Some things I did not know

I am still impressed with this thing I do not know, nor ever expect to:  "An eigenvector of a square matrix is a non-zero vector that, when multiplied by the matrix, yields a vector that differs from the original at most by a multiplicative scalar."

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collinear is spelled correctly

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This happened. You really ought to click that link. REALLY OUGHT TO!

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Also, we might be getting a hurricane/thunderstorm/gigantic ball of watery wind-y fury arriving sometime in the next few days.  Whee!!  Must go out and get soy sauce, mouthwash, and carrots.  You know, the ususal emergency list.

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And, lastly, apparently, it's customary now for HS boys to ask HS girls to 'be their girlfriend,' without all that messy business of dating first.  Seems a very efficient way to establish...something?  IDK.  I had one experience like that in my life, and it was....odd.  None of this trying on of the 'dating persona,' just straight into girlfriendom.  Of course, I was young and very insecure then, and today's young women seem VERY secure, so maybe it works for them? 

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That's it from the fireside, as I wait for the text that summons me back to the HS after a FB game to pick up Thing 1. OOPS!  There it is now!

Aaaaaaand, it said 'N is giving me and B a ride home.'  Friends with cars = Mom being totally uncool. 

Another thing I suspected, but did not want to know.

Tiff out.

We do these things, these things we do

Because cats make posts better

Y'all.  Seriously.  This has got to stop.  All this clamoring at my door, hollering and moaning your pitiful (and, for some of you 'spittleful' [you should go get that checked out]) entreaties for me to Just Get Back to Blogging, Would You Already.  I can't STAND it anymore, the din was so dinny that it was hard to do anything but hide in the back of my closet with some old shoes and my French Horn case for protection from the terrible beggary.

You are a convincing lot, you two.  Oh, you know who you are, and for YOU, here's something of what's very exciting and possibly noteworthy going on with me.

1) It takes me about 2 months to write a thank-you note.  If you ever do or get something for me, don't expect anything before that 60-day window.  Just like the billing department where I work, it's all about holding on to worth for the longest time possible before a payout.  That's just good accounting practice, is what that is.

2) At the risk of over-sharing, I'll do it anyhow: Thing 1 has a girlfriend.  I KNOW!!!  Through this I've learned that he's got pretty dang good taste in women.  No slatterns or fancy-women for him, thank goodness.  Phwef!

3) It's possible to spend 50 dollars on pumpkins and associated organic autumnal display matters.  Did it yesterday, on the most perfect fall day ever invented by the gods of weather.  It hit about 65, not a cloud in the sky, the air crisp and the sun warm.  This is the weather I FORCED the Things to got out into with me, away from their beloved electronics and their dark cave of a bedroom.  I am a mean mom like this, with the forcing outdoors and such.  That's what has to happen when frog-marching your family into a memory-making episode.  And, if they don't remember, I have the picture to prove it.  Just one, that's right.  It's all about the efficiency.

4) We met our neighbors last weekend.  After living in this house for over 5 years, we finally met the folks 2 doors down.  We're very careful about this kind of thing, obviously.  Actually, we made them meet us by hosting a block party and luring them in with hand delivered invitations and promises of hotdogs and cornhole.  Who the heck knows what they thought of us at that point, because that can sound a little pervy.  Anyway, it was great to meet folks and hang out for a couple of hours, and maybe get to foster a sense of community in our weird little part of town.  Totally worth the prep time, and with the help of some friends who lent a hand in the preparing for and running said event, it was a practically painless party.  Those are the best kind!  Also, the local food bank was the happy recipient of lots and lots of leftover uncooked dogs and their attendant buns.

5) Have I mentioned that I had to go on thyroid meds a couple of months back?  The old 'roid was giving up in a most spectacular fashion, so I'm levothyroxine-ing it up over here are LOVING the fact that I can now get my hose on with ease and it doesn't take an act of Congress to slide my wedding band off.  Oh, that crazy swelling!  It had gotten really bad right around the time we went to CT in July; something felt really 'off,' and it was.  After about a month on meds the swelling was down and I can only imagine that the unseeable things that go wrong with hypothyroidism were righting themselves.  While I don't love the fact that I'll have to take meds for the rest of my fool life (because you have to remember to take them, see), it's wonderful that they are available, are reasonably cheap (thank you, insurance), and work so well.  Removable shoes FTW (For The Win, y'all).

I hope that you both are doing well and that your worlds are ratcheting along nicely.

With that, Tiff out.

PS - I still haven't fixed that comment thing.  Feel free to leave one anyhow and it'll just get added to the big list.

Time to party!

Seventeen years ago today I was sitting on a surgical glove filled with crushed ice.  It's really the best way to celebrate giving birth, the ice-glove.  Probably TMI, but keep it in mind next time you're faced with discomfort in the girl zone due to, uh, complications of childbirth.  Ice gloves are serious business in that situation.

The ice glove is great when needed, yes, but the best thing was the arrival of Thing 1, a 7 pound 8 ounce 22-inch-long leggy squal of a boy, my heart in someone's tiny body, my love grown ten-fold.  NEVER in my life had I felt so very connected with another human being, never has another human being changed me so utterly.  Complete adoration for that small bundle of human was instant and magnificent. 

The worst thing was maybe the reason for the ice glove, or maybe the upper respiratory infection I got while IN the hospital after his arrival, but I digress (even though I can still recall CLEARLY how amazingly terrible I felt, physically.   Everything hurt, everywhere, and that's even before we launch in to a discussion about trying to nurse.  I've tried to block those memories from surfacing ever again).

So yes, 17 years ago my eldest arrived, 5 days late after nearly a week of labor.  I was ready to have him, but sad to not be pregnant anymore.  While I'd perfected the waddle, I loved the reason for it and the notion of 'baby.'  He is my first, and was an amazement to me, even while still snugly housed in me.  Also, an expert in utero gymnast.  Holy heck did that kid MOVE.  It's nice to think back on.

As a number goes 17 is not a lot, but as time goes it's rather a long stretch when you see how far a person can come in 17 years.  He's nearly a man now, but he will always, always, always be my baby.  My 6-foot, 4-inch, deep voiced, whiskery, blue-eyed, happy, goofy, baby. 

Happy birthday, Thing 1.  I love you tons and bunches.

Getting prepped for senior portraits yesterday...STYLIN'!

Things get beyond me

Somehow, in the hubbub that has been the past few weeks, things have gotten out of hand.

Namely, my left thumbnail.

It's coke-worthy, and I've never even done coke, but addicts of yore are scoping it out and licking their cracked lips feverishly in hope that hey might get to scoop some magic powder of this Snoop Dogg Carrie Fisher nails that's working here.  It's just that good.

I am not a long nail girl, but everyone in a while I'll let one go and forget to gnaw it down to seemly proportion, and then wind up with a blade big enough to move WIND with, and that's not good.

And so it must go.  MY BIG NAIL.

Sleep well.

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Also, would anyone understand and condone the Armor Hot Dog theme song anymore?

Can you comment on this?

Trying out a new comment thingie.  See it down there?  You should try it.  I'm OK with waiting for you to do that.

So, did you try it?

Did it work?

If it works, shout 'Hurray!' with a degree of enthusiasm that's a touch over the line for the average introvert and throw your hands in the air in a jazzy fashion, because that would be appropriate given that the template for this blog is in the dreaded HTML old-school fashion and sometimes chunks break off and I'm not sure where to put them once they do. 

If it didn't work, one of my email addresses is over there on the right - drop me a line and let me know.

'Preciate it.

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For the record, I still loathe the following:

• spiders
• palmetto bugs
• most chocolate-mint things
• political ads (who doesn't?)
• the willfully ignorant
• clothing tags
• getting poked in the ribs
• hot weather
• undercooked chicken
• beets

But it's Friday, and there's little to loathe about that.  So, ray of sunshine and all.

I'm off to run errands and maybe get brave enough to take out the bag of trash that's making the house smell like a diaper pail.  Anyone have great tips on how to temporarily suppress the smell-to-gag reflex?  Because that's what it's going to take...

On that note, Tiff out.

narrative, persuasive, haiku about Dr Who

Doctor Who runs fast
Toward the crazy enemy
Battle won, Tardis!

(an assignment from the kids while they were cleaning up dinner, to ME, who suggested a poetry battle of sorts.  I like to think I owned their 'impossible' challenge.)

Feel free to submit your own.

Chasing Foxes in Little boxes

Post = nothing to do with content.  It just is.

Because sometimes, when you just have ONE kid to talk with after not seeing him for a week (custody agreements stink), and he's eating dinner with you, you find out a LOT about his life andd start falling in love with him even more, as if that was possible, which it is, because I just did it.

Good Gosh, he said 'it was an Epiphany moment!' in a part of our talk and, really?  Who would not like their kid to know not only the word, but the correct meaning of epiphany?  Nobody, that's who.

And also, he understands what it means to be in tune.  And wants to be there.  And realizes that you can't ever trust a cue from a flute player.   EVER.  Not their fault they can't count.  Have to take up the slack and count for them.

I'm sorry that the other kid is sick and wants to hibernate, but I am not sorry for a minute that the other one, my younger giant almost- man, wanted to hang with me and just lay out what his day is like.  It is a moment I pledge not to forget.

Love you, boy.  Love your being, your dreams, your plans, your insight, your obsessions.  Some of the best of me and the worst of me is in you, and I hope that's OK with your complex, introspective, humorous self.

And that was dinner.

Tiff out.

Then there were the buzzards

Today started out great, with a lie-in until 1 PM in the afternoon.  No, seriously, 1 in the afternoon.  I think I went to bed last night at around 2 AM after watching WAY too many 'My Strange Addiction' and '19 and Counting' videos on the YousToob.  Also, 'Feed me Bubby,' a video series in which an intrepid young man videos his grandmother (the Bubby) cooking Kosher.  I now know how to make schnitzle, stuffed cabbage rolls, and what 'haimish' means. 

As a result of the Bubby-ness, I might rename this blog to 'A Haimisher Platz' just to see what kind of traffic that would bring.  Have I ever mentioned I love listening to people speak Yiddish?  I do.  It's this strange gmish of almost-understandable Germanic speak with weird alien noises thrown in and I should just learn how to speak it and then go confuse some Jewish people.  Because Oy!  Wouldn't that be nebbisher of me?

Sometimes I wonder about myself.

A place we were today.  Photo by Biff

So, right.  After sleeping for almost 12 hours it was time for  ADVENTURE DAY!!  The plan had been to hop in a tin can, elevate it to 3000 feet by means of props and flaps and ailerons and such (also with a hefty dose of PRAYER by me, as it is how we stay up in the air), and fly down to the Pik n Pig (watch the video!) for supper.  Proof of how much more comfortable I am with flying, I was actually looking forward to the trip - the beautiful weather only added to my excitement to be up in the air.

Yeah, I think the thyroid meds are kicking in.  Anxiety is low, enthusiasm up.  Extremities not nearly as swollen.  *Fist pump*

Yep - I had no problem getting into the plane, was looking forward to the ride, only startled a little bit at some turbulence I would have shrieked at 6 months ago, and had a good time watching the world go by.  As is the rule for me, I did not take the wheel when it was time to change fuel tanks, because that is sure to result in instant crashing and burning.  Sorry, Biff, I'm just not 'there' yet. 

It was a good ride, and eventually we found the airstrip tucked neatly into a gigantic FOREST of trees, with very little accommodation for things like 'plenty of room for approach' or 'taxiing distance' but that's not an issue as I was with a pilot who knows his stuff and by squeezing my eyes shut and praying some more I was sure everything was going to be OK.

Then I opened my eyes.

Mistake.

We were not far over the runway, descending nicely on a good glide slope juuuust clear of the trees, when three miserable cusses of turkey buzzards flew directly underneath us, not but a few feet from the prop. Bird strike = not a great idea when you're in a small single-engine aircraft, at ALL.  Biff had to gun the engine, hop the plane up a few more feet to clear the potential birdstrike, then put down fairly heavily on the runway and crank on the 'stop this plane' systems hard so as not to plow into the trees at the end of the runway.

Not once did I shriek or utter words of final passage.  He was working so HARD to land the plane there was nothing to say until we were taxiing off the runway.  Then it was only to mention how very exciting all of THAT was, which was the truth.  VERY exciting.  Bowel-chilling exciting.

So, after narrowly avoiding death by avian, I thought I was doing great with the whole 'hey I'm cool with flying' thing, and we had an enjoyable time.  Until, that is, we finished eating (the best danged smoked chicken I have ever had, and that is no lie.  Delicious), and it dawned on me that we had to get back in the plane and brave the buzzard-ridden tree-enrobed fear-maker of a runway again.

Which, predictably, is when some terrible little neuron fired up in my reptilian brain shouting 'oh HAIL NAW!', which, unapproved by me, started making my stomach twitch.  Other parts of me tried damping down that twitch, but more prayer, a stern talking by my conscious mind, and an attempt at being chipper had no real effect.  Something was brewing south of the esophagus, and it was only a matter of time before that something had its way with the rest of me.

Well, the long and short is that I made it to the parking lot after the cashier part of the meal was done, fake-coughing and paroxysming like a champ before the first wave broke the shore, as it were.  Not to overshare, but only a delicate little bit of iced tea came up. Oh yeah, not so bad, thos kids playing cornhole 50 feet away just thought I had to stop to take hock a big ol loogie!  Fabulous. Made it allllmost to the plane before the next breaker breached the beach, and STILL only tea arrived.  Such a gentle, forgiving stomach, to serve up the last of what I took in and not the whole meal!  Way to rock it, digestive system! 

After that, there was no more.  Apparently, the part of me that needed to barf out of abject fear was satiated with the effort given, and all was well thereafter.

The ride home was enjoyable, even.  I got a cool picture of Raleigh to show for it, see?

A picture I took today. It was kind of muggy at 3K feet.

So, sadly, maybe the anxiety isn't fully under control after all.  I wish it was.  There were such high hopes early in the day, but those stupid turkey buzzards that almost killed us dead in front of 'cue-eatin' locals just about ruined my high spirits, and that plain sucks.

However, knowing that Biff is SUCH a capable pilot makes me more than willing to continue to try out new adventures and to keep pushing the anxiety back into a corner of my psyche that's strong enough to overcome it.  That, and the Pik N' Pig is totally WORTH the trip.  As are many other places I'm still too nervous to attempt.  Baby steps, y'all, are still progress.

Tiff Out.

PS, on our way back to home base, we were jockeying for position with a pilot who had just made her first solo cross-country flight (at least 50 mile from start to destination).  She is a pregnant Indian lady (her radio calls are almost melodic, what with the accent. Very charming).  That, my friends, is what stones of steel are.  Pregnant and getting your ticket.  Yowza.  Further Yowzahood?  Her husband is getting his license too.  Crazypants awesome.  As was tonight's sunset seen to the left of our plane's tail.

Running the ant ranch

Our house is utterly disgusting.

Oh, it's clean alright, or mostly so, but as this is North Carolina it tends to be at the whim of Nature, who sometimes comes calling in the form of pestilences (pestinlenci?), mostly animalic in form.

Take THIS abhorration.  That's right, it's a ring of freaking ANTS, right next to another ring of freaking ants, who are here so often we've trained them to form RINGS, like a freaking circus, so as to amuse us while they're overtaking our home and eating all the chocolate they can find while silently cursing us in hive-mind ant-speak.

Because they totally do that.  All the time.

OK, not really.  They're actually feasting on Terro, the best ant killer-slash-macabre amusement for the very bored thing there is available for belaguered homeowners as ourselves.  One drop down, and in 5 minutes there's a little halo of ants, sucking up liquid death.  Which they will take home and feed to the other ants in their terrible little colony which is right under your (my) house.  Don't let that one keep you up at night.

I love the Terro.  It's a very amusing way to kill something.

ALSO, slugs.  *shudder* It's slug season, apparently, as just now there were no less that FIVE of the slimy snotballs oozing across the front porch, and a couple of weeks ago there was a big mutha LEOPARD SLUG in our kitchen.  Look it up, it's an awful thing.  CSB time, when heaving myself up from a gardening position a couple of weeks ago, I put my hand (accidentally!) down on one to haul myself to a standing position and came up with a mucus-filled palm like I haven't seen since the Things were virus vectors from the planet Daycare.  The zenith of gross, really.

Also, Palmetto bugs.  Cockroaches that fly.  We should speak no more of these foul creatures.  They're not worth the time God spent in making them, really (sorry God.  Some things you did?  Total loser experiments, IMHO).

Then there are the swarms of mosquitoes that will suck the very marrow from your bones as you try to harvest the sweet last fruits of a disappointing garden.  Way to heap salt on the wound, mosquitoes.  Who also carry West Niles Virus.  You asses.

All of that means that I'm officially ready for Fall.  Which, in NC, comes in December or thereabouts.

Three more months, three more months....

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How Y'ALL been keeping?  Infested with the bugly world, as we are here, or snug as a bug in your own little rugs, happily immune from Nature?

(This is the kind of thing that happens when I've not posted for a while.  You get bugs.  Exciting!)

Tiff out.

The thing about boys

Today is the first day back to school for the Things (one's a senior and one's a sophomore this year.  Good Lord!).  So, like generations of good parents before me I took them back-to-school clothes shopping yesterday afternoon.

That's right – about 14 hours before the first bell rings, we were in a JCPenney grabbing up novelty tee shirts and new shorts.  We are an 'in time' family like that.  Pays to plan ahead.

Never mind that I had to practically DRAG them out of their boy cave, I also made them TRY ON the clothes they were (oh so mildly) interested in purchasing.  I am that bad Mom.

Half the uniform, must be cargo!

I'm also cheap.  Well, OK, situationally cheap.  For example, I bought gut-buster 5 Guys cheeseburgers for them for lunch at 6 bucks a pop, which isn't cheap, and then lasered in on the 'clearance' tables at the JCPenney as the optional place to start shopping.  I see nothing wrong with this, as a 3 dollah tee shirt probably wears almost as good as a 15 dollah one.  The Things know this, and happily pawed through the piles looking for something that met their tastes and expectations.  I think we did pretty good, walking out with 1 Superman tee, 2 pairs of cargo shorts, and 2 short-sleeved polo shirts (I insisted they get something 'nice' to wear in case they're even invited someplace…nice) for 62 bucks.  Yay JCPenney!

Then we walked around the mall looking for more deals and steals.  Long and short?  Could have stopped at the JCP, as the prices only went up for there.  Belks = nothing but Lacoste.  Nordstrom = yes, this Burberry polo can be yours for a mere 150 beans!  Macy's = would you like your shirt in neon or this other neon?  Thank goodness for JCP, as it was the only sane choice in a world of generally overpriced and ugly 'fashion.'  I should point out that my kids won't even approach and A&F or Anthropologie; they're too 'trendy' and apparently the Things hate the music.  I think they were raised by wolves or something…

Yeah, boys are different.  At least our boys are.  They couldn't really give a hoot about what's on their backs.  And for this (among many other things), I love them.

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Were you all 'fashion-forward' as a youngster?  I was not.  I didn't really care what I wore as long as it didn't itch or wasn't too tight or didn't make me feel hot.  Sometime during college I think is when I started really caring about what I wore, and that lasted about 10 years, then I became a Mom so everything just spun out of control after that and now I have 4 pairs of pants and 10 shirts I like so there's my wardrobe.

If you WERE a fashion plate, are you still now?  If not, why not?  I suspect that you're either in it for life or just have brief flirtations with caring about fashion (not to be confused with 'style') only to abandon it once some life change comes along that allows a departure from it.

And if you ARE a fashionista, please tell me what's hot for fall.  My wardrobe, as you might expect, needs some serious updating.

Tiff out.

Oh, Eudorable thing

We have a bookshelf in the master bedroom CRAMMED with books I can't bear to or simply won't get rid of.  The copies of all the "Little House" books I've had since I was a girl are there, as are copies of "Jitterbug Perfume," "Another Roadside Attraction," "Things Fall Apart," "The Silmarillion,"  several Harry Potter books, and you get the idea.  There's a wide range of stuff in there, from all different periods of my life, and all kept safe in case they ever come in handy.

I think maybe Biff has a couple of books in there, but I can't be sure.  Most of them are ones I've read, loved, and want to, someday, read again.

Recently, on one of those 'some days,' I pulled a slim-ish volume from the shelf, thinking a collection of short stories would be the way to re-start my re-reading.  Ah, Eudora Welty!  A fortuitous find!  I remember reading Eudora Welty when I was 30 years younger than I am now, and loving how she spools words out so effortlessly (or so I recall it seeming).  The language, more than the stories, was what got my attention.  I've always been a fool for well-used words, and so eagerly anticipated reading these short stories again to become reacquainted with the flow and cadence of her languid Southern prose.

makes sense, trust me.

And what I got, right off the bat, was "Livvie."

I chose this story not because I had any particular affiliation with it, in fact it's almost certain I'd never read it before. No, I chose it because it's SHORT and I was in bed and needed something I could finish before falling off to sleep.  It's not a BAD way to pick something to read, really, and sometimes it's rewarding.

So, "Livvie" it was.  This is the story of a young woman who marries a much older man who had been very powerful and still was wealthy enough to run a farm, mostly, as time wears on, from his bed.  She is married to him for 9 years until, at last, he spends his days sleeping and she spends her days being quiet and trying to feed him.  Not exactly riveting material, right?  Until Miss Baby Marie shows up, that is, and Livvie has to deal with an intrusion from a world with which she is almost entirely unfamiliar.  Baby Maire peddles cosmetics, and had to practically hunt down Livvie, who lives very far away from almost everything.  She is a pushy thing, foisting all kinds of wares onto Livvie, who can't pay for anything by herself unless the payment can be made in eggs.  Baby Marie doesn't need eggs, and so leaves abruptly. 

Huh?

I KNOW.  Confusing.

Then a young man makes the scene, a vibrant strong feller who captures her attention, accompanies her home, smashes some of the old man's precious bottles on his precious bottle trees, then witnesses the old man's death and of course winds up kissing Livvie.

The end.

Right then.

Words mean more than stories it is, as I was unable to make much of the plot line.  Don't get me wrong, it's a gorgeous read, with descriptions and phraseology so lush it'll make your head sweat, but I wasn't really getting a great vibe from it.  Until I did a little research on it and found THIS exploration from the 1940's, which totally makes sense and totally makes me appreciate what Miss Welty was trying to do.  Livvie as Persephone!  Of course!  Naturally, anyone in any way, no matter how small, versed in ancient texts would have recognized that right off the bat, but I am not versed in any real sense in ancient texts and so was left with a nagging sense that I'd missed something.

Indeed I had.  Just a little something about the life/death cycle and how a young girl is captured by Satan (or similar) and has to have a periodic spell of 'death' before being rescued by a vigorous re-representation of the dead husband and brought back to Mother Life.  How very clear it all is now, and how much have our basic stories not changed from 'boy meets girl.'  I supposed I 'got' that circle of life idea from my reading of the story, but in some ways the plot is somewhat staid and plodding and predictable, except for that whole Miss Baby Marie thing.  Left to my own interpretations, I'd be pretty sure that one was a red herring for the eventual climax.

Hey, nobody ever accused me of being the sharpest crayon in the box, and I'm OK with that.  But watch out, if I keep on reading and researching and looking for 'meaning' when I don't undestand, someday I might, just MIGHT, have a point.

Which this post does not.

Tiff out.

PS - if you'd like another, less thickly-worded, take on 'Livvie,' go read this.  Genius work by a highly thoughtful scholar, boiled down to 1 paragraph of nothing but meaning and insight.

PPS - that was sarcasm, mostly.

If I had a nickel...

I need to start construction of a giant safe..

Over the past couple/few years I've been working on paying down my debt, Dave Ramsey style.  I am fortunate enough to receive a paycheck that has allowed me to make some significant strides toward being revolving debt free, and I'm sure if I pinched more pennies a little harder I'd be much further along on the journey than I am, but I like to live a little and now make money and the relative lack of it as huge deal.

Anyhow.  Let's not let my lack of stringency get in the way of what I see as some very good news indeed, which is that I am now only 2 payments away from paying off one card completely, and have paid down about 1/3rd of the other card.

'Gee,' some of you with little to no debt might be thinking, 'Just how bad WAS it?' One word?  Bad.  Two words, VERY bad.  The card I'm paying off had over $10K on it 3 years ago, and the other card had far more than that. The debt piled up because 1)  I have a GREAT credit score so the allowable balances were sky-high (and I was too stupid to tell the banks 'no thank you') 2) I'd financed 2 moves including 3) the furnishing of a couple of HOMES on those cards, plus did things like 4) oh to HELL with it, I need this thing, and 5) vowing I'd pay it back 'later, when I had money.'

Well, 'later' started almost 3 years ago, and I've not looked back.


Slowly, very slowly, the albatross is being removed from my neck.  I no longer wake up in a sweat about money, how much I don't have, how that next bill is going to be paid.  I've not used a credit card in 2+ years, and know on a daily basis what my approximate balance is and where that money should be going.  It's not always simple, and sometimes I have to borrow from the slush fund (my savings) to make all the 'out' match the 'in,' but then the next paycheck comes and I pay myself back what I took out, hopefully plus a little.

I'm still afraid to look at my credit score, though.  It went from sky-high to Grade F in a few years, I'm sure.  Let's just say there are few if any creditors sending me offers for their cards, and there's not a single bank out there contacting me with their low-low car loan rates anymore like they were doing a number of years ago.  Those days are gone, I suspect not just me but for all of us.  All that 'free money' wrecked my credit score, and it's been an experience well worth the effort to try to get out from under.

Like I said, I'm very fortunate to have a good job that pays well, and I'm grateful every day for that.  I want to be a better steward of what's been afforded me, and once those bills are paid off and I've built up the 6 months' savings that is recommended, I will be able to use my money in ways I've never dreamed of.  It will be a different way to live, but by this time next year I expect to be out from under the credit card debt and well on my way to finding out what it feels like to be 1500 (or so) dollars 'richer' every month.

You know, just in time for Thing 1 to start college...

It's enough to make a lazy person weep

Today has been my favorite day ever.

Nothing spectacular happened, nothing major was done, nothing oppressive was shrugged, nevertheless.  Favorite day.

Might have something to do with finally getting out to the garden and ripping the freaking weeds out by their freaking roots, the satisfying snap of their discommunication with the ground a welcome punctuation to the horrible run-on sentence of their occupation in the backyard.  Truly, who needs a garden full of mystery vines when what one wanted were pepper plants?  NOBODY, that's who!

Who cares that I got bit by mosquitos a millionty times and might contract some kind of pig fever as a result?  NOBODY, that's who, and that's OK, because it only has to matter to me.  I had on a long-sleeved shirt and long pants, BTW.  I'm not totally stupid.  But still, bug spray would have been a good idea.

Other stuff that happened today that matters to nobody else but me:

•  Bought some kind of 'updo pick' at the CVS while shopping for other supplies (see below) that is now my most favorite hair accessory ever.  I LOVE getting that hair off my neck AND not experiencing that 'one pulled hair' thing that barrettes inevitably provide.
• I am a redhead again
• the dishes got done
• the kitchen floor was schwepped
• the LR and boys' room was vacuumed
• G and I went on a totally silly errand that could have been fixed with 5 minutes of online shopping, but which turned into me getting the earring 'swivels' I needed to repair a couple of doodads that lost their schwerve and needed to get it back for me to adorn myself once more with their pretty little selves. We did not, however, get the glass cutter we went out for.  Ohwell.

And here we are.  8 p.m., chillin' like a Sir, glad that today's been a vacation while still getting things done.

Come back tomorrow, today!  I could use many more like you.

Tiff.

so far today

80000 nose blows
100235 sneezes
432 or so throat clearings.

Whatever it is, it's out there.

---

I am now talking like I'm sure Jackie  Stallone sounds - a combination of dust, shrieking, old age, and smoking that results in ta low throttling vibralto of no particular pitch.

I HATE THAT VOICE.

My regular voice is nice.  Melodic, maybe. Throaty, yes. but not RASPY and PEBBLY and sounds like I'm gargling every consonant in a flurry of alphabetical hate.

Whoever you are that's making our boys sneeze and me rasp  like the last of the Skeksis?  KNOCK IT OFF. 

I can't tell stories in this state, and I'm chock full of them lately.  Terribly gravid with tales, I am.

Oh my. :)

She's a bad Mammagramma! (Boring medical stuff!)

taste the rainbow...

I turned 50 this year, and as such promised myself that this would be "The Year I Go To The Doctors'."

ALL the dang doctors, as it turns out.

You cannot believe the stress this has caused me, in terms of actually picking up the phone and making that call.  Oh, those 30 seconds of pain and agony, agreeing to a set time and place to arrive, after which much would be revealed about my inner workings and physical failures.

So far, I've had blood drawn twice, found out I need blood pressure medication, done the girl doc thang (but, thankfully, no distressing phone call afterward to 'discuss results'), and today had a lil boob squishie feste AND found out I need to go on thyroid meds.  AGAIN.

I'm fine with this, it's OK, I'm good to go.  I'm still alive, but wow.  All this self-care is going to start getting expensive, what with the 2 new meds and all the copays.  Shoot, I still have to do the dentist and the colonoscopy, both of which are so far down on my 'want-to' list that I might just need to enlist someone else to make those phone calls on my behalf.

Recalling today's visit to the boob-a-matic place, I'd have to say it wasn't so bad.  The woman who 'handled' me (LITERALLY) was super-adept at the art of small talk.  It was amazing.  I mean, we ladies KNOW that when you go to this sort of appointment your girls are going to be taken into an entirely foreign set of hands, and so that's awkward, but when the handler chats you up as though you're really just hanging out at the pool finding out a little about each other while your kids play in the shallow end, it brings another dimension to the affair that's really not all that bad.  Sure, your bubbs are on display, but she sees them all the time, so how bad can it be?  She didn't even wear GLOVES when touching the twins, which was nice and decidedly nonclinical of her.  Aside from the mammarial manipulations and precise body positioning, it was a lovely visit with someone who is VERY professional, so thanks Raleigh Radiology!

Plus which, I got to look at the pictures.  OF MY OWN BOOBS.  They look weird, and not at all sexy.  Something about fibrocystic tissue (which I've known about for years) and maybe I might have to come back for more pics if the docs don't care for what they're seeing.  Oy.  My poor beauties.  Once squish was bearable, more might venture into 'don't want to' territory.  Not my call to make.

So far the news, medically, has been OK, so I can't complain.  Fine, so I'm taking BP meds now, it was time.  Today I had word that the thyroid tests that were just a touch out of bounds at my first doc visit?  WAY out of bounds at the follow-up.  So guess what?  I'm back on Synthroid!  Woohoo!  More pills!  A lifetime of pharmaceutical assistance awaits!  *Sigh*  It'll be fine.  It's all good. It's just a wonky thyroid, after all, and it's just a little pill, and once I start taking it I'm sure I'll wonder why it took so long to get back on it because whoa, look at that I have foot bones under all that swelling, but, you know, it's still a sign of imperfect health.  Very discouraging, as the downhill slide is visible now and the first cart of the coaster has already gone over the peak.

But!  The mammagramma tech was SHOCKED to find out I'm as old as I am, even going so far as to ask me if I might be pregnant (HAHAHAHAHAHAA!) before looking at my chart and having the grace to look wide-eyed thereafter and telling me 'you look way younger than your age' at which point I would have let her take pictures of my rack for distribution to her friends because I was so pleased.

I TOLD you she was good at small talk, y'all.

So, that happened today.  How about you?

Tiff out.

That's a lovely cliff to fall off of

You, gentle reader(s), are asked to do one thing, and one thing only, as a result of being here right now.  This one is is as follows: leave me a comment saying thank you that I didn't post what I just spent 30 minutes whining writing about.

Wholey cats what a self-absorbed nitwit I am!

Suffice it to say that once I'd written out this craptastic load of whinge and then re-read it, I wanted to slap myself.  Good God, what a load of garbage.

So, yeah, while people are suffering and struggling and sickening in this world, I ALMOST chose to moan about how lethargic I've felt lately and how 'blah' everything seems.

Because, you know, I can pay the bills and go on vacation and afford to buy decent food and drink.

Right.  That's a world of hurt, ain't it?

---

Now that you're not reading about THAT (remember, thank you!), you can read about this - - 

We were in the red circle last Friday night

Rascal Flatts sounds better when you're the one behind the beer cart handing out the cold ones instead of paying 13 clams apiece for a 24-ouncer.

You might be curious as to how I know this.

First-hand knowledge, I say, after having spent Friday night dressed in a 'venue appropriate' logo shirt and regulation black trousers grabbing beers and twisted teas and the occasional (at least to start) bottle of water out of a giant vat of ice water for the thirsty, THIRSTY crowds at the Walnut Creek Amphitheater.  Yep – for the evening I was masquerading as a concessions lady, basking in the adulation of all those jealous folks who handed over good money just to get at what I got.  Mmmhmm!  While the country music blared, the thirsty came, dollars (or plastic, it's all good) clutched in sweaty hands, eyes glazed over with desire for the goods.  When I put that chilled tallboy in that sweaty palm (after ensuring that all IDs were checked and cracking open the pull tab [all cans MUST be opened before the customer leaves the table!]) you could see that the future looked bright to them.

Why, some folks were so overcome with this transformative moment that they came back time after time!  Some folks had become SO VERY transformed that they were at the peak of their Nirvana (or 'the peak of their Rascal Flatts'?) and we had to refuse them access to any more 'transformation' so they could avoid the possibility of releasing the transforming liquid back into the wild, as it were, or getting themselves transformed into a pile of goo on the side of the road, post-concert. One must be careful with the gift, I think we can all agree.

It was a gratifying evening, taking part in all that transformation.  It was also a hot hot hot night, a long-ass shift to stand on a concrete slab (6+ hours!), and seemingly fruitless for us as we didn't get a dime for our service. 

Not that being a concessions lady/transformer of souls isn't pay enough, because it totally would be if I was already stinking rich, but the plus side of all this is that the marching band gets some moolah out of our 'time spent,' and whenever we can make money for the band we're all over it.  OK, so what that this was my first time doing this, and my kids aren't even IN the marching band?  It proves that I have a stupendous generous spirit (and Biff does too, because he went right along and served too!), not that I might be a wee bit tetched in the head for volunteering to do such a thing.

Not.Tetched.At.All.

Hope you can say the same.  Tiff out.

Ready, set...

I was on the weird side of YouTube earlier (don't even ask how I got there!), and discovered that the old adage my granny used to say once the bourbon kicked in is true: one person's warmup is another person's complete workout. 

Granny was a wise one!

Whew - I got tired just watching this so-called 'warm up' video.  Imagine how winded I'll be once I get through it all.  Freaking BRUTAL.

Thank you're tough enough to make it all the way through?  I DARE ya.

I'll just be over here, hoping I have the will to make it all the way through..  This might take a while.

--Tiff out.

Cutter ain't cutting it

In an effort to try to tame the weed population of the garden, about an hour ago I ventured out to do some pullin'.  This is not a task undertaken lightly, as there are about as many mosquitoes in our yard as there are weeds in the garden, which equals about a hundred kajillion.  Preparations must be taken, which today meant a very liberal dosing of bug spray, even though I was out in not-prime-bug-time.  No matter, for our mosquitoes are made of strong stuff; there's never a time when they're not out and about, looking for some blood to suck.  I was hopeful though, to not be bit, as the Cutter's is also made of strong stuff (ever inhale some?  You know what I mean!) that would, I hoped, at least deter the little buggers for a while.

That 'while' turned out to be about 20 minutes.  I think they figured out to hold their breath while making their attack.  Also, they're figured out they can bite THROUGH clothing, which is a real pain in the butt (now, literally), as who sprays their clothes bits when going out gardening?  I do, from now on.  It's almost like I should just don a full bee suit before gardening, at all.  Can't even picturesquely work in the flower garden of an evening without having the hazmat attitute alert on.

Stupid bugs.

---

Speaking of which, that spider bite I got a few (4?) weeks back is almost healed up.  Seriously, that's how long it's taken.  The little black scab where the bite site blistered up is still hanging on, a stubborn reminder of my brush with Nature.

Stupid spiders.

---

In better news, the carrots are starting to come in nicely!  In my weeding spree I accidentally pulled a few up and they're cute little things!  Some are about 4 inches long, and I'll bet there are some much bigger still in the ground.  Oh, and I pulled up a couple of onions that we missed at harvesttime.  They're all going into whatever we make for dinner tonight.  Nom nom.

---

Not Biff's foot.

 Spent some quality time yesterday with Biff at the local Quickie Care store.  He'd fallen off his feet (or something) at work on Thursday, and by Friday a couple of toes had bloomed a lovely shade of purple and his foot was all swole up, so an X-ray was in order.

We are, by far, the most obnoxious 'waiters for services' that place has seen in a while.  Why?  Well, I had a little bouncy ball in my purse, a hangover from Lake Week, and thus a rousing game of seated catch was undertaken.  We were nice enough to NOT play when there were other patients waiting for care, but once the room cleared we entertained ourselves quite nicely.  Between the game and the movie being shown (Ice Age) it wasn't a bad way to while away some time.

No broken bones, so that's the good news.  I think this makes the third time we've been there for a possible broken bone and there's been none.  That's even BETTER news.

---

And that's what's going on in my world.  How about you?

Tiff out.

Not at the bottom of the lake

Being as how this blog is so erratically updated, I'm not surprised that more of you (or, let's be frank, ANY of you) weren't clamoring around my inbox wondering if we'd made it back safely, like might have happened in the good ol' pre-social-media days.  Everybody knows what's going on with everyone else, practically, which is why I'm tamping down the disappointment at the whole 'lack of clamor' thing and just accepting that most of you who read here can go spy on my at almost anytime on the FaceSpace.

I do kind of miss the clamor though.  Remember way back then?  When if a 'regular' was gone for a while there was a fair amount of e-whispering and note passing and perhaps even a bold frontal approach via that quiant messaging system called email?  Forget texting - it hadn't been invented yet!  Messaging, maybe, but that's as far as it went.  Boy, 2008 sure was a different time, wasn't it?  Now I'm all nostalgic for way back then.  *sigh*

---

Lake week, as always, was a good ol' time.  I won't bore you with details.  You've probably seen all the pictures before too, except in this year's iteration the kids are taller and (most of them) hairier than last year.  Teen boys, Lord have mercy.

Also, Thing 1 is a pretty dang good pontoon driver, nimble with the docking.  Also, nobody drowned.  So, SUCCESS!!

Oh, and the kids have to cook one dinner during vacation now.  This year they made something with the following ingredients, all in one dish: hot dogs, mac and cheese, bacon, and french fries.  I think there was something else in there not good for you, like a layer of crullers, but the details are sketchy at this point.  It sounded horrid, (to me) but tasted great!  Note to me - learn to trust their judgment.  Sheesh - this October Thing 1 is going to be 17, an age at which my grandparents were out working to support their families; the least I can do is have faith in his ability to plan and cook a meal!

For dessert that night we had fruit pizza.  You know, to balance out the bacon et al in dinner.  Just take 1 roll of sugar cookie dough, press it into a large round on a pizza pan, bake until done, cool slightly.  Mix cream cheese and sugar and vanilla, spread that over the crust, then top with cut fruit that's been marinated in a little thinned-down apricot jelly.  Honest, it's HEALTHY!!  At least that's what we kept telling ourselves while listening for the tell-tale 'thwip!' of blood vessels clogging shut.

---

The horror!!

I was out front collecting the mail not long ago, and got dive bombed by a blundering cicada.  Holy heck what a noise!  It slammed into one of the porch posts, dropped to the ground on its back, buzzed around (angrily, I should imagine), fell down one step still on its back, then stopped.  Its little legs waived in the air for a few moments, then even that stopped.

Is it possible for cicadas to be suicidal, or become concussed?  Either way, I think that one's a goner, because even it if didn't kill itself in the accident (or WAS it?) the cats are now outside and I suspect that a nice juicy ol' cicada would make a tasty afternoon treat for the likes of them.

And no, I wasn't about to go 'rescue' it.  Have you SEEN a cicada?  They're one of the insects that fall into my 'do not touch' part of the arthropod Venn Diagram (which has only a very tiny overlapping portion of 'maybes' in the middle).  No touchy the buggy!  Except for that time when the Girl Scout Troop was camping eons ago, and it was a weekend of a major hatch so all the husks of the final instar (is too a word, look it up!) were lying around in heaps so we, of course, burned them in the campfire by the shovelful.  A jolly crackling sound, that was.  Note though, we're talking exoskeleton here, with no chance of surprise crawling about, at all. 

Not even going to be sorry about not trying to save that one bug.  It meant me harm, no doubt, and was besmote, but good.

---

I'll end it there, as any post that includes a good cicada story should end with the cicada story, and simply wish you all well and a lovely weekend to all.

Tiff out.

All hail the Float and Bloat!!

taken from here

Next week is the annual family vacation at The Lake.  It seems to have come up quickly this year, but then again time is flying by more and more quickly with each year that passes.  We leave tomorrow, and I feel really unprepared, which makes me edgy and therefore makes it hard to relax.  With each year that passes I tend to get more edgy and anxious, which I also hate, because that's not a fun way to live.

No wonder I drink.

Anyhow, it's vacation time.  So that's good.  Also good is that I don't need to leave any 'gone fishing' signs on any literal or virtual doors (well, OK, at work I will), because work is kind of slow right now and I don't post here often enough anymore for people to start worrying about what I've gotten up to.  As far as the work goes, it's a perfect time to go on vacation, which is a lovely little fingertip's-worth of serendipity.  Nice to be away when there aren't fires roaring all around and you're the only one with a bucket.

Or something.

It's been a weird week in a way, what with Wednesday off.  It just threw me and I've been logey and weird since then.  Or maybe it's the 'LOSER!' message I got yesterday when I failed to make the cut for a I job I interviewed for, or maybe it's that a high-school classmate passed away yesterday and while I wasn't close to her the pictures people posted on FB made me feel old and longing for my youthful days.  Or maybe it's the spider bite and the blistering/swelling/low fever that's been a part of the process of being bit that's got me feeling like every day it might be nice to lie down for a 3-hour nap.  Whatever it is, it's setting me up to really really really enjoy vacation and maybe just hang out and not be the nervous mom type who is a spoilsport for all out random acts of fun-ness.  Gosh I detest that characterization.  A  LOT.

I need to throw off this wet blanket, get crackin' on packin', and tell the world to quit messing with me because I'm OUT OF IT for the week.

What's glorious is that at the end of the month we get to do it all again, for another full week, just in a different location.  Nice.

Now who wants to come over and pick the tomatoes while we're gone?

Tiff out.