Who's in charge

Dear Mother Nature, Father Time, God, The Universe, Buddha, Howie Mandel or whomever is in charge,

I'd like a word with you, preferably in person.  There seems to have been some kind of mix-up lately and I would appreciate if it were straightened out as soon as possible.  You see, as I've slept, it seems someone has slowly been stealing body parts and replacing them with ones that do not function nearly as well.  Oh, I'll admit I didn't notice it at first because it was just little things they took.  For example, I began noticing that the local newspaper and publisher's of my favorite books were using smaller fonts than they used to.  Of course I assumed it was a money saving maneuver.  Smaller print equals less ink usage. Times were tough and everyone was cutting back.  I understood.  I am not an unreasonable woman. I swallowed my pride and bought some reading glasses...you know, to help the economy recover.  I'm a good citizen.

But then, something happened to my scale.  I couldn't explain it, but the damn thing just went crazy and added 30 pounds to my weight.  Now I'm all for American made products, but that scale was obviously defective.  What has happened to pride in craftsmanship?  I think someone needs to haul all the CEO's of American companies into one venue and lecture them about proper production methods and such.  There is no other explanation for an inaccurate scale than shoddy materials. Someone better get a grip on that and correct it right away.

Now, onto the knees. I'm especially frustrated about these old ones I've been given.  They sound weird when I go up steps; making this bizarre crackling sound like walking over a dirt road in work boots.  Not only that, but they hurt all the time and one of your elves or something didn't put them together correctly because they don't work very well.  Sometimes, I'll just be walking along, minding my own business and one of them will just give out like someone tripped me.   If there isn't something for me to catch myself on, I've been known to just grab the nearest person in line and take out a whole checkout line.  It's kind of embarrassing.  Yep, I distinctly remember my own knees and they weren't anything like these.  Mine used to ride a bicycle ten miles a day, hit a softball and run like the wind and even jumped some hurdles and set a record in junior high school.  I appreciate that times are hard for everyone but I'd sure appreciate it if I could have those knees back.  There used to be a time I could do a mean cartwheel.  I was remembering that a couple of weeks ago and since no one was looking, I decided to give it a shot and see if maybe these WERE the knees I used to own. Well, Lord, I can swear to you on the pile of dog poo I landed in that these are definitely NOT mine.  Even the paramedics agreed that I didn't quite nail the maneuver with the precision I used to..and they've been here THREE times to see it!

As far as the rest of me goes, I can't complain too much.  Although I do think it was pretty cowardly for my thyroid to flee a sinking ship, I can't really blame it.  Like Detroit, this location isn't the hot spot it used to be.  There are things growing where they ought not be, things moved from their original location and some stuff I'm not even sure I can identify.  I don't know what you're doing up there, but I think you and Howie need to come down here and explain things. I'll be waiting in the back yard, picking up dog poo.  I think I might try to tackle that cartwheel one more time...

Your friend,
Vicky

Finding the time...

I noticed last night that I hadn't blogged in forever and realized how unfair that was to the two or three people who actually READ what I write.  So this morning while in the shower, I pondered what I could blog about?  My first thought was to relay the story of how horrible our Christmas was, what with my daughter's favorite Yorkie dying, and us not having enough money to buy even one present.  Then, I thought better of it, not wanting to appear whiney and ungrateful.  After all, as bad as things were this holiday, we were still thankful to be in our own house, with heat, a warm bed and plenty to eat.  We knew that no matter how bad it seemed, we still had more blessings than some.
I wiped that idea from my mind and just closed my eyes, feeling the caress of the warm water against my skin. Momentarily losing my balance, I started to fall against the shower wall but caught myself in time to avoid what would've inevitably been an embarassing moment with the paramedics. Did they see that kind of thing often, I wondered?  How humiliating that must be for the victim...if they're conscious, that is.  Shaking that thought from my mind, I went back to brainstorming with myself.  That really is a curious term, isn't it? Brainstorming.  Who do you think came up with that?  Shrugging my shoulders to no one, it was back to the task at hand.  No blogging since July...hmm. A lot's happened since then but some of it's bad so I don't necessarily want to re-live that.
I shiver as I spot a spider race across the the ceiling above the shower.  I hate spiders. Generally speaking, I'm not a fan of any critters with more than four legs. We go to my in-law's house in Tennessee every Thanksgiving for four days.  It's the longest four days of my life. Not because of my in-laws, I love them, but because they literally live on top of a mountain, surrounded by various forms of critters, in a town of about 6 people. Ok, I'm exaggerating, maybe there's 10. There is ONE gas station, ONE grocery store, TWO dollar stores and a car dealership that is actually set up in someone's back yard. There's no real "LOT", per se, you just muddle out, avoiding the sinkholes, to the field where you see the 1974 pinto you're interested in and make Earl a deal.  It's a very simple life they lead.  They own approximately 60 acres and they have four or five large gardens, as they call them. My father in law gets up between four and five a.m. every day and works his fields.  He also takes care of about a dozen goats with bad attitudes and a small herd of cattle.  The term 'fresh country air' does not apply at his house. I've been down to the fence a few times to watch the cattle but they aren't the most entertaining of animals. Standing in the midst of all these annoyingly loud female cows, is the red-coated bull that is responsible for the maternal state of a number of females.  His gaze is fixed on me, as if he needs to declare his superiority. 


All I can think of at the moment is the time my best friend, Lori took me to the farm when her father kept his Holsteins.  She wanted to cut across the field by running through the cattle's fenced-in area. Pointing to a large bull about 100 yards across the field, she assured me he wouldn't bother us.  I trusted her, following quietly behind her as she scaled the fence.  We were about 50 yards from where we were going when I turned and noticed the bull walking hastily towards us.  Tapping her on the shoulder and pointing, she once again told me not to worry.  "He'll stop soon and go back to grazing," she said.  I tried to keep my faith in her knowledge but couldn't help peering over my shoulder and speeding up my step.  I was nearly past her when she glanced behind her, seeing him edging closer and closer.  "That's weird, " she stated, picking up her own pace, "The only other time I've seen him do that was when Mom stepped into the field when she was on her period.  Dad says they can smell it and they WILL come after you."  I stopped dead in my tracks. My eyes widened as I looked at her with paralyzing fear.  Her eyes still on the bull, she finally looked at me and knew in an instant what we needed to do.
"RUN!!!" she screamed, and we did, clearing that fence in what I'm sure must've been some kind of world record, a massive, panting and sexually excited nightmare arriving at the fence shortly after us.  Thank God for fences; big strong, wooden fences. 


Locked in the gaze of my father-in-law's bull, I still get chills thinking what could've happened.  I drop my eyes first, like an obedient servant and walk quickly away. 


I open my eyes again as the warm water massages my aching shoulders.  The spider has reached his destination and is now happily in it's web in the far corner.  Ick.  I hate spiders.
Where was I?  Oh yeah, a blog post.  I briefly considered an editorial piece on some current event or recent scandal. But then I remember that I don't care about celebrity scandals. Unlike certain tabloids, I do not feel their sexual mischief will impact the behavior of every male on the planet. Add that to the fact that I will NEVER understand men who are married to these outrageously gorgeous females yet still cheat.  This is indicative of deeper psychological issues, if you ask me.  All that money they've earned should be used to purchase the services of a therapist, not an attorney because if they doesn't fix the problem, it's just going to repeat itself.  But, as I said, I don't care. So that's out.


Thrity minutes go by and I noticed I was running out of hot water. I reconsidered the Christmas bit but then dismissed it once more because I know if I post it, my Twitter account will be bombarded by life coaches and law of attraction people by 8 a.m. tomorrow.  You have to watch what you post on these social media sites. One wrong word and a whole commune in Texas will make it their mission to save your wicked ass.


I exit the shower and a blast of cold air makes me shiver and grab another towel.  I make up my mind that I'm gonna go downstairs, sit at my laptop and write. I'll just wing it.  I know I can come up with something.
It's cold downstairs.  After sitting at my computer freezing, I grabbed a sweater from the laundy room and noticed I hadn't folded the clothes in the dryer.  It wouldn't take long, there weren't that many so I'll just do that really quickly.


It's now 12 noon and I sit back down to write.  My stomach growls.  I'm hungry.  I wonder what's in the fridge. Leftover enchilada's from 'Pancho Villas' are calling my name.  I popped them in the microwave and poured myself some iced tea. I can't eat in front of the computer, so I finish my lunch and set the dishes in the sink.  Damn.  There's still dishes in there from last night.  Someone didn't put them in the dishwasher.  I have to wash them before it's all caked-on and gross.  I ran some hot, soapy water. If I'm gonna do one, I might as well do them all.


By the time I finish, it's two o'clock because after I did the dishes, I wiped down the counters and noticed the floor needed mopping.  I couldn't let that sticky mess remain there.  Once again, I plop down into my chair and bring up the website where I write my blog.  I managed to type three words before the dogs start whining to go out.  With a huge sigh of discontent, letting them know how annoyed I am that they're interrupting my writing time, (don't they know how precious my time is,) I stand at the door for twenty minutes waiting for them to finish. I then decide I should go to the bathroom as well.  I just bought a new word-find book to leave in there.


It's now quarter to three.  I stare at my keyboard and decide to check out Twitter for just a minute or two. I visit for a little longer than I planned and when a beautiful chef named @DolceDebbie is describing her latest heavenly creation, it gets me thinking about what to make for dinner.  I can't remember what's in the freezer so I go check it out.  I finally decide on chicken marsala and remove the frozen breasts putting them in the microwave to thaw.  Sitting down, once again,  I finally manage to eek out an entire paragraph before the timer goes off and I need to flip them over and restart it.


Now it's four o'clock.  I look at my computer screen in complete frustration.  I can't write now, I have to start dinner.  Giving up for the day, I put my laptop aside and vow to try again tomorrow.  I don't know why I can never get any writing done. If only I had the time