Be it climbing or music of computers or rodayo, GEAR is the stuff that gets things to the Next Level, and one cannot ever have enough or know too much about it if you have a passion (nay, PASSIONS) for activities and pasttimes that require it!"

"Gracious, darling!  That is illuminary and positively expostulatory!"

"Indeed it is.  Now, please excuse me while I go troll the interwebs for more items that shall induce a harmonious noise in the new Wild Obsession of mine."

"Of course.  I will go start preparing dinner."

"I shall assist, if you so desire."

"That's OK, my hero.  I will work my saucy magicks on supper while you drill into the inner workings of such sites and delights as please you in your pursuit of the creation of a true sonic wormhole, or whatever it is you're doing over there."

----

Totes a transcript, becasue that's how we talk around here.  Making conversation with polymaths requires a strong vocabulary and an even stronger sense of whimsy.

Tiff out.

Bring back Lou Rawls

Well, I was sitting here and thinking about a bunch of nothing (this being the 'happy hour' of the day) and what just did happen in my head but this?

Oh, yeah.

LOUUUUUUU!!

Mmm hmmm!!

*Ahem*

Background for you young folks in the audience: This tune was released in 1976, the year of our United States Bicentennial, the year of me being 14, the year of being beguiled by this smoky-voiced crooner named Lou Rawls, who could sing the estrogen out of an audience of retired librarians.  What a voice, what a voice.  Who CARES if it's a breakup song when Lou is sliding his way into your eardrums and heart with All His Emotions???  Nobody, that's who, not even those people who had just experienced a breakup and might never ever be happy again.  Lou was there to sing their pain. to take control of their sadness and turn it into a power ballad of self-love.

Then when I started thinking about it, I was shocked that I remembered every dang word and could probably do the backup vocals too.

Which, naturally, got be to thinking.  What OTHER songs of my 14th year might I possibly remember that made it to the Top Hits of 1976?

Well, after doing 5 minutes of research, it turns out...a lot.

From the "Top 100 hits of 1976" list from Billboard.com, here is the list.  Using only the song title as prompt, the ones I can probably at least hum the chorus of are in bold below:

1. Silly Love Songs, Paul McCartney and Wings
2. Don't Go Breaking My Heart, Elton John and Kiki Dee
3. Disco Lady, Johnnie Taylor
4. December 1963 (Oh What a Night), The Four Seasons
5. Play That Funky Music, Wild Cherry
6. Kiss and Say Goodbye, The Manhattans
7. Love Machine, Pt. 1, The Miracles
8. 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover, Paul Simon
9. Love Is Alive, Gary Wright
10. A Fifth of Beethoven, Walter Murphy and The Big Apple Band
11. Sara Smile, Daryl Hall and John Oates
12. Afternoon Delight, Starland Vocal Band
13. I Write the Songs, Barry Manilow
14. Fly Robin Fly, Silver Convention
15. Love Hangover, Diana Ross
16. Get Closer, Seals and Crofts
17. More, More, More, Andrea True Connection
18. Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen
19. Misty Blue, Dorothy Moore
20. Boogie Fever, The Sylvers
21. I'd Really Love to See You Tonight, England Dan and John Ford Coley
22. You Sexy Thing, Hot Chocolate
23. Love Hurts, Nazareth
24. Get Up and Boogie (That's Right), Silver Convention
25. Take It to the Limit, The Eagles
26. (Shake, Shake, Shake) Shake Your Booty, K.C. and The Sunshine Band>
27. Sweet Love, The Commodores
28. Right Back Where We Started From, Maxine Nightingale
29. Theme From "S.W.A.T", Rhythm Heritage
30. Love Rollercoaster, Ohio Players
31. You Should Be Dancing, The Bee Gees
32. You'll Never Find Another Love Like Mine, Lou Rawls (Ed note: <3 br=""> 33. Golden Years, David Bowie
34. Moonlight Feels Right, Starbuck
35. Only Sixteen, Dr. Hook
36. Let Your Love Flow, Bellamy Brothers
37. Dream Weaver, Gary Wright
38. Turn The Beat Around, Vicki Sue Robinson
39. Lonely Night (Angel Face), The Captain and Tennille
40. All By Myself, Eric Carmen
41. Love to Love You Baby, Donna Summer
42. Deep Purple, Donny and Marie Osmond
43. Theme from "Mahogany" (Do You Know Where You're Going To), Diana Ross
44. Sweet Thing, Rufus
45. That's the Way I Like It, K.C. and The Sunshine Band
46. A Little Bit More, Dr. Hook
47. Shannon, Henry Gross
48. If You Leave Me Now, Chicago
49. Lowdown, Boz Scaggs
50. Show Me the Way, Peter Frampton
51. Dream On, Aerosmith
52. I Love Music, The O'Jays
53. Say You Love Me, Fleetwood Mac
54. Times of Your Life, Paul Anka
55. Devil Woman, Cliff Richard
56. Fooled Around and Fell in Love, Elvin Bishop
57. Convoy, C.W. McCall
58. Welcome Back (Theme from "Welcome Back, Kotter"), John Sebastian
59. Sing a Song, Earth, Wind and Fire
60. Heaven Must Be Missing An Angel, Tavares
61. I'll Be Good to You, The Brothers Johnson
62. Shop Around, The Captain and Tennille
63. Saturday Night, The Bay City Rollers
64. Island Girl, Elton John
65. Let's Do It Again, The Staple Singers
66. Let 'Em In, Paul McCartney and Wings
67. Baby Face, Wing and A Prayer Fife and Drum Corps
68. This Masquerade, George Benson
69. Evil Woman, Electric Light Orchestra
70. Wham Bam, Silver
71. I'm Easy, Keith Carradine
72. Wake Up Everybody, Pt. 1, Harold Melvin and The Bluenotes
73. Summer, War
74. Let Her In, John Travolta
75. Fox On the Run, The Sweet
76. Rhiannon, Fleetwood Mac
77. Got to Get You Into My Life, The Beatles
78. Fanny (Be Tender With My Love), The Bee Gees
79. Getaway, Earth, Wind and Fire
80. She's Gone, Daryl Hall and John Oates
81. Rock and Roll Music, The Beach Boys
82. Still the One, Orleans
83. You're My Best Friend, Queen
84. With Your Love, Jefferson Starship
85. Slow Ride, Foghat
86. Who'd She Coo?, The Ohio Players
87. Walk Away from Love, David Ruffin
88. Baby I Love Your Way, Peter Frampton
89. Young Hearts Run Free, Candi Staton
90. Breaking Up Is Hard to Do, Neil Sedaka
91. Money Honey, The Bay City Rollers
92. Give Up the Funk (Tear the Roof Off the Sucker), Parliament
93. Junk Food Junkie, Larry Groce
94. Tryin' to Get the Feeling Again, Barry Manilow
95. Rock and Roll All Nite, Kiss
96. Disco Duck, Rick Dees
97. The Boys Are Back In Town, Thin Lizzy
98. Take the Money and Run, The Steve Miller Band
99. Squeeze Box, The Who
100. Country Boy (You Got Your Feet in L.A.), Glen Campbell

Wow.  My 14-year old's brain is HOLDING ON, y'all.  Maybe it's because in 1976 pop music was EVERYWHERE, maybe because some of these songs are still being played, maybe because this was a period of life that just had great music, maybe because my brain was opening up new nodes to cram in useless information to be retrieved almost 40 years later, who knows?

Just sit back, click a link, and enjoy.

And while you're at it, maybe think about what was popular when you were 14, and share with us how many of THOSE top 100 songs you can jam to, instantaneously, however many years it's been since then.

Thanks for listening - Tiff out.

Well, here's TMI

Ah, the internet, where long-lost talents of gifted persons from days gone by are unearthed and aired out for us to admire, be horrified by, or a combination of the 2.

An example:  Le Petomane.

A man who could CAPTURE and then release wind at will, in many amusing and various tones and timbres, through which legions of Parisians (and visitors) found much enjoyment.

What a career that would be.  One for which I am well-suited, I'm not embarrassed to say.

My 'talent' has never been in eager demand, but I do amuse myself with it, as I suspect most people do.  I abide by my Grandmother's admonishment "wherever you be, let your wind flow free, for that my dear was the death of me."  She was wise, my Grandmother, at least in the ways of bodily functions.

Now, lest you think I'm just randomly and at will releasing the hounds, so to speak, I do not.  Restraint and respect for people are high on my list of Things to Be and Do, so I will use the power of sphincters to wait until a seemly time to practice my art, sometimes in great pain to do so.  For my talents come through natural means, not those to the Great Performer mentioned about who retrograded his gaseous supply.  Sure, he had talent, but really, true talent comes from within, and well kids, I have that talent.

OhyesIdo.

It's been said (here, for one) that most people release one-half a liter of gas a day through the nether regions.  Well, MOST people are flat-out amateurs!  It takes real skill to have reached MY level, I will tell you!  And that's only from what I know about the daytime issues.  Heaven, and Biff, knows what goes on overnight.  Half a liter.  Child's play, a weak effort!  Pssssh.

Literally.

Anyhow, it's really great what the internet will remind you of, guide you into finding more about, give you a gauge against which to measure yourself, and then allow you to brag about, isn't it?

Dear Lord I hope so.

Billowingly yours,
Tiff.

So much fluff

He's much bigger than this now.

Our dog, Wernstrom, is a good pup.  He has trained us well.

We go out with him when he needs to do his business, and will stand outside until he's done, plus 10 minutes of play time.

We hand him an after-meal treat because that's just what happens.

We let him out at regular intervals, serve him food at 7 and 5, teach him new things weekly, get all up in his face nightly, hug him and love on him and administer reproach when necessary.

OK, the reproach thing might not be him training us, but we are human and need authoitay!

All along this dog journey I have wondered if we did the right thing.  Was getting a dog into our home and family the right thing to do?  Was it OK to add all that responsibility to our lives, all that routine, all that energy expenditure?  Dogs are WORK, and puppies moreso.

This is what I have to say now about how things are going:

   Biff left a while ago to work up at the shop.  He took Wern with him.

   I woke up this morning with a nice big puppy sleeping with me after Biff had to leave for work.  Puppy stayed quietly in bed with me until it was time to get up.  Good boy.

   Thing 2 came home for lunch today and one of the first things he did was play with and treat the dog.  That's love.

   Wern loves to run around the backyard, and MORE if he has something from the firepit in his mouth.  Goofyness is great.

   He is  smart.  New tasks/tricks are usually learned in 5 minutes, and remembered.

   He barks at the right time.  Excellent skill.

   He loves EVERYONE. 'Nuff said.


   He growls at the 'right' times, even if it seems like nothing is worthy of growling at.  Big boy knows his tribe!

  And, when I come home from work and there's a giant pile of toy stuffing on the floor.  I don't really care.  That just means he's been having fun.  Fun is good!!

---

What can I say?  This kid is growing on me.  He will be 8 months old in early February.  EIGHT MONTHS!  He's big as a grown dog, sleek and shiny and almost-nearly not a puppy anymore.

Guess dogs are OK after all.

Tiff out.

The sad hard work

(a story, adapted from life)

It's hard to help someone die.  The process can be exhausting. 

Take Nona, for example.  She's been dying a while now.  At first it seemed like maybe her death was going to come soon, a thing of the Maker's mysterious choosing, but she's hanging on, day after day keeping up with breathing and eating, though she's still really weak.

Helping the dying takes a lot out of a person.  Having to be helpful and positive and sympathetic and 'there' for them wears a body down.  Like, each day you help the dying you die a little too, which is pretty close to the truth if you think about it.

Nona's not much trouble.  She knows something's up but still feels good enough to try to sit up and eat small bites of the soft food I make for her.  Chopped up pasta, some pudding, spoons of milkshake, creamed corn on a good day when she seems like she can chew.  Ground up meatloaf is Saturday's treat, after which she needs to nap because protein is hard on her.  Nona gets along, breathing in and out, spending her days looking at things and listening to the talk around her.

But she is, in fact, dying.  As pleasant as she is, and as little trouble as she is, she's headed Home, as my folks would say.  It's taking a while, but her feet are on the path.  Death is inevitable. 

The odd thing is, Nona's not old at all.  Odder still, Nona's my baby.

Oddest of all, she's perfectly healthy.

But still is going to die.  One day.  And the worst part is that I did this to her.  I gave her life, so that one day she will die.  Some day, when I'm not around and she is old, she will rely on someone else to comfort her, to feed her, to change her, to sing to her, to read to her, to talk with her, to point out the sun and birds and trees to her, to comfort her when she is hurt and scared and alone and cold.  I cry to think of it, and hate myself for what I've done.

I did this to my baby.  Every day she's one day closer to death.

She sleeps peacefully, not aware of her ultimate demise.  She's happy in the tub, not caring about being frail and confused someday.  She looks at me with love, unaware that I have killed her by having her.

I have done this horrible wonderful thing, this Nona.

God help me wring this terrible wretched truth from my thoughts.

---

Readers, please note: if you have ever wondered what women with post-partum depression think of while they're catatonically wandering around their homes after having a baby, this is pretty much it.  At least it was for me.  I was so SAD to have had Thing 1 that I apologized to him time after time for being part of his death. 

PPD isn't just being sad; it's capable of rendering a normal woman completely crazy and derranged and thinking the very darkest of thoughts.  It scared me.

I did finally get better.

Mostly.



Tiff out.

Inertia

So, I think I've hit a wall.

When smiling becomes tough, when every dang muscle is tense, when 'angry' is the first thing I go to in the big book of emotions, it's pretty clear that something is awry.

Amiss, even.

The dog, while cute, is irritating.

The cats, while admirable and fuzzy, tick me off.

The house, while cozy and warm, irritates me with just How Very Much needs to be done, daily, always.

My lack of vim and vigor is distressing.

I do want to just crawl into bed and not come out.

Stupid job loss, anyhow.  It's making me crabby and uncool.  Tense, terse, dense.  It feels like my arms weigh 50 pounds and my head is full of smog.  Hard to shake off.

Must. Shake. Off.

Sunshine and unicorns tomorrow.   Tonight I'm going to disappear into a book and let Lovecraft rule my world.

Tiff out.

Another one in the chamber (10)

Today was a slickery kind of day in the frozen Souf.  Freezing rain overnight made for a tricky commute in the a.m., so I did what most people, when afforded the opportunity, would do - I stayed home.  Nice to have the flexibility, really.

It warmed up enough to melt what had frozen to the new metal roof, so at times throughout the afternoon sheets of ice would slide off the roof and smash on the ground below, which made for much excitement when leaving the house to run errands at around 4 today.  We also had icicles dripping from the eaves, so that was great fun when an ice-cold drop of water went splooshing down the ol' neckhole of the sweatshirt I was wearing.

Worth it though, because a 5-pound bag of dog treats was on sale at the Tractor Supply for 5 dollars, and thus Wern is happy.

That is one spoiled brat dog.

---

About half as bad as this, which is bad enough.

The current ongoing battle of the Tiny House: getting Thing 1 to clean up his side of the room.  Lordy, what a sty.  There are clothes and papers and medicines boxes and all manner of crapitude near his bed, and I have been on his tail about it for 2 weeks and he's been stalling and stalling.

Well tonight I got tough.  He gets no dinner until it's cleaned up.  He tried, just now, to counter with the 'hey, good thing I have this box of Cheeze its right here,' at which point I took a stance and told him there would be no SLEEP tonight unless it got cleaned up.

Seriously, the place is a mess, and I can't stand it anymore.

And thus, I have become my mother.

---

Hark!!  I now hear the sound of paper being wadded up!  Could this be the start of my victory?

---

Also, does anyone want a box of Hickory Farms schwag we got for Christmas?  It's just sitting on our kitchen table.  A nice assortment of meats n' cheeses!  Guaranteed to last until next Christmas if you're into re-gifting!

---

Update:  a travel bag that has 'been missing' for a couple of months just emerged from the Things' room.

And the boys are arguing.  Sounds like the start of something big.

---

This has been your update from the Tiny House, for Wednesday 14 Jan 2015.

Tiff out.

The expected surprise (# WHAT?)

Me as a mom of young kids.  Feel the love.

While raising children, it is best to appreciate all the good things about the stages of their lives that you, as their parent, need to guide them through so they can, God willing, reach some point at which you don't worry about them anymore and can assume all is well with them on a routine basis.

It will happen, you know.

The not being concerned for them on a daily basis.

Mostly it will happen when you're DEAD, but at least then you can be afforded the sweet release of a simple HAUNTING rather than having to step in an intervene/coach/soothe/admonish in a real meat-world way at every dang turn of phrase and drop of hat.

Because this intervention-y activity is what parents do.

• When babies are busy being babies, the big worries are choking and other associated items of crap they can shove in their mouths.
• Toddlers?  Much the same, but comes with willfullness and mobility.
• Young kids? School and burgeoning social interactions as they Find Their Tribe.
• Tweens?  ZITS.
• Teens?  More zits, but also hormones, Finding Their Second Tribe, figuring out who they are, and enhanced mobility.
• Almost-adults?  THE WORLD.

So, in the parently panoply of concerns, the continuum goes from 'crap I shouldn't let the baby eat that' to 'I hate the world if it hurts them.'  Quite the escalation of concerns.

Today came one of The World lessons, in which Thing 1 found himself firmly parked up against the bumper of the car that was once in front of him but was now kind of trying to make out with his in a very NSFW manner.  Yep, if cars were actors, his would be in an episode of Girls that nobody should really watch.

In short: Boy rear-ended a car today.

In what can be referred to as a moment of significance, I got a CALL from him instead of a text, which was very to-the-point but still made this Mama's heart go whizzing out of her chest and straight home, to comfort what it could and take care of the rest.

Comfort I got to give over the phone to start, and taking care of the rest happened in the Tiny House's kitchen with his Dad, who had come to pick him up and take him to get the blood work done that Thing 1 had been heading out to do when he so very impolitely kissed the bumper of the car ahead of him.  We had some Talking, some comfort, words of advice, and I hope a message that forgives mistakes but admonishes a lesson in how to not do that again.

In the end, Things 1 is paying for his own insurance (on his Dad's account), is lucky that we didn't sell the old van just yet so he can drive it to work until the car is fixed, and needs to ensure the repair of his vehicle is effected under his own power (if not cash).  Also, that he needs to slow down and keep a safe following distance.

A much harder lesson to teach than 'no, baby!,' in its own way, and own time.

---

He's OK.  He's OK, He's OK.  This is the parent's most fervent wish, no matter how old they are.

He's OK.

We are lucky.

Tiff out.

Done before 7 (8)

A thing I've had more than one conversation about this week:

I marvel at the families who have their supper ready before the chicks come home to roost and there's still daylight left in the day.

How do they DO that, and why?

For us here at the Tiny House, the routine is that we get home from work, relax a little bit, then decide what to thaw out and use as the starting point for our dinner.

We cook, 6 nights out of 7.  This is a regular thing at the Tiny House.  And it happens...late.

Mostly, dinner is ready at about 9, which we then serve up and go to the couches to eat.  Much different from how it was when the kids were little, when I would cook for them first so they could eat before their baths at 7 and their bedtime at 7:30.  I didn't mind the double cooking then, I would likely not mind it now if there were little ones around.  The REAL break came after they were in bed, when I could have a glass of something adult-oriented and cook something children wouldn't care for, much.

For now, because the Things are man-sized and eat Real People Food, we start late and eat later.  It works, and the kids like that schedule, so yay!

But tonight?  Dinner is ready at 7, and now I don't know what to do with the rest of our night.  How do folks just go RELAX after dinner, for hours?  It seems odd.  Even more odd are those who eat, then go DO STUFF for hours after dinner.  I really don't get that.  The predinner hours are for doing yo stuff.  After dinner?  SLOTH TIME, baby.

So tonight I'm conflicted.  It's ready, or nearly so, right about the time that we'd normally start thinking about such things.  It's almost as upsetting as going out to dinner!

Someone, hold me.

---

Had a nice talk today with someone who might like to hire me one day.  Only the job title she used for the possible position was one that is below what I'd been told the position was for, and for sure at least one grade lower than I am now.

I'm not taking any job at any grade lower than I am now.

I'll hang out a shingle before that and see what the cat drags in.

---

Feeling ornery tonight.  Maybe that's what the early dinner is all about.

What a rebel I am.

Tiff out.