Mitt vs Hill

(Willard) Mitt Romney has been airing ads in Iowa against Hillary Clinton. Should someone tell him that, for right now at least, Hillary is not his opponent?








I have mixed feelings about Hillary. I found this blog post which nails it on the head.

Box 'O Cat

Mouse, the cat.

Email Conversation

C left today. We took your vintage travel Scrabble game with us to play at the airport but we didn't even get a whole game in. Have you missed your travel Scrabble?

I have travel Scrabble?

She gave it to you for Christmas a few years ago. VINTAGE travel Scrabble that she probably fought tooth and nail for on Ebay. It's been in my table cloth drawer since.


man, am I excited now! It's like Christmas all over again.

Thanks for the laugh, kidlette!

MEAN MOMMY

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Or: Some People Never Learn

Several years ago I gave my folks my old computer when I upgraded. They were happy to have a computer with Windows 95 and a modem. They got set up for email. And I got called every time my mother or father could not figure out the simplest of things. It was annoying. More annoying were the calls for the non-simple things. I am not a geek. I am, however, occasionally lucky.

Eventually they got into their groove with the computer. I did get calls about their spam (sorry, can't help) and life went on. Then they got sick of spam, their monitor (they thought) was going out and they discontinued their internet service and rarely used the POS computer. And it was MY FAULT for giving them a POS that they were thrilled to get when they got it. Whatever.

Fast forward to this summer when a friend who works in IT at a Big Company told me they were upgrading and did I know anyone who wanted a computer with XP for $50. Sure, I said, and made the mistake of mentioning it to my folks. Mom wouldn't commit until Dad agreed to the $50 upgrade. I don't know why. All the money is hers. Whatever.

Dad had decided hell, yeah, he wanted a $50 computer. Then I was hounded about when it was coming. And oh, he NEEDED a new monitor, too. So I put out feelers and found, free of charge, (except for my free labor) a good used monitor.

Eventually, computer and monitor, time and opportunity all came together and I went to my folks to install the new system.

In my parent's eyes, being able to hook up the right connectors and plug in all the plugs on a desktop system qualifies one for geekdom. I was ready to ride in on my white horse (dark red Subaru), fulfill my duties and fade into the sunset victorious.

First: take out the old system. No prob! A big brother was there and my dad was waving his arms declaring it all JUNK so big bro hauled it out to a junk pile.

Second: install the new system. No prob! Except.... Dad wanted the tower on the desk next to the monitor so he didn't have to go through all the trouble of leaning over to push the button on the tower to turn it on. Fine. Only it didn't fit.

No prob! Get big brother to saw away at the bracing facing piece on the desk. Repeatedly. Until the tower fit. Very, very snugly. It made hooking up all the peripherals much more difficult (Mom, can you feed that cord up through that and find my hand?) but as long as Dad was happy....

Everything got hooked up but the phone line. One last thing and --- no dial-up modem. Of course not! This was a corporate computer! So big bro, could you bring the old tower (with the dial-up modem) in off the junk pile before it rains?

Their new system was humming nicely. Dad was happy to have the Microsoft games plus two Hoyle game systems I'd loaded on the machine. After everything was done, Dad said, "What about our pictures on the old computer?"

(Insert internal screaming and vile, vile swear words here.)

I took their old tower home. I hooked it up to my monitor and discovered it was NOT their monitor that was the problem, it was their video card. With freaky things appearing on my monitor I saved all their pictures and email addresses (and not without drama, either -- the cd burner didn't work and I had to unhook their system and hook up mine to save stuff on the only USB drive their computer would recognize, clean it, rehook up their tower to save their stuff to the newly clean USB - insert more screaming and swearing).

That done, I took the damn tower apart and pulled out the modem. I found a driver online and downloaded it and saved it to the USB. I went back to my folks and installed the new (old) modem and driver. My mother was SOOOOO impressed.

And then they started talking and thought that they would rather have the DSL.

(Insert more screaming and swearing, screaming and swearing.)

But, because their phone lines are shit, they may not be able to get DSL so maybe my efforts were not in vain.

They still haven't gotten around to getting any internet service, what with my dad's bypass surgery and all. Not that that's the end of "no good deed".

There is no sound on their computer. Not that they listen to music on their computer. My dad needs sound when he plays pinball.

I checked it out the day I delivered lasagna and as near as I can tell (did I tell you I AM NOT A GEEK?) it is the sound card.

(Insert more screaming and swearing, screaming and swearing.)

Good thing I still have their old tower. Which I took apart tonight and removed the sound card.

I AM NOT A GEEK!

Now I have to go searching for a driver.

Man's Best Friend My Ass

I read this story in the Des Moines Register this morning but lifted this from channel 8's website because I could not for the life of me find it on the Register's online site.

TAMA, Iowa -- A Tama man was injured when hunting dogs stepped on his gun.

Officials with the Iowa Department of Natural Resources said James Harris, 37, was pheasant hunting with a group about three miles north of Grinnell when the accident happened.

Officials said the group had shot a bird and when Harris went to retrieve it, he put his gun on the ground and crossed a fence. As he crossed the fence, hunting dogs stepped on his gun causing it to fire.

Harris was shot in the lower left leg.

He was treated at Grinnell Medical Center and later transferred by helicopter to University Hospitals in Iowa City. His condition has not been released.

The investigation is continuing.

Perhaps the pooches were perturbed at parading around in orange vests.

The Color of the Day

A loud bang this morning reminded me of what day it was. Actually Captain Crab beat my faulty memory to the punch. It is in some circles the most revered of days. In other circles (mine) it is the most dreaded. Today is the opening of pheasant season.














I took a pan of lasagna to my folks. I couldn't go a mile without seeing several trucks parked at the side of the road or out in the fields. The men were decked out in orange, hunting in packs, like wolves. Wolves with cell phones and GPS. People I met on the road were dressed in orange. A guy in a minivan (not the type of vehicle associated with such manly activity) was dressed in orange. I saw a dog wearing an orange vest, too, but didn't get his picture.










Over the river and through the woods to mother's house I went. I arrived without being mistaken for a pheasant.











My dad had bypass surgery last week. He's doing well, I guess. He is pretty content to be home and NOT have visitors so I didn't stay long.

Not everyone is hunting today. Some farmers are still in the fields combining corn. And then there are the people who have to deal with all that corn once it's out of the field. So add yellow to the color of the day.































At night when it's not cloudy, the harvest moon has been showing its orange face, now pale in the daylight.

Whatcha Got Cooking?

Me, I made lasagna. It's something I tackle once every couple of years or so because it is so labor intensive and so very messy.

Every time I make it I get confused. How do the layers go? I have it written down on my recipe but I do not trust it. So I did an internet search and discovered different layering techniques in different recipes. HUH?

I put the noodles on to boil and then read the box. They were no-cook noodles. So I shut the burner off and let them soak in hot water for a while. And then I wondered if I should use runnier sauce and half cooked noodles. How runny should the sauce be? Or should I just let the sauce thicken and the noodles cook? This box had a layering technique listed on the back but no recipe indicating how runny the sauce should be.

I decided just to wing it. I assembled an 8x8 pan for me and Captain Crab and a bread loaf pan for my parents. I ended up with a whole lot of cheese sauce and noodles left over. And I had to s-t-r-e-t-c-h the meat sauce to fit two little pans. What's up with that?

And in a couple of years when I make lasagna again, I will be walking down the same road, not trusting the signposts and stumbling along.

But right now I have one big mess to clean up.

Fungus Among Us

The old ash tree in the yard had a surprise for me this morning. Up in the branches was this:








And at the base of the tree was this:












How it looks close up:










This particular fungus has appeared on this tree before. But never 3 at once. They are quite beautiful in a weird sort of way.

My Whimsical Weekend

I went to a magical place called Possum Lodge.

















A dog named Lily lives there. She didn't really want to have her picture taken.
















She was camera shy but quite an animated tour guide. She showed me a hand-made canoe that was a showcase of wonderment.
























It has a duck head bow. With feathers!


















Out in the garden a gnome named Hermann was trying to drive away in a tractor.












A palm tree shades the patio. In Iowa! In October!


















I left Lily in the land of whimsy and headed back to real Iowa where farmers were busy in the fields. This combine had a big American flag mounted on it. Alas and alack, the magic was gone. The flag refused to show its face. Or maybe it was the fact that I was driving down the road at the time and lucky to even get the combine in the frame.

Things I've Been Meaning to Blog About But Haven't

Commercials I Hate Because They Are So Stupid

• The Burger King kung-fu chicken commercial.
• Domino's Oreo dessert pizza with the beard growing contest.
• Any Wendy's commercial with the guy wearing the red pig-tailed wig.
• Any commercial that takes a song from the 60's or 70's.

Products That I Like That No Longer Exist or Have Been "Improved" to the Point of Uselessness
There are too many too list. Charmin took one product I liked and turned it into two products I hate. Where is Secret Solid Unscented? Zact toothpaste? The jeans that fit me?

Life With Captain Crab
While he is chasing the Dread Pirate Roberts and making a name for himself in the world of sea-faring legends, I am in a porthole-less galley whipping up MLT's for the crew.

The Country Formerly Known as Burma
Is this like the artist formerly known as Prince? Every news report refers to "Myanmar, the country formerly known as Burma". I think we have it figured out now, thanks. Though I would appreciate any help you can give me regarding the names of any countries that were in the former USSR, including pronunciation and location. I am still stuck on Yugoslavia and Bulgaria, two countries I traveled through which no longer exist.

The Infiltration of Political Candidates in Iowa
They equal the number of hogs in the state. It's hard to know who is who, just like the generic cookie-cutter pigs raised in giant confinement facilities.

Corporations and Health Care
It's a nest of eels. It's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins, especially if you listen to the political candidates who want everyone to turn over their incomes to a corporation who will then "take care of your health".

Outsourcing and the Government
The government has joined the corporate bandwagon and is outsourcing military forces. Be very afraid.

The Current Administration
Don't get me started.

Bees and Butterflies

Summer is hanging on, amazingly enough. The sedum is in full bloom and attracting lots of attention.

The Pictures Are Here!

I know this saga of my wound has everyone on the edge of their seats. Well, maybe not now that you know the wound isn't going to kill me and I've graduated from the wound center.

I seem to have a narrow view on life, not being able to see farther than my leg. Really I think about other things and have very strong opinions on a number of subjects. Maybe now that I have some closure on this part of my life I can get on with the rest of it.

While I'm still harping on it, I want to tell you I've had lots of hits from far flung places. The search strings are very interesting. Some people are looking for cures for scabs on their rabbits. I want to tell those people right now that I have no idea what is wrong with their rabbits or how to make those scabs go away. But I've had more many more hits for salt in the wound. I can't figure out if those people want to inflict more pain or cleanse wounds.

If it is the latter, I will give you my recipe for saline: Boil 3 cups of water with 1 teaspoon of salt. Cover and let cool and pour into sterile containers. If it is the former: Just knock it off. Think happy thoughts. Go for a walk. Volunteer at a shelter. Just do something nice.

And now (drum roll please) here is what you've all been waiting for... (Well, Hannita has and that's enough for me)

THE PROGRESSIVE PICTURES OF MY WOUND

Hippo Birdie At Last

I got two diplomas this year. In May I got an AAS degree from a community college. Today I graduated from the wound center and have a piece of paper to prove it. It says, "CONGRATULATIONS! YOUR WOUND IS HEALED!"

Last week I went to the stupid lymphedema center at the stupid hospital and got fitted for a stupid compression stocking. The therapist Angie measured my leg and came back with a package of stockings that looked like they would fit a two year old. Just for fun she had me prove my strength by putting the stocking on my leg without any aids. I was beginning to doubt my strength but eventually got it on. (Huff, puff, tug, pull) Then she made me take it off which proved to be just as difficult. Then she wanted me to put it on again. I told her I wanted the Easy Slide cheater that the doctor prescribed. Ahh.... Much better.

After all that struggle she told me that wearing rubber gloves made it easier to pull the stocking on and smooth it out. Which pissed me off in a way. Why put me through all that BS? Why not just hand out Easy Slides and rubber gloves?

At the wound center today a nurse removed the stocking and took another picture of my lovely wound. Then I heard her outside my cubicle whispering my name. For the first time I let them know that their conversations were not private. "I can hear you talking about me! Are you planning my party?"

Soon in came Nurse Kelly, Young Perky Doctor and two nurses. Nurse Kelly was carrying a piece of cheesecake. They sang happy birthday to me. I whipped a camera out of my purse and took their picture, to be posted soon.

The doctor marveled at my wound. Then I whipped out my Easy Slide and rubber gloves and I impressed them with the speed and ease at which I donned my stocking. Then we gave each other a hard time for awhile, I signed some more papers, got handed my diploma and left.

They are going to miss me.

Hippo Birdie Redux

On my birthday I went to my first wound center appointment. I don't know how many different people I gave my birth date to didn't notice it happened to be the very day I was getting my leg reamed out. It was depressing!

On my second appointment I mentioned the horrible oversights to Nurse Kelly and Perky Young Doctor.

On the third appointment Nurse Kelly came into my cubicle and said "Happy Birthday a week late." Every appointment since (I've lost track), Nurse Kelly mentions my missed birthday. In two weeks I'll have what I hope is my last wound center appointment.

Nurse Diane told me long ago that you sort of "graduate" from the wound center. Today when Nurse Kelly was rubbing the missed birthday in I told her I expected a party on my last appointment. With cake.

Cake or not, I think I made an impression.

Walking Wounded

I went back to the wound center today. I got in right away (a first) and didn't wait too long for the doctor to show up (another first).

All were amazed at my progress: the nurse that led me in and undressed my leg; the doctor and her side-kick, Nurse Kelly; and Nurse Diane, the first nurse I met at the wound center (my favorite).

For the last two weeks I was supposed to go through the initial dressings but had graduated to a sensi-sock (for diabetics) to be covered from ankle to calf with a tightly wrapped Ace bandage. That happened for like one day before I cut the foot off my sock. And then, only on occasion, wrapped over that with the Ace bandage. The Very Special Fabric got left out during the last week because the wound was healing so well.

When Nurse Diane was dressing my leg after the doctor left I told her to leave off the Ace bandage. I'd worn the sensi-sock that didn't have the foot cut off to the appointment. But no way was I going to run my errands in Big Town wearing sandals and a footed sock on one foot. I promised her I would wrap the Ace around my leg after I switched socks. I didn't, but then I Ace when I feel like it. I love Nurse Diane for her complicity.

The most depressing things about the recent healing are that I have to (or rather, they think I'm going to) wear a compression stocking all winter and (the worst, worst part) I have to go into the hospital proper to some stupid place and get "fitted" for a stocking.

After getting the first piece of paper from the insurance company from my first wound center visit, I'm just not sure I want a bill from walking into the hospital, waiting for hours and having a nurse measure my leg. I'm sure it would be a cheap stocking! That I probably will not wear! I am working on a work-around on this. Does anyone know the compression ratio I should have for a post-wound stocking?

I have been trying to take pictures every day of my healing wound. I am making a Flash movie and will post it later. It will end will a really cool scar. Or a compression stocking.

The Hole Truth

The last picture I posted was old. It was taken before my second appointment and I had my third appointment last week. I'm a wound center old timer now. Anyway I photographed my wound when it was naked this morning and posted the two pics side by side so you could compare the difference. If you want to. Once again, no one is forcing you to look. This is your warning, Random Mindless Ramblings. It is gross, even if it is healing. Look or not.

Mmmmmmm..... Hamburger

I had my first follow up leg hole appointment last Wednesday. The nurses, and eventually the doctor, were very excited to see granulation tissue. The doctor told me the goal was to have the whole wound look like raw hamburger. And not that turkey hamburger,either. Here is a picture of my leg with granulation tissue before that appointment. Not for the squeamish and don't you dare email me about the grossness of it because THIS IS YOUR WARNING. I'm not the damn government. I can't protect you from yourself.

I had another appointment today but I did not want to go. Rain was threatening and we've just had enough of the stuff. We've had so much that you can not be sure that the road you want to drive on is drivable. For a couple of days it was impossible for me to go anywhere in my little car.



The storm approached and I left early so I could stock up on groceries before my appointment. The roads were fine and I made it to Big Town. But then I had to cross the swollen river. On the bridge that has the same flaws as the fallen Minneapolis bridge. Gulp.

I made it to the grocery store on the other side of town. When I came out with my cart full the skies were dark and lightning was striking. I just wanted to go home. Somehow I didn't die of a heart attack while screaming at the idiot drivers and the slow changing lights. I had to get out of the low part of town FAST.

I had to cross the possibly crumbling bridge again. At last I made it to the outpatient center at the back of the hospital. I was early so I sat and considered getting while the getting was good.



There were turkey buzzards drifting above the hospital but I didn't catch them in the frame. I thought they were a sign telling me to leave, leave, leave! But I toughed it out. Well, sort of. I went to my appointment and was left waiting a lot and I was constantly on the verge of screaming "I HAVE TO LEAVE NOW!"

The doctor and my treatment deserves its own post. Suffice to say, I am still alive, I still have a hole in my leg and the treatment goes on and on and on. Excuse me now. I have to obsess over the weather radar.

Hippo Birdie Two Ewes, Pets and Pharmacists

Yesterday was my birthday. My very special day started with an 8 a.m. appointment at the wound center. I checked my email before I left and I got a birthday greeting from a pet forum and an ecard from my cats, Felix and Mouse.

I arrived early and got sent to registration where the woman clicked tons of vital information into the computer. Including, of course, date of birth. Then I went to a waiting room and was soon ushered by Nurse Diane through a locked door into the wound center and sequestered in a cubicle. Where I was subjected to another hour of paper work. Including date of birth. Several times on several forms. I wanted to ask if the left hand ever talked to the right hand in that joint about the information that had already been tapped into the computer. And if anyone there knew what day it was. They didn't catch on that it was my birthday. And my birthday was being sucked away by paperwork.

After the paper work I was left alone to do sudokus for a half hour and wait for the doctor. I heard her outside my room looking at my new chart and berating the nurses who handled the paper work. "But I don't know this about the patient! What about blah, blah, blah?" I listened to her rant for 5 minutes. I almost left at that point. If she didn't have enough info, maybe I should spend my birthday somewhere else. Like a bar.

Eventually the very perky young doctor entered the room. She did doppler tests on my feet to see if I was getting blood to them. She tickled my toes with a filament to see if I had feeling. Then she dug out the hole in my leg with great gusto. She took measurements and recited numbers and medical words to an assistant who dutifully recorded them. The doctor really enjoyed the process. Twenty minutes after entering my room, she was done and gone.

Nurse Diane came back to give me a shopping list and teach me how to dress my wound. First protect the skin around the wound with extra protective ointment (vaseline). Then soak a strip Very Special Fabric in enzyme cream (and not that damn generic stuff I had been using). Then take the ends of the soaked strip and stuff them in the tunnels that have developed in the hole in my leg and wad the middle of the VSF up in the hole. Then cover the wound with a Very Special Piece of Gauze (gauze that is covered in vaseline). Then cover that with a large regular gauze pad. Then hold that all together by wrapping a conforming stretch bandage around and securing with Transpore tape. NO SELF STICKING STRETCH BANDAGES. NO PAPER TAPE. Then starting above the toes and ending below the knee, wrap Cast Padding snuggly and tape to hold. THEN wrap an elastic bandage over the cast padding and secure with tape. Then try in vain to get your sandal back on. Redress wound daily. Elevate leg for 30 minutes 5 or 6 times a day.

It was 10:30 before I got back to my car with my large leg and shopping list. Crab called. He finally remembered my birthday.

Since I was in Big Town, I went to the pharmacy Nurse Diane recommended, thinking I would be able to get everything I needed there. The only thing I walked out of the wound center with was an elastic bandage and what was left of the Very Special Fabric. Inside the recommended pharmacy I was greeted immediately by a pharmacy helper who took down my name, DOB, address and phone number. "Happy birthday!" She sent me to the window where the pharmacist started entering my info in the computer. "Happy birthday", he said.

My shopping list got handed to the other pharmacist who tried desparately to help me. Several problems. He'd never heard of this Very Special Fabric. Cast padding?? He didn't carry cast padding. He looked up the VSF and he could order it. Only $50 a box! I ended up leaving with what I could and VSF on order. The next pharmacy I stopped at didn't have cast padding either. Then I thought about it. What pharmacy would? Who sets their own broken arm and makes their own cast? I ended up at Hobby Lobby and bought a bag of low loft quilt batting and cut it into (sort of) 4" strips. It will have to do.

I finally got around to redressing my wound around 10:30 this morning. I was surprised that it did not hurt. I'm not so hot at the mummy wrap but I think I fulfilled all the requirements. Except for the 30 minutes of elevation 5 or 6 times a day. Does an hour and a half nap count?

And for those of you who are not squeamish, you can look at the hole in my leg here. I haven't photographed the hole in my head yet.

Happy birthday to me, a little late.

Circus Strongman

The rolling circus that is RAGBRAI (or here) is currently touring the state. For those who are unfamiliar with RAGBRAI, it is a week long organized bicycle ride of around 20,000 riders that take one week to travel from Iowa's west coast to Iowa's east coast.

The Des Moines Register, which sponsors the ride, has nothing but good things to say about the masses of pedaling flesh that roll in, destroy a town and move on. The t.v. stations get in on the act, too, following the route and recording footage of memorable events in little towns across the state.

In spite of the fact that the coverage is a constant barrage from all sides, it is a nice diversion from the hundreds of presidential candidates that have been crawling all over the state. If all the presidential candidates were riding the whole, hot ride, they would not get much attention because...

OHMYGODLANCEARMSTRONG is riding this year!! Last year he rode for a few days. He couldn't have gotten more coverage if it had been the second coming.This year he is riding the whole ride with "Team Livestrong".

UPDATE -- Since I started writing this yesterday it has been announced that Lance may quit the ride to cheer on his team at the Tour de France.
UPDATE UPDATE -- Looks like Lance is leaving, the pussy

People ride in groups that have silly names. They have stickers printed up with their team name on them and stick them on whatever body part a person will let them near.

One team I knew had tattoos made. They also had a method to adhere the tattoos and it went like this:

• Sloppily lick a woman's breast (or as close to the breast as the woman will allow)
• Place the tattoo on the wet spot
• Lick the back of the sticker (allowing more face time)
• Peel off the paper backing

The women on the team adhered tattoos to men's upper thighs in the same manner. From across the room it looked a lot like the fellow was getting "serviced".

When they roll through a town they expect entertainment, food, drink. Not only do they expect it, the DM Register dictates in reams of printed matter what you should provide. It also warns you of dire consequences of using the name RAGBRAI for profit. This is, after all, their cash cow and there just isn't enough hamburger to go around no matter how you grind it.

Tiny K-town (population about 100) has had the pleasure of being servants to the circus twice. I must admit, if you just come to party it is one hell of a party. But if it is your tiny town the circus invades, it is months and months of preparation. And a hell of a long day of serving. And one big mess left behind.

I think the riders can be divided into three groups. The first group wants to prove how great they are and they rise before the sun and pedal as fast as they can to the overnight town, stopping only if absolutely necessary (like to take a dump in a corn field).

The second group isn't in that much of a hurry. They like to stop at each town, discover what it has to offer, meet people, buy food and drink and then pedal on.

The third group heads straight for the beer or liquor when they hit a town, no matter what the hour. They initiate "naked beer sliding" contests on the floors of bars. Men moon and women flash. You can find them at night riding their light less bikes 20 miles from the overnight town with another town and party ahead of them. They are the most fun, most annoying, most rude and most dangerous.

The third group is one that the paper Iowa depends on will never show you in its paper or on its website. It's probably not the RAGBRAI that Lance Armstrong will see, either. But I'll bet there's lots of women on the ride who wanted to flash him.

Pouring Salt in the Wound

I finally consulted a medical pro about the wound on my leg -- two and a half weeks after the incident. What was a scrape had developed into a big, black scab. Plus I was pretty sure I needed an antibiotic.

The med pro tap, tap, tapped on the scab and then told me healing would be a process. I freaked a little. When Captain Crab was a medic in the service, he worked in a burn unit for a time. He told me about their process, in which they let saline soaked gauze dry on burns. Then they ripped the gauze off, tearing away the damaged skin. I wanted to tell my med pro that I preferred to be unconscious during the process.

Luckily, my process was much less painful. Wash the wound with canned sterile saline, pat dry, protect the good skin by dabbing with vaseline, apply skin eating cream to the black scab and cover with gauze pad, twice a day. I went to the drug store and got my scripts filled and stocked up on the incidentals, buying the ONLY can of sterile saline.

Days later I went on a search for more canned saline. Wally World (which sucks, btw) was out of it. Target had cans that were half the size as the first one I bought at the same price. Five bucks for 3.1 ounces of salt water? (No, for the CAN.)

I had my process checkup a week later and mentioned to my med pro that the price of the sterile saline was ridiculous. She told me that I could just make my own and she would write down the recipe for me. She came back with a note pad and wrote:
1 cup water
1/3 tsp. salt

She told me I could double it if I wanted.

I told her I was pretty good with recipes and would figure it out.

Welcome to the 21st Century

My grandpa was born in 1899. When I was a kid we sat and tried to imagine the year 2000. He told me that he wouldn't see it. I couldn't imagine seeing the year 2000 myself.

Gramps had 12 grandchildren he called the Dirty Dozen. In his later years, we celebrated his birthdays by gathering every year at his tiny house for a picnic. By that time, Gramps had begun to acquire great-grandchildren. I enjoyed these birthday parties with my cousins, whom I hadn't seen much since we were all little kids.

Gramps didn't make it to the year 2000. He died in his mid-seventies in the mid-seventies. He was the first person close to me to die. I refused to look at his body in the coffin, preferring to remember Gramps as a living human being who missed his wife who died too young. Who let me put peanuts in his glass of beer and watch the bubbles rise to the top. Who told me stories of growing up on the farm with his German speaking parents. My stubborn, sweet, living Gramps.

Yesterday I made a leap into modernity. I installed the Firefox browser. I know, I know, I should have been using it already. Change is hard for me. I had everything in IE just where I wanted it. But I'm getting around fine in Firefox minus the annoying things that made me want to dump IE in the first place.

I was drug reluctantly, browser-wise, into the 21st century. But I made it. And like midnight on December 31, 1999, when we were all propelled into the new millennium*, afraid of the Y2K computer glitch that would throw the world into utter chaos, I thought of Gramps.



*Please, no arguments about when the new millennium actually began. I do not care.

The Bush Files

Ads Nauseum

Speaking of ads....

There was an animated ad for quilted Northern toilet paper once. All these women were sitting around a big hunk of this toilet paper in old fashioned quilting bee style. With knitting needles in their hands.

Every time this ad ran the ignorance of it pissed me off. Someone must have informed Madison Avenue that quilting was done by making small stitches with needles and thread and not knitting needles. The commercial was changed but the idiocy of the ad makers still rankled me.

I took marketing first semester last year. My instructor was so incompetent on the subject and assigned lots of reading and paper writing. The class soon figured out that she was not reading the reams of paper we handed in. One of my classmates inserted bits into paragraphs to check the instructor's paper checking. Like everything he'd eaten the day before. Pork chop, applesauce, mac 'n cheese. She never saw it.

Whenever we wanted to make each other laugh in class, all we'd have to do is say, "Pork chop". It was hilarious.

In my desparation to actually get something out of the class, I'd do online research. One day I came across this article in Wikipedia. It became our new hilarious catch phrase. And it pretty much told me all I needed to know about Madison Avenue.

Got (Sour) Milk?

I flipped on the t.v. yesterday afternoon while soaking my injury in a 5 gallon bucket. (Which is the ultimate decorative home accecessory.) In the span of an hour I saw the most disturbing commercial ever. And I saw it three times in that time frame! Crab came home and I told him about it, but he didn't believe me. Of course it didn't play while he was sitting there.

The commercial goes like this:
A guy walks into a barn holding a glass milk bottle. A another guy is sitting with his feet propped on a stool. He is eating sour Skittles. Hooked to his chest are the operating ends of a milking machine. Guy #1 berates the guy getting "milked". If he quit eating sour Skittles, maybe the milk wouldn't taste sour.

Ew, ew, ew! On so many levels!

1. Human milk in a bottle for adult humans??
2. Man milk??
3. I know where that guy would rather put those sucking vacuum tubes and I can't get that image out of my mind.

What in hell is wrong with the people who make these ads? Are they that stupid about farming? Human anatomy? About what humans consume? If they wanted a shock value, they got it. If they wanted me to buy Skittles, they missed by a country mile.

Water, Water Every Where

Breaking a 5 gallon jug of drinking water on your kitchen floor is not a good way to start the day.

In One Foot and Out the Other

I injured one foot last week and this week (figuratively) shot myself in the other. I don't know why or what I'm doing to myself. Maybe I just like being miserable?? Time to get my head shrunk again, I guess.

So I injured myself considerably on Wednesday and showed up for Crater Days on Friday at 5 p.m. On Saturday morning I returned at 10 for the parade and spent the whole day at Crater Days (except for a one hour break to return home to get a visor and MORE batteries for the camera). I made it home about 2 Sunday morning, then went in to the (damn good farmer food) brunch about 10 a.m. on Sunday.

After I ate I came back to my rural neighborhood and caught up with Crab who had been helping the neighbors. I sat with them and imbibed, WTF. And my foot hurt. It was probably the first time I looked at it all weekend. My foot and ankle were huge.

Evidently, it is not a good idea to spend countless hours on your feet with an injury such as this. I have tried to baby it since then and it has shrunk somewhat. The bruising has settled in my foot and makes it look like my foot is dirty. But I have washed it, honest.

Here is a pic of Felix helping me photograph my foot:

Killer

As the Ankle Turns 24 hours later

It appears that my ankle is swollen. On the advice of former Air Force Medic Captain Crab, I spent much of the day with my leg elevated. Occasionally, I applied ice packs.

I guess there was blood from the scrape, but it was not gushing blood so I dismissed it. Blood must gush to count.

I don't know what is with that weird blister, though. At first I thought it was a bulging vein ready to give birth to a blood clot that would worm its way to my heart or brain and kill me as snapped photos of Crater Days getting flooded out again. But it's just a weird blister.

I can walk so I know the ankle isn't broken. But can I stand on it for hours on end? No way. I don't know if I can even drive.

I have been reading an Augusten Burroughs book today to pass the leg elevation time. I would tell you which one but I'd have to hobble across the room to look at the title. Or Google it. But I'm too lazy to do either.

Is it normal for pain to make you tired? I'm tired and the most exercise I've done today is strap on ice packs.

I can't wait for this to turn purple and green. And for it to stop hurting.

It Runs in the Family

Over at Random Mindless Ramblings, H has commented that her klutz factor that seems to rear its ugly head at weddings. I don't need a special event to cause damage to my body. Any old ordinary day will do.

Last Monday I hurt my ring finger when installing the window air conditioner. I didn't realize it at first. Later my finger really, really hurt. Inspection revealed that the ring had cut my finger right at the base on the inside of my hand. Wow. Now I know why so many farmers are missing that particular finger and why my husband refused to wear a wedding band. My wedding band went on a chain around my neck. The finger still hurts.

But the house is cool. Well, it is COLD in the kitchen and really warm in Captain Crab's room, but hey, it evens out if you walk from one end of the house to the other.

This evening I was looking out the kitchen window and noticed that it was sprinkling, but only at the kitchen window. It is sunny and hot with nary a cloud in the sky. So I went outside to inspect the source of immaculate precipitation.

Outside my kitchen there is a big hunk of cement that used to be an entry stoop back in 1899. Now its just a big slab and a repository for shit that hides behind my house. Shit like a dog house for the yard dog that we had 10 years ago, the retractable clothes line that is broken but is going to get fixed, dammit, and my hillbilly grill.

I made the hillbilly grill out of cement blocks, bricks and the grates from a gas grill that fell apart after 3 seasons of use. It is not mortared together, but it works on the rare occassion I have enough foresight to start charcoal.

To inspect the source of the moisture I stood on one of the cement blocks on the slab. I deduced, but could not tell for sure, that the water was coming from the vent in the top of the window air conditioner. In an attempt to will the stoop closer to the air conditioner so I might inspect it better I tipped the cement block off the stoop. The block fell off the stoop and onto my leg before hitting the ground.

Ow (at first). Then -- fucking double shit ow.

No blood. Good.

Big ass dent on back of leg. Bad.

Walking is possible. Good.

Made it to house. Very good.

It took me a while to come out of my pain haze to realize I should do something sort of first-aid like. Then I remembered to apply cold. So that is what I'm doing. Sitting here with an ice pack tied to my leg. Hobbling is possible. Pictures of an ugly purple and green bruise to be posted in a few days is probable.

Ow.

Cruisin' for a Bruisin'

I am trying to dig out my house. I am in a twilight zone now, not quite at the "everything must go!" stage but in such a pickle with the mess I've created while trying to dig that I see no other way out. And no place to sleep tonight, for that matter.

And I keep finding things that throw me back a few years. Sometimes I think "why in hell did I ever keep that?" and other times I'm so absorbed in my trip down memory lane that I forget my original mission.

For example: I came across a notebook small enough to stash in a purse. In the back of it were some notations not worth keeping. I almost tossed it. BUT -- in the front was my little diary of the cruise I went on in 1999.

First of all, people, I want you to know I am not a cruise person.

Shortly before I went on this cruise I told someone who was trying to get me to fork over big bucks to go on a "class reunion" cruise that the only way I'd ever go on a cruise is if someone paid my way.

Be careful of what you don't wish for. A few days later I got a call from a friend who'd already booked a cruise for 2 and her significant other was unable to sail away with her.

Being the good friend that I am, I took her boyfriend's place, went on the cruise and recorded events in my tiny notebook.

One entry that really made me laugh was about sharing a room and one tiny hairdryer.

One afternoon we came back to the room after a long, hot day on shore and had to get ready for the early seating formal dinner.

My friend took the bathroom first, telling me "We have 40 minutes!"

Being a low maintenance girl, I wasn't worried. I laid down on my bed and rested. The next thing I knew, my immaculately groomed and coiffed friend emerged from the bathroom announcing, "We have 7 minutes!"

My entry states that she looked great at dinner and was awfully composed considering she knew I wanted to fucking kill her.

Waiting for the Storm

Waiting for the storm is something I've done twice today. The first time was this morning. I expected lightning strikes to take out my desktop while I proofed a poster that I had designed. It is being printed (and changed dramatically) by a beer distributor. Phone calls and emails had to be made, another proof looked at... Dial-up is really painful sometimes.

Another storm came through late this afternoon. The radar indicated it was bearing down on me. Weather weenie that I am, I monitor the radar constantly. When I saw this one coming, I shut down the computer and sat on the front stoop and waited for it to hit. It took it's sweet time.

I played with the snot-nosed cat (technically not mine -- like the rabbit). I picked a couple of peonies. And I took photos. The storm was short and sweet.



Waiting




Felix, the snot nosed cat




Peonies

He's Ba-ack!

A couple of springs ago the indigo buntings came and feasted with the gold finches. I had never seen an indigo bunting alive before. (there is a story of me possessing a DEAD indigo bunting but that's another story.) I was in bird heaven. They hung around for a week or so and then they were gone.

Last week I saw one again. I only saw one briefly that one day. But tonight he (or some bird like him) was back eating thistle seed. It was too dark to take a picture (or maybe I need to wash windows).

At any rate, a blast from bird heaven past:

Pity Party

Yesterday I had a pity party but no one came. So screw you. You're not invited to the next one.

Today I bought flowers and got some of them planted. I feel much better now. Party's over. You're too late. Get out.

It's All Relative

Last night I got a phone call from my sister-in-law*, La La. She and my brother, Grease, were on their way to Nearby Town B to grab a burger and some beers. So I went to meet them.

Grease and I had a good time dissing relatives we hate and lauding those we love and just plain reminiscing. But Grease has different memories than I do because (1) he is older and (2) because he has a penis. Back in the good old days the roles of the sexes were cut and dried.

He learned to tear engines apart and put them back together again under the domineering eye of my volatile father. I learned that girls shut up and do what they are told. No matter, it's decades later now. I've forgotten how to shut up and do what I am told. But Grease took his mechanical abilities and turned them into a viable business (which has since been sold).

At any rate, time flew last night. At 9:15 I thought, "I'm usually thinking about going to bed at this time." And when I got in my car to go home it was 11:30. I'm feeling it today.

I went to the bar last night totally exasperated with a client who got herself into web hosting hell AGAINST MY ADVICE. She was still siteless this morning.

Today was not good. I HATE talking on the phone and spent a good part of the day doing just that. I had "emergency" needs from another client, too, which required a trip to Big Town. I went hoping that someone would win the hosting wars while I was gone. And all I wanted to do was take a nap.

The hosting problem got solved in the middle of the afternoon. The site is up and running again and the client learned that nothing is truly "free". I am counting down the minutes until I get my nap. Hopefully, about 10 hours worth.

*I don't even know why I'm qualifying this but La La is not married to my brother. It's just easier to introduce La La as my sister-in-law. She's been with my brother a little longer than I have been married and I've been married forever.

Every Picture Tells A Story, Don't It?

Picture

Too. Much. Stuff.

(for someone who seemingly has done nothing forever)

I don't know where to start. I've packed a lot into 2 days. On Thursday I:

1. Tested the new DVD player and returned the defective DVD player.
2. Demanded the Target Associate prove the new selection worked and then bought it.
3. Drove to Home County, ate lunch with my brother, went to a garage sale and installed PhotoshopCS on my brother's computer and gave him a quick lesson.
4. Went to my folks, set up the DVD player, watched bits of Fahrenheit 9/11 and listened to bits of Johnny Cash (Mom was grooving to the tunes).
5. Helped my dad put a one-row corn planter together.
6. Went for seed corn with my dad so we could test the calibration of the planter and saw horrific crimes against the environment, nature, God, and anything that is holy.
7. Contemplated the best course of action to report said crimes.
8. Worked on planter calibration.
9. Went to Dam Town and visited with an old friend who was filling in for my Post Master sister-in-law at the Post Office.
10. Went to the dam and took photos for a potential job.
11. Went to my sister-in-laws and helped her clean/sort/throw the remnants of her dead brother's life and drank some beer.
12. Bought a beat-up coffee table from sister-in-law's dead brother and stuffed it into the back seat of my Subaru.
13. Made it home safely.

Friday:
1. Checked emails and blogs, dinked around on computer.
2. Unloaded coffe table from car.
3. Drove to Ames on the fucking interstate.
4. Parked blocks and blocks away from Beyer Hall, as per advice received from H.
5. Walked a long fucking way to Beyer Hall.
6. Got to Beyer Hall too late to see my sister-in-law (hubby's side of the family) compete in her first competition at Special Olympics where she got a silver medal.
7. Went to lunch with the hubby's family (and H, of course)
8. Went back to ISU campus where H and I wandered around.
9. Saw an art exhibition that was open for Alumni Days. The exhibit we wanted to see wasn't open til later.
10. Hiked around the campus some more and went back to Beyer Hall.
11. Sat with hubby's fam who had saved good seats.
12. Waited for sister-in-law's race and tried to fight off vertigo from sitting on a narrow seat on a vertical surface overlooking the pool.
13. Waited for race and tried to avoid the clanging in my head from the reverberating noise and ignore the vertigo and ignore the kid who was climbing over the seats and kicking me constantly.
14. Made friends with the woman sitting next to me and cheered for her teams while waiting for one race.
15. Saw sister-in-law win!
16. Went to the winner's platform with H and took pictures of our gold medalist.
17. H and I bolted from the fam and went hiked to catch the exhibit that was closed earlier.
18. Exihibit not what we expected.
19. Hiked to H's car and went to Reiman Gardens.
20. OMG. Wonderful. Experience. The butterfly garden was incredible. Everything was so beautiful and the good stuff isn't even in bloom!
21. H took me back to my car which had not been stolen or vandalized.
22. Took the scenic route home to shake the city and interstate traffic off me. (E18!)

Today:
Got out of my jammies about noon, filled bird feeders, got the mail, contiued contemplating reporting crimes, worked on a logo and that's enough. I'm pooped.

Happy Mother's Day

This lamb was born in our pasture on Mother's Day. In this picture he is just a few hours old (he's much cuter now especially with the white tip on his soon to be whacked off tail) O.K., he was born the day after Mother's Day. Close enough. O.K., he wasn't born so much as he was pulled from the womb by his observant owner who happened to be driving by and saw the ewe in distress, thrashing wildly in her pain.

I had no idea this had occurred until I went out and saw a new lamb. Cool! No muss, no fuss on my part. I've been arm deep in sheep midwifery before and like goat raising, those days are behind me. Thank God. But there is nothing cuter than a little lamb hopping and bopping in the grass. So I'm glad the sheep and lambs are there and also glad they are not mine.

As for human mothers, I managed to remember Mother's Day and procured appropriate gifts (mother & mother-in-law) well in advance, which was quite remarkable for me. It's hard to find gifts for people who have tons of junk already. Plus the fact I remembered it was Mother's Day. Woot.

I went to visit my mother last Friday and brought her gift. I was excited to give her something that I thought she would use and thought she would like. It was a DVD player. Just a little, inexpensive one.

Oh, you shouldn't have, oh, pj, oh, oh. She seemed happy. I was thrilled that I made her happy. Until I couldn't get the damn thing to work. I had her all primed to watch the Michael Moore Fahrenheit 911 DVD and nothing, but nothing made the player play. I even took the player into my brother's house in town thinking HE WOULD MAKE IT WORK. But it never happened.

So I picked up a Pasquales pizza and went back to my folks and we ate the best pizza in the world. I left my folks with my car full of stuff, including the defective product which went back to WalMart today. WalMart sucks!

WalMart took the thing back without even looking in the box. WTF?? When I purchased it, I got the alarms and the shake-down at the door when I was leaving. But when I return it they don't even look to see if the box is filled with faucet parts from my junk drawer??

I took my money and ran to Target and got a replacement. I will test it first, then if it works I will take it to Mom. Then mother's day will be happy.

Rocks

Life above the crater rocks. Not really, it's just hype. Once in a while a little town has to let down its hair. Crater days is coming and I've been working on it in my fashion.

Bird Watching

Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference between birds fighting and birds mating.

People Watching (bartender's perspective) :
Reminds me of bird watching.

Morning Mist

Around the May Pole

Happy May Day. Sorry I didn't make you a May basket.

I'm running out of steam. I just finished one project and have a magazine left to do, countless chapters to read and papers to write. Next week - finals.

The project I just finished is for an instructor I detest. Maybe it's jealousy. She's pulling down a good salary and has great bennies and she doesn't know squat about any of the subjects she teaches. I like her as a person, I really do. She just has no business being in front of the classroom.

So why do I give a shit? I don't want to mess up my four point oh this close to the finish line.

Back to the project -- Thanks to H and Hulles, but damn, people, you didn't give me enough to go on. Drum roll....... Sincere thanks to Mush who not only gave me a title, she gave me an author's name, a jacket blurb and a publisher.

If it sucks, wait a week to tell me. This is just part of the book jacket.

Rain, Rain, Go Away

It has been raining for a few days now. It's getting tiresome. And depressing. I went searching for a photo that I know would have expressed the mood perfectly.

I may have even shuffled past it, I was having so much fun tripping down memory lane. The photo I was looking for is this: a little girl looking out the rain streaked window. The trees in the yard are blurred by the rivulets of rain running down the window. The little girl is back-lit by the dim natural light. It is an awesome pic. It says "Rain, rain, go away so I can go outside and play" or whatever the hell we used to say when we were kids.

I did not see that photo but I came across so many jewels I did not know whether to sit, spin or make a necklace. I scanned some and will present one now, circa 1987. We might call it Minature Housewife.

Little H is "reading" In the Land of Dreamy Dreams by Ellen Gilchrist. Good stuff. The poor thing is trussed up in pink foam rollers, an attempt to girlify a tiny person who gave not one whit about her appearance.

There is a cup of coffe by her side. It is not hers, of course, but I wanted the illusion to be there. I did resist shooting her with a lit cigarette tucked between her tiny fingers. It would have made a MUCH better picture, though.

Gopher Addendum

I fell for the same stupid trick again. I'd like to tell you that as a member of the Smart Kids Club I figured it out on my own. But I enlisted the help of the smartest human I have ever met, Jeremy.

Now I feel really stupid because this is the same as the stupid card trick that I came across several years ago and figured out right away. Maybe I should remove these posts to retain my illusion of smartness. But thinking back, I'd have to remove even more posts. Maybe I should get back to Project #1, now in version 8.

I Surrender My Membership to the Smart Kids Club

If you want to waste some time go here and match wits with the magic gopher.

Really, I have better things to do. I am on version 7 of one of my projects and I have 2 others that haven't even been started. Eek.

While I'm here I must confess that I've been having a bitch of a time editing my HTML and getting things to look the way I want them to. Time for my own domain and my own code, I guess.

Goat Woman

I got cornered by Goat Woman today. My fault. I could have easily avoided her if I didn't smoke, which I shouldn't anyway. Even the governor has tried to help me quit by raising the tabacco tax by a dollar a pack. But I digresss..

Goat Woman has her name because it's all she talks about. Give her a chance to get a word in edgewise and the subject of goats comes up. Because I was too polite to tell her to shut up during the initial goat talk, I am stuck with goat talk whenever I see her. Even if the prevailing subject is racism in America or the cost of W's war.

Goat Woman is the name I gave her, of course. I doubt if it is her real name. I name people that I see on campus. There is Late Guy, Big Late Guy, Horse Girl and Cotton To, among others. Cotton To got his name because one day I overheard a snippet of conversation in which he said, "If there's one thing I don't cotton to, it's liars and cheats."

I want to say this about goat talk: I can talk the talk. I have goat experience. It is behind me and now I don't need to hear some neophyte blubbering about it. Goat people are weird, which is why I am not one anymore. I choose to be weird on other levels.

Spunky and Molly, circa 1982

1 Step Forward, 10 Steps Back

I worked most of yesterday making this guitar in Illustrator. Now I don't think I'm even going to use it in my poster. Back to square one on the poster project. Only 4 projects to make. Tick tock.

From My Myspace Profile

Who I'd like to meet:
Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
We would sit under the blossoming apple trees sipping lemonade. I would turn to him and say, "If this isn't nice, I don't know what is." Kurt would agree that yes, indeed, it was quite nice.

After a few minutes I would add "Isn't George W Bush a complete idiot?" and Kurt would agree wholeheartedly.

Kurt Vonnegut Jr. was one of my favorite writers. He died yesterday.

(Don't bother looking for me on Myspace. I have been there since October 2005 and I have 0 friends. Myspace is a lot like Mylife.)

Good News / Bad News

In the bad news department, I was unable to stave off the crappy weather with my photo post of tropical climes.

The upside of the crappy weather is that I used it to skip the only class I had today. The downside of the day off is that I spent the whole day studying for the 2 tests I have tomorrow. My brain is fried.

The good news is that I found my zip drive nestled in between the pages of the photo album I had put back on the shelf. And the really, really good news about finding it then and there is that I did not resort to ripping my house apart last night and spending this whole day repairing the damage. Plus I found my missing ear buds. Yay, me.

And I'm a Member of the "Smart Kids Club"

The "smart kid's club" as H in the Cities calls it, is the PTK. It is junior college's equivalent of the Greek system. I didn't attend a rush party. I didn't have to pledge. I don't hang out with my sorority sisters or fraternity brothers. I don't even know who they might be.

This is what I had to do to become a member of this auspicious group: maintain a high GPA and give them $70. Yay. They let me in, gave me a certificate and a lovely pin.

So much for the smart kids club. The zip drive is still missing. OMG. Tracing my steps: I had the urge to blog a photo, walked over to my photo albums, brought an album back to my desk. I picked a photo and put it in the scanner. I opened Photoshop and realized I had to plug my crappy cheap scanner into my USB extension. I removed my zip drive, plugged in the scanner, scanned, optimized, posted.......

So WTF did I do with my zip drive???????

On the upside, I found the ear buds I've been searching for for 2 months. If it takes 2 months to find the zip drive drive that's been sitting undetected in front of my face I'm going to check myself into the nursing home. Missing zip drive = 2 semesters of college loans wasted. Finding it in 2 months will be a sad, sad joke.

It's All My Fault

I just had to post the picture of the robin in the snow. I'm afraid it brought on this latest bout of unpleasant weather. In a vain attempt to stave off the 6 inches of fucking snow that is headed our way, here is a picture from March, 2000. (Happy, happy good times!) Never mind that the picture was taken in a tropical country. It is what I want. And I want it now.

In other news, the cheap scanner that I bought a couple of years ago is crapping out on me big time. Among its many problems is the fact that it doesn't like the USB port it was plugged into on the back of my box. So when I used this cheap crappy scanner, I plugged it into the USB extension that I plug my zip drive into. Now I'm done scanning and I have no idea where my zip drive is. The zip drive that holds ALL of my class projects, including the finals I am working on. Damn.

Flowers on Hold

Eighty degree temps in March melted the snow. Yay! Spring came. Then spring left. I'm not sure what is going on outside right now but it is not pleasant.

While digging through the photo archives for an image for a class project, I found this. It is dated April 15, 1996. I hope it is not a sign of things to come.

I think when I have a little more time on my hands, I will continue to dig through the photo archives and post little snippets of life gone by. There may even be a few happy moments in there somewhere.