Just Another Day At The Office

It's Memorial Day weekend.  At least half the employees in the office were gone but those of us who were there were working our little hearts out.  In the midst of this frenzy of work, I needed a notepad so I headed down the hall toward the warehouse where all the office supplies are stored.  I reached the end of the hall, opened the door, innocently stepped inside ...  and nearly stepped on a big, ugly, big, slithery, gross, big, scary, big, long, big snake.  He was coiled up very nicely except for his head, which was stretching up in a very cobra-like pose.

 
I admit, I am not known for my dancing skills , but if there was a category for Original Snake Dance on "Dancing With The Stars" I would have been the hands-down winner.  I jumped up.  I jumped left.  I jumped right.  I jumped up on my toes and I think there may have even been a twirl somewhere in there.

I pushed myself up against that wire fencing so tight I probably have fence dents on my back and went for help.  Our resident biologist retrieved the reptile and escorted it out of the building.  It was a long time before my heartrate decreased from a sprint to a jog but eventually my hands stopped shaking and I got back to work.  And let me tell you, it's hard to work and hold your feet up off the floor at the same time because your cubie wall-mate told you "where there's one, there's more, and toes sticking out of sandals can look alot like little mice to a snake." 

Of course, seeing a reptile up close and personal, led to a bit of mind wandering about our upcoming trip to Ecuador for Abby's wedding.  One thing led to another and I started thinking about the dozens of lodges and tours that are available in the Amazon and then I started thinking about the Lodge I think I'd like to stay at for our post-wedding vacation.  I've been getting more and more excited about the insects, and the birds, and the fish and all the tropical species I am going to see.  I've looked at lots of websites of lots of lodges and tours in the Amazon/rainforest in Ecuador and as I read the information at each site I had noticed they all mentioned that they provide rubber boots for the guests--unless your feet are larger than size 11 1/2.  Then you are required to provide your own.   How nice, I thought.  I won't have muddy shoes.  All at once I had an epiphany.  S_ _ t!  What if those boots aren't to keep the mud off your shoes!  What if they're to keep snakes from biting you!  I wonder if I can get some of those boots for the office.

Poor Ruth.  I hope I didn't leave bruises on her arms. 

 I used her as a shield when Jim walked by with Mr. Bullsnake in his hand.

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Just Another Day At The Office

How Would YOU Do It?

The phone call late at night ... late for us anyway.  When you go to bed at 9 p.m. anything after 10:00 p.m. feels like the middle of the night.  I'm not the one who answers the phone late at night.  I cannot make myself get out of bed and face what might be waiting for me on the other end of the line.  I wait and know that Dean will do that for me.  He will face the voice at the end of the line and I'll find out soon enough.  It's our child.  In Ecuador.  "Abby wants you to call her back using our phone card."  "Right now?!"  "Right now."

How would you cope when your daughter tells you her fiance had just called to tell her that sometime during the week and a half she has been in Quito taking Spanish language classes while he travelled to Sweden for business, their house had been broken into and robbed.  The house behind a tall, secure wall.  The house with strong bars on the windows.  The house located at the edge of town, seemingly hidden from the notice of thieves.  The house she had made her home.  The house she felt safe in.  The house with their precious possessions.  What do you say to a daughter, thousands of miles away, who is in tears and feels vulnerable and violated and is hurting?

How do you cope when the mother in you screams out to fix it, but you can't?  Where do you find the right words ... the right tone of voice ...?  Where do you find the strength to offer yourself as a vessel large enough to hold all her pain and anger and fear and tears?  How do you try to lessen her hurt when your heart is breaking for her?

I did the best I could.  I tried to find the right words.  I tried to offer comfort, through a phone line, to a daughter who was crying, alone, thousands of miles away.  Then I tried to sleep....a little.  Now it's just me, tuning out the world, alone in my head, with music playing through earbuds so loud I will probably shortly be deaf.◦

How Would YOU Do It?

Easy Does It

If I had a crystal ball I wouldn’t have put up with a mess in our bathroom for the last three weeks. But I don’t, so I did. One of the sinks in our bathroom has been draining slower and slower and slower over the past few months. I knew it was probably clogging up but I wasn’t up to the facial expression and verbal response I knew I would hear if I mentioned plumbing to Dean so I just learned to live with it. I had a mental plan to replace the counter/sink combination in a few months anyway so why bother. But one day, about three weeks ago, Dean, for whatever reason, decided to use that sink instead of the guest sink I would rarely have to clean if he didn’t insist on using it.  He experienced the slow draining water and decided he should get rid of the clog. Yes, I forgot to mention my replacement plan to him, but he made it sound like getting rid of a sink clog was pretty simple. He didn’t actually say the words but he definitely implied that it would be easy. I thought he’d be in and out in less time than it normally took the sink to drain.

The simple solution to a slow-draining sink would have been to purchase some kind of clog-busting solution, pour it down the sink and ta da! No more clog. (why, oh why, didn’t I think of that months ago?) But no. In our house we “do it the right way or we don’t do it.” Out came the tools. Out came everything from under the sink.

As it turns out we can’t do it at all—right or wrong. Okay, that’s not completely true. The first weekend Dean spent several hours unclogging and replacing parts. We don’t have a clog anymore. The water drained down the sink quickly. The problem was, as it was draining, it leaked below the sink into the cabinet.

A couple of days later I got sick and Dean must have decided that the verbal abuse he heaps on the sink and drain as he works on them would be too much for me to tolerate in my weakened state so no further progress was made. Yesterday I convinced him to finish the job. “It’s cloudy and cold and you can’t work in the garden today. What else could you possibly do with your time?” I know. I can’t believe that worked either. I showed him where it leaked. At first he was in denial. “I don’t feel any water leaking. Why did you tell me it’s leaking? The pipes are just sweating.” “They’re plastic” I said. “They don’t sweat.” I don’t know if that’s true but I said it with conviction so I think he actually believed me. He finally felt the leak, realized he’d have to replace even more parts, got that “I hate plumbing” look on his face and conceded victory to the sink. There was no way I was going to call a plumber to fix a sink that should have been replaced five years ago so my replace-our-bathroom-counter-sinks-and-faucets-project was moved up to now.

20 minutes later we were at Home Depot ordering a countertop and looking at sinks and faucets. It’s a good thing Dean loves destruction because now we have to remove the old countertop and sinks in preparation for the new stuff. I could have hired someone but my past experience has been that you arrange the terms of the job with the “boss” who is competent and adult and experienced but he sends in his worker bees to do the job. I have this nightmare of an 18-year old kid coming in, ripping out the counter and half my wallpaper along with it. Then as he’s carrying out the counter, his iPod earbuds get tangled in his phone while he’s texting and he slams the corner of the cabinet into the wall. Dean may be the slowest home remodeler in all of creation but he is meticulous.

We should replace the bathroom cabinet while we’re at it but I don’t want to. Dean tells me “it’ll be no big deal to refinish it and add new hardware.  It’ll look new. It’s made of good wood and there’s just a thin layer of stain. It’ll be easy.” I guess that means that sometime after he stains the patio door we replaced four years ago, and the woodwork in the kitchen we finished remodeling 3 ½ years ago, and woodwork around the windows we replaced nearly four years ago, he’ll get to the bathroom cabinet. I’m allowed to help with destruction but that’s it. Geez, unaccidentally spill a little paint on the porch while painting the house and you’re banned from anything staining or painting related for the rest of your life. But that’s okay. He’ll be fine without me. It’ll be easy.◦

Easy Does It

At Least You Can Turn Off A Faucet

Last week I made the mistake of giving the cubie-wall-guy, wall-cube-sharer, wall-mate, guy in the cubie next to me a bad time about “sharing” his cold with his girlfriend. “You owe her a present for making her sick you know” I said in my Mom voice. I’m not thinking saying Al put a hex on me, but less than 24 hours later the evil germs of sickness had launched a full frontal attack and established a beachhead in my head. I became one (ommmmm) with the couch. I drank gallons of lemon tea hoping that one of those swallows would be the one that would finally put out the flame in my throat. My head hurt. I was coughing. I was blowing my nose. And blowing some more. I was constantly blowing my nose. Did I mention I was blowing my nose? I didn’t care if my kleenex didn't make it into the wastebasket. They piled up all around me--on the couch, on the floor by the couch, on the floor by the bed. I left a kleenex trail from the couch to the teakettle and back to the couch. Heck, I didn’t even care enough to go FIND a wastebasket to use. I was sick. Ill. A hurtin’ unit. Under the weather. Where did the term under the weather come from anyway? What exactly does it mean? When I’m feeling healthy again will I be above the weather?

After a few days, lying on the couch, covered in Kleenex, watching all the back episodes of “Say Yes To The Dress” and “What Not To Wear” had lost its thrill. I was beginning to feel a twinge of guilt each time I dropped a kleenex to the pile on the floor. I was bored. I was sick of being sick and I wanted to do and see something that would make me feel cheerful and happy and healthy so I figured I’d change my blog template to something sunny and Spring-like. I wasn’t feeling healthy enough to actually write words, which should have clued me in to the fact that I probably wasn’t alert enough to change a template, but that didn’t stop me from plunging in.

I tried so many different combinations that I couldn’t even remember what my original blog looked like. Reclining on the couch, clicking laptop keys took its toll. My energy levels waned, as well as my attention, and the growing mountain of kleenex threatened to engulf me. In the middle of the ugliest combination of layouts, colors and backgrounds, I somehow managed to hit “apply to blog” instead of “view preview.”  It was beyond ugly. But I knew if I left it that way anybody who happened to open it would hit delete so fast they’d damage their digits and I didn’t want to be responsible for that. I had to quickly come up with a blog template that was at least tolerable. From now on, when you open this blog, pretend you’re seeing colorful flowers. Imagine the warm spring breeze on your face. Smell the freshly cut grass. Do you feel healthy and happy and energized? That’s what I was going for. Not what you're looking at.

It is now day nine and the germs occupying my body have yet to find another host to invade, although I think they’ve sent out some scouts because their influence is somewhat reduced. This morning, as I was leaving for work, I discovered I’m not the only living thing that’s been under the weather recently.  These poor little creatures are under the weather too. Get it? They’re feeling bad and droopy and under the weather. Literally. Under. The. Weather. hahahahahahhahahahahaha

No, that isn’t kleenex piling up around them.

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At Least You Can Turn Off A Faucet

Why is the cell phone in the toilet?

Have any of you ever seen baby raccoons? Baby raccoons so close you can pick them up and cradle them in the palm of your hand? 

I’ve seen lots of baby animals on the Discovery channel, in magazines, and in movies, but when I actually think about it I haven’t seen very many newly born baby animals. Hmmm…..I’m thinking hard and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen any newborn baby animals in real life --- other than human animals. Until this week, that is. At work, in a box, on a counter, in a cubicle, near me, were these:

Apparently their mother had made them a nice cozy nest in some warm and snuggly hay bales but the bales were broken up to feed some cows and poof! no more nice warm nest. The babies were rescued, their foster mom brought them to work with her, and I met my first baby raccoons.

I knew little animal babies don't open their eyes for a while, but I didn’t know they also have to open their ears. I wish I would have known that when my kids were teenagers. I think theirs must have closed up again.  I could have taken them in for some “closed-ear medicine” or “minor ear-opening surgery”.   Hey, wait a minute … Dean ….. excuse me for a moment … I’ll be right back … I need to make a quick call……

The babies spent the morning in their temporary home with their foster mom and by noon they had all been adopted out. I love baby animals as much as the next person but I've already done my time feeding a squeaking, squealing, kinda stinky little critter every hour on the hour.  I've gotten used to uninterrupted sleep -- on the nights Dean doesn't snore anyway, so I was not one of the new adoptive mothers. 



And after I read this I was glad I resisted. There’s soft-hearted and generous, and then there’s just plain crazy.◦

Why is the cell phone in the toilet?

I'd Like To Introduce You To My Eyeball, Jack

Sunday, exactly two months before Myra's fifth birthday, I finally finished her "baby" quilt ...

                             and gave it to her. 

I don't mean to imply I worked on it to the exclusion of everything else for a solid five years.  I did do a few other things during that time--like finish her aunt's quilt, make a doll quilt, play on a BFD and oh, just lots of other stuff, like eating and sleeping. 

It's a bit of a quirky quilt for a little girl who has a very unique sense of style.

I thought she needed something that reflected a bit her love of color ...

and had a bit of sparkle mixed in with the traditional.

Not everybody makes the effort to name their eyeballs Rosabell and Jack.

She marches to her own drum.

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I'd Like To Introduce You To My Eyeball, Jack