It Was a Dark and Freaky Night...and yes, I did it to myself

I've been staying with a great-aunt who needs constant compaionship because senility has set its hooks, forcing twenty-four/seven supervision and the purchase of enormous clock faces.
That is another story.
My tale involves ghosts and the home's central heating system.
This house is haunted.
No one believes me, I know that, but still, it's true. I don't sleep well in her home because of the random noises that attack my central nervous system and make me as uneasy as if I were schizophrenic.
I've heard doors shutting mysteriously at three in the morning, and upon stealthy inspection of the living room, of course I was armed with a bottle of Keri lotion (thought patterns are illogical when ghost hunting), I found no warm bodies straying into the kitchen for midnight treats.
I feel like I am being watched when I am lying in bed facing the window, so I have begun sleeping facing the door.
More recently the noises were so freaky that I've started leaving the television on all night, muted, but the thing is so old it has an ominous hum all its own. But it also has no remote -- it's a push button television, imagine that! -- so I put up with the hum.
I've heard that when ghosts are present the air turns cooler in that area. Imagine when I woke the other morning and saw my breath! I was terrified to open my eyes as I was sure I would be ringed in ghosts like the poor dentist in "Ghost Town" (cute movie, by the way, shameless plug) and it turned out the the aunt had stumbled into the hallway and after having a normal routine of keeping her home at a balmy 82, I kid you not, she decided to turn off the heater on this particuls night in order to save a few pennies. It was twenty-eight degrees outside and the thermostat read 65 when I finally sprinted to the controls to dispel my ghosts.
BUT! And here's the crux of my tale...the other night I heard a BELL! A RINGING bell! Like a CHIMING, RINGING bell! Three tones in a row! At six a.m. Thus I was UP and AWAKE at six a.m! Not even the octogenarian aunt was awake.
Plus! Plus! I've started watching an A&E show called "Paranormal State." So now I sleep after the scary show, with the television humming, extra blankets stuffed at the foot of the bed should the old lady get stingy again, and a night light. And I'm not even ashamed of it!
Sad.

Snow Ice Cream...Yum!

Since the blizzard of Christmas Eve 2009 has passed and we've survived, I'm focusing on the positives. The negatives include not seeing relatives, having to ignore tradition, and forego watching the kids run and play and scream their fool heads off until they collapse from exhaustion around noon.
The positives: we have snow, and milk, and vanilla and sugar.
Mix 'em together and you get ice cream!
The problem is the proportions of each ingredient. There is no science or true recipe.
I go with this:
One big bowl of snow
Enough milk until the mixture is creamy
Enough vanilla 'til it's a brownish color
Enough sugar 'til it tastes good
There! The perfect recipe for a fast delicious and quickly melting treat for a blistery, blustery day.
Enjoy.

New Idea for Textophiles (it's a word, I made it up; I made it a word)

My dilemma continues: how to get hubby away from his new addiction of TEXTING.
Dear Lord in Heaven, it feels like my husband is a thirteen year old boy with Nintendo DS spasms that carry over into the texting world. He's lightning quick on the dang thing, I'll give him that. Way too many adventure games over the course of his life.
So -- I've been thinking of an invention to battle the texting thing I am living with.

What if:

Instead of typing, the machine worked with your voice, so that you could speak into it.

And whomever you are chatting with could respond right away. Sure, T9 is helpful sometimes, but how often have you tried to write "me" and ended up with "if?" Changes the whole context of your message. This way, you have no wasted seconds on tapping out messages. (Texting is a bit like Morse code, huh? I hadn't thought of that...)

And with a voice system, inflection and sarcasm could be heard, so there is no miscommunicating, which results in 18 more texts to clear up the confusion.

And instead of LOL, you could actually hear the other person actually laugh! Out loud!

OMG!

Wait a second...

*blink blink*

I think that might be the telephone.

Sweet! I just invented the telephone!!!

I Believe I'm a Relic

I think I am the only person on the planet who misses the hand written word.
Could this be true?
I know that technology has accelerated at the speed of light, and I'm doing my best to keep up, I assure you, but here's my concern: I've complained of it before, but does anyone miss personal conversations, the kind with complex sentences and correct grammar? Are we really so short on time that we don't type whole syllables, whole words, but use acrynoyms in everyday speech just to get through a conversation that much more quickly?
If I hear someone so O-M-G in that slow, drawn-out cutesy style one more time, I might actually scream. They don't even realize that they're being "so 1980's" with the whole Valley-girl attitude that they are laughable. And LOL has become a verb phrase? Reallly??
I know that after my grandmothers died I found letters they had written me when I was younger. I feel like I have actual evidence of their existence because I have inked verbage from them. It's priceless. Even the way that they penned their letters evokes images and memories from my childhood. The memories aren't even all happy, pretty ones, but still they are redolent of experiences from my youth, things that I had completely forgotten.
I may sound maudlin, morose maybe.
Perhaps I really am a relic and I should retire to my rocking chair on the front porch and let the world ease on by.
Oh...wait...since when have I had a front porch to sit on, one that was bigger than the exact dimensions of a "welcome" mat so that I could have an actual chair upon which to perch?
Oh, yeah, when I was young. It just really didn't seem like I was that old until I got a text message telling me so. lol (please note the sarcasm, it's difficult to read what with the electronic typing and everything...)

First "Real" Haircut

For the last three years when my son needs his hair cut, I have done it.
It has cost suckers to get the job done -- usually five -- because he hates with a passion even the mere idea of having his hair chopped. I don't know why, but scissors terrify him. Nothing has happened, that I know of, to cause such a phobia, but nonetheless, the fear exists.
And when I mention the suckers, each lasts about forty-five seconds, as my son is a chomper, not a licker, when it comes to candy on a stick.
Lately, though, not even suckers have been enticement enough for him to sit even remotely still for a trim.
Brilliant idea, I stupidly thought, "I'll have a pro do it! AND -- I'll take the camera! (hahahahahaha!)"
Oh, bless her heart.
We walked into Super Cuts and fortunately not another soul existed in the building.
I had been prepping him for the cut -- he kept shaking his head and saying "no, it's fine! I don't NEED a cut!"
But I am stubborn. I've been told that before. I accept it.
The stylist, along with myself and my hubby all tried the gentle soothing tones that come with bribery.
"You can get a treat as soon as your hair is cut! Yay!"
The screaming started immediately, and as I was holding him in order to pin him, the first spews of vomit landed directly on me. Yes, vomit. This story is not for the weak. And, fortunately, I was caped as well as my son. Whew!
The second eruption, however, landed on a towel, as me, the stylist, and my husband were prepared for further anointing, shall we say. The problem, however, was that my son literally went face first into the towel and didn't back away from it, thus he was trying to breathe/choke/vomit simultaneously, so my solution was to throw the towel away from his being as quickly as possible. I didn't want him to aspirate. Sadly, though, there was a creature in the way of the towel's disposal: my poor husband.
While hubby went to the restroom to clean up, while I was left to try to calm the bewildered little half-shorn creature in my arms.
The stylist was "looking for toys" but I'd bet money she was drinking from a "special" flask in the back room.
I was being kicked, pummeled, and rained upon with tears while trying to tame the beast. But, bravely, we all went back in to try and finish the job.
Hair was flying, capes having been disposed, and the hair invariably rained upon me and my child, who abhors hair on his delicate skin. He whimpered, he cried, he screamed -- literally screamed, into my ear; it's still ringing -- while we held down limbs. Appendages everywhere. At one point, no joke, my husband was accidentally holding my arms down, thinking they were the boy's!
Whoosh! Off went the newest cape! Off went the vomit-soaked shirt! Powder was liberally applied across the nape of his neck to rid him of the offending hairs, but they floated across to mom, lucky me...
BUT. The important part is that we all lived to tell the tale! And obviously, pictures were NOT taken in remembrance, though the visual is burned into my brain forever.
(I wish I had a picture of my son's face when the stylist said, "We'll see you in a month!")
That boy was still angry and spitting and hissing as I put him in the car.
Then, a short while later, calm reigned in the land.
And I am still itching all over the place. I can STILL see little hairs falling off randomly.
I'm headed to the showers, and then maybe a nap of my own!

Tulsa Radio Stations and Me

I live in Tulsa currently. I once lived in Oklahoma City, not so long ago.
In OKC I have a favorite radio station -- KISS-FM -- particularly because of the afternoon drive time team, Drew and Kaci. I love their banter and they seem like genuinely nice people.
KISS plays current top 40 tunes, as well as some older stuff, but mostly current music, and they play those songs repeatedly, again and again, ad nauseum, as do most of the stations whenever they lock onto music that listeners respond to. I understand that, so every now and then I switch to another station until I get tired of their line-up, and then back to KISS.
Now, though, I live in Tulsa and I cannot find current music.
I've tried 97.5, but it's a little too hard core for me.
I like 103.3 when I'm in the mood for classic rock, but come on, not all the time.
I have listened to the Oldies station, and I just can't take any more repetitions of "Teen Angel."
I'm not a huge country fan; I live in the wrong part of the world, huh?
I have 96.5 plugged into my pre-set button, and it touts itself as playing 70's, 80's, 90's, and today.
I can't seem to drive during the "today" section of their playlist.
Or much 90's.
And then the station has All-80's weekends seemingly every single weekend.
But Prince and Madonna, 80's? Still very relevant in the Tulsa metro! Pick a time of any day, weekend or not, and one of those two artists will be belting it out on Tulsa radio everywhere.
If I hear "Kiss" or "Borderline" again I will have to rip out  my stock radio and get some sort of adapter for my i-Pod so I can listen to something I enjoy.
And irony of ironies, invariably when I visit OKC it is a Wednesday. I don't know why, it just seems to be the trend. And guess what? Every Wednesday if Way Back Wednesday on KISS-FM!!
NOT current, not at all, not on Wednesday.
Sigh. I guess I'll get back to Tulsa.

Grass May be Greener, but You Still Have to Mow

I have noticed my family may have a "grass is always greener" mentality of late. It seems each time we travel to our hometown, Oklahoma City, where my hubby grew up amongst all of his immediate family and all of whom still reside there, that we get a bit homesick and long to be back where it is comfortable.
We live in Tulsa now. Tulsa is far prettier, it's hillier, it's less windy, and allergens aren't quite so prevalent to our sensitive snoots as they were in the City.
We may move back soon. But until such time, I am trying to see a new side of Tulsa that I haven't seen yet.
I always seem to have one route, to the grocery store, to the post office, to a favorite park, and rarely do I venture away from the beaten path unless inspired by something shiny or on sale.
Yesterday I took my son to Mohawk Park, to visit the zoo for the zillionth time, and discovered a sign to the Oxley Nature Center right behind the zoo.
I was feeling frisky or something 'cause we followed that sign, parked the car, and actually got out to explore! It was a tangle of paths and trails to venture down and find critters and flora in abundance.
Granted, my son was quickly bored, as none of the creatures looked like the giraffe he was expecting to see when he awoke that morning, and without a stroller, those paths became more of an upper body workout of continuously lifting forty pounds up and down than a leisurely stroll, but it was a lovely day and grasshoppers zigged and zagged enough to amuse us for a little while.
We went into the actual nature center buildling and found out it had been there since 1977! Who knew?
Of course, we ended up at the zoo in short order, where we finally saw the giraffe as well as a litter of four brand new pot-bellied pigs. Too cute.
Who know what adventure we will find tomorrow??
Any suggestions, please let me know.
Below is a picture of what my son found interesting in the world. I have a whole series of things just like this, should anyone be interested. Thank goodness for digital cameras and their tireless memory cards.