Friday, September 30, 2011
I See Green
My five-year-old son just painted his fingernails with a green Dry Erase marker, and wonders why he can't keep it that way forever. I envision green spots all over the furniture, the walls, the car, or perhaps those green spots are anger. Hmmm. While I clean his hands, I'll mull over which it is...
Sunday, July 17, 2011
New drawing
Saturday, July 16, 2011
youversion.com
I find this amazing. If you don't have a copy of the Bible, or would like a mobile version to take anywhere: http://www.youversion.com/ is the place to go. For your mobile device or home PC, in any version you could ask for, even in different languages, go here. Check it out. I think it's remarkable. Downloaded once every 1.1 seconds. Simply amazing.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Vetiver
This video has been around a while, but I just recently found it, and besides the cool longboarding, I just love the song. Vetiver's "The Swimming Song". Hope you enjoy.
http://youtu.be/mXqmRAUsn9U
http://youtu.be/mXqmRAUsn9U
Still Here
I'm still here but I also have another space. Check it out: http://www.worthallthewhile.com/. Hope to see you stop by. Let me hear from you! I like to know I'm not alone out here in ether space.
Monday, April 18, 2011
DaWanda
Check this new page I found. http://www.dawanda.en.com/
It's like Etsy, but free to list your homemade goods.
I'm still learning about it.
Let me know when you find good stuff.
It's like Etsy, but free to list your homemade goods.
I'm still learning about it.
Let me know when you find good stuff.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
What If...
I have an idea to try 365 new things this year. Of course, one a day, 365, that will bleed over into 2012.
That's okay.
An idea is an idea, calendar be darned!
It will be a challenge, and I'm not going to start today, for heaven's sake. Procrastinating is what I'm trying this week.
But on April 10th I will be running a 10K "race," and I quote the word because the only thing that will be actually racing against me is that octogenarian that registered for the race as a human interest story for her granddaughter's school paper. (And I plan to kick her butt, thank you very much.)
So.
April 11th I will let you know how the first day of Trying Worthwhile Things 365X has gone...if I am not too feeble to get to the keyboard. And if I'm still breathing. And not in the hospital...sigh...you get my drift.
That's okay.
An idea is an idea, calendar be darned!
It will be a challenge, and I'm not going to start today, for heaven's sake. Procrastinating is what I'm trying this week.
But on April 10th I will be running a 10K "race," and I quote the word because the only thing that will be actually racing against me is that octogenarian that registered for the race as a human interest story for her granddaughter's school paper. (And I plan to kick her butt, thank you very much.)
So.
April 11th I will let you know how the first day of Trying Worthwhile Things 365X has gone...if I am not too feeble to get to the keyboard. And if I'm still breathing. And not in the hospital...sigh...you get my drift.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Mouse in the Frickin' House
And they are ballsy! Brave! Elephantitis of their tiny genitalia! Running here and there in broad fluorescent light across the kitchen floor, down the hall, into the living room.
Where am I during these brave forays into my sanity? Screaming like a girl, of course, and wiggling and dancing like a Native American, except without their grace and deliberateness.
My four-year-old just comes around the corner and says, "Another mouse, mama?"
He's so calm and cool and I want that peace, that surety that "Mama will fix it, I'm good, I'm watching Yo Gabba Gabba and all is well. Where's my juice box?"
I brought in the cat to kill while I was at the store. I came home to a blood bath, a veritable crime scene worthy of CSI, whichever city you choose, and I smiled as I cleaned up the vestiges of mouse blood. I felt creepy, but the cat gloated, I whistled, we were both happy.
Alas, of course, the mouse situation escalated as they gravitated toward my bed in the middle of the night. I kept vigil three nights in a row, and each of those nights the little sucker ran across my BED!!!
EEEK!
I called in reinforcements, who brought poison pellets larger than my fist and inserted them into feline-friendly areas of the domicile while I watched holding a plunger in case a rat scooted out in search of whatever.
Poison in place, I thought I would never see another whiskered rodent again.
Until one staggered into the bedroom at seven in the evening.
He was drunk on poison, moving slowly and without focus. I found a jar, scooped him up (without squealing, I was quite proud of my containment, pardon the pun), and proceeded to question why I was jarring him with glass and not a shoe.
Honestly, though, my killer instincts are non-existent, especially since my should-be victim was so dang adorable. Oh! those little paws!!!
My son inspected the mouse, determined him to be "so cute! I want to keep him forever!" and that was when the crisis entered in.
Soon I was going to have one dead-mouse-in-a-jar and one morose miniature pet owner.
Fifteen minutes later, mouse was a given, and a reprieve arrived: my son asked about the mouse's family. Yes! His family! They would miss him right?
I suggested release into the wild so Mousy could find his folks. (The Wild was the backyard, where the cat and dogs were not currently present.)
And my baby boy was sad sad sad for about a minute and a half, and now he's forgotten the whole deal.
I, however, have a cell phone containing a picture of a mouse in a jar and a lasting compulsion to carry a boot with me at all times, y'know, just in case...
 |
| Mousy |
I have a mouse, er, mice, problem.
When I visualize it, I see the scene in "Ratatouille" when the old lady shoots through the ceiling and reveals hundreds of the critters in the rafters.
I, too, can imagine hundreds of them, huddled in my sweater drawer, though I've only eyeballed a dozen or so.And they are ballsy! Brave! Elephantitis of their tiny genitalia! Running here and there in broad fluorescent light across the kitchen floor, down the hall, into the living room.
Where am I during these brave forays into my sanity? Screaming like a girl, of course, and wiggling and dancing like a Native American, except without their grace and deliberateness.
My four-year-old just comes around the corner and says, "Another mouse, mama?"
He's so calm and cool and I want that peace, that surety that "Mama will fix it, I'm good, I'm watching Yo Gabba Gabba and all is well. Where's my juice box?"
I brought in the cat to kill while I was at the store. I came home to a blood bath, a veritable crime scene worthy of CSI, whichever city you choose, and I smiled as I cleaned up the vestiges of mouse blood. I felt creepy, but the cat gloated, I whistled, we were both happy.
Alas, of course, the mouse situation escalated as they gravitated toward my bed in the middle of the night. I kept vigil three nights in a row, and each of those nights the little sucker ran across my BED!!!
EEEK!
I called in reinforcements, who brought poison pellets larger than my fist and inserted them into feline-friendly areas of the domicile while I watched holding a plunger in case a rat scooted out in search of whatever.
Poison in place, I thought I would never see another whiskered rodent again.
Until one staggered into the bedroom at seven in the evening.
He was drunk on poison, moving slowly and without focus. I found a jar, scooped him up (without squealing, I was quite proud of my containment, pardon the pun), and proceeded to question why I was jarring him with glass and not a shoe.
Honestly, though, my killer instincts are non-existent, especially since my should-be victim was so dang adorable. Oh! those little paws!!!
My son inspected the mouse, determined him to be "so cute! I want to keep him forever!" and that was when the crisis entered in.
Soon I was going to have one dead-mouse-in-a-jar and one morose miniature pet owner.
Fifteen minutes later, mouse was a given, and a reprieve arrived: my son asked about the mouse's family. Yes! His family! They would miss him right?
I suggested release into the wild so Mousy could find his folks. (The Wild was the backyard, where the cat and dogs were not currently present.)
And my baby boy was sad sad sad for about a minute and a half, and now he's forgotten the whole deal.
I, however, have a cell phone containing a picture of a mouse in a jar and a lasting compulsion to carry a boot with me at all times, y'know, just in case...
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