Meself Memetastic

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Woo-Hoo, Happy Dance! I just got an award!

This morning while reading some of my favorite blogs, I came to my friend Hippie Cahier and there was my blog’s name!

I’ve been chosen. No more sitting on the sidelines while the cool, popular kids get picked for the basketball team!

Woo-Hoo. Again.

I got something called the Memeststic Award (pronounced “meem-tastic”), and here’s the proof:

memetastic award

I’ve seen this thing around on blogs for a while now, and I’ve gotta say, Awesome! Thanks! I’m honored!

And to think I was planning on doing only Web Design today!

Anyway, this prize comes with a bunch of qualifications, to wit:

1) You must proudly display this disgusting graphic, with its Comic Sans font and its jumping, celebrating kitten created by jillsmo (she’s the one who created it; I guess she has the right to call it “disgusting”).

2) You must list 5 things about yourself, 4 of which must be bold-faced lies. That means one must be true. Quality is irrelevant.

3) You must pass this award along to 5 bloggers whom you like, don’t like, or don’t have an opinion about. You can list what you like or don’t like, of course, but it’s not necessary.

4) If you fail to follow any of the above rules, Jill will hunt you down and harass you unceasingly until, she says, “you either block me on Twitter or ban my IP address from visiting your blog. I don’t know if you can actually do that last thing, but I will become so annoying to you that you will actually go out and hire an IT professional to train you on how to ban IP addresses just so that I’ll leave you alone. I’m serious. I’m going to do these things.” Methinks she probably means it!

5) Once you’ve complied with everything, you need to link to the Memetastic Hop so Jill can keep track of where the award goes.

Now for my Memetastic Lies (remember, one of these is True!!):

1) Alas, I’m tone- deaf. Can’t carry a tune in a bucket. All that and Irish, too!

2) I became the star of cooking class in the eighth grade when I took one look at that sink full of dishes and asked, “Where’s the dishwasher?”

3) Not bragging, but I got my private pilot’s license before I got my auto driver’s license.

4) I have no sense of direction. I’d get lost on the way to town, were it not for my trusty GPS.

5) Shopping for shoes is a real problem — I wear extra narrow widths (that’s AAA). Can you say “online shopping at Zappos”??

And now — ta da! — for my nominees to receive the next Memetastic Award:

1) Lynne Spreen at Any Shiny Thing. She’s a writer and retired Human Resources guru, as well as a new grandma.

2) Linda at Crone and Bear It. Despite her being a rabid Ohio State fan, she’s funny and has an adorable Golden Retriever named EmmaLou.

3) Working Tech Mom. She manages 500 tech professionals and has a family. That exhausts me!

4) Kim Holloway at Stuff Southern People Like. She makes me laugh, she makes me miss Mississippi!

5) Izziedarling at The Whatever Factor. Oh so funny, oh so witty, and such a magnet for bird poop!

Now get cracking, people! You’ll never plow a field by turning it over in your mind (old Irish saying).

Come Back Home

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At church yesterday morning, I was shocked to hear our priest point out that the number of people (parishioners) attending weekend Masses was down — way down.

So I glanced to my right and left and found he was right. There were lots of vacant spaces in the pews.

Our diocese has a new bishop, but to my knowledge there has been no relaxation on the requirements for church attendance on weekends and holy days. And I’m sure news of that magnitude would have caused at least a small furor!

That got me to thinking about why people avoid church services on Sunday (or Saturday, for us Catholics):

  • Weather. Yes, it’s been horrid, and we’ve had more than our share of ice, snow, and cold, but people still get out to do what they want. Some run to the bank; others to their weekly hairdresser appointment; still others to the mall or Wal-Mart or to cards with their buddies. Sorry, this one won’t fly!
  • Age. I’ve heard some of the older members excuse themselves because they’ve “earned a rest,” or because they ache, or because they don’t feel like leaving their comfortable home and driving to church. Where in the Bible does it say we get to “earn” a respite? I can understand if a person is truly ill, he/she doesn’t belong in church, but “not feeling like it” doesn’t fly!
  • Schedule. Some people stay away from church because they don’t like the times of the services. Really? Since when is that an excuse? If your boss says you’re to report for work at 8 a.m., do you get to tell him you’d rather sleep in until 10? I think not!
  • Anger. Ongoing criticism of church sex scandals, anger with a clergyman from the distant past, slights perceived or real, disagreement with church policy, etc. aren’t valid excuses for avoiding church, in my book. Now I’m sure some people really have a bone to pick — maybe they’ve been personally hurt, or know people who have. But living with that kind of anger can only make them ill. No church is perfect because it’s made up of imperfect people. You can find something to complain about anywhere, if that’s what you look for.

I suspect there are valid reasons for missing church — being in the hospital, or maintaining a vigil at a loved one’s deathbed, are two I can think of. But it saddens me when people avoid the community of church, the nourishment of the Eucharist, the graces extended, and the opportunity to praise and worship.

Freedom of religion is a blessing — just ask someone who doesn’t have it!

“Snowmageddon” in Central Illinois

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Figuring I should post these ice and snow pictures before the next onslaught of wicked weather, here are some of the shots I took while tip-toeing around my neighborhood yesterday. Enjoy!

Ice-encrusted tree branches

Rosebush covered with icicles

Snow and ice on holly

Spruce "decorated" with ice and snow

Lamp post wearing this season's fashionable icy shade

Ice on the north side of trees

What Goes In, Comes Out

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I’ve heard it said that no good deed goes unrewarded. But I have to ask: Does this look like a reward to you?

Bird droppings on patio

After this week’s “Monster Storm,” I noticed a flock of robins racing each other to see who could find shelter on the sunny side of our house near the back door first.

Poor little things, I thought. They’re freezing.

Not having any wild bird seed on hand, I raced to the bread cabinet — nope,our loaf was too fresh to share and besides, no telling how long we’d be house-bound in this weather.

I checked the pantry. Pay dirt! A box of old wheat chex just waiting to be tossed out.

Not wanting to disturb the flock — which by now had grown larger and more sleepy-eyed — I went upstairs, s-l-o-w-l-y cracked open a window, and dumped the cereal into the snow.

Then I watched, eager for my tidbits to satisfy.

When the birds failed to show interest, I shrugged and went back to work.

Ingrates, I muttered.

Eventually, I had to let my poor doggin out to potty. The flock immediately dispersed, swarming to the holly bushes in one corner of the yard.

The bushes my late father insisted we keep so the birds would have something to eat during the winters.

Glancing around to see if all the stragglers had departed, I felt my mouth drop. Piles of bird poop covered the stoop, the concrete, and everything in between!

Grrr, I muttered, as I tossed on a coat and mittens, then tried (unsuccessfully) to clean the “potty.” I guess I’ll have to wait until spring, when I can put warm soapy water on it and do the job right.

In the meantime, since these fat robins are already dining on holly berries, they can just forget about my trying to provide them with a healthy snack.

Go Away, White Witch!

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I woke up in Narnia this morning.

Well, not really, but it felt like it. Here’s a photo of one of our trees (those are buds that thought it was time to come out):

Iced branch and trees

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yes, it’s beautiful. Yes, it’s historic. But doggone it, it’s dangerous and I’m tired of it!

It started yesterday with freezing rain, sleet, and ice. The stuff fell for hours, off and on.

Today, the folks who study these things are calling it a “monster storm.”

No kidding!

We’re in line for more ice today, as if we haven’t had enough. Then, we’re supposed to get six inches of snow. Then, the snow is supposed to get blown around in gusty winds.

Can you see the recipe for disaster here??

Iced power lines (no, my city didn’t bother to bury them like normal places do), iced tree limbs, and high winds.

My dog gives me the look that says, “What, are you kidding?” when I send him out to potty. Slipping and sliding on the skating rink that’s my backyard, he finally does “the deed,” then tucks his head and tries to scamper back inside.

Poor thing looks like a drunken sailor. No merry barking and racing around chasing birds and squirrels for him today!

Fortunately, we at least were forewarned. The prognosticators have been talking about this beast for a week now, giving us plenty of time to gather necessities: food, water, medicine, books, etc.

But how does one prepare for losing power when the temps drop to below zero??

Calling all Parakeets — Ready, Aim, Fire!

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Oh my gosh! Imagine my surprise at opening today’s newspaper and seeing my picture staring back at me!

Some time ago, our newspaper sent a reporter and photographer to my home office to interview me for a careers feature that runs on a regular basis. Now, I knew they were doing the article, but I’d forgotten which day they said it would appear.

It was today!

Small businesses like mine rarely can afford big-time advertising. We do what we can — phone book, online, etc. — but it’s far too costly to do TV (and even newspaper advertising is out of reach for many).

So to have this much exposure can be a real boost to a business.

It could prove to be overwhelming, too, but I’m not going to think about that. I’m going to enjoy this while it lasts, realizing (as a former newspaper-person myself) that today’s paper too soon becomes tomorrow’s bird cage liner!

My Flighty Muse

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Why is it that, when my mind and body are at their busiest, my Muse decides to inundate me with writing material??

Maybe I’m in the shower, or exercising, or driving to an appointment, or even just dropping off to sleep. Maybe I’m up to my ears designing Websites for clients or making updates on already-designed sites.

Regardless, it’s then that my lovely Muse appears, and I learned long ago never to ignore her!

She’s a flighty thing, my Muse. Once I tuned her out, and she punished me with too much time on my hands and no ideas. Couldn’t even write a simple Thank-you note!

So I don’t ignore her any more.

I stop what I’m doing, grab paper and pen (or my computer), and frantically get down everything she gives me, with all the detail I can recall. This I stash away in a secret place, to be pulled out when the well runs dry.

Many times, I’ve found her “gifts” questionable. That’s probably my fault more than hers. We mortals often don’t understand or fully appreciate intuition, and ideas can vanish like smoke; then, too, what sounded plausible at one time might, upon deeper contemplation, appear silly.

Nevertheless, you won’t catch me without a notepad and pen — in my car, at my desk, beside my bed. You might call it a journalist’s curse; I call it being prepared.

For when my Muse does show up, I don’t want her to catch me slacking!

Age is Just a Number

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Earlier this month, our local newspaper interviewed me for a careers feature they run periodically on businesses in our area.

After my name, the first question was, “How old are you?”

Now I can’t speak for others, but that’s a question I never answer — ever!

It’s right up there with “How much money do you make?” and “How much do you weigh?”

After a certain age — for women, I think 35 — you shouldn’t have to answer it. I mean, my son is 19 so you do the math! If you want to think I had him at 16, be my guest!!

Probably because I work in a traditionally young person’s field, I don’t want to age myself out of business. Nor should I have to.

Age is a funny thing, really. When we’re kids, we’re always looking forward to the next birthday. We’re not “twelve-and-a-half;” we’re “almost thirteen!”

And when we become young adults, we never feel compelled to fudge on our age. Any time I got carded for trying to buy a drink in my twenties (yeah, I know — young and dumb!), I couldn’t fish out my drivers license fast enough!

So when is it that we become more secretive about our age?

For some, it’s “middle age.” While a few flaunt it without shame — letting their hair go totally gray, embracing their “spare tire” or bald head — others re-double their efforts at chasing youth. They join gyms, invest in hair dye and Botox, or dump their spouse for a younger model.

I’ve known people who’d never ask for a Senior Discount and others who think even buying gasoline should qualify for one!

Perhaps the truly old people are the luckiest. They can commiserate about their age-related aches, joke about their “senior moments,” spend countless hours reminiscing about the Good Old Days, and remind us that “age is just a number.”

Don’t Touch my Stuff

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Did anyone read “Dear Abby” in the newspaper or online this morning? Go ahead, read it; I’ll wait.

No? Okay, then, I’ll summarize: The writer (Kid 1) said he’d left his college dorm room unlocked for a short time to retrieve something in a friend’s room. Upon his return, Kid 1 found his laptop, cell phone, and several books missing. He panicked because it was close to final exam time. Later that night, another friend (Kid 2), appeared at his door and “confessed” to the deed, saying he was trying to teach Kid 1 not to leave his door unlocked.

Kid 1 pressed charges. Kid 2 was charged with misdemeanor theft, lost his scholarship, and told to do community service. The two are no longer on speaking terms, and Kid 1 says Kid 2 is harassing him and telling his friends lies about him.

Abby called Kid 2 “emotionally disturbed” and said Kid 1 is not to blame; she advised Kid 1 to report Kid 2 to the authorities if he doesn’t stop the harassment.

Doesn’t this smack of overkill?

I mean, c’mon, people, it takes two to tango, and both these young men share some blame.

Kid 2 shouldn’t have removed Kid 1’s things from his room (but at least he returned the stuff shortly after); Kid 1 shouldn’t have spun into overdrive about it.

I mean, really, how many college kids don’t sneak into somebody else’s room and swipe something, usually in good fun?

Heck, I’ve done it myself. My roommate one year had a stuffed animal that she slept with every night. One afternoon, it “disappeared,” and NO WAY was she going to sleep unless and until it reappeared!

So it did, and that was the end of that. I can’t imagine her reporting me to the police and the university!

Maybe a stuffed animal isn’t the same as a laptop, cell phone, and books, but it was just as important to her at the time.

If Kid 1 was so “touchy” about his things, he should’ve remembered to lock his door; why shoot the messenger?

What I’m trying to get at is this: college kids prank each other. Most times, it’s just because they’re bored and think they’ve dreamed up something interesting to do at someone else’s expense.

Pranking continues throughout life. What office worker hasn’t returned from vacation to find green things growing from his keyboard?

Or a cubicle filled with balloons? Or everything covered in Post-It notes or aluminum foil?

Part of life is learning to get along with others; having a sense of humor diffuses many a bad situation.

Unless there’s real harm involved — to someone’s person or things — shouldn’t the adults stay out of kids’ petty disputes?

Sheltie Paws

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Like many other long-haired breeds, Shelties require at least periodic grooming.

They’re naturally clean, but you still have to bathe and brush, as well as trim excess fur in places like ears and feet.

Normally, I do my doggin’s grooming myself. His breeder has graciously mentored me and, while I’m no expert, my dog comes away looking like a Sheltie should look.

It also gives us a chance to bond, accustoms him to being handled, and saves a few bucks!

But last week, after returning from Gulfport, I decided to take him to a local groomer, one he’s been to several times before, one who usually does a decent job with him.

Until this time.

This is what his front paws look like after her grooming:

Bad Sheltie paw

Eeek, ugly!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Notice how the nails look like talons and the fur is “sliced” back to expose the claws? Notice the sprigs of hair sticking out all over? You can’t really tell in this photo, but it’s cut in layers, almost exposing the foot.

Nothing close to what a true Sheltie paw should look like. She must have used straight scissors, when you’re only supposed to use thinning shears to blend the furs.

So what does a true Sheltie paw look like? This:

Pretty Sheltie paws, thanks to Sheltie Nation for the image

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

See how the nails don’t stick out? See how the feet look like tight cotton balls?

It’s not easy to do, but if you’re going to capture that pretty Sheltie look, you’ve got to make the feet right!

In all fairness, my boy’s groomer admitted to feeling lousy with a head cold; she didn’t admit (or deny) having a flunky sub on the grooming for her, but what else can I conclude?

No, my Sheltie isn’t a show dog, but he’s MY show dog. And I know he knows he’s not at his prettiest with paws this ugly.

Still, fur grows out eventually, and his will, too. When that happens, count on me to do the trimming!