Yesterday I read Liz's post about her step-grandfather and it got me thinking about MY step-grandfather. So today you get to read about him over at Off Our Chests, if you're so inclined. He was a character. Unrelated, here's an actual, unretouched conversation that happened here yesterday: Me: Honey, I love you SO MUCH. Otto: I... love you, too...? Chickadee: She wants something. Me: No! I just LOVE YOU! Otto: I know what she wants. Me: You do? Otto: You want me to stop at the store and pick up sweet potatoes. Me: See? THIS IS WHY I LOVE YOU! You're the GREATEST! (I always said a big part of...
This morning as the fence guys banged away outside, I wrote out the final check. Then I took it upstairs to Otto's office and handed it over. "I'm not talking to them, I'm not looking at them, I'm not discussing anything with anyone. When it's done and you're happy, give it to them. But I'm not here." Otto chuckled and agreed, because he's known me a very long time, and he knows that when I voluntarily remove myself from a situation like that, it means it's really best for everyone concerned. An hour later, it was done. DONE. Today is day 34, by the way---just in case you were keeping track....
Listen, it's kind of been a whirlwind around here for the last few weeks: There was getting the kids ready for their trip, and then we went camping, and then Kira was here, and then Otto came back, and then another old friend of mine came by for a quick visit; and you know all of this is a bit much for my delicate system---all of these comings and goings---and really all I want at this point is to sit on the couch with some popcorn and something terrible on television and not have to talk to anyone for a while. Of course, that is simply not how my life goes... um, ever. Which is fine....
I'm over at Off Our Chests, today, talking about what I learned from my long-ago stints as a waitress. I'm guessing there are worse jobs to have, but waitressing was definitely the worst job I, personally, have ever had. Like anything else that doesn't kill you, though, it probably made me stronger. Or at least cognizant of the fact that sometimes the best choice is to just be nice, no matter what.
The weekend quickly disappeared in a fast-forward WHOOSH of chatting and talking and discussing and many other synonyms for flapping our gums endlessly at one another. True, Kira and I speak several times a week on the computer, anyway, but something about being together, in person, for that one weekend a year makes it suddenly VERY IMPORTANT that we discuss everything from the Good Old Days That Really Were Kind Of Sucky back when we were both single moms and despaired of life ever getting better to how we can possible arrange for her Max to marry my Chickadee and the kids to think it was...
It seems ridiculous to claim we're out communing with nature when, in reality, our camper has a microwave and the campground has free wifi. I know. But we're parked in a forest where emerging takes you right to the ocean's shore, and more to the point, this is The Land Of A Million Squirrels. When you sign in at the campground, they give you all sorts of information materials (maps and such), and everything carries prominent warnings that you should not feed the squirrels. This baffles me. First of all, these squirrels swagger around like the damn rodent mafia, which to me is SO CREEPY that...
The whole situation with the fence has gotten so intolerable, we've run away from home. Okay, fine, STRICTLY SPEAKING that's not quite true. I mean, sure, we ARE on Day 25 of our one and a half day fence job, and it is absolutely true that it is not yet done, and it is also true that Fence Guy, after offering to rip down the fence and build us a new one then had the BIG GIANT BRASS ONES to come back and ask for a materials deposit, and when we pointed out that we'd already put down thousands of dollars, remember? (subtext: OH HELLS NO), he emailed Otto and said "Well then we'll need another...
Does Kraft still run those commercials for their macaroni and cheese where kids are singing about how they've got the blues and they need the blue box, please? It seems like I haven't seen one in a long time. Then again---thanks to the miracle of the DVR---I don't watch many commercials, these days. So who knows. Today I'm thinking about comfort food over at Off Our Chests; specifically, I'm thinking about my relationship with Kraft macaroni and cheese. (And one could argue that the blue box, although iconic, doesn't actually contain food, though that's another discussion, entirely.) I'm...
It took a few days to coordinate, what with our being gone for the long weekend and various other jobs to which he's attending, but on Friday Fence Guy swore to show up here between 3:00 and 4:00 to Discuss Things given the interesting trajectory of our fence job and true to his (extremely malleable) word, he was here at 4:45. (Do people who are late make you insane? THEY MAKE ME INSANE.) Otto and Fence Guy spent an hour walking around the fence, outside, the fence which is now complete but which is still damaged in multiple places, uneven, with doors that are improperly hung and only...
