Several years ago after hauling a marble slab, a gift for my youngest son, from one end of Westgate Mall to the other, I said I'd never, ever buy something big and have to carry it through the mall again. Well, today I did it - again. Needed to get Jennifer, my youngest granddaughter, a sixteenth birthday gift. I thought about a nice piece of jewelry. My Penney's card has less than fifty bucks on it so that's where I started.
Stood at the jewlery counter quite a while, checking out what they had, when a young, rather rough, hairy young man finally came over and asked if I needed help. I said I did and he asked what kind. I made a motion to the jewelry on display.
"Which one?"
"I would like to look at several."
"Which ones?"
"Can you show me some?"
"Yeah."
"Can you go behind the counter to get them?"
"Yeah."
"Well, then, would you go back there?" At that I motioned for him to go behind the counter so that he could take something out. Looking rather disgusted, he actually went behind the counter.
"Okay, what do you wanna to see?"
"I'd like to know the range of prices for these." I pointed to a section.
"How much you wanna to spend?"
I thought a minute and finally said between fifty and seventy five dollars.
"These all cost more'n that."
I sighed. The thought of dealing with him was more than I could take. "I think I've changed my mind."
I know it's the day after Thanksgiving, but that fellow should have stayed home. Penneys had to have been desperate to have hired him, or they would have asked him to act and look more professional.
In the mall I went into a store that looked like it might have something suitable. The sales lady was extremely nice and did her best to help. I took one look at what she said was "very popular with the young crowd" and thought 'I'm not spending my money on that junk, I'll let her daddy buy it' thanked the lady and left.
Dillards was on the other side of the mall. Went in, found just what I wanted. Not jewelry, but a beautiful jewelry case. Bought it. Saleslady put it in a sack lifted it and said "This is pretty heavy. Can you handle this?" "Oh, yeah, I can handle it" I said, shaking my head. I lifted it, It was a little heavy, but I'd already said I could handle it. Two sales ladies asked if I was sure I didn't need help, and was I parked close. "No problem, I'm just right outside the door in handicaped parking" I said. At the door it dawned on me. Sure, I was right outside the door - all the way across the mall on the other side of Penneys.
If you've ever been seventy nine, tried to walk really fast while doing your best not to drop a huge, heavy package, with people scooting out of your way, while glancing at you out of the corner of their eyes, wondering when you're gonna fall flat on your face dead, then you know how I felt.
I hung onto that package - tight, like it was pure gold, breathing out of my nose while I gasped for breath inside, but didn't dare open my mouth. If I had opened my mouth, I would have been panting so hard fifteen people would have grabbed their cell phones to call 911, while twenty five others tried to steal my purse, lift the package, pull off my finger holding the car keys, and ripp my clothes trying to pull 'em off of me. I would have been left lying on that hard stone floor naked as a jay bird, breathing like a whale coming up for air. I wasn't about to give anybody that privilege.
When I finally got to my car I sat pant'n like a bull elephant in heat for several minutes before I could focus my eyes enough to drive. Yep, I'm a slow learner, but this time surely I have learned my lesson.. Dang, I hope so.
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Well, It Happened
The person, you know, that crispy fried Asian noodle that called me the other day and told me that someone would call? Well, he did - this morning. I -- was -- ready. A man started realing off a bunch of words that couldn't be separated with a sharp knife and I stopped him flat.
"Stop. Don't talk LOUDER, talk SLOWER.
He did.
Well, I want'ch to know, I was blown away. He was NICE. He ruined my whole grouchy attitude. I couldn't do anything but listen and answer his questions - in monotone - low monotone. I was ready to be tacky and he pushed that tacky plumb out the door.
Now, guess what , I don't have to go pick up my blood testing suplies anymore, plus, I get a new meter. He even wished me a good day. I sat there like a dry, day old, Southern biscuit. All I could think of to say was "thank you" and "good by". He left me with a huge, huge hairlip.
Somestimes it is hard to change instantly from wanting to chew someone out and spit them in the trash, to being civil. Especially when they have no idea that you've been gnawing on them for two days.
I think what I had better do is give myself a serious attitude adjustment. And I'm not talking about the way people on the phone upset me. There's others that send me into outer space too, like drivers.
I don't have time, and should not worry about people throwing me into a tizzy. I'm old enough to know that they can't do that if I don't let them. So, from now on, I'm going to try to control myself. I shall take the high road and let others have the gutter, thank you.
To begin, I've got a whole pot of fresh coffee in my kitchen, and I'm gonna go drink it. May even have a piece of cake - or chocolate. Shoot, I might even have both. If you want a cup, come on by. I promise to be nice.
Don't let anybody get'ch down - OK?
"Stop. Don't talk LOUDER, talk SLOWER.
He did.
Well, I want'ch to know, I was blown away. He was NICE. He ruined my whole grouchy attitude. I couldn't do anything but listen and answer his questions - in monotone - low monotone. I was ready to be tacky and he pushed that tacky plumb out the door.
Now, guess what , I don't have to go pick up my blood testing suplies anymore, plus, I get a new meter. He even wished me a good day. I sat there like a dry, day old, Southern biscuit. All I could think of to say was "thank you" and "good by". He left me with a huge, huge hairlip.
Somestimes it is hard to change instantly from wanting to chew someone out and spit them in the trash, to being civil. Especially when they have no idea that you've been gnawing on them for two days.
I think what I had better do is give myself a serious attitude adjustment. And I'm not talking about the way people on the phone upset me. There's others that send me into outer space too, like drivers.
I don't have time, and should not worry about people throwing me into a tizzy. I'm old enough to know that they can't do that if I don't let them. So, from now on, I'm going to try to control myself. I shall take the high road and let others have the gutter, thank you.
To begin, I've got a whole pot of fresh coffee in my kitchen, and I'm gonna go drink it. May even have a piece of cake - or chocolate. Shoot, I might even have both. If you want a cup, come on by. I promise to be nice.
Don't let anybody get'ch down - OK?
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
I Do Not Understand Asianeze
Just got off the phone with someone from China, Japan, Korea, or somewhere on this earth that speaks Chineze, Japaneze, Koreaneze or some kind of Asianeze, and I've got a world class headach. Why do companies/organizations use people that do not speak English? These people yell and speak so fast that my head feels like my brain has been assaulted by a word machine gun.
I think the first person - the voice was high pitched, but I'm not sure it was a lady. That's OK, I'm afraid I wasn't one either. However, I yelled back slow enough for it to understand, and after I yelled back about four times, it said - at least I think it said - that someone else would talk to me.
I waited. Sure enough, another person came on the phone and yelled in the same Asianeze and our conversation continued. I yelled in Southern and she yelled in bullets, high pitched bullets.
As near as I could tell, I was being called about a new meter to check my blood sugar. I already have the testing equipment. I am on Medicare. I do not want to cause Medicare any more costs than necessary. I think I understood her to say she was calling from the American Diabetes Association. Why do they not get someone that we can understand, that speaks English in a moderate tone of voice. I had to hold the phone six inches from my ear to understand anything. I'm not hard of hearing, but if you have to ask what was said again, they just yell louder. I asked her to please slow down and not speak so loud. Didn't help.
At the end of the second persons spiel, or rather after she got tired of us yelling back and forth, I think she said that someone else would call. I have no idea who, why, or when.
Whoops, the phone just rang. I answered and when he said "Hello" I asked if he was calling from the American Diabetes Association. "No", he said, he was calling from the "&%&*(#&^ government grants". I asked "WHAT grants" he repeted "@#$)(*&E^ grants". I asked him to spell it. He did - "@)(&*$#". I hung up. It was another telephone person speaking Asianeze. At least he wasn't yelling.
Now, I have completely lost my train of thought, and have no idea of what I intended to say. I'm going to stop and go take a pill.
I do hope you will have a good day, and if I get another call and it's someone speaking Asianeze, I'm just gonna hang up. Take Care, will ya?
I think the first person - the voice was high pitched, but I'm not sure it was a lady. That's OK, I'm afraid I wasn't one either. However, I yelled back slow enough for it to understand, and after I yelled back about four times, it said - at least I think it said - that someone else would talk to me.
I waited. Sure enough, another person came on the phone and yelled in the same Asianeze and our conversation continued. I yelled in Southern and she yelled in bullets, high pitched bullets.
As near as I could tell, I was being called about a new meter to check my blood sugar. I already have the testing equipment. I am on Medicare. I do not want to cause Medicare any more costs than necessary. I think I understood her to say she was calling from the American Diabetes Association. Why do they not get someone that we can understand, that speaks English in a moderate tone of voice. I had to hold the phone six inches from my ear to understand anything. I'm not hard of hearing, but if you have to ask what was said again, they just yell louder. I asked her to please slow down and not speak so loud. Didn't help.
At the end of the second persons spiel, or rather after she got tired of us yelling back and forth, I think she said that someone else would call. I have no idea who, why, or when.
Whoops, the phone just rang. I answered and when he said "Hello" I asked if he was calling from the American Diabetes Association. "No", he said, he was calling from the "&%&*(#&^ government grants". I asked "WHAT grants" he repeted "@#$)(*&E^ grants". I asked him to spell it. He did - "@)(&*$#". I hung up. It was another telephone person speaking Asianeze. At least he wasn't yelling.
Now, I have completely lost my train of thought, and have no idea of what I intended to say. I'm going to stop and go take a pill.
I do hope you will have a good day, and if I get another call and it's someone speaking Asianeze, I'm just gonna hang up. Take Care, will ya?
Sunday, September 18, 2011
I Got A Problem, You Got Ideas?
It's Sunday. I go to church on Sundays. And I have a problem. I have a nose - that runs. Believe me, that is a problem, especially when it runs while I am sitting in the choir. I have taken over the counter medications to stop the flow, but they don't seem to help. So I always have a tissue handy.
When I was young, back in the dark ages, I remember noticing that quite often older men, the age of Santa Clause, would have moisture seeping from their noses down to their upper lip. They never seemed to be aware of it, and I always wanted to tell them about it. I never did. And now I'm glad I didn't.
Around the age of way-past-middle-age I began to have a runny nose. It can be embarrasing. When I'm next to someone - anyone, anywhere, I usually look at them and explain that I don't have a cold. They sort of grin. Does that mean they think I'm lying? Are they showing pity? What? I don't know and I can't do anything about it. So I wipe my nose and hope they understand.
This morning, sitting in the choir loft, before the service started, I had a brilliant thought. My nose acts just exactly like one of the faucets in my house. As faucets go, the one in my bathroom is old and it drips. It needs a new washer. I have no idea how to put a new one in. So it keeps dripping.
Now for my idea. I am old, and my nose drips, so it needs a new washer, or at least some apparatus to stop the oozing or torrent, which ever it happens to be at any given moment. I am positive there are others who would welcome an answer to this dilemma also.
Some people wear glasses because they can't see well, others wear hearing aids to help them hear, and there are those who take medications to control all sorts of medical problems. A question I'd like an answer for is, what is this problem called. Is a runny nose a medical problem, a deficiency problem, or possibly a generational problem. Hummm.
I have no idea about how to solve this, but dang, I'm sure glad someone came up with something besides handkerchiefs that you have to wash and iron. That's what my grandmother used.
Do you know how much a case of kleenex costs at Sam's? I'm not talking about one of those packages that holds about ten or twelve boxes. I'm talking about a whole case of those suckers. You got any idea?
When I was young, back in the dark ages, I remember noticing that quite often older men, the age of Santa Clause, would have moisture seeping from their noses down to their upper lip. They never seemed to be aware of it, and I always wanted to tell them about it. I never did. And now I'm glad I didn't.
Around the age of way-past-middle-age I began to have a runny nose. It can be embarrasing. When I'm next to someone - anyone, anywhere, I usually look at them and explain that I don't have a cold. They sort of grin. Does that mean they think I'm lying? Are they showing pity? What? I don't know and I can't do anything about it. So I wipe my nose and hope they understand.
This morning, sitting in the choir loft, before the service started, I had a brilliant thought. My nose acts just exactly like one of the faucets in my house. As faucets go, the one in my bathroom is old and it drips. It needs a new washer. I have no idea how to put a new one in. So it keeps dripping.
Now for my idea. I am old, and my nose drips, so it needs a new washer, or at least some apparatus to stop the oozing or torrent, which ever it happens to be at any given moment. I am positive there are others who would welcome an answer to this dilemma also.
Some people wear glasses because they can't see well, others wear hearing aids to help them hear, and there are those who take medications to control all sorts of medical problems. A question I'd like an answer for is, what is this problem called. Is a runny nose a medical problem, a deficiency problem, or possibly a generational problem. Hummm.
I have no idea about how to solve this, but dang, I'm sure glad someone came up with something besides handkerchiefs that you have to wash and iron. That's what my grandmother used.
Do you know how much a case of kleenex costs at Sam's? I'm not talking about one of those packages that holds about ten or twelve boxes. I'm talking about a whole case of those suckers. You got any idea?
Friday, August 26, 2011
Grow Old Gracefully - You Gotta Be Kiddin'
What do you mean grow old gracefully? There's no such thing. To do something gracefully takes practice. Therefore, to grow old gracefully, we must practaice growing old. Tell a teenager that they need to practice growing old, and see how far that gets ya. Besides, there's no way to practice getting old.
The other day I met a lady while walking my pups. She was dressed the part, shorts, tee shirt, walking shoes. She was acting the part too, walking fast, pumping those arms, breathing deep (either that or panting, I couldn't tell which). Anyway, she looked at me as we passed and said "I'm trying to stave off sixty." Shoot, sixty, for me that was a looong time ago. But I can still breathe and walk at the same time.
Then again, I am not old - yet anyway - I don't have time to be. I have waaay too much to do to get old. I have to take care of business, Robbins Grips (I've harped about that to everybody), a book to sell, a book to write, roads to travel and mountains to climb. And people want me to grow old gracefully? I'll do that when I win the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes.
Right now, it's people driving cars that make me wave my arms and scream. I would appreaciate it if all you slow drivers would get out of my way. I do not have time to wait behind you at stop signs so that you can finally look both ways. You need to be lookin' both ways before you ever stop. It is easy to see that the car a block and a half away is not gonna hit you if you cross the street. Surely, you can travel to the other side at twenty miles an hour, before that car drives the length of three football fields. Do the math.
Also, it does not help me to grow old gracefully when the light turns green, for you to finish your text or whatever it is you are looking down at, before you decide "OH, the light has changed, maybe I should go, but I had better look both ways first." Yes, I'm the one behind you that's honking. Pay attention.
Automatic doors are another thing I don't have time to wait for, unless my arms are full or broken. They open too slow. Have you noticed how lazy people are though? If there is a button to punch to open the door, they seem to think it's necessary to punch it. Do they not realize that if they open the door themselves, their arms will stay stronger a little longer? Maybe not much, but any excersize helps.
There's really no way a person can get ready for old age. It just slipes up on ya. Like after youve cleaned house. The place looks spotless, and then a few days later you notice dust all over everything. It just sort of appears out of nowhere.
Years do the same thing. You're lookin' good. Skin, hair, weight all are fine until one day you look in the mirror, and there staring back at ya is your mom or worse, your grandmother. For all you young folks out there, if you don't think that's gonna happen, just stick around, and I'll say "I told ya so."
Anyone under fifty isn't gonna believe me. That's OK. I was the same way. But then one day I looked in the mirror and sure enough, Grandma was starin' back at me with a grin on her face. Don't know how, but I skipped plum over Mama. Not only us girls, but fellas have problems this way too.
Now, at this age, I should be tryin' to grow old gracefully. But I'm trying to get everything done that I didn't do earlier. All I know to say is, just stay outta my way. I don't have time to fool with slow pokes, especially in cars. Besides, I didn't practice for old age, but I'm planning to be a race car driver in my next life and I'm practing for that. The other day a friend was ridin' with me when I told her my plans. She said "Well, you'll make a ton 'o money at it". I looked down and her knuckles were plumb white. Bless her lill' ol' heart.
The other day I met a lady while walking my pups. She was dressed the part, shorts, tee shirt, walking shoes. She was acting the part too, walking fast, pumping those arms, breathing deep (either that or panting, I couldn't tell which). Anyway, she looked at me as we passed and said "I'm trying to stave off sixty." Shoot, sixty, for me that was a looong time ago. But I can still breathe and walk at the same time.
Then again, I am not old - yet anyway - I don't have time to be. I have waaay too much to do to get old. I have to take care of business, Robbins Grips (I've harped about that to everybody), a book to sell, a book to write, roads to travel and mountains to climb. And people want me to grow old gracefully? I'll do that when I win the Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes.
Right now, it's people driving cars that make me wave my arms and scream. I would appreaciate it if all you slow drivers would get out of my way. I do not have time to wait behind you at stop signs so that you can finally look both ways. You need to be lookin' both ways before you ever stop. It is easy to see that the car a block and a half away is not gonna hit you if you cross the street. Surely, you can travel to the other side at twenty miles an hour, before that car drives the length of three football fields. Do the math.
Also, it does not help me to grow old gracefully when the light turns green, for you to finish your text or whatever it is you are looking down at, before you decide "OH, the light has changed, maybe I should go, but I had better look both ways first." Yes, I'm the one behind you that's honking. Pay attention.
Automatic doors are another thing I don't have time to wait for, unless my arms are full or broken. They open too slow. Have you noticed how lazy people are though? If there is a button to punch to open the door, they seem to think it's necessary to punch it. Do they not realize that if they open the door themselves, their arms will stay stronger a little longer? Maybe not much, but any excersize helps.
There's really no way a person can get ready for old age. It just slipes up on ya. Like after youve cleaned house. The place looks spotless, and then a few days later you notice dust all over everything. It just sort of appears out of nowhere.
Years do the same thing. You're lookin' good. Skin, hair, weight all are fine until one day you look in the mirror, and there staring back at ya is your mom or worse, your grandmother. For all you young folks out there, if you don't think that's gonna happen, just stick around, and I'll say "I told ya so."
Anyone under fifty isn't gonna believe me. That's OK. I was the same way. But then one day I looked in the mirror and sure enough, Grandma was starin' back at me with a grin on her face. Don't know how, but I skipped plum over Mama. Not only us girls, but fellas have problems this way too.
Now, at this age, I should be tryin' to grow old gracefully. But I'm trying to get everything done that I didn't do earlier. All I know to say is, just stay outta my way. I don't have time to fool with slow pokes, especially in cars. Besides, I didn't practice for old age, but I'm planning to be a race car driver in my next life and I'm practing for that. The other day a friend was ridin' with me when I told her my plans. She said "Well, you'll make a ton 'o money at it". I looked down and her knuckles were plumb white. Bless her lill' ol' heart.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Two Dogs Plus One Poop Bag Means Poor Planning
Just got back from taking my two pups walking around the south lake at Medipark. It is five minutes until ten pm, and eighty nine degrees HOT.
We started this journey at eight thirty and it was eighty nine degrees HOT then, but it was sort of cloudy and I figured it would get cooler and there would be a slight breeze so it wouldn't be too bad. Evidently, the heat we've had recently has fried my brain. It didn't get cooler and there wasn't much of a breeze.
First off I'd left the double leash at home leaving me with only one retractable leash and another strap with a catch on both ends. Well, this old lady wasn't gonna let a little thing like that stop her, so I hooked the retractable leash to a loose little round metal thingie in the middle of the strap and fastened each end of the strap to a dog. OK, what if one pup had to be chocking a little, part of the time, I thought we could handle that.
When I found I had only one poop bag I thought I could handle that too. Olie usually waits until we go walking to 'go', but Blossom doesn't usually 'go'. She just marks her territory all the time, like every fifteen feet. Of coarse then Olie has to mark his right on top of hers. It gets embarrassing.
One problem, was that I hadn't planned on meeting up with 90% of the dogs in South Amarillo. Blossom doesn't like other dogs besides Oliver. She thinks she can take down all the hounds, so every time I saw one in the distance I grabbed her by the collar and she had to walk on her hind legs. Not fun to explain to everybody you pass that she's aggressive and I'm trying to teach her not to be. I got a lot of sideways looks - yeah right, you're not trying to choke her to death, you are just being mean. I'm gettin' used to that.
Naturally, before we hardly get started, here comes the poop. But it wasn't Oliver. Blossom squatted before we got to the first crossover bridge. I had to pick it up because she 'did' it where kids play. When I bent down, a lady, with one of the dogs Blossom didn't like, came by and let's just say I had trouble getting everything put back together. We had 3/4 of a mile to go and here I'm carrying a used poop bag. Decided I'd try to pick up Olie's with the same bag, which meant I'd be hauling that smelly sack until he did his thing. When he finally decided to 'go' it was in an area where kids don't usually play and few people walk so guess what - in this heat it'll dry before morning.
Finally, I'm back home, tired, hot and sweaty. But before I sat down to write this I put the regular double dog leash in the car and opened the car trunk to get more poop bags. Guess what again? You're right, there weren't any in the trunk, nor any in the house. I'd better get some tomorrow, or at least before it cools off and I try to take them walking again. Right now, I think I'm gonna go get me a 'green thing' and sit down. If you don't know what a green thing is, don't worry, it'll just help me sleep better. Have a good night.
We started this journey at eight thirty and it was eighty nine degrees HOT then, but it was sort of cloudy and I figured it would get cooler and there would be a slight breeze so it wouldn't be too bad. Evidently, the heat we've had recently has fried my brain. It didn't get cooler and there wasn't much of a breeze.
First off I'd left the double leash at home leaving me with only one retractable leash and another strap with a catch on both ends. Well, this old lady wasn't gonna let a little thing like that stop her, so I hooked the retractable leash to a loose little round metal thingie in the middle of the strap and fastened each end of the strap to a dog. OK, what if one pup had to be chocking a little, part of the time, I thought we could handle that.
When I found I had only one poop bag I thought I could handle that too. Olie usually waits until we go walking to 'go', but Blossom doesn't usually 'go'. She just marks her territory all the time, like every fifteen feet. Of coarse then Olie has to mark his right on top of hers. It gets embarrassing.
One problem, was that I hadn't planned on meeting up with 90% of the dogs in South Amarillo. Blossom doesn't like other dogs besides Oliver. She thinks she can take down all the hounds, so every time I saw one in the distance I grabbed her by the collar and she had to walk on her hind legs. Not fun to explain to everybody you pass that she's aggressive and I'm trying to teach her not to be. I got a lot of sideways looks - yeah right, you're not trying to choke her to death, you are just being mean. I'm gettin' used to that.
Naturally, before we hardly get started, here comes the poop. But it wasn't Oliver. Blossom squatted before we got to the first crossover bridge. I had to pick it up because she 'did' it where kids play. When I bent down, a lady, with one of the dogs Blossom didn't like, came by and let's just say I had trouble getting everything put back together. We had 3/4 of a mile to go and here I'm carrying a used poop bag. Decided I'd try to pick up Olie's with the same bag, which meant I'd be hauling that smelly sack until he did his thing. When he finally decided to 'go' it was in an area where kids don't usually play and few people walk so guess what - in this heat it'll dry before morning.
Finally, I'm back home, tired, hot and sweaty. But before I sat down to write this I put the regular double dog leash in the car and opened the car trunk to get more poop bags. Guess what again? You're right, there weren't any in the trunk, nor any in the house. I'd better get some tomorrow, or at least before it cools off and I try to take them walking again. Right now, I think I'm gonna go get me a 'green thing' and sit down. If you don't know what a green thing is, don't worry, it'll just help me sleep better. Have a good night.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
It's Been A Loooong Time Since I graduated High School
Recently went to Slaton, Texas, because it was celebrating it's 100th birthday. I graduated high school there, way way way back in 1949. Each class had get togethers, so BJ, a friend, and I drove down on Saturday morning, watched the parade. Floats, with people throwin' candy, lots of tractors, old cars, and the high school band playing Hold That Tiger ('cause they're the Slaton Tigers).
Afterward, BJ and I headed to the Slaton Bakery. I was not about to try out the Port-O-Potty, and the city hall was closed. Ever tried to find a rest room in a town you don't know and there aren't any fillin' stations around? Wasn't time to eat so we didn't look for a restaurant. My grandmother used to buy me cookies at the Slaton Bakery when I was just a kid. Then I got big enough to buy them for myself, so at least I'd been in the bakery before. It's still in the same family so I figure I'm a customer. Normally I would've bought something but BJ bought enough for both of us. Outside some men were selling homemade ice cream and I bought us some of that. It was good ice cream, and they even put a cookie on top.
First we checked out her class - 1959. She's a lot younger than I am. Didn't recognize anyone. They didn't recognize me either, but they did ask about my brother when they found out my maiden name was Peebles.
Finally we went to Alton Kenn's, where my class was meeting. Shoot, I didn't recognize many in there either. Names sounded familiar though. When asked, I used my given name - Johnie Peebles. They would look at me and then almost yell "Johnie Pearl". I want'ch to know, I dropped that Pearl part the minute I hit Texas Tech, fall of 1949. Here I've had one first name for all these years and suddenly I'm a two first name Texas girl again.
I did recognize a few though - Nancy, Joan, Forrestine, Alton, Waylon. For a few more there was a slight resemblance to people I had seen sometime during my life, and then there were those that I had no clue who they were.
Four of us started first grade together, and made it all the way through high school to graduation - Freddie England, Daunita Dowell, Jimmy Porter and me. Jim showed up. I hadn't seen him since 1949. A person can change in sixty two years. Daunita wasn't able to come, but I did see her about twenty five years ago. Freddie was at the last reunion I attended and said he'd be at our very last one. I spoke up saying I would be right there with him. He didn't make it. He's gone now, and I really missed him. Freddie and I were in the Cradle Roll at the First Baptist Church together, when we were babies.
BJ and I drove around town before we left to take a look at places that had meant a lot to us growing up. The house where she lived is now run down, and the trees her dad was so proud of are gone. She kept saying "Daddy would just have a fit." The one where I lived is gone completely. I was been born in that house. Lived there all my life and then got married in it. Now all that is left is a vacant lot full of weeds.
Buildings around the square are the same, different names, different stores, some have been sort of re-done, but are just older. The court house was torn down and a new one built years ago. Focal point on the square when I was growing up was the gazebo. That's where I played a violin solo on a program one Saturday night, when I was about 8 years old. It was either torn or fell down, but towns-people wanted it back, so now there is a new one. It's the brightest spot in all of down town. The old Harvey House down by the Santa Fe Railroad was vacant ever since I can remember. It has been restored and is now a bed and breakfast. That's where BJ's class met.
It was July 3, 2011, a bright sunny day. BJ and I enjoyed it. However, talking on the way back to Amarillo, we agreed - you can go back, but you really can't go back home again. Home is where you are living now. Enjoy it.
Afterward, BJ and I headed to the Slaton Bakery. I was not about to try out the Port-O-Potty, and the city hall was closed. Ever tried to find a rest room in a town you don't know and there aren't any fillin' stations around? Wasn't time to eat so we didn't look for a restaurant. My grandmother used to buy me cookies at the Slaton Bakery when I was just a kid. Then I got big enough to buy them for myself, so at least I'd been in the bakery before. It's still in the same family so I figure I'm a customer. Normally I would've bought something but BJ bought enough for both of us. Outside some men were selling homemade ice cream and I bought us some of that. It was good ice cream, and they even put a cookie on top.
First we checked out her class - 1959. She's a lot younger than I am. Didn't recognize anyone. They didn't recognize me either, but they did ask about my brother when they found out my maiden name was Peebles.
Finally we went to Alton Kenn's, where my class was meeting. Shoot, I didn't recognize many in there either. Names sounded familiar though. When asked, I used my given name - Johnie Peebles. They would look at me and then almost yell "Johnie Pearl". I want'ch to know, I dropped that Pearl part the minute I hit Texas Tech, fall of 1949. Here I've had one first name for all these years and suddenly I'm a two first name Texas girl again.
I did recognize a few though - Nancy, Joan, Forrestine, Alton, Waylon. For a few more there was a slight resemblance to people I had seen sometime during my life, and then there were those that I had no clue who they were.
Four of us started first grade together, and made it all the way through high school to graduation - Freddie England, Daunita Dowell, Jimmy Porter and me. Jim showed up. I hadn't seen him since 1949. A person can change in sixty two years. Daunita wasn't able to come, but I did see her about twenty five years ago. Freddie was at the last reunion I attended and said he'd be at our very last one. I spoke up saying I would be right there with him. He didn't make it. He's gone now, and I really missed him. Freddie and I were in the Cradle Roll at the First Baptist Church together, when we were babies.
BJ and I drove around town before we left to take a look at places that had meant a lot to us growing up. The house where she lived is now run down, and the trees her dad was so proud of are gone. She kept saying "Daddy would just have a fit." The one where I lived is gone completely. I was been born in that house. Lived there all my life and then got married in it. Now all that is left is a vacant lot full of weeds.
Buildings around the square are the same, different names, different stores, some have been sort of re-done, but are just older. The court house was torn down and a new one built years ago. Focal point on the square when I was growing up was the gazebo. That's where I played a violin solo on a program one Saturday night, when I was about 8 years old. It was either torn or fell down, but towns-people wanted it back, so now there is a new one. It's the brightest spot in all of down town. The old Harvey House down by the Santa Fe Railroad was vacant ever since I can remember. It has been restored and is now a bed and breakfast. That's where BJ's class met.
It was July 3, 2011, a bright sunny day. BJ and I enjoyed it. However, talking on the way back to Amarillo, we agreed - you can go back, but you really can't go back home again. Home is where you are living now. Enjoy it.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
My name is Sweetie
Yep, my name is Sweetie. It didn't used to be, but I got old and people have changed my name. They don't even ask me what my name is. It is taken for granted. They look at me and out of their mouth comes "Sweetie".
Except at the doctor's office where I am called by my first name, Johnie. There I used to be Mrs. Not any more. I understand Congress has passed laws to protect my privacy. I wish they wouldn't do that sort of thing. I'll bet if I stripped necked in the mall, my full name would be printed in the newspaper in bold type in the middle of the front page. Besides, someday there might be someone, who I would like for them to know my name.
But back to the subject. Waiters, waitresses, salesmen, salesladies, grocery clerks, car wash people, you name it, where ever there are people that need to address me, I am called Sweetie. Policemen - no, they just start right in asking for a driver's license. At least that's what happened the last time I got stopped, thirty years ago.
I was complaining about this to my daughter the other day. Told her that it irks me just a tad to always be addressed as Sweetie. Why not call me Beautiful, Good Lookin', Cute. Well, now there's something I'll never be called. I wasn't even cute when I was cute. But people could call me somthing nice. Just don't ever call me Maam. That's not gonna fly, but daggers might. My brother did that once - only once.
Suzanne got to thinkin' and had another take on why older women, (including me) are called Sweetie. Her thought is that people won't say what they really would like to say. "Don't get me wrong," she said, "but some uh, uhmmm --- experienced women ( she swallowed hard and took a deep breath) can be rather trying at times, especially to service people, and what they would really like to tell them is that they are a pain in the a--"troturf, (I know that is spelled wrong, but I am trying to be nice - again.) I have to do that a lot lately, try to be nice that is.
I have a question though. Am I the only person that is fed up with people thinking I'm old, when I do not feel old at all? I know I look it. ,my mirror says I do. But looks can be deceiving. My brain says I'm only - oh, maybe forty five, no more than fifty. Then again, sometime, yeah, all of the time, when I stand up I creek a little.
Well, that's life, and I intend to dance while I can still dance. When someone calls me 'Sweetie', I'l look at them, give 'em a big smile and think you think I'm a pain in the but. We'll just see about that. Do what I want and I'll be a Sweetie. Don't, and I can sure be a PITA.
Except at the doctor's office where I am called by my first name, Johnie. There I used to be Mrs. Not any more. I understand Congress has passed laws to protect my privacy. I wish they wouldn't do that sort of thing. I'll bet if I stripped necked in the mall, my full name would be printed in the newspaper in bold type in the middle of the front page. Besides, someday there might be someone, who I would like for them to know my name.
But back to the subject. Waiters, waitresses, salesmen, salesladies, grocery clerks, car wash people, you name it, where ever there are people that need to address me, I am called Sweetie. Policemen - no, they just start right in asking for a driver's license. At least that's what happened the last time I got stopped, thirty years ago.
I was complaining about this to my daughter the other day. Told her that it irks me just a tad to always be addressed as Sweetie. Why not call me Beautiful, Good Lookin', Cute. Well, now there's something I'll never be called. I wasn't even cute when I was cute. But people could call me somthing nice. Just don't ever call me Maam. That's not gonna fly, but daggers might. My brother did that once - only once.
Suzanne got to thinkin' and had another take on why older women, (including me) are called Sweetie. Her thought is that people won't say what they really would like to say. "Don't get me wrong," she said, "but some uh, uhmmm --- experienced women ( she swallowed hard and took a deep breath) can be rather trying at times, especially to service people, and what they would really like to tell them is that they are a pain in the a--"troturf, (I know that is spelled wrong, but I am trying to be nice - again.) I have to do that a lot lately, try to be nice that is.
I have a question though. Am I the only person that is fed up with people thinking I'm old, when I do not feel old at all? I know I look it. ,my mirror says I do. But looks can be deceiving. My brain says I'm only - oh, maybe forty five, no more than fifty. Then again, sometime, yeah, all of the time, when I stand up I creek a little.
Well, that's life, and I intend to dance while I can still dance. When someone calls me 'Sweetie', I'l look at them, give 'em a big smile and think you think I'm a pain in the but. We'll just see about that. Do what I want and I'll be a Sweetie. Don't, and I can sure be a PITA.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
If It's not an Estate Sale, Don't Call It One
That's right. I'm an estate sale junkie, and I am fed up with wasting gas to drive all over town only to find out that some (I'd like to say idiot but I'm trying to be nice here) person has listed their garage sale as an estate sale. Just because you are trying to sell Grandma's pickle dish and hand crocheted pot holders, doesn't make it an estate sale.
An estate sale is held inside the house. If there is a garage and storage building you can have stuff there too, even on the patio or in the back yard, but it needs to be INSIDE the house too.
Today, four were listed in the paper. First stop was one held by a professional estate sale company. It was organized, things were priced, a little high maybe, but at least you had a starting point. If there was no price you asked and they would give one off the top of their head, which is fine. I spent fifty cents there.
The next one turned out to be a garage sale on the driveway. It evidently had some of Aunt Soffie's or Uncle Bill's used towels or something. Didn't spend much time there. Did pay a quarter for something I really needed. It wasn't marked and I would have paid fifty cents, but the lady wasn't quite as smart at the pro at the first sale.
Number three was the reason I'm writing this blog. It was advertised as three estates all rolled into one and "everything must go". Well, I want to tell ya, for everything to go, it's gonna take two years, eighteen hours a day, seven days a week, and they are still gonna have junk left to throw out. I haven't seen a mess that big since we moved across town with everything we had packed in brown paper sacks. It was in a commercial building, the lighting was bad and there was junk stacked six feet deep. My son, Wesley, and I walked in about twenty feet, we stopped, I looked around and said "I don't have time for this", he said he was thinking the same thing, so we turned and left. They had an add last week, but it was worded different and we didn't go. That ain't all. We're not goin' again. I don't care how flowery they make that newspaper add.
Sale No. four was truly an estate sale. Most of the deceased kids, grandkids, and their families were sitting around or rearranging stuff. Maybe I should say the men were sitting around. The women were doing the rearranging. Any way, it was an estate sale, and I did buy fifty cents worth. However, I think I'll do some cleaning out at home. Too munch of that junk looked mine.
Went to a real one not long ago. There was a tiny matchbook type car that I decided to give a home - I have a collection. It was dirty, had a broken fender, the paint was messed up. You could tell it had been played with a lot, had been some little kid's treasure, but there was no price. I took it to the lady and asked "How much". She must have thought I was dumber than dirt and said "How about two dollars?" Now that filthy little car wasn't more than two inches long. "I was thinkin' more like a nickle" I said. She came back with "Well, things are half price, so that just makes it a dollar." "Nope", I said "it doesn't need for me to give it a home that bad. Just throw it in the trash." And I'm sure that is exactly what happened to that little car.
Estate sales sure can be interesting though. Wonder if I should clean out in the garage or start with the closets. Maybe, first, I should have a dump truck back into the garage and throw things down from the attic. The kids probably would appreciate that.
An estate sale is held inside the house. If there is a garage and storage building you can have stuff there too, even on the patio or in the back yard, but it needs to be INSIDE the house too.
Today, four were listed in the paper. First stop was one held by a professional estate sale company. It was organized, things were priced, a little high maybe, but at least you had a starting point. If there was no price you asked and they would give one off the top of their head, which is fine. I spent fifty cents there.
The next one turned out to be a garage sale on the driveway. It evidently had some of Aunt Soffie's or Uncle Bill's used towels or something. Didn't spend much time there. Did pay a quarter for something I really needed. It wasn't marked and I would have paid fifty cents, but the lady wasn't quite as smart at the pro at the first sale.
Number three was the reason I'm writing this blog. It was advertised as three estates all rolled into one and "everything must go". Well, I want to tell ya, for everything to go, it's gonna take two years, eighteen hours a day, seven days a week, and they are still gonna have junk left to throw out. I haven't seen a mess that big since we moved across town with everything we had packed in brown paper sacks. It was in a commercial building, the lighting was bad and there was junk stacked six feet deep. My son, Wesley, and I walked in about twenty feet, we stopped, I looked around and said "I don't have time for this", he said he was thinking the same thing, so we turned and left. They had an add last week, but it was worded different and we didn't go. That ain't all. We're not goin' again. I don't care how flowery they make that newspaper add.
Sale No. four was truly an estate sale. Most of the deceased kids, grandkids, and their families were sitting around or rearranging stuff. Maybe I should say the men were sitting around. The women were doing the rearranging. Any way, it was an estate sale, and I did buy fifty cents worth. However, I think I'll do some cleaning out at home. Too munch of that junk looked mine.
Went to a real one not long ago. There was a tiny matchbook type car that I decided to give a home - I have a collection. It was dirty, had a broken fender, the paint was messed up. You could tell it had been played with a lot, had been some little kid's treasure, but there was no price. I took it to the lady and asked "How much". She must have thought I was dumber than dirt and said "How about two dollars?" Now that filthy little car wasn't more than two inches long. "I was thinkin' more like a nickle" I said. She came back with "Well, things are half price, so that just makes it a dollar." "Nope", I said "it doesn't need for me to give it a home that bad. Just throw it in the trash." And I'm sure that is exactly what happened to that little car.
Estate sales sure can be interesting though. Wonder if I should clean out in the garage or start with the closets. Maybe, first, I should have a dump truck back into the garage and throw things down from the attic. The kids probably would appreciate that.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Dang I Hate Telephone Menus
Today is Monday. So far I have tried to talk to Medicare, two doctor's offices, my insurance agent, and the church. My blood pressure is probably sky high and I didn't even have high blood pressure. The church is the only place I've called and not gotten a gazillian options to get to the person I wanted. Thank goodness for Beckie - and I hope I spelled her name right - at the church, or I'd have gotten a long menu there.
At Medicare I only wanted to ask a question, so I called the number given. Big mistake. I didn't have my Medicare card in front of me so I hung up, but not before I found out the web site. Went to the web site. Only wanted to ask a question. First I had to make application for an account. After three tries I finally got that done. Then I was told to go back to my account. Did that. Went through the entire information of the whole web site and would you believe there is NO place to ask a question? If you don't believe me and you have half a day to waste, give it a try.
After that I called the insurance company to find out why no adjuster has been out since my claim was re-opened for water damage to my home. The lady I talked to said she would find out and call back. Only took two hours to find out that my claim had been totally denied. The insurance company people insisted I call a carpet company to have them dry out my carpets,and that was after I told them that if the claim would be denied I didn't want to file a claim. Now I am minus carpet in one room totally and part of the pad in another, due to their insistence that I call a company. I was going to do the drying out myself if there was a chance the claim would be denied. I'm so mad I could chew up nails and spit them out as bullets.
Then I called my dentist to make an appointment to have a broken tooth filled or what ever they do, and was told by an answering machine that my dentist office closes as two on Monday.
Figured if he could close on Monday afternoon, he didn't need my money so I called another dentist office. Have an appointment at one thirty tomorrow, but I have to take antibiotics before I get there so had to call my doctor's office.
At the doctor's office there were so many opportunities on the menu that I gave up and punched 0, After a short wait a pleasant voice said to leave the information and someone would get back to me - when, I have no idea. I left my information so now I wait. All I wanted was for the doctor to call in a prescription for the antibiotics.
You know, life was so much more simple before telephone menus. From now on I'm gonna start punching 0 at first. It works for ATT, and now I know it works at the doctor's office. Medicare, shoot, does anybody work there anyway, except maybe the person figuring out all those menus.
At Medicare I only wanted to ask a question, so I called the number given. Big mistake. I didn't have my Medicare card in front of me so I hung up, but not before I found out the web site. Went to the web site. Only wanted to ask a question. First I had to make application for an account. After three tries I finally got that done. Then I was told to go back to my account. Did that. Went through the entire information of the whole web site and would you believe there is NO place to ask a question? If you don't believe me and you have half a day to waste, give it a try.
After that I called the insurance company to find out why no adjuster has been out since my claim was re-opened for water damage to my home. The lady I talked to said she would find out and call back. Only took two hours to find out that my claim had been totally denied. The insurance company people insisted I call a carpet company to have them dry out my carpets,and that was after I told them that if the claim would be denied I didn't want to file a claim. Now I am minus carpet in one room totally and part of the pad in another, due to their insistence that I call a company. I was going to do the drying out myself if there was a chance the claim would be denied. I'm so mad I could chew up nails and spit them out as bullets.
Then I called my dentist to make an appointment to have a broken tooth filled or what ever they do, and was told by an answering machine that my dentist office closes as two on Monday.
Figured if he could close on Monday afternoon, he didn't need my money so I called another dentist office. Have an appointment at one thirty tomorrow, but I have to take antibiotics before I get there so had to call my doctor's office.
At the doctor's office there were so many opportunities on the menu that I gave up and punched 0, After a short wait a pleasant voice said to leave the information and someone would get back to me - when, I have no idea. I left my information so now I wait. All I wanted was for the doctor to call in a prescription for the antibiotics.
You know, life was so much more simple before telephone menus. From now on I'm gonna start punching 0 at first. It works for ATT, and now I know it works at the doctor's office. Medicare, shoot, does anybody work there anyway, except maybe the person figuring out all those menus.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Have You Ever Seen A Wrinkled Nose?
It may be because I took my shower late this morning and my eyes were fully open, but when I looked in the mirror the only part of my face that didn't have wrinkles was my nose. Now, I'm not talking about that line where my glasses have been sitting for the last 100 years, I'm talking about the main nose, you know, that part where air goes in and out. Mine looks the same as always, not pretty, large and fat, but it's not wrinkled.
Mother didn't have wrinkles on her face, at least not many, and they weren't deep, but then I've outlived her by seven years already. I don't remember Daddy having any wrinkles at all. Men don't seem to have that problem. If they do, it just adds character. Adds character to women too - just not the right kind.
Now Grandma had wrinkles - major wrinkles. You hear people say "She's got a road map on her face." Well Grandma had several road maps on hers. Believe me, she had plenty of character too, even being a Baptist preacher's wife. Holy macaroni, it appears I'm gonna look just like her - at least in the face. She was an even six feet tall and her top weight was one hundred five. If I stretched to six feet I wouldn't get down to a hundred five. However, my wrinkles aren't quiet as bad as hers - yet. 'Course, I've outlived her too.
Mother faithfully used Ponds Cold Cream every night, so, years ago I bought a big jar. Been usin' that Ponds Cold Cream every since. Still I'm gettin' those blasted wrinkles. Well, just last week a friend and I made a trip to Dillard's, because Estee Lauder was havin' a promotion where if you spent thirty five dollars you got a bunch of free stuff.
I bought Perfectionist -Wrinkle Lifting Serum, Corrector for Lines/Wrinkles/Age Spots.Think it cost somewhere around fifty to sixty bucks. Along with cleanser, lipstick, and eye shadow I received (free) Time Zone - Line and Wrinkle Reducing Cream SPF15. At home, I looked in a drawer and along with some Avon Dramatic Firming Cream, that my friend gave me, and my Ponds Cold Cream, I found several tubes and jars of Mary Kay Time Wise (age fighting stuff), some Estee Lauder Resilience (firming lotion I paid about eighty smackers for in Dallas years ago), some prescription lanolin they gave me in the hospital a couple of years ago because my face and lips were dry and cracking, and a tube of Equate Hemorrohoidal Cream that somebody said was good for wrinkles. You know, if I use all that slicky stuff at one time, my face might just slide right off my head.
But I bet I wouldn't have wrinkles on my nose.
Mother didn't have wrinkles on her face, at least not many, and they weren't deep, but then I've outlived her by seven years already. I don't remember Daddy having any wrinkles at all. Men don't seem to have that problem. If they do, it just adds character. Adds character to women too - just not the right kind.
Now Grandma had wrinkles - major wrinkles. You hear people say "She's got a road map on her face." Well Grandma had several road maps on hers. Believe me, she had plenty of character too, even being a Baptist preacher's wife. Holy macaroni, it appears I'm gonna look just like her - at least in the face. She was an even six feet tall and her top weight was one hundred five. If I stretched to six feet I wouldn't get down to a hundred five. However, my wrinkles aren't quiet as bad as hers - yet. 'Course, I've outlived her too.
Mother faithfully used Ponds Cold Cream every night, so, years ago I bought a big jar. Been usin' that Ponds Cold Cream every since. Still I'm gettin' those blasted wrinkles. Well, just last week a friend and I made a trip to Dillard's, because Estee Lauder was havin' a promotion where if you spent thirty five dollars you got a bunch of free stuff.
I bought Perfectionist -Wrinkle Lifting Serum, Corrector for Lines/Wrinkles/Age Spots.Think it cost somewhere around fifty to sixty bucks. Along with cleanser, lipstick, and eye shadow I received (free) Time Zone - Line and Wrinkle Reducing Cream SPF15. At home, I looked in a drawer and along with some Avon Dramatic Firming Cream, that my friend gave me, and my Ponds Cold Cream, I found several tubes and jars of Mary Kay Time Wise (age fighting stuff), some Estee Lauder Resilience (firming lotion I paid about eighty smackers for in Dallas years ago), some prescription lanolin they gave me in the hospital a couple of years ago because my face and lips were dry and cracking, and a tube of Equate Hemorrohoidal Cream that somebody said was good for wrinkles. You know, if I use all that slicky stuff at one time, my face might just slide right off my head.
But I bet I wouldn't have wrinkles on my nose.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Been to the Post Office Lately?
Went to the Post Office this afternoon. Got out of my car at 2:19, sat back down in it at 2:46. Twenty seven minutes to mail three small packages, two Priority mail and one First Class, no insurance, no nothing, "just mail them" I said.
When I got in line, two windows out of four were open, and the clerk at one was leaving. He went somewhere in back. Where? I don't know, maybe to take a nap. He just left his window.
There were five people besides me in line. A lady clerk took her time waiting on a customer at the other window. Three men and two women were before me. Three were on electric thing-a-ma-jigs, cell phones or such. I think two were texting and one man just kept looking at a little black object in his hand.
When I left the line was almost out the door, at least twelve to fifteen people. One elderly lady came in carrying on a conversation, and I do believe she and the one she was talking to were both deaf, and it was a l-o-n-g conversation. She was still talking when I left. At least one young parent was among the crowd, because a small kid kept running around yelling. No one seemed to claim him, but then I wouldn't have either. Don't know what the others were doing - I just glanced around and saw a lot of bored faces. I felt the same and I didn't want anyone I knew to see me.
Years ago the public was told that the U.S. Postal System was changing and would be run like a business. Well, have you ever seen the government run anything like a going business? The post office boss should be ashamed, because no business I have seen has been run like our postal service. Nor will it ever be and stay in business. But then, we support it - right?
Never saw the clerk that left the room again, but his glasses were on the counter. Years ago at Texas Tech, I had a professor that was always tardy, but his hat would be on his desk. He let the class know that if his hat was on his desk, he was there. So I guess the clerk was 'there'.
I wish I could have done like the students at Tech did and left my packages on the counter. The next time that class met, every student put a hat on his desk and left. But that didn't turn out too well either. Next time they came to class the professor told them that he had given their hats a test and they all flunked.
Sometimes there is just no way to win.
When I got in line, two windows out of four were open, and the clerk at one was leaving. He went somewhere in back. Where? I don't know, maybe to take a nap. He just left his window.
There were five people besides me in line. A lady clerk took her time waiting on a customer at the other window. Three men and two women were before me. Three were on electric thing-a-ma-jigs, cell phones or such. I think two were texting and one man just kept looking at a little black object in his hand.
When I left the line was almost out the door, at least twelve to fifteen people. One elderly lady came in carrying on a conversation, and I do believe she and the one she was talking to were both deaf, and it was a l-o-n-g conversation. She was still talking when I left. At least one young parent was among the crowd, because a small kid kept running around yelling. No one seemed to claim him, but then I wouldn't have either. Don't know what the others were doing - I just glanced around and saw a lot of bored faces. I felt the same and I didn't want anyone I knew to see me.
Years ago the public was told that the U.S. Postal System was changing and would be run like a business. Well, have you ever seen the government run anything like a going business? The post office boss should be ashamed, because no business I have seen has been run like our postal service. Nor will it ever be and stay in business. But then, we support it - right?
Never saw the clerk that left the room again, but his glasses were on the counter. Years ago at Texas Tech, I had a professor that was always tardy, but his hat would be on his desk. He let the class know that if his hat was on his desk, he was there. So I guess the clerk was 'there'.
I wish I could have done like the students at Tech did and left my packages on the counter. The next time that class met, every student put a hat on his desk and left. But that didn't turn out too well either. Next time they came to class the professor told them that he had given their hats a test and they all flunked.
Sometimes there is just no way to win.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
I'm Gonna Quit Fussing About the Snow
Yep, I'm gonna stop fussin' about the snow as of today. At least for a little while. You know what they say about gripping because you are on crutches until you see a man who has no feet. Or somthing like that.
Today I was driving in my little BMW down Coulter, a major thoroughfare. The temperature outside was a cold twenty something. Inside, it was a cozy seventy four deg., I had my seat warmer on, and I was going to a doctor's appointment for a check-up.Traffic was slight because there is snow about six inches deep, up to drifts of two feet or more. Yes, I was complaining to myself about having to get out in the cold weather, when I saw a lady walking by the side of the street.
The lady had on what looked like a warm, full-length black coat. I couldn't tell how old she was from the rear, but she seemed to be stumbling, even though she picked her steps carefully. I, like everyone else, drove on by. But then I got to thinking. In this neighborhood, absolutely no one would be out walking unless their car had broken down, or they lived in the low-income apartments about two blocks down the street. She seemed to be headed toward the apartment complex, which is known to be home to some needing an inexpensive place to light temporarily, or for a few that are two cookies short of a full bag. Either of those two situations would be reason enough for me to help.
By the next corner I felt bad about passing and not offering the poor lady a ride, so, after two blocks, and four right turns, I put on my hazzard lights, pulled up beside her and stopped. Rolling down my front passenger window, I called "Can I give you a ride?" She just headed straight for my car and I could tell she was really anxious to get in.
She had snow on one side of her face, and coat as if she had fallen. Whe she sat down, she only said "I'm going right down there to those apartments. It's not far, just right down the street," and pointed. When she did, I noticed a shoe full of snow in her hand. "I lost my other shoe," she added. And then I saw her feet. The poor thing had on no shoes, no socks - nothing on her feet. They were a bright, blotchy red, and she was shivering.
At the apartment complex, she directed me to her door. I drove as close to it as I could. When she got out I watched as she walked in the snow, shaking while she opened her purse, got her keys, dropped them, picked them up from the snow, and opened her door.
I backed almost all the way out before I saw the sign - 'One Way. Too bad, I thought and kept backing until I was able to turn around and continue on my way to the doctor's office. My check-up turned out fine, but I can't seem to get the lady out of my mind. I hope and pray that she is okay. And I don't think I'll be complaining about the snow or being cold for some time.
Today I was driving in my little BMW down Coulter, a major thoroughfare. The temperature outside was a cold twenty something. Inside, it was a cozy seventy four deg., I had my seat warmer on, and I was going to a doctor's appointment for a check-up.Traffic was slight because there is snow about six inches deep, up to drifts of two feet or more. Yes, I was complaining to myself about having to get out in the cold weather, when I saw a lady walking by the side of the street.
The lady had on what looked like a warm, full-length black coat. I couldn't tell how old she was from the rear, but she seemed to be stumbling, even though she picked her steps carefully. I, like everyone else, drove on by. But then I got to thinking. In this neighborhood, absolutely no one would be out walking unless their car had broken down, or they lived in the low-income apartments about two blocks down the street. She seemed to be headed toward the apartment complex, which is known to be home to some needing an inexpensive place to light temporarily, or for a few that are two cookies short of a full bag. Either of those two situations would be reason enough for me to help.
By the next corner I felt bad about passing and not offering the poor lady a ride, so, after two blocks, and four right turns, I put on my hazzard lights, pulled up beside her and stopped. Rolling down my front passenger window, I called "Can I give you a ride?" She just headed straight for my car and I could tell she was really anxious to get in.
She had snow on one side of her face, and coat as if she had fallen. Whe she sat down, she only said "I'm going right down there to those apartments. It's not far, just right down the street," and pointed. When she did, I noticed a shoe full of snow in her hand. "I lost my other shoe," she added. And then I saw her feet. The poor thing had on no shoes, no socks - nothing on her feet. They were a bright, blotchy red, and she was shivering.
At the apartment complex, she directed me to her door. I drove as close to it as I could. When she got out I watched as she walked in the snow, shaking while she opened her purse, got her keys, dropped them, picked them up from the snow, and opened her door.
I backed almost all the way out before I saw the sign - 'One Way. Too bad, I thought and kept backing until I was able to turn around and continue on my way to the doctor's office. My check-up turned out fine, but I can't seem to get the lady out of my mind. I hope and pray that she is okay. And I don't think I'll be complaining about the snow or being cold for some time.
Friday, February 4, 2011
What If
Was sitting in the hot tub and got to thinking. Most of the world news is bad and the weather has been beyond bad all over, so, what if the earth could be having contractions, or the beginning of labor pains? Now, if the earth has labor pains, what does that mean? The Bible mentions 'end times' in several places so what if this could be the beginning of the end times? What does 'end times' mean?
Now I am no scholar, no scientist, not much of anything except an old woman, but, what if at the end of Mother Earth's labor pains she explodes, and in that explosion thousands of little bits and pieces scatter in all directions of our universe?
Some of these chunks, or whatever you want to call them, would get too close to the sun and burn up, some some might dissapear into a black hole, some would just fly off into space in whatever direction they started, but a few, say five, fifty, five hundred or so, might be large enough to cause new baby planets. What if some of these new planets were encased in atmosphere as we know it. And what if life might exist on them.
Okay, say you have four kids. One lives in San Fricisco, another lives in New York, the third is visiting in Paris, and the last one is on a mission trip in Africa, or South America. You are in Amarillo, Texas. Each of you happens to end up on a different newly formed planet, far away from the other family members. These new planets might be as large and a continent, country, or state.
What if people have survived and are on each of these planets. Naturally the strongest and smartest will take charge. They will form new governments. New classes of people can emerge. Therre might even be slaves. Using the natural resources of each new planet, and differente people that ended up on each of them, a "new" civilization would be formed.
For instance, those from the San Francisco area might grow grapes for wine, along with whatever else grows around there now. The ones from New York could grow grapes too, and the Paris pople definately would. I don't know what is grown in Africa and South America, but I do hope the Ruby Red Grapefruit would be prevalent for those of us Texas folks. As far as industry is concerned, I am going to leave that for those people on the new planets to figure out. But you get my drift.
What if after years, even centuries, future generations managed to travel from one planet to another and found that the DNA from their current population matched that of other planets? Hmm.
Well, I'm not a sicience fiction writer, but it any of you out there are, get in touch and I'll tell you the rest of the story. But remember I want my part from the sale of books, and especially the movie rights.
Now I am no scholar, no scientist, not much of anything except an old woman, but, what if at the end of Mother Earth's labor pains she explodes, and in that explosion thousands of little bits and pieces scatter in all directions of our universe?
Some of these chunks, or whatever you want to call them, would get too close to the sun and burn up, some some might dissapear into a black hole, some would just fly off into space in whatever direction they started, but a few, say five, fifty, five hundred or so, might be large enough to cause new baby planets. What if some of these new planets were encased in atmosphere as we know it. And what if life might exist on them.
Okay, say you have four kids. One lives in San Fricisco, another lives in New York, the third is visiting in Paris, and the last one is on a mission trip in Africa, or South America. You are in Amarillo, Texas. Each of you happens to end up on a different newly formed planet, far away from the other family members. These new planets might be as large and a continent, country, or state.
What if people have survived and are on each of these planets. Naturally the strongest and smartest will take charge. They will form new governments. New classes of people can emerge. Therre might even be slaves. Using the natural resources of each new planet, and differente people that ended up on each of them, a "new" civilization would be formed.
For instance, those from the San Francisco area might grow grapes for wine, along with whatever else grows around there now. The ones from New York could grow grapes too, and the Paris pople definately would. I don't know what is grown in Africa and South America, but I do hope the Ruby Red Grapefruit would be prevalent for those of us Texas folks. As far as industry is concerned, I am going to leave that for those people on the new planets to figure out. But you get my drift.
What if after years, even centuries, future generations managed to travel from one planet to another and found that the DNA from their current population matched that of other planets? Hmm.
Well, I'm not a sicience fiction writer, but it any of you out there are, get in touch and I'll tell you the rest of the story. But remember I want my part from the sale of books, and especially the movie rights.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
I sure do need to call a plumber
Have you ever had one drain partially stopped up, while all the other drains work fine? That's what's going on at my house.
For the past two months (or it might be three, since I haven't been keeping count) the drain where my washing machine is connected, has been acting up. The kitchen sink is connected to the same drain and it works fine, however, it does cause the drain at my washer to gurggle once in a while. All the bathroom drains work OK. Back before the first of the year I didn't do anything about it because I didn't want to spend the money, didn't have the time, needed to clean the house, and besides it was close to Christmas. Shoot, I just didn't want to fool with a plumber.
Along came January. Haven't done laundry since before Christmas, and I'm almost out of 'you know what'. It's almost February and I haven't called the plumber yet.
Well, yesterday I couldn't put off doing my laundry any longer. I cleaned all the junk off the top of the washer and dryer so that I could get started. Sheets first. Last time I did the washing, I found that I could set the water level on low and the drain worked fine. If I set it on medium and stopped it in the middle of draining, I could wait a minute then start it draining again and it wouldn't run over. Took fifteen washer cycles, about a hundred gallons more water, and three days to get four large loads washed. But I didn't have to clean up any water.
I don't know how it took me so long to figure out that I could just fill that sucker up, pile a full load in, and let 'er go. All I have to do is stop the machine twice while it's draining. Hey, tried that and it worked. I did have to stay close by in order to hear when the washer quit swishing and started draining, but more got washed at one time. I only let water spew out the drain, down the wall and onto the floor three times in three loads. Took a lot less time and used less water and soap.
Since three loads were all I managed to get done yesterday, I'm back at it again today. Only have three more loads to do. That is, if I put some never-washed red towels in with my jeans. If I decide that I don't want to take a chance of my jeans coming out a wierd offish blue/pink color, it's gonna take four. I sure do need to call a plumber.
For the past two months (or it might be three, since I haven't been keeping count) the drain where my washing machine is connected, has been acting up. The kitchen sink is connected to the same drain and it works fine, however, it does cause the drain at my washer to gurggle once in a while. All the bathroom drains work OK. Back before the first of the year I didn't do anything about it because I didn't want to spend the money, didn't have the time, needed to clean the house, and besides it was close to Christmas. Shoot, I just didn't want to fool with a plumber.
Along came January. Haven't done laundry since before Christmas, and I'm almost out of 'you know what'. It's almost February and I haven't called the plumber yet.
Well, yesterday I couldn't put off doing my laundry any longer. I cleaned all the junk off the top of the washer and dryer so that I could get started. Sheets first. Last time I did the washing, I found that I could set the water level on low and the drain worked fine. If I set it on medium and stopped it in the middle of draining, I could wait a minute then start it draining again and it wouldn't run over. Took fifteen washer cycles, about a hundred gallons more water, and three days to get four large loads washed. But I didn't have to clean up any water.
I don't know how it took me so long to figure out that I could just fill that sucker up, pile a full load in, and let 'er go. All I have to do is stop the machine twice while it's draining. Hey, tried that and it worked. I did have to stay close by in order to hear when the washer quit swishing and started draining, but more got washed at one time. I only let water spew out the drain, down the wall and onto the floor three times in three loads. Took a lot less time and used less water and soap.
Since three loads were all I managed to get done yesterday, I'm back at it again today. Only have three more loads to do. That is, if I put some never-washed red towels in with my jeans. If I decide that I don't want to take a chance of my jeans coming out a wierd offish blue/pink color, it's gonna take four. I sure do need to call a plumber.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Is it a sin to lie to your dog?
Well, it's Monday morning and I've got a problem. I know I said that this post would be my opinion of the way old men wearing hats drive, but as usual things aren't working out the way I thought they would.
Now, back to my problem. From the time I could say "No", my mother taught me to always tell the truth. It's good advice and I do believe one should. However, here's where Mr. Problem comes in. I have two little dogs. They tend to puddle on the floor in the living room. That's not the worst part. They 'go' on an antique Aubison rug. Now, if I say "I'm going to church", and have on something beside jeans, they seem to understand that I'll be back soon, and they are 'usually' good.
One is a male dachshund and the other is a female designer dog - half dachshund and half German Shepherd/Pit Bull/junk yard. Their names are Oliver and Blossom. I call Oliver, Olie for short, and got him when he was ten weeks old. Blossom's name was Rosie when I got her. She was a year old, had been a shelter dog, abused as a pup, and had the attitude that she was not going to like me. She didn't like anyone, and would only tolerate me because she liked Olie. She did not look like a 'Rosie' so I named her Blossom. I'd had a pet named Blossom and I could remember it. Besides I was determined that she WOULD blossom into a good dog.
Back to my problem. Recently one Sunday evening I was attending a party at my son, Wesley's house. I didn't dare say I was going to his house because they know the word Wesley, and they adore him. They also get to go to his house where they always get treats. I knew if I told them the truth, I would be faced with a major mess-up. Not only would I have pee all over the floor, most likely there would be smelly truffles scattered all over the floor. So---I lied. I said I was going to church.
Since then my conscience has been bothering me. Not only did I lie to a couple of my best friends, I lied about where I was going. Now these two little animals cannot possibly understand all this, so it doesn't bother them. But I know. And the Man Upstairs knows.
I asked several friends what they thought. Was it a lie, or not? Some said "No." Others said a lie is a lie is a lie. Finally I asked my daughter. Bless her heart she explained to me why it was not a lie and my mind was put to rest--- that is until today. I tried to remember what she said. I'd like to ask her again, but she'd think I've gone nuts. So, what do you think. Was it or was it not a lie?
Now, back to my problem. From the time I could say "No", my mother taught me to always tell the truth. It's good advice and I do believe one should. However, here's where Mr. Problem comes in. I have two little dogs. They tend to puddle on the floor in the living room. That's not the worst part. They 'go' on an antique Aubison rug. Now, if I say "I'm going to church", and have on something beside jeans, they seem to understand that I'll be back soon, and they are 'usually' good.
One is a male dachshund and the other is a female designer dog - half dachshund and half German Shepherd/Pit Bull/junk yard. Their names are Oliver and Blossom. I call Oliver, Olie for short, and got him when he was ten weeks old. Blossom's name was Rosie when I got her. She was a year old, had been a shelter dog, abused as a pup, and had the attitude that she was not going to like me. She didn't like anyone, and would only tolerate me because she liked Olie. She did not look like a 'Rosie' so I named her Blossom. I'd had a pet named Blossom and I could remember it. Besides I was determined that she WOULD blossom into a good dog.
Back to my problem. Recently one Sunday evening I was attending a party at my son, Wesley's house. I didn't dare say I was going to his house because they know the word Wesley, and they adore him. They also get to go to his house where they always get treats. I knew if I told them the truth, I would be faced with a major mess-up. Not only would I have pee all over the floor, most likely there would be smelly truffles scattered all over the floor. So---I lied. I said I was going to church.
Since then my conscience has been bothering me. Not only did I lie to a couple of my best friends, I lied about where I was going. Now these two little animals cannot possibly understand all this, so it doesn't bother them. But I know. And the Man Upstairs knows.
I asked several friends what they thought. Was it a lie, or not? Some said "No." Others said a lie is a lie is a lie. Finally I asked my daughter. Bless her heart she explained to me why it was not a lie and my mind was put to rest--- that is until today. I tried to remember what she said. I'd like to ask her again, but she'd think I've gone nuts. So, what do you think. Was it or was it not a lie?
Thursday, January 20, 2011
I'm no Irma Bombeck, but...
No, I'm no Irma Bombeck. If I were, I'd be dead. I'm not an impositer either, I'm just me. I am a writer, and I'm published. However what I've been paid could be hidden under the matress in a rather small envelope, and an anorectic hypochondriac wouldn't be able to feel it, forget the princess. If you don't know what I mean by that, you haven't read enough fairy-tales.
In this blog I will write about common ordinary stuff. Likes - yes, problems - yeah, gripes - you bet, and there may be a few pointing fingers at ordinary people, doing ordinary things and wishing they would have better sense than to do them. But hey, I'm an old fashioned Southern girl, and I don't appologize for it. I'm also a died in the wool Texan, and I won't appologize for that either.
My next post is gonna be about 'Old Men Wearing Hats'. All you truck-drivin, cowboys wearin' gimmie caps might want to read it. You gals riddin' with 'em might want to read it too, along with you young ladies driving red cars. 'Cause I tell the truth. If you don't believe me just take a look and watch their driving. Hope to see you tomorrow.
Johnie
In this blog I will write about common ordinary stuff. Likes - yes, problems - yeah, gripes - you bet, and there may be a few pointing fingers at ordinary people, doing ordinary things and wishing they would have better sense than to do them. But hey, I'm an old fashioned Southern girl, and I don't appologize for it. I'm also a died in the wool Texan, and I won't appologize for that either.
My next post is gonna be about 'Old Men Wearing Hats'. All you truck-drivin, cowboys wearin' gimmie caps might want to read it. You gals riddin' with 'em might want to read it too, along with you young ladies driving red cars. 'Cause I tell the truth. If you don't believe me just take a look and watch their driving. Hope to see you tomorrow.
Johnie
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