tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20259552247940912152024-03-05T19:36:37.895-08:00Mares NestMares-nest: Noun. an extremely confused, entangled, or disordered place, situation,Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-72126425693971183352015-12-07T18:09:00.000-08:002015-12-07T18:09:04.495-08:00Hello, my name is Squidgy<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Hello, my name is Squidgy and it has been twenty months since my last post. Not much has happened since then, so thanks for checking in.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">LOL</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I had to look back on the last two moldy posts to discover what had been shared with all y'all. The middle daughter and I did indeed travel to new Mexico to bring love and joy to those little buckaroos. We flew in to El Paso and traveled the three hours east (yes east) to Carlsbad, NM stopping once for a peepee pit stop and more importantly to drive thru, and I do mean drive thru, Bob's Liquor Barn. Much like the name implies, it is a structure of some size through which you drive your car or conestoga, and you interact with..Bob, and he brings you booze and you pay him and you drive on. Fantastic. Our thoughtfulness also assured that our welcome at the old daughters casa was a lot more welcoming than it might otherwise have been. I should remember to bring booze everywhere I go, perhaps I'd get invited more places, or not.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">We did visit Carlsbad Caverns. It was big. Two year old Sam broke the tether on his leash and was briefly free to run pell mell and cause his mother to have a freak out, not that I blamed her one little bit. However I did have a brief flash back to a family trip to Hearst Castle with the old daughter and the middle daughter when they were much younger and they too broke their collective virtual tethers and ran amok on all the cool roped off carpets and did the Goldilocks thing on the, also roped off, furniture. So that happened and we got yelled at but it was totally worth it because now over thirty years later I get to tell you about it, and the kids will be pissed! Sometimes you just have to be patient.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmeu1Sx9K83UL5cRRqvMIKtJWDSN58eiagIr8LDN1P-96weFE7tT2gTEeA9CeEq8PYB4G2oLl9PdAUz724V_F-cDEeW6G37r-CM9ax2svU-KhifT55kVz01s8z6fJNF90J9asyscIp2tc/s1600/IMG_0457-EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmeu1Sx9K83UL5cRRqvMIKtJWDSN58eiagIr8LDN1P-96weFE7tT2gTEeA9CeEq8PYB4G2oLl9PdAUz724V_F-cDEeW6G37r-CM9ax2svU-KhifT55kVz01s8z6fJNF90J9asyscIp2tc/s200/IMG_0457-EFFECTS.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They're stalagmites</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Then one day we drove to Roswell, NM and drove right past the UFO museum without even slowing down, and went to Sam's Club, because you couldn't do that here, oh wait...No wheedling, pleading, crying or whining changed any of the closed minds in that car about visiting the hottest spot in town. Haters. Happily, I can prove I took a picture of it.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here it is</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Anyway, we visited just long enough and, for Tim the Cowboy Spouse really just long enough for anyone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">We Have Palm Trees. Six of which are over 30' and they deposit pollen, berries and fronds with wild abandon on my piece of paradise and in my pool. They are messy, disgusting, filthy, out of control vegetation that have become and continue to be the bane of my existence. My dear, dear friend with whom I spent Junior High with on Guam (another story children) was so excited about my palm trees because they reminded her of the tropical paradise we inhabited so very long ago. She lives in Texas now and does not help me clean up the mess. Let me tell you one thing, palm trees belong on a deserted, desert isle far, far away from me and my pool. My neighbors wholeheartedly applaud my quest to find free tree removal because the trees do not discriminate where they litter, but barring that they also applaud the laughable idea that I have (at last quote) over $6500 to remove them. So if any of you guys want a crack at tree removal experience and I know you do, please come on down. I will give you drinks, once you're done, and assuming my house is still standing.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp96peVTanznmntE4vVOEJJT2ZztH6WS91CWiGe1N5irna_xq_1zQtlwVYboZsCBYVMlq0XGxMLnB-OKCK1WL8j1Mx4J0U2bCnJHAnxXcJdXk-yL54q1-82peOzftTLL1cVvwsHJpiliI/s1600/IMG_0257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp96peVTanznmntE4vVOEJJT2ZztH6WS91CWiGe1N5irna_xq_1zQtlwVYboZsCBYVMlq0XGxMLnB-OKCK1WL8j1Mx4J0U2bCnJHAnxXcJdXk-yL54q1-82peOzftTLL1cVvwsHJpiliI/s200/IMG_0257.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buh by</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Thank you for allowing me to get that off my chest.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7lJwpg2-Je5q22NwwsnqgEM4vRgl-i_rLQxHsu4fSAEnzbKqA5oOcEpQ4Za1i8niuogwPqAxbBw0AJNtOZTzqXqgmfGH5fBbONpgUEnqx7Dx-dIc7ejTUdAQyZ0dLT2_7eReglH6VpYY/s1600/gable+mansion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7lJwpg2-Je5q22NwwsnqgEM4vRgl-i_rLQxHsu4fSAEnzbKqA5oOcEpQ4Za1i8niuogwPqAxbBw0AJNtOZTzqXqgmfGH5fBbONpgUEnqx7Dx-dIc7ejTUdAQyZ0dLT2_7eReglH6VpYY/s200/gable+mansion.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">And now the holidays are upon us. In that spirit I went on a holiday house tour in Woodland last weekend. My, my, my such goings on. It is proven over and over again that I may be a little thick, but somehow I missed the salient "<em>Holiday"</em> part. Woodland has a LOT of really cool old houses and many of them are owned by people who have lovingly restored them to breathtaking original detail. I liked this one. A lot. It has an elevator. And painted fancy ceilings. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">And some were not so successful, </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4i_Pu_5TGrSja83Lv9qe8luYwJGjcVu8nZWbccl0Bt2m3P5f9sq2_MjPS5xnoYfD22wvwiRsb_A5Yi7G3U3nsQSgIX78_OkYymfl-whd0zss29ZEZoMLx0kZMtI8IkgVcNqHPqY-Hy_k/s1600/IMG_0113.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4i_Pu_5TGrSja83Lv9qe8luYwJGjcVu8nZWbccl0Bt2m3P5f9sq2_MjPS5xnoYfD22wvwiRsb_A5Yi7G3U3nsQSgIX78_OkYymfl-whd0zss29ZEZoMLx0kZMtI8IkgVcNqHPqY-Hy_k/s200/IMG_0113.JPG" width="200" /></a>Oh Wait, that's my house. HaHa it wasn't on the tour.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">At any rate, dear reader, thanks for reading. I have ever so much more to tell you, so check back soon!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Cheers,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms";">Squidgy</span></div>
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Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-82525391123563480742014-03-20T15:18:00.000-07:002014-03-21T08:24:27.993-07:00wuzzup?<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Greetings and salutations!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That phrase sounded so familiar to me while I was sitting in my car in the garage this morning with the garage door open and spying on the weird old guy across the street from my rear view mirror. And it sounded familiar because back in the days when I was a child, and that was a very long time ago, my grandfather would send us letters via snail mail and he always prefaced his missive with that howdy doo.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back to spying on the neighbor. Now that we are home owners (receiving applauds and whistles...thank you) it seems that we should be a little more observant to the comings and goings of our new neighbors. To whit the weird old guy across the street. He spends an unusual amount of time on his roof. He has many many solar panels up there, they are large and hard to miss, so I doubt he's verifying that they have not been stolen in the night or gone away in some other nefarious manner. He wanders up there back and forth across the roof, sometimes he has a little rag in his back pocket in case something needs a little sprucing up I imagine. He had a little vacuum cleaner/shop vac up there for a while so that makes me think he's very tidy. The vacuum looked like a robot, but not that interesting. It was yellow, but in any case it is gone now so the mystery remains unsolved. He also has a ladder/antennae on the side of the house which he uses to gain access to the roof, so he must be clever and possibly receiving messages from Mars or something. Oh wait, I already knew he was clever because the guy we bought our manse from told me that weird old guy had reconfigured his cars and his bicycle to be electric, like he is an electrical genius or something. He also spends too much time staring at his utility meter, if you're that smart and everything is run on electricity shouldn't your meter be spinning madly? And if so, can you count the revolutions or whatever happens on meters? What in the world is he staring at? He usually is in his pajamas for this event. But hold on, the solar panels. What devious plan are they providing power for? As yet I have not approached him and demanded clarification of his oddities. Unlike the other neighbors, he did not come over to meet and greet. Steve thinks he's planning bad stuff, but he may be projecting. In the meantime, I will continue my covert observance of him from my car's rear view mirror or my bedroom window. Rest assured.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am very happy being a homeowner again. I wish ownership did not involve hemorrhaging money on plumbers and hardware and lawn mower repair and other non shoe items. Alas, such is life. Plumbing. I have decided not to be a plumber. What started as a simple do it yourself project turned in to a night mare of talking to the guys at Ace and Home Depot far too many times. In fact I traveled back and forth four times to our local Ace yesterday and had a most unpleasant encounter with an older gremlin with long nasty finger nails who talked over me way too many times until I provided him with pictures that verified I knew what I was talking about and more importantly, that I also knew what I needed. Sadly this all culminated in an emergency plumbing repair call at 6:00pm on a Wednesday night. Much soaking of the vanity, the bathroom floor and the carpet of the bedroom ensued from badly joined hoses and valves and unplanned breakage of 40 year old water lines etc. About two shop vacs worth of water if you're wondering. So I sat huddled in the corner of a darkened room in the fetal position and sucked my thumb while all the mayhem went on around me. I so alarmed the plumber emergency guy that he called me a couple times to see how I was doing. Did I forget to mention that I could not turn off the main water supply to the house? Right, I couldn't. That was bad and if you have any weird ideas that I'm incompetent, the plumber who came out to take $400 from me couldn't turn it off either. He recommended that that be repaired too in case I ever needed to turn the water off like if I was doing some repairs under the sink. I just stared at him and said, you mean like now and why you're here? A laugh a minute.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I spent 17 days, 6 hours and some odd seconds at the Petaluma Palace in February whilst the happy couple took themselves off to Hawaii for their annual constitution. Themselves have a new dawg and she's a beaut. and comes with a fantastic story. It seems there's this breeder of Rhodesian Ridgebacks </span> <img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSHVwDD-bpZrugX0B2a69sKFSrzpwudCYSqatPZSAMBMM449T-X" /> <span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">in Texas who contracted a breeding with another RR of some impressive lineage. And so the deed was done and since science is a wonderful thing, mommy dog and daddy dog never actually had the conjugal visit, instead a vat of semen arrived via FedEx and the mating took place with tubes and science stuff. At any rate the puppies arrived, and there were many but they looked a little weird and as time went on they did not look like show quality sign me up for Westminster or Crufts dogs. Well, as it turns out, someone made a bad boo boo and in fact the semen which was used on the dog in Texas was in truth that of a Schnauzer and as you can see looks nothing like a Rhodesian </span><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/dd/Miniature_Schnauzer_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/dd/Miniature_Schnauzer_02.jpg" height="140" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And which results in an expression such as this. </span><img height="150" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcS-gAwc_NNH89xwW30Us1B2vXTlylp0bH0mjRFFFec9ng3a3eVz" width="200" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">All good sport I assure you. In any case the proud puppy <strike>mill </strike>owners were quite anxious to rid themselves of this litter of puppies what with the impending law suit and what not looming. And so that is how their Highness's came to own their new bundle of joy whom they named Frankie but who should in fact be named Harriet but that's my opinion. </span><img height="200" src="https://us-mg6.mail.yahoo.com/ya/download?mid=2_0_0_1_149070_ACPsw0MAAAbAUytcOvC9wCWd0Qk&pid=2&fid=Inbox&inline=1" width="150" /><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> It may be also true that I have mixed up sire and dam but it in no way changes the gist of the story and since I was able to order off the senior menu this morning at Country Waffles I get to enjoy that latitude.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The spouse and I were able to finish a project together recently that did not involve much screaming or threatening gestures. We built a tasteful fence and gate on the walkway to our front door which has the sole purpose of keeping the ancient terriers from excaping and causing major reductions in the cat population of our 'hood. Ta Dah. We are genius, no? Did I tell you that we painted our front door lime green? Well we did that too. I have more projects and a grand honey do list. But for now, with the debacle of the plumbing, I shall, as they say, give it a rest. Instead, the middle daughter has decided that the front yard at her house must be landscaped so I have found an outlet for my creativity with that project. That the yard is big enough to farm is of no consequence. It isn't, after all, my money. And in truth, is there any money that is better spent than someone else's? It's so much cheaper that way. Sonny in law luvs that logic. So the plan involves many many many yards of stamped concrete patios, 20 some odd redwoods, about an acre of lawn and more decorative trees and shrubs than even I can conceive and the tasteful placement of architectural fences and such like. This has to be done by May sometime. No problem, right?</span><img 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g7Pf0cmqSgxf5Sh/YMke1FulpHXbE/NnaD2viFVRUUqysAex3+RnAmgox5jIkalWmsG4aA2lp+7b540rSpQRAX0Ij/TCP/KV4hzGXq0kpVDTGnVqG5Oogg7yIED3n0Iv/k94nUrPmtT+YBpKg6jzaQDpckiOhXeRPU4004sm+aG76Mr0yjLpkG1jEyLR1vjlnG+FvScIVqtZpYoYAIDs0qCshtIBsAAZjp1KlTLaXakUqARZtp3FrEe/sMTzVAOOenIgg36GJ27wPlhRlqNxTOIvmHbUCAWAUXMAO4prHvPMD0392Cf0/Kfd/Ef9OGLifh0eYrI3l/W69K2urFhMi5iB6XvgZ/MZv7y3/CXHRHJFozcB9zefpUzpP1lVtqaxJ9DNgMe5Wm9RNdRxTQEjRTOkDSSpDP7TXEWge/AzI1VUu9FAik89aptJ+7NzvvPbBbM0VUrqqN5syp0hjbfShBA98A33xzGpamumX0oop6RoJ31DVqLDeNupO+LCQ6BtSkRMgysdx6dsUZmv5Id2bSrHWxe94Ahb2sAAJ/fjnHi/xO1YFaYKoCbbEuulxqixBE7b29+Go7Ol0JyoIca8YajppsVpCzTHOBpLWHQqZHuO2+FqmEpITqlyNLahdSVA5f1gul9W40x3xmzQ8k39qSYU+yASSJ2JKufdtvcGvCPDJArV/YAOgG22pJ57SCiQPj2GOmowiY8yYd8GcECaK7AGrUE0w0gKt2sQh6MN9ioHfDVxziqZOi1R+ZzZEG9Rz7Ki3zPQScS4ZSt5jggkcoE2U32DsvxGOdcb8RCrm6tWnSSrTpQqtULQCs6mXSyi86ZvOm298U93bNaSRv4Jngi1KlQs2brM3mOVOlQgk6f1FHKI3IjcYDZwidVZGh11FGBkpPJSFrl2GuoAOkEHSGGSjxBWTWMnRK+UXGoOeSnU0t/WbljdesSO+JPnymqoctQ+pKOYWrINYakIIq76RFjbrfGvjp2Q2FTOl2X6xlBgrcNWqSrEAe0qCEkSLg++jNUdFPMFFkl0o0Tpu4QXi0EEsNjc998YqvEvKFSctQ+oig4C1ZGouQAVrc0+W1xb5jHud4oNaUKuWy/1TlFVvOhSqGYAqxA0rt10iMPRhaJ5ngj0aiUKtIV67KGWnOqkguZZReoRcanOmWsL3hXo5tqtOlUDNUKytO8KAOiqIRZ/cOuNtXJBSz+Vw4CwBFRmkEi401yRvcmwAnYYuqZEgozUeHhmISzEwbm5FaB7z6DcjFqdA1YGbJ5h6zUlplqirLKAOQQIkiwmSACZ37YJeF+G1WzlPlJWlUAqN0UrJIkGJkCRuJGNb8N+ugU+GkkajPawF/Ng3BtJI+OPcvww6n00eHWYybDmi4g1b2iCLHvgeTgSirGv+TioPJqEst6z7Eb6vQ/tA/eU3i+UnKVNOhjSzLkhGDEIRF9Mm8CJC2jfHvD8iSSQnDwJb2yB9ozbzQYBnePjviVDJMVYgcNszAggbyZ3qbXtaIjfEqdMbQDbLEURX5WQm2mZFxM9BBn5EYnm8s1FUqkhQxEONVpuDPQRf5xggmSJy5YDh+nRcBBrsL8urVq9IF+mNGby0IgJ4aVLCIQW6i+vbufXF+QjVGepmKitQTNslRajhRULEPTmJIqbix2Mj064YvDmYGV4o2XaqHFakoRwZDFPYG55tOodretw70DqVGbh0ESp8u0jcTqjYi0yb9sW5ao1OqlV2yxOXdSTRUBtEqCZ6roY394mxxDaZS4GPi1Y0q1Rb6dQZY7Pf/8AKcAvFg8yklZf6Sk02F9M2E3IGoKTHc4bvFmW5qb/AHgUJ9Rzp+xh8cc+zTB6jIbh+UiJ395HvxyNa5LNDLxM+aqViQQwJntUWRNu9nAiLrjb4fzTnlUltMkEGLBioJk7+l+mMWSW1SmWNiYMGBVkSsnsoF/UdxiijUZWEaixKoL2ABBuLXtYza9sXKN/H/oq/sPZzP5hJ0swk3FxB9+wxVSrP9qu5MXGto/C5xpymZXNIQjAVCWAWN0VoJF7WG/fA45Y0w3mAiFJuOW03BBO9rESMZavom2eZ1fMEBydvaLRa/2rH54xZCuaY0qWUn2ih0liJgmIn0nviHDc+yICplppiCBBARyQZ7kjqp2MHBn6ZSZBqUylGmxeBzO5g7Wi+57G2NXCcVXZKlZHL52oGBD1T35m/G+CGX8SVAYkg7STN/24HUsnUIZqbGqgYoGTfUDAsfaB6ROMmYlTzyCTAJkGetjjFp/ZaTH3L+LEI530HuVkfhcYJ/pf/wCop/5T+eOY5aslQgNVVI63v6aZn3kTjR+i/wDbj541x9Axm4vx8UpV6wOmZSkAWgb+0elvx7Y25KqtEGqCuh1Bp6mUkgC2kyS2owf8uOS8cz6+azLUpyWJLqzFtMmwUggbdP2Y38VrVqVOnlawbUglbsQoYsV0styII6biItgeHrnsNjf4m8XVazxMUwfYH2ouQbnUGTY7E4FmmKSgveoAAbiAqEoRsTrAZT8LdMfcMyVMZf6S2qAqhNcgFiKg1JDSx1wATEXttj3gGQ+l1mo7KAGZh7YU8pMNzMZgeydPoIx0Rajf4M2mzd4Z4B55WpXI8naGIGsLNMjVMqQpW9puBF8dK4Vk9bFvsKeXbnYfamm5BHoRvjJwvLcwSnKIp59JIkgAezUSALD2TiXGOMmnXSh5q0VYIFfT5hLu5QDcBQDpknvjn3eSVGtKKBvjjitRnTJZdorVhzsD/R0jIJ9CR8rm0YWM6iPoytGRl6QJdkFzpFzA3PQDuVG4ONXiLPplK2bWfOzFZNL1lhdC6ApiJhxvEdcJbgAzqrTE3YbHr7O3bHTjx0jOUvob3y5LnQWBSoPL003lFKEEsl+TTyCACdUyNsE+N0aeXpU8slZxFUeZNN1RvMtJJaIRCBpvJF7zjnkgxz1bmNxM9Nlx6ZWeerAbTYi56j167YrQW4+cB4clSvTLO6U1XUyOpUCnTYeUGYwHPUGLBSPQB8pRPE+KNU1AoLQxiBMBQDuQsm3VZwumoqMCzVGK9GMiYMTBFweki4wzfydZ6llNTVEqGRKsqSSdhbpyyd/tHtclwgux64/w3I5Wman0Ok3QBUWSbkCY9N8KX04VCNGQytMdS4Bt6iP34Y6njbL1S9N6FVkgTKgyeoibQIIM99out+flmqny/pCUxYAU5vNwZfpAIPqRaBMKvsb/AAeZnMhAJoZOSQBFL/8AbFX00SIy+WsYg0Y/92NC5ii5bmzIUGARSF4sba7EGR1tGNGVzlIzBzIUGFIpAzFjI12IMjtsfQVcCeQDxLMHXSijQ5XBIWnFhe8+0PT3+uCqZk6Z8rKKpgAmgt527n8LYv4WtCuzj6wQCwmihDKCP1rMZ29N8WZLO0wWC0s0pH3adK6GdJPMCJg29OuC4A9iWXp1GJApZPli/kLEH12xVUSuGBNHKH0NBf2jF9PiOvUDTzmpGIIVUI6EfasSpBj374z0MwHUsaGdZgzCypEgkRIbVuL/ABw7gT8g34W4hSr1Wo1snQVwLFEBBjvIsfT/AFiHjLhiU6qlUVUqoycoi8RFu4IHxOKuEccShR8ylkMxqYBmqMFMgRN9cgRMAemPfEXiE5ihy5PMggh0YhY99mmIO+M5tfRfaD+XqGvw5WP9IiA/+pT3/Yfnjn/iSlpqF1HKwBHXDf8Ayd8Q1CtQdClzUVdIACMYItuQYJPdsCuKZY1KVWmQS9BiDtzQYnraDq9zAdMZZl1ItcinmK7DS8mTKiwP1rCASzFdNrzMSAd8bq+UFSmtUXkwfhImBtMfxfGQNGoXE2JG47EWMf6DHnCOI+TEg6STrpkRCKrRG9ySDMC8b4P3R47BSp0weoak4JNlQogUQQTsSet7yTMnDTmOIearqxUsioSwIIYlYbVHXrItjNxDhoceZTNiqvE8wDCRsdx/G+F6urLTcDUWZuaSfZGq297XIOBVPvsbWvRZ5BSwWNhfVGzDaSB8uuK0q8yBki1MXG4Ftxe8fre6wjZl8wrO6k2CWkizWgW6xv13x6qKV1Uj7R2HXSZ2+HS8dMaKbj2Rqn0Ty+bfyqaaiF+lEgzIm2+562hT1t2K5vjL/wDiZCnXVA5p2KCY1gEDa52EwBbC+40gbrDggAQNxO146m/btiqqnJVErqLhgACLR30hY9/vtivjIOUH6dalWrGmUTTAClea8tMFe8ddJ9D1L/ofLd2/5v8A48KXBa4pZ1ag6XPKW9np7QEdNR+S46//ADky39onzGM3jp8ME7F7iSKyatNA5Y01UsW0pIJJBIBH5Xkb4hxAJSoebVdUko0iqWVlV1YaTF7C3afhjnockCiTVFLUz1NX2QvoqQpgLMT7XTrKrXNRcqCnIqE6SoYQoYrKmGMzP+IR2xMsXPZaY+/SEy9JajBRl4DIKb1CYN50NE3NxEzjbksgaiKyNTdWHtpVcShYsI0i+5xyt865FQEsaftlXBhy0BmG0TpsOkbWx1HwQGXI0TUqKyCQhp6o0SYEtcnfoOgi188mNwjY1K2GDlEppPmMEUEks0wOtzJxzDM8WTM5hszVH1NMEUEj2yJ5m79TvfYdMb/GnG/pFT6LQZvKEee97zELfYf6npgBl6oDqxgBpFMACwVTpO9j7Q32OxtjT9PipW+2TJ+glTooxY1UapUYg/1fOzFtSJqUlgNPQxHaMaMlw2lmM4qUzqpUl112hV0ooGhZCxBa0XsGjGT6TRNHWadJSmsc1IGR95SSZafTvj6pxEpkqdJFp+bWYPU0gXNQ8ilgZgKxHpI2g46KfszqizM0sv5rlKamijDSKSoVcsYMa10khdGw3cdsecUXJ0g/l85pAEEpTIc3FgEnVKgFhBG8jGnVlgrkij9SQhigBqJE6hFS7WJ1ETY4q4VQWrncvRAVqak1CAkBwgLS2kEkltMG5j5YayJ9DT+gnxXguXynDXqVaKvmGGkF6cHzakmxYc2gSAQYt7sO/hTNt+j6L1gBppAf4UEAn1IE/HCP/KHVOYz2VyKTCQWuTzvG83MCDJ9dsNfj3MrluHmmkKH00EnYAiDsOiBvhhDOVp4kzTZkinXdBVbUdJtLXnqLKVX/AAjrgutXNpJGcrLqbUTqsWMX7YW/DympmDUIO5bvE/8Af8MN9RgwEgETPyIP7sZZZVKkQmYspXzInRnK4Dc55tyxkn3kmcXUMzmkHJm64GokjV1Ykk37kk/HEuIGFDD2rAAz+AG8AbemM2RrM+rVMgxsR0B2JPfvjPZvlFVKrPcrmMyp0rmq4UdA9t74t+kV9Zf6VW1lQDFQg6QTpmOgJMSOpxnq5nTssmD+HTbG2pTBB6HrFvxGC2J2kUmpXBLDNZgFjLRVN7ATA9AB8BiuhTzAJCZjMAMS0LVYSxJJMDqTJJ74q89tQkGNUTpMbwLz7umNjODZo9PeDM/P9mC2hO12Q4Xk6gp1CtesQgBCecxUiTIiQCsDba+H/wACZjzMmKbR9UTSj9Qex/8AbK9uuE7gj6KoH2WGmO07fjH44MeAM15eZrUTswDDf205W7/YNO9o04cJNtocXyAmr/o/ihdzCtFyQJWQji4uT9W/SBOG3xTT8mqmZS6VBoqRtsSpta4tJsIBwO/lU4fyLXAnQZMWJWNLiR3Qz/gwV8IZlc3kTRqMGKTRZhfUB7DgGDBEb7xjSrj/AOFR4dCXmskuq0mbk9xaD6b/AIjAirlgxlUUk2IA9oSOzCD6C/qZjDTSRqqVKLgrWpM19g+mZjae89ZbYCML8gEL87Cb7fxb37Y543F0XJJmHK8XdNflgFNSwCOiwsCbjl6nr8cGs9TpVi3lEMwWSo3g7kdN5HvxdnuApVUGY6+YDJC87klZUNJKqCZMDrGF/L0K9GqraDEydI1IR7Rk0yVsINpxq1GfK7FFtFNbLEMxUaGudUTcgBRePW4BxXSZ6VOF1TN2jlmYJDaVMSBvOx3wRGeDfSHY+YFMrpFlJ1FhqZQOx6/LH1bJ0zPNAiSGBkA3k+tupw1JrhipPo9pZw1KxR7qwB1FhMkTErafQ3MnbbGcaHLBGBK2YkdDPX5j0jGc5fTzqCog+wBYEeoPp1xVQJZauhmDbtrY6dIU7MVID2IjqJg4NU/2jtrs25l9LAsASDbUNQHqAT/E4OfTm/tD/wAn/TgGi+RSiudblhCk6lC8wtAEHaR7sbP0+n9zqfM/lgSbBgisqlmpecWEB3KKWlgVBBg8o03EfdHoMSYNUNYhK0k7nlYA3SZiZta8274u41Q0VWpsH8umzMRpEtMwBo0mCpY6ulwTj7L0Udqi+c1JSFuXUkmRsB2WSDY2iTi7pBSbCXh3g4YU6jLsBro1QNJXzWDkmowH2dUgbmLXw3HNEZbRSAy1MIZIIhFN5XSWUTLGLwCPTAXh6mhSSmr0ayliWVllomWa9RoFiAOyj7xxV4gqNWpU6VOUpsGckj2wkk2GwEEkegjaMTj1nK5vgcoyr4oG8A4oi0no08qarVZBqVDLOYkkCAAQCH32AHXH1SjXIUjKtKjk+rpWvFoEbdsKtOqalQFZRFHTotpP+83X1MbDDtwPjGpGB1s7QCSx72A3k9Pj640nPXlCS45ZmzFCu6Kj5V2VGH2aYkbm4FgesXN8aONZrMZlqNQ5JKdWmTzpouAAFkNPsgW+G0DGyoQEWndGpyQDUlzJJuqjUpk7wPXFfBarMk+YGquCpLPzbj78TsN+mJ3bV0L4v7AZyVfRo8k6SxdhNGCYI6qTMGPScavDj5nK1WrU8rqdl0zUqJyrN406bnv6YP5tHBRWpwaagQ07AR0Inffb5DGA5zy1AWwQlwQbg7zv7Ntu04z8y6oajH2HfCHC1bMtn8xUWnVcsfJZlOmSQsPquAvp19MY/wCWLiSslFUdWA1k6WmGICKLGx0s5+HrgB4S4Vma/mVtLnW2osUJknUd/ef4jHvFODV/MceRrNhLIR0FgI2G041cqZL6BvhOjyltiTHy/wC/4YNo5BOr8MY8rwzNUk0pQt2If94xNfpCk66aqltR5jAt3HXbGLW0iDHWzTF3FYkCOQAGJkCY7QD33xp4fxOlT9qSNUwBaDHQob/HAqsSxHvmSLixEe7092PmXmBiBEbG95v6/u92PSjCCaZLlJx1+g/mOJ5V4nzAVEjTTUXn3Y3rx/KxHOROxop+4YXk4RUZQ2kqHKqIW/SGKzIHdjv0HU0ZvLVKT6aqgEKeZRIYSTOodvXYdsEMmNyoJ45qPJfnc3TaoWUkKTIsQR8tiDj3hXE2dtNWGIXUrEXuYM/G3zxjVW3gSIiF7d7X9+KsrlahrL5ayx1CApjqbAdPTGeSENXQ7lKr+hjqVADKmCL/ALMW5jPCjmaOYkAEq+wkr7LC8W0tO4kquMKcKzhj6o/8J8Wng2bJ5knoJosY7ATsMcCVOwVj/wCIONZSpl2BrKbTEHsZG3VZGE/+Tvioo1dGsFdflkljzIqOabKCOgUKRNo2vi9fDeaOXNxZTpUqgJj0PNG9iZIxiyPDKlKnqcaGFnhIJpsRMA9RaPUDtjTbXs0fY1+OuH+XUTNpvZahJMACSCQO/smPQdScKHFcpJ8zZW2M7Ebi3UEEe8Y6JwHNLm8sadUAkKFqCLXmN5B2n5YUaiGi9XLVSGPQgbEhdLDsDZTb7v3WOJyxrlFdoCtw9K1/Oek9MSxBLArP3TsfdvbAPiNcUaRRHquoe7EwNRA5NLWFh0B6STjZWNY1QtNAVlNRf2TzCQZFxG8XA22GPKh+rBVqVFFzHs6SrNFUDVrEhgoA5rxpPxUOFyC5L+MMWpU9WgVWDAhQpidTLM6b6bTpgbYxeWWMVKgD1KgpulMTYtYzBEtOlel/TG/I5mpUzS1KqAQjNq0B5CTEGTpn74jmjeCMZaTU2QqjiigbS6ganbdg4nnADCBq26Ri6ZL7M+Z4uQz0lJqCQI0glQu8QTcCOvS4GLM7l3UeTTLaGOoaq40sJuSsBgDvAi5Pri/PZ564iirGhGlSUUtpWBcsyxzRqYG5JvbGPiBpa6SUeRWQatJJJBk6QCIW9gxmbHrhqINtl+c4XSekaz1V8woTppk6Sw1BTDCSZjUJ6T1xi/RuR/t8x/wU/PFipT80KpNNaRBnQpfTK3gELMs1yNh12wS8nL/fGNIf3GwbnAH01GqhmqllaoSw2gGFspFoAG/vnE1qo9OCPNGoU1QPoUFFFyPtazEADv8ADbxrJFapaVVVuajwWIBWVVaYllAN9QgTfuB1Gga1QIGqrTu5qBbiByHUFuY0gc3pOI4fILjgNZjxLpqKK9IL5akMaag306Qu5EfGLHGpjVZKNKmqiulOrKNpX2yQu/YEkj0g4XOP1aArB8vJCxuGILKTLCWgKY2M+s3xZxHTUPM41lQTKXBiTdGAawBuYOn44Xjjwyo5WuCFHw/UVxQUA1NJZwW7GD7o9cMXDaT5PyqjKLkggssNqlTBm1jAYWBj3FeSur1WdWIWmtiEYxaDsYBA3iZE3x5We1Oka2i4OtiCsE6uUpOzEjTdbCSCMDg5O2yXJV0OWc4WFV3BNKmAWYVACsXJJ0k6h6wJvbFNPgi7FiQyq4WmoBYAkA87xAt+WBp4TnK+XWlScmgYU+Y6jSE2UdTczfsonpgUvEWotTfUSFMBkgtJWoDBa0RAi1iYPdwlOSpMqUIrtDtxPz6oVPIIWmNKS4ZrkEkmbzA91/Ulb4stSkqDR9Y9VVRTBnqZAMEWA/xDFtPxKDrYGsW6AtTCzAHMu+477Yy/pctmaFd1ZxQGoKSsmpM6rQAJCWH3fXERwZNrkEnjrgbcz42zaVGpGlkywLLZ6vMV3geWZIiYBPa5ia63jrN0xTL08ioqKHU66vssSAT9XYGJ92Fl+POyLAbzFBGo1BvOoMLypB+yIE3uTinPcc1Zpq5pny1RaemRIQaVgMNiQGMgjc46dX6JtdjfW8X58J5hpZIJrNO7VZ1BQx+x7IBHNtjX4d43mc2Ky1VyzU1S+jXJ1TFnWCNIPTt64UW4ycw9PLJBQ+x5x1EFr6SxANgqi+0AYJ1OB1l8kk06YWtTY6CRqUMCRAHW/pjOeq4fDNMcXLlI1ZLhh+msTQX6N9HXTKLp8y0xbeMQ4VwYn6V9IpLp81vK1ItqfNGmOmNWUo1fphVlP0f6MpU6Bp8yRPNEkx0nFfBlrTm/OVgFqsKJKBfq4YDSQBIjrc45G3/B2JL+ReocLraKf1B1/S4f6oT5Ftxp9n1wRHDyK2Z10opLWpClKALpLgNptf8AHGOtxTMimr6YY5pqZ5WH1Y0x1698Fiar1c3TqKfLp1aS0iQ0EFxNzZthi3tX++yY62W8E4XV0Zzzady7+ROk8pnTp7DaMecGzLZLK0quZQitzq3KGa5YrJBEiAOuLeDUKxTO+ZTMio/kE0wOWDo0wObp3wKbJV62Ryy1Bpr1Kp1F00mF80iQAPsjthXyS1apGX/+Ss6AC30dQTEmkbe+aowwZjjnFlMeXSPLaMtUu5mFBVypJAnUCVAi/TChmfBVShTLtWQDblDXJJ3m3xwVyviFaDZaozNUrU0kqwcMVKFQhYuVVPt2W9rdcdUKnxHk45xlD9waznHOJU6lOmzUA9X+jRqQVm3iA1cETEDVEm2CmUXM1qdX6UFJpuNGmmaeqmVGrldi28iSB7JicIvD/E7opRWYVNfJ5lSoQFM7stQGZgbXmSd8MvDeOZTL1TXqZhSairTdVVjcsTLvUcs+nURIA5RsBtM4cVQWkyPh/OHLZnQRZmUGEtoJIUkjrNQbjbSOmGPxnwkV6QqqupqY1QBOtOojra8C8SOuAfi7h2ltagEpzLIsR+YMX7n0wweGONoaLBmP1S6tTAjVT1VAGv0hJ64iD2VP6Dp0c6zNJmAqJ7ai87kSR7tSmVPqAYgjFOXySmiGqJTZqbeYW1XCCprYQRAJWQTPzwd45QRKivl2U0arnyiswKg3UnYI3s+g0HZMB8vUNKp5nNpY7AdNmnrI7RuMYzTixoHVNNeoQDWWWqNpVVgAtqmTBgiRB6qI3xXwnLUlZlp1qlNjcVKgFp0qBAIhiWYbxGqZ6buPvz1axrOKZqRoUhZJpo/MSJhrC4+zvbFXBloPRqtSolWNZUVy2qoqspB0uY0zMz3PW2Nb+IPsHcKpA10KVqjOjhgT7H9JTA1b9CZg7wB6lHyy6W8kJTd8uFYMWD69KNAkkAypjaCPW2DhNVSlTRTd08l/MdkUaQFR1EpE3pWMzLG15Jl8qtNKorMKeYXWaBpsFUBBNNWKEbzyiASJG8gEnyCMudytNVLS5SqlSq4px5StTMgy3OqtygCftdyIyfzef+0yn/Eb/pxt47l2yoXVWV6JRVgtzgypYlTfYGSJG1hAwd8rO/er/Kni4u0J8MD+IuEL5yc7HU8BQAq6VRyQQLmdMX6TtgRw7hNaoxa1JKQ1PJPMNOoKFVtoMWIgGcPnFeDq7SXeRMAbXBU7DeGI364G0OD1lWrpqDS40wUBI+zaX3gAdNscyzpcF6ivU8NU6aameo31NOqQtwpdmlSBeIBAMi/XBajwGhXdqqPVKBhoFmVmKhxqB3WGHLv7UnBBadenFTzKcrTFI6kAGldiYqSG3+BOM/h/iDA11LUtJrFr6hcgCVjoQOxxUssmm0xqKFt8s1XSAjU0fUWKISvtEsZBE6Ry9LAA4fV4VlxlXL0YCpUKOT7KjVouTIsoO+89MD+EVR5dMcgK+cCjllJVqhIIBQiLKd+vTFZzy/ounlqbE1KoFJgL6Eklyeo5ZW/Uj1wpScqX5/yKqMmerinlkFNqihxLIanKARzWibm2/Q4VijVHC3N7KzRJE97AmSPjhzq+E6lSkar1qapp1X1cqR2AOy9pxgPhBmoGslanUQqX1S8mJn2lBm3XHfinijGjJ48snyCvDOSXN5s0gQoFJmQ1Bq0hSoAMRsDvg7xPwooV3RqJ0XPKVUDqCxkTGwwlcCrOrtUVirEaQRGxgnf3DHS/BNcVFPm19RBhEaWItc6YgE9/THPmm1K0Uk6FfPcIajlV1NSOtp5BNrkHUI6QJgb4G5mopSnTp03DGNcmdR2WB6yfnh68ReG61eqAtRQoA9saTcn7oI6DtgOPAdYT9ZSvtzP/ANFsbYc0FH5PkTxTl0hOyNWK6GCYIMBtJ9rvFjA3w6VOOSebLuSL3zZ94+z6YSfo7rVqKI1K5SZi6HSYnucdS8D+EUq0Fq5io7lieUGBAtv7XQ7EYzy03Y05rhAKnx7mNT6MdW0/Sunu0x8YxYnH1plj9FMsZM5rUCbz7SEDfbbDpxOlkcpC+QruRKqRqMdyXmB/r64CVfFTR9XSp019FEj5/kMZNoe8l9mThmcptDVcvUYM0Jqrs/OSDAOkybWC7Yz5/i5V6ifRna66g+aYREMOVl5IPUATHXHmZ4zUdqVQ1CPLbXIEdRAhYsSQvWJPrg1U47W1EMysPuuqt+wThWqBzfsXafE41gZIjXdv/GPef8OJHikKq/Q4CmVH0ypYmbjl6yb+uGKlxWiY87K0Wn7VNAG77dfmMGX8LZSuq1KZdQRIKsT6bPMe62GnfRO0vYg5jiwZCGyhPYnOVGg94Ig+7bC1naMVn0RALD3BWj98YfuM+EHoDWKiMk3LEKRJ/WOn8fhhUynCTUbSOWSd+0+nqTjbDkUG3LhBpLJ8VywPxFgQjCnpMEFtU6wBBsRA9RhkyuUp+XSrVMtQek/tAUQJEwwDBz1BE98e5XwrTetUpCsvmoAXHNYECDJSDuNjgxwnIBKFfKyzmlVtpSdOpEcEGQQNRJ9874P1GaNXFjjinHmSHnjeXWrRV1ggAEHoUI/I/InCLkqoy9cpYAlbliNVJ2gqNxYOz/5/TDX4MzgeiaJvoFp6oZt/hMgjtpwveKcq1Iyn9JSMoepB2+R3H6xxz3UlIclx/Y94lxWm2XbLUspV8ueRlcETuCJmx2I9+AGUzpqEKUILA2aJDqIPrLKDIi7KSPatTlfEOYpoqClSIVQoJ8wGAAB7NQXiL7+uIDOa3JrUlpMVim1INC1NWoMdTEkzYwfZLd8VNbXY019H1OtzXRIpyxVwDqhSAu3cz7x03xXwnitTMVyFAAKgsAkqvljknbSsgbHa3riYbWoqCmFFzE3BmIM+tv4GKqWaqqdVMU1BTRpAEgCdhHqb4zi6BoLeG+H02y1ZeZS6Ir6NJaGoU3gBo2LsBJ+ePeLeHqVdTmGzBWoFLtTZI2E6dzeeu3pecBsjnHQKPLogIoWWpqSQLDpJNv241HPIVIYKGP2kRVgx6Se0zhNyUrBM38e8NUzljnDUDVPLUxrESdEWj7N4v1O+H7z6f9vS/wCImOT5PMo4Wk9dyi2VRpsAIFwJMdMb/Lo/2z/IY0i/piZRl+KGmuYkhvMPKXk6WmC17k6CkwbhRF7484JxI0krBtRsGUTcONKwSBvfSSbTT6ScDM7mQXcjYMQJFolhpBO5JFTfowvtj7PnQVRgCwALerRLbza7CezP1Ixu8cXfHZmpNBHw3nClZi7ctUHXaSYDMN579ejx0nEsjxYjOpVP9GT5bATAQiTFukh7X9kdTgc6+WgmNVQHeI0ze46kyzdQCpFhiVOyati1lkXAuSx9eYnrYt2GB44ux7MJce4s1XNeZTJUIwFO3UEgGDaZBtEwH7jGjj/EXzFexKqomFMldM6huNTTMRewiRUwO4WoT6yLrAUWkMYkjqSAFEkRrF4GL/DldkreYlMNpWI9mZZNOmAZ9mI7aL74WkY8+gUg34a4iz0ayZnVT1loBBJVGERMHYDf49cYuOV3o0RRylSo1JaLJpiWd3JAnlBhQWaRawHUYbn8SZkROVQFohTWgn0uhk+7FH85M2v9JkkXpravCk9rp/HbGClFO7Oh5LVHO+EeH3bSo0rb7dRV79CZ74fsguVy9FVUB6gUagGeJ7ki0zP44EcT4W+aro1R6dAldIl9QkM7+0AImYE9R1wQ4Lma2U+oFFarINMirEjXUcN7Bsdcb9DPUYJOMlbZDXB5l+KgV/6MojoWOkEiZAW8SDZiR6r6YxeL+K1dKfR6jLL3I+yqiSTbqbQ1oHaTg/8Ap/N7/RFvsfpMgifRIxGvxPNVVemMugBUifP1RMjbR6+mCEoRdleR662cYqV9bFyeZ2Ln1LEk+7fHXfAvi2kmXp0axCFRZ+hkk8w3Bvvt7sJ381qakLpkixBzC/8AxYL0eF1U/qYAiAay9Lf2X8Xxq8kH9mPNjV4gyVDNha9DM0piJ1gqwkxtsQThYqcLqrYgT+qVaY3I0k48XhlaLUZF7iqpHyFL9+I/RKkSKW0yBVU7yDEUfzxnJ43zY6sG5kR5i+WzNtp0TJlTsRG2NeUpGoWFKnGn0077e1HbBHhXCqlQvFTy7alAUOSbkj7Ikx2xbX4PUQvdqvNAgBduU9GuTf0wrx12JwPcnwZ2Gp6tKmm8tUDEdNlsfiRhrHGMnkqa0vPUlQSFDBmJ3MxYST1gYSE4ZVdW+rIO0s4jebjy5/HHtXhtZyBo6m/mA7/+mI73xSljX2CVFfiXxauaYDUqoplVDA37k9+np88DVzIbLVWpVQlZIekVIlhIDr620x64Mt4cqzNriI8wdJ/2cfx1x5S4TmabBgiyrauaqApEHsk7euFcLuxxtSsJZAUKeZfNBqpaqiqR5ZgQBcQJ6dcVUsy1PNPURSy16Z18p9pWIW1r6CPffG7I8ezKhKfl5fUAAIrHmgDsp/j54sqcWzKCXo5dOblJzDfvQd5xm9XxZs8iaoF5DjdKjXDn6sKSCGMSGgOI3j2X94wd4pnctmSpWtTJSZ5jBEd1MiJ/HCp4pyeYzFnp0kCuWJ82Z1Ko3IH3fx9MW+HVzWUUhaCNzM0moR7QQdj93DTjrVkppB85Sl/svm5/fgVx7hRZSUYWhgqh+m9+lvTG8cazLCfotKOwrEnr/s/WPwjHx45mVn6pCeo80gxcbeWZ9+I+CfY3kRzsZlqdc6kkzBWw1DZgARbURuY2BPs4rpZuaoqIvUwLbRYRbeZ95U/ZsU8YZtqj02NJUCgo2l9QuS15A2k2Mde+AwnVGn0O5jcy1jE82roJYCYnHZFRaswl3wXVKuo677/dkge7qTY/raqY6nFWYbUTMcpAEd7kgR7RMbjsQI1YjzLBIkmffPpHwM7CKY3BA9CRBk9J03IPSALkgAOBsFUTvi9Yk2yA6LteG9SIEdRCnr6MfsjG76c/8UW/6sZAADMTp3UEmwFxbfZlEfrsT21eTW/vA/D88UkJlBrhfpTgFmp1CqmPZDM3oDOqRInc+/GbhlPzmqkq5KJ5hBW7DlFyCvUggAGb98PdamiMqFgACWYyQzP35mgiwGkiLYGUOIClTKanD1FAJVQSukAXYkoRbeJuewxz+bukaaIWsgjvmQlXWkgltVMyAqsYAJmCJFrmflCoWrVUUKw18mp9RUEkXE9BbeOmGSlxRFLMxYMSVDAFjBYkeyQL2N42EYllESioIqMdJtCkkhlAJswIIOxJ6Tg8o3FCr5jakMFgSw9gizalJ1Hf3bTOxvi+pmPLqWBDJUDKWDGCpknSBBHcdALYb8jUOkSZhFAkXYhmIlVeZBIN7H4YrqB6NOefnpuGYiCCWpmwUm/KevpheZdCcAP42zr1qjrUDlVSEKUzDSsjfYE39wvcYt8Q8Wr1aVAMrsGpKT5ZLSSCsmF037QDvGC2T4q7mmxAaCfaQAn6t1uCwkXG+LE4rVdCWqKgV0Ok01Wyup1A6ugB/g4z3XCrodC/T4jmPoVJXV/KDaVZFJaEi1xykAkCRG28Yu4Rmqn6PqhaZIp1dKMVPmaagJnSNrlbid2wQz2eWp5qLUepKtpMhVLEHbcHt09+NyeJKaVFVEsdzuAPfNz3iMG3fxGL3hfOVFOZ8vzGVV85XhgBoKrGgi7QdiYsLYz8F441DNqwVz5iaaoaVYiZn6zcrJIiJ91yfyXiQUQgQVdZnV5dSLzuVaVkzNxhgy/iNV841FBLPqUEBifq6axK23G0DDclb4BRVA+lmzUYHzK5WftBbbddhg02ZQWYyd7lep3t+2MK+WCPmRXFV6VItfLm1ip1aCwsC4QwP1tpx7WLfTGZarLRYA6H0sQnKGCMzEAzLRFrDrIx8f5AM8XzFQhQlJmtuKumPfEHGfK1qmz0TPcVJ79z+/GqjUomIzbAmeVlk9twSvwGJVkTTBrJExJSp+JsBjKUZehpBbw0i6qlQiCSqwYsYHbrzYH5vLisDIU7kcojedyCYnqBghwupSp0mOoVNLyxX70qPmBFsD/O7UaADCfZao0nuWw5JJJMp9AWnw1wDpo0Y2kM5/Dp+7Ea00Sv1JYxcqzH8L/ljfnMwtEFjSp6tx9XAHv0MD13wJp+Kcs7fW0tP61IxHTZ9Q/EYcU30ZsPZWpWYSaQH+Mf+349cXVs4I5zpMGADc/Bbn+O+F6rxUvmENOulPLLywhXzGBWSWDSk6haBt7zDH9KygUc1UkXnmYz0k07fCcV42NI5Zns1WZg4StqD6vMUMSguvW2ubSe1ojG3xPnq1ZmLUqoUIQs0idp3MxP6wkHHQP0jladRqhZwvljY31AuSNO+zA7YGpxfL1mps2tYZpBGkhShEk3nmjaDB2tffbrjoNRV43nqjrRSotfWaIFQU9JBIJEnTYEjfpjbks/XHDSKgfXrNMfeUbA6QAYFgAJmxm8YKvVokVgwEqvIRpVS0Ai5qFtwbxsfTBF89lUqpoGqmbs0Ix6i7FhF46E74ly4qg1EzwlVqrWrMtKrLUmiFYK7JEE676r9+uKeHZzMJm0r+RWZ2bS2tLaah6baTbc2w5HOUkokos1A7ADSp5dbab6xB06fd8MVU69HXUL1KpJpranEltVWQAWMQpUe0Zvg8nLdC1E3xMMw9R9S12ZXsQkoYi9iZtfqBjLVf6oououVuBTYzBPe6kDrE3ab3w55qrSZV8t61NtLCXKArMXBk3iY+HuxkOdpvWWquunDxd1JIC1IY6WG7FAV25Ti45PilQtRbzlNr0zTJNRFIFJdW9xZ7kTJixkkm5OJI9SkByVCzKBYQw1hiRp5lEkCxAMKbYYmzy1qpdlezKAwsYDAkgq8zA6RM9MWcX4pTeVei6sgEOGGloJKmNcrZmNid98Up/VFapivlndEUlGjSRpWZBCMtwy2NjbtPwF/oHMf3et/wAJvyx0E5ilWGlqbK62SopCq6kbEeaSpE7zJwwfS6X95X/I/wD8+LWWuyXFAxcg9U1SyJvCEop+M6fdvjPS4E6hmdKbE+yPLT4yQu2G1PDekK3nPBAsFS0gd1xXU8OWtmKon0X8saXBdoKk+hLocGq+YdS0tN96dONrRae2+I0OG1l1eYlMqNlFJDJPUaV2w8DgJAtmKnXdVxHMcCbc5h4/3R+eE54w0mIWU4bmfMWaVPSTzfU0doO9pxZnOF5g1bUaZQncUaREW73/ABw51+EuCAK5tvyDf3z+7FuX4I5EHMMDuYQRftt3wlPGw0mJGZ4LX1ArRQD/APzpH8YOLOIcDdlBpU6fUN9SgMj/AH1/Zh1/Qrf3hv8Ahr09P9caU4RUj/zE260h+5sO8YtZnPF8P1WpctJPMEi9JB8pHX5YnluBZgUWJpU/N6Dy02+Aw+NweqJ/8RH/AKS/njxuE1f7x1/sl/PBtAeshG4ZwKsdZq0qf6s00HeTYYyvwqtTM1KdPQTpUCjTkk7BYX9uOkUeD1P7f/7Y/PFWe8NtU06q/wDRuHWKY9obdcG0A1kJdPw40gxTHoiU7H1Onf3fjj7MeHSd9J7zRpn91uuHJOA1umab4oOt/wDT4Y+Ph+oGtmWv0KCMPaAayEhOF+WyPyEBulGmIi5ghZB+WDHhdEKKpdZREDD7UlepkRJn3/tOZ3wqznnzDEQRZQNwQfw63jCvmeEF28qnUKmlPNJBjUQI0+75EgY587izTHjbCPgrJMpr0/MWok6XG+l4UTsDuCInpt3qyvE9YYa0IphRuSQdNwQNzqBHwNsL/EeK1KNUIrOIQBtLkSwdxPr8caDwv6WlIBtDIL7wSXI6EEm2574ynGLVs0cJPj7KuI8TWqz01gxSsYBmHQtKsDa1v4iWa4KPLDBQTA5fJp390riFfIilXy1GdWk1AxIswc0+5Pf8MONLwywUeXm6ir2ZVYj49fjfG+JwjEwnCSdCMeBncAAetCn3/wBwY9o8FeTso6aUUT7wFj+Dh7Twuzb5lj6+WJ/bj5/BrXIzFz/sx+e+NdoMnSZzjMcGr+YVp6IABjSsgdyNMiSD0xPNcFrggIoIO5KLY9Ps7Y6QvhKqP/7jkT9xcRqeFXn/AM24t0Rd/jODaAayOfZ3hdZUHlrc7wo/YRi7LcKq+SdSDzI+6g6/7vbD5/NJ9/plT/In5Y9/mm397q9xCp+4YLxhrMROH8Iqcxqqp7DSvx2WIxVk+F1hVbUi6ZNtKwReNgL7YfW8KuD/AOdrf5U/C1senwq398r3P3U/LbCvGPSZzyvwrMGrKoukkXCoQNrXEnGnP8MzETTVQOvIn/vEYc/5pMSV+m1t+ioPxj0x8vhY3H0zMAje1Pf36b4NsYaSErNcNr+WmhUL/ahUn9kb9saK/Canl0+Wl5n2rIP3RbbDpS8MkRObrGT2X8o/D88Rbw9/9VW2vZfywbQDSQqDh1YUgV8vWDeFSYv3EH4RiflVv7P/AJU/LDM/hkkT9KrRP3V/LFn6AX+85j/lw9ofQayP/9k=" /><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'll leave you with that. Bon jour!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cheers,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Squidgy</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-70426936837615882542014-01-26T10:47:00.001-08:002014-01-29T16:45:53.216-08:00Uninspired<div> <b> </b> <b> </b></div>I have been remiss. I admit it. And while most of you heaved a huge sigh of relief, there is that teeny tiny minority of you jonesing for a squidgy update. You're welcome (please note correct spelling of you're in this usage...)<div><br></div><div>So baby Lauren was born and had learned to smile when last we spoke. The darling baby Grace in New Mexico has flourished and came for a visit in October with her mother and brother. I have a picture of the baby cousins for you to enjoy. This was taken when the mothers told them I was coming over for a visit. I made the quilt btw.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgto7yzsu7QDfwJSHEjmjgl8wmLXxlbTsCkcgczQbAPGD-eIZiX5gSmHgc-hsE6btJWiew_YTXlkLptl_5BO9gyJdnIh50Pn6rbTDuEcV4aIupGURrscuvOJvf_2fKF9BJM0YMq0giMLdc/s640/blogger-image-1219130133.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgto7yzsu7QDfwJSHEjmjgl8wmLXxlbTsCkcgczQbAPGD-eIZiX5gSmHgc-hsE6btJWiew_YTXlkLptl_5BO9gyJdnIh50Pn6rbTDuEcV4aIupGURrscuvOJvf_2fKF9BJM0YMq0giMLdc/s640/blogger-image-1219130133.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Then I forgot to visit or bought them something and this picture was snapped..</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLSmkQ9AjljUggQT8nOzMD9_KPrAYaRo01cPfurXz8X93I04QExUNicbnLGXz1wajQMwpWn_WQ9aF_41jw1NwZBCEZQsd7kc-McFCjxc_9wS0z4sFtAvEdBLLpWOtkZY4NrV8uHYSB-c/s640/blogger-image-1971289722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTLSmkQ9AjljUggQT8nOzMD9_KPrAYaRo01cPfurXz8X93I04QExUNicbnLGXz1wajQMwpWn_WQ9aF_41jw1NwZBCEZQsd7kc-McFCjxc_9wS0z4sFtAvEdBLLpWOtkZY4NrV8uHYSB-c/s640/blogger-image-1971289722.jpg"></a></div>Whatever.. Grace on the left, Lauren on the right FYI</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So that takes care of those two.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">More exciting news. We bought a house! Now we are within striking distance of the middle daughter and her family and therefore we are useful to them with babysitting etc. speaking of babysitting...I suck. Maybe you knew that.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So anyway we bought a house. It has a pool. It's kind of an odd looking structure from the front, but we have plans to camoflage the unfortunate curb appeal with and artful and tasteful screen of some sort. And a garden gnome or two. Or not. The inside is really nice, open and light. And since I broke a bunch of stuff during the move, it is maybe not quite as cluttered as most of our homes have had a tendency to be. Makes dusting(?) easier. Or at least I suspect it would be easier if someone were so inclined to do so.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">We moved right before Christmas. So I barely got most of the moving boxes unpacked and tossed in the side yard, heretofore known as utility yard, when I was obligated to unpack boxes of Christmas stuff, put the tree together <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-owOWxo3Tat4_D_dW7VibvHt-IqLX2EUSdP9cLRCZN_YpES1tDOhCi1wtmuJsjDsuXDXdsYnlkLSoHtnXnkTwfo_hUGCaa4mbJiiBkPl_TuVe_A3n1rXv4bPkALe0ZP1OJwWFFE7cjk/s640/blogger-image-1017338480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh-owOWxo3Tat4_D_dW7VibvHt-IqLX2EUSdP9cLRCZN_YpES1tDOhCi1wtmuJsjDsuXDXdsYnlkLSoHtnXnkTwfo_hUGCaa4mbJiiBkPl_TuVe_A3n1rXv4bPkALe0ZP1OJwWFFE7cjk/s640/blogger-image-1017338480.jpg"></a></div>and hosted Christmas Eve for the middle and youngest daughters and their families. We had take out Chinese for dinner, tore through gifts for 12, watched Mary Poppins, a Christmas classic, and enjoyed each other's company for a couple hours. Done. In our family, this is known as quality time. So be it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">The middle daughter and I are taking baby Lauren to visit her kin in New Mexico in February. We plan to visit the Carlsbad caverns while we are there. My only experience with caves is that part in Tom Sawyer with the murderous bad guy and Huck Finn. I may be just a little bit apprehensive. But that book was fiction, right? In any case it would be just too depressing to attend my funeral celebration, I mean service, and noting the zero attendance. I know you guys...heavy sigh.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">will be house sitting for the privelaged next month and maybe something interesting will happen. If so I'll tell you about it. If not, I'll probably tell you about it anyway.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Cheers,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Squidgy</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div></div>Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-29514994706482496282013-09-17T11:54:00.000-07:002014-02-05T10:08:58.319-08:00Nice to meetchaNvOK then. Where to start Mon amis*?<br>
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When last we spoke I'd returned from New Mexico. I'd been to Lake Tahoe...alone. Then the wait began for the sixth grandchild. Happily (or not) that wait was abruptly ended by the surprise arrival of Lauren Anne a week (or two depending on how YOU read ultrasounds or whatever) early. In the history of children n<b>a</b> of my children coming in to the world, an early delivery thing has never happened. Nay, even my own children were most tardy making their collective appearances in to the world. Some might say they were afraid to meet they mama, but those haters would be wrong. duh. I digress.<br>
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So I was, as usual, minding my own business happily celebrating with the Horse Show Mom on the occasion of her birth with a lazy, unproductive afternoon drinking Margaritas and eating Nachos and such like that. I'd imagined that I would be waaaay too waaaaasted to drive home that night, but what with the excessive carbo-loading and what not it became evident that I was in ship shape shape to drive home so I did. Jolly good thing too. I had been ordered to take Mila to the movies alone, no brothers, the next day. A decree set forth by herself and it is just better to do what you're told. Did you know that women have more eggs as a child than as an adult and I'm sure they have something to do with this narrative, but I don't know what that would be. So anyway, I went home to my beloved and we watched the tee vee and then slept the night away. <br>
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The aha moment. Unbeknownst to us, the middle daughter decided to go in to labor. Not that anything is that easy. Oh no, she'd been moaning to Tim about not feeling well, and really moaning that the baby's room wasn't finished, and generally aggravating the husband unit to the point that when her water broke he just told her to knock it off, the baby wasn't due for another week or two and that this BS about labor and nag nag nag was not so much fun. So there. I believe it took some convincing to make him realize this was no BS. She does remind me of me. Sooo after a shower and the artful application of cosmetics the happy little couple dashed off to the hospital and were admitted. I won't bore you with the details, and I say you're welcome, but at some point early in the morning, five-ish if you must know, they sent a mass message text informing the family that the birth was imminent and absolutely no other information. Naturally, I knew nothing of this because I can sleep through the text notification ding on my phone, so around 7:00 the <strike>old daughter</strike> most glorious child in the world rang me up and demanded to know how Lindsey was. So I told her that calling anyone around 7:00 in the morning was just completely uncivilized and where in her upbringing was it EVER ok to talk to me before coffee? Not in the slightest bit chastened the <strike>old daughter</strike> most glorious child in the world went on to tell me that her sister was in labor and what did I know? I replied that as usual I knew nothing and that I'd still not had any coffee. And the <strike>old daughter </strike>most glorious child in the world said, "read your text messages cranky pants" and hung up the phone before I could further the abuse that was roiling around in my foggy head. So I did. Because I'm in to saving things for posterity, or a stint on hoarders, I saved the text. To whit: "I am in labor. I will text with more info later. Love you". <br>
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Now I have the ability to usually wheedle, nag or badger my way in to get the information I want. Case in point: When the Shah of Iran was overthrown by the Ayatollah in 1978 (79?) my parents were in Tehran and under house arrest and there was fighting and guns and bombs and what not and the news was there and in the middle of this uproar I was able to make contact with the parental units by the sheer force of will. However, in the case of speaking to my daughter or by extension her husband who were a mere 10 miles away, no amount of wheedling got me through the firewalls of the hospital or cell phone communication with them. To say that I was annoyed is putting it mildly.<br>
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Since no one was in the least bit afraid of me at the hospital, I decided to leave and I took Mila to the movies. As we sat down in the theater we received this text: "the "ep" is in all is ok 1-2 hour!" Groan. So Mila and I ate popcorn, drank sodas and watched the movie. I think it was Monster U, but who knows. Probably for the best, because when we went back to the hospital afterwards still no info was being imparted to the growing crowd of impatient family members. At long last, Tim came out and announced the arrival of Lauren. He was all sweaty and gross so no one hugged him. Haha, just kidding. Eventually we were allowed back to meet the baby and all was forgiven, until now, and the baby was beautiful and the little mother was beautiful and the father was beautiful and so on. I took the requisite pictures and tried to be supportive and all. I did get to be the first to hold the bundle of joy, which was the most important thing, the rest of you have to wait. And Lindsey said "Mama" and we got all emotional and like that. Poignant.<br>
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So there you have it. The baby smiles now and is much more sociable. I kind of like her. She also wears clothes and her room is done.<br>
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Cheers,</div>
Squidgy<br>
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*loosely translated to "my friends", further evidence of an expensive, and wasted education.</div>
Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-64077327870550589952013-07-25T13:36:00.000-07:002013-08-08T16:08:45.866-07:00OMGWhere has the time flown off to? Pretty sure there's absolutely nothing grammatically correct in that first sentence, but I'm a little rusty. In case you hadn't noticed, this is the first post from Squidgy since April 22. I missed you.<br>
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This will be the year of the babies and <u>Game of Thrones .</u> They have nothing in common BTW. They are, however, what's been going on in my life, oh and a majah birthday that needs no more notice.<br>
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When last we chatted, I was off to New Mexico to usher in the birth of my second granddaughter. A word about New Mexico medicine. Well that won't do, perhaps a collection of words skillfully spun together to create a concise and meaningful thesis. To Whit:<br>
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Old daughter was due to have her baby on April 28, which meant I would have a few days from my arrival on the 24th to make her life a <strike>misery</strike> I mean help her get organized. As things go, the baby did not surface on her due date, nor did she make any moves for the whole of another five days. As is the practice of medical gurus in the "Land of Enchantment", it was decided by the doc-tore that the baby should arrive on the 2nd of May. And so that he not be inconvenienced in any way, Alison would have her labour* induced in the wee hours, so the baby would be making her imminent arrival at roughly the time <strike>his majesty </strike> Doctor so and so would be making his rounds about 7:00 a.m. Let us consider this for a wee moment. One doctor who is being compensated handsomely for overseeing what should be a natural occurance, by a healthy adult woman, must not be expected to be at the beck and call of nature to deliver a baby at an hour that might be considered icky. I continue with my narrative. At midnight, May 2, Alison, Tim and I set off to the hospital so Alison could be induced with the plan to deliver at the aforementioned convenient hour. What this really meant was that Tim and I fought over the only couch and I spilled water all over the floor sleeping in a hard rocking chair designed for a freak of nature. The mother to be was hooked up to all manner of gadgets and tubes and wires to monitor the induction of chemicals to spur on contractions. What ever. At any rate, eventually the drugs did their magic and voila' actual labour* commenced. Then came the time to administer the epidural and that took forever, many jabs, several more medical whoozie doos to run in and out of the room because the lack wit who was stabbing my daughter in the back just couldn't seem to get the job done, he was finally dismissed to go read up on the epidural for dummies manual and Alison delivered her baby Grace Louise** au naturel with the exception of pitocin or whatever they give you. The Doctor, in his shiny new couture shoes, was there for the catch, though how he managed that is a mystery since he was mostly amazed at his appearance in the mirror and spent an inordinate amount admiring same.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlR2iaTIOt0-PVPztQeJAEMtMGcXEbOzyWpJblWHKbBxop-MQFcGCyP9vjNDxlRcVsJ6SoxLAHpIUm-3Ev3OyPTZkLZT61-TCp82V586EZdnT0mZr90COt3YhCY5i-ZT_iKSO-6IWs_qI/s640/blogger-image-549513639.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlR2iaTIOt0-PVPztQeJAEMtMGcXEbOzyWpJblWHKbBxop-MQFcGCyP9vjNDxlRcVsJ6SoxLAHpIUm-3Ev3OyPTZkLZT61-TCp82V586EZdnT0mZr90COt3YhCY5i-ZT_iKSO-6IWs_qI/s640/blogger-image-549513639.jpg"></a></div><br>
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So that was labor and delivery in New Mexico. And it was annoying. The baby weighed in at hale (gettit?) and hearty 8#15oz. and 20 some odd inches long. In short healthy. Now it was time for some other medical nitwit to weigh in with his pithy advice. I paraphrase here, "Mrs. Ballard, your baby is large and as such may have trouble surviving on breast milk only. I advise (read order you) you to supplement with some tasty and expensive formula. Why lookie here, Enfamil has provided you with some samples! Enfamil underwrites this hospital so you have to use this stuff or we will lose our funding and that would be bad for me." As I said paraphrasing here, but the formula was certainly um encouraged. Happily for baby Grace her Auntie Megan arrived the next day, was way scarier as a breast feeding proponent that the formula and the advice were thrown out with the dishwater. Medicine in the southeast of New Mexico is behind the times by about 40 years. <br>
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So anyway we had Auntie Megan and cousin Mila for about three whole days and she was wonderful and Mila held the baby and was the object of interest for the new big brother, Sam who was not in the least bit impressed with the new arrival, with the exception that it was in the way of time with Mommy. It was a sad sad day when they left.<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXf5weOBoBzKnB6rt7KN1up7eGy1H24IU3zYvnmmQ1x6pMsq0XXRzpSw5zlq-dyIRcBs8_LOYKEDhCuxEs_qgoDsQD6kJAljTEfD_UEZeckWWgPahCT0_vs8ruyq0uv_Pp23VmZKhtX-g/s640/blogger-image--1358484657.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXf5weOBoBzKnB6rt7KN1up7eGy1H24IU3zYvnmmQ1x6pMsq0XXRzpSw5zlq-dyIRcBs8_LOYKEDhCuxEs_qgoDsQD6kJAljTEfD_UEZeckWWgPahCT0_vs8ruyq0uv_Pp23VmZKhtX-g/s640/blogger-image--1358484657.jpg"></a></div><br>
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Several days afterwards we made our way to Roswell and some miles past it to attend the rehearsal dinner and the next day the wedding of a close friend of Alison's. The new mother was a bridesmaid and I held the baby during the service (which should be a post of it's own - later, I'm still recovering) and Tim chased Sam around outside and that was that. I knew no one, not that that's ever stopped me, but during the reception/sit down dinner, I did sit with some people Alison worked with in Colorado on a dude ranch and I'd seen their behaviour* at Alison and Tims wedding so I knew I'd fit right in. And I did. Each 10 person table was provided two bottles of wine, one red and one white. Ours was gone before the salads arrived and in spite of impressive whining, no more vino was forthcoming. Bummer. Happily I have no shame and I begged a bottle from the table of some teetotaling wet blankets next to us and the party continued. What this also meant was that baby Grace was passed from guest to guest for the entirety of the eating process. score. Then we went home.<br>
<br>Whilst we were enjoying all these life changing events, Alison and Tim also had a house being built this whole time, and while it was meant to be done before my arrival, it was not. Therefore,the day after the wedding we moved in the new house. It is muy importante to experience major events all in a cluster. Baby, sister, wedding, move in all in 10 days or less. Nothing stressful or exhausting about any of that. But Sunday night we did sleep in the new house and it was good. I had to leave three days after the move, I needed the rest. So that was my trip to New Mexico. That and the dilemma of my phone which had a heart attack and died like the day after I arrived. I was bereft. Every time I go there, something happens to my phone. hmmm<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBjDT5_2gXf7lW_8lmE7wr0SHcNOpN8CSmBYzXkdLPtk9rbYCd9hA50UZj7ah4mnW_vV5CsvxjADdshPwf_RtaMluJLjAKo0NXDnHQn5jAobF3HDKrt8lB03ANXoxqvEvLE0ER7vcmK8/s640/blogger-image--340306427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfBjDT5_2gXf7lW_8lmE7wr0SHcNOpN8CSmBYzXkdLPtk9rbYCd9hA50UZj7ah4mnW_vV5CsvxjADdshPwf_RtaMluJLjAKo0NXDnHQn5jAobF3HDKrt8lB03ANXoxqvEvLE0ER7vcmK8/s640/blogger-image--340306427.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>I went to Lake Tahoe by myself a few weeks ago. I went by myself because all my friends ( both of them) are flakes. So I went alone. In case you may be thinking that I am mature and self reliant on my own, rest assured that none of that is the case here. I had pre-knowledge that some girl friends from long ago were in situ just a couple miles from the cabin where I had temporarily taken up residence. What this meant was we had a big time at the beach, on boats, at swishy bars and perfecting the art of polite conversation and pithy repartee. Yup. Awesome. </div><div><br></div><div>So that was my summer vacation. How was yours?</div><div><br></div><div>Adieu for now mon Amis,</div><div><br></div><div>Cheers,</div><div><br></div><div>Squidgy</div><div><br></div>Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-52202644750298050622013-04-22T11:59:00.000-07:002013-04-22T11:59:53.139-07:00yipee i yi kay a<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Phonetic spelling for those who can't actually pull out the correct order of letters together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Howdy. As you know I'm off to the wild and woolly west on Wednesday. At this moment I am studiously avoiding the agony of packing. In my heart of hearts I know I will have no need to pack the cute cute cute pink slacks or that adorable aqua linen dress, but I love them. Instead what I should pack are T-Shirts and jeans as that is what I live in at home and I'm going to be in New Mexico for three weeks so it will become home for all practical purposes. Still it seems just wrong to leave the cute things at my domicile. This is a problem I face each time I drag the suitcase out. That and the accusing stares of the dawgs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I have <strike>ordered</strike> asked Alison not to foal before I get there. I need time to acclimate. Alison and Tim have a new house. </span><br />
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They are not going to be moved in before I get there. I guess you can sort out what this means for me. Until that<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> happy moment I shall be in residence in a travel trailer </span><br />
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which will be parked conveniently outside the children's current residence.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There will be no teevee, but hopefully the bathroom facilities will work and I'll have lights. I'm not holding my breath. It does have a slide out. With any luck I'll be able to open it up.</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I shall remind all of you of my sacrifices the next time any of you dare to reprimand me for any execrable behaviour you may condemn me for...</span> (dangling preps be damned)<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had the opportunity to meet with many of you</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">couple weeks ago at Twin Rivers. May I say that with the exception of Linda, it was just wonderful to see so many of you? Not Grant tho', and you know why smart ass. I miss most of you and wish we could get together more often. Linda, you will be off the hit list after you invite me down for chocolate chip cookies and a swim. Sue, you are the apple of my eye. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Good riding and high times for all of you riding at Rolex this coming week. I wish I could be there to root you on. Instead I'll be in a travel trailer in Carlsbad, New Mexico dreaming of air conditioning and being a supportive and loving mother. This last is to insure that the old daughter be properly grateful for my extreme sacrifice and make every effort to 1. have the baby at a reasonable hour that doe not interfere with my sleep patterns, 2. will have the belongings they plan to move to the new house packed up and ready to go and 3. have double checked that my bed in the new house is made up with fresh sheets et. al. I don't think that's too much to ask.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">What to do about my beloved? Good question. I think he will miss me desperately and be in a funk and will clean the house obsessively. Poor little thang. I'll leave him a vat of lettuce so he can nibble morosely on the greenery till I return. I have asked him to come the wild and woolly west the last week of my visit. I hope he will, but I'm not optimistic. Still, I hope. hint hint.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgszM-Gk4cZslZa3YNoowMKgWvUXR7AQxYQiRqknsIV9bqQ9pWmEnYenCWmMZeR4Lsg11o9uGb_57PGeTBD0xsCw4HjUdKCHY9aEX5mtm9REGejsNgZKyEco55VP6QT839ruZzVy-uL8Ww/s1600/innocence.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgszM-Gk4cZslZa3YNoowMKgWvUXR7AQxYQiRqknsIV9bqQ9pWmEnYenCWmMZeR4Lsg11o9uGb_57PGeTBD0xsCw4HjUdKCHY9aEX5mtm9REGejsNgZKyEco55VP6QT839ruZzVy-uL8Ww/s200/innocence.bmp" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And the babies? Should they notice my absence, and that is doubtful, they will be pleased when I return because they will then play on my guilt and be the happy recipients of many treats and be assured I will overlook any egregious behaviour on their collective parts. I am darkly amused that in my absence they will have to spend a day at the vets for their comprehensive treatments in preparation for the long awaited day when they will have their dentals done. Little tykes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The young daughter and her daughter will be making the voyage to New Mexico after the new baby arrives. That will be a lot of estrogen. I'm looking forward to it. I imagine that since the sister is coming, the new house will be available for residence by the time they arrive. Naturally. This will be in no small part thanks to me for being an absolute freak about boxes and putting things in places that they belong. I say this with an absolute straight face while the state of my office, where I currently sit, is in shambles. I've had to do some kind of awkward dance, cum, fancy footwork to get to the desk chair in front of the dinosaur I call a computer. But this is the sacrifice I make for all y'all. You're welcome.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Alas, our time together has come to an end. If I have a spare moment I will update you as to the status of the newborn, the condition of the <strike>mare </strike>mother and all the nitty gritty details of birth weight, length etcetera.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Adieu &</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Cheers,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Squidgy</span><br />
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<br />Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-2751717540142349482013-03-29T11:50:00.001-07:002013-03-29T11:50:33.821-07:00Sullen and disjointed<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Hullo,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I was forwarded a classic country ballad this morning via email. It galvanized me to 1. shower, 2. lose weight, 3. be nicer to my beloved. One out of three ain't bad. Thanks Holly, always an inspiration.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Perhaps you all remember from way back when I announced the gifts the afore mentioned beloved received in celebration of the day of his birth? If not, a refresher. The middle daughter presented him with tickets to the San Francisco Falun Buddha Study Association presentation of Shen Yun. Widely touted as a Chinese acrobatic cum classic ballet performance, we were somewhat excited to see it, thinking (broadly) that surely it would be a Chinese Cirque de Soleil. Alas not. We attended on March 23. As the performance progressed it became painfully evident through the artistic dancing experience, and the narrators (both English and Mandarin, but who knew?) that it was all about how bad the Chinese Gomment is, how detractors from the party line are tortured and beaten blah blah blah and all this and that, like we didn't already know this and that and why had we paid $100 per ticket to rehash the miserable human right violations taking place in the very site where our teevees and tennis shoes are manufactured? Shocking.</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Still, being an aficionado of the classics and not so classics, I was able to discern some Irish dancing, thank you Tiana, and Steve was able to pick out the Chinese Air Hostess routine. So all in all not a total waste of a day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I went to Texas. I had a list of things I needed to accomplish while there. My good friend and faithful companion of my youth, Liz, received my list of gotta dos and made them happen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To whit. We visited the Texas hill country. check. We visited with her family, including the </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">93 year old </span>Major General daddy who said, "Lou Marden, I remember when you and my daughter signed a peace petition in Shreveport in 1969 and that petition landed on my desk and ..." well you get it. . check. We dined continuously. check We viewed the site of the Armadillo World Headquarters, though sadly it was torn down years ago and a nice vanilla motel now graces the site. check. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Since I used all of Steve's air miles to make this sojourn, I was compelled by my beloved to collect a few souvenirs. This picture says it all. Jesse James Hat from the Austin Speed Shop. I had to beg some mechanic guy to reopen the Austin Speed Shop store to obtain it and as is evidenced, worth all the trouble, if only it fit. The requisite snow globe and a cheesy mermaid angel thing. As you can see, a huge success.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Aah, but you ask, what for your self darling? Funny you should ask. A Mexican wedding dress in navy blue with silver embroidery and an intensely unattractive peasant shirt in vivid burnt orange thank you very much. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In three weeks and a bit I shall wing my way to New Mexico to be in attendance at the birth of my second grand daughter whose name shall be Grace <i>Louise.</i> Not that I'll actually be allowed in the birth room, but instead I will be exiled to the common area of the hospital to wait with the soon to be brother. Perhaps there's a thing or two that I can teach the tyke while we wait. Oh yes, I think so. Anyone else need a babysitter? EZ payment plans available.<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqafRuEddj1uzALXuYpJgPh36waBucJ2AaHUy9RWH1zOqhORFkO-xe9KWdyQ6Bt2zJYxVZn1mpCVVIMA-o73TUqAtpDa-HTzzD4USzZA1ehGOOkwsnOKONSIPvcStsNS4h4AX5ySbct44/s1600/chocolate+sam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqafRuEddj1uzALXuYpJgPh36waBucJ2AaHUy9RWH1zOqhORFkO-xe9KWdyQ6Bt2zJYxVZn1mpCVVIMA-o73TUqAtpDa-HTzzD4USzZA1ehGOOkwsnOKONSIPvcStsNS4h4AX5ySbct44/s200/chocolate+sam.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chocolate, it's not just for breakfast anymore!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Perhaps, too, you'll remember that I spent two weeks in Petaluma whilst the highnesses went off to Hawaii. How nice. Well as you know not a ton </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">of </span>exciting</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">stuff happened unless you count the midnight drive through the darkness to gather up a horse for some guy who then shorted me $50 for my inconvenience. But I digress. I had a phone conversation the other day with Her Highness . It went like this.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">HH: Yo</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Me: Your phone sounds funny what are you talking on, cans?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">HH: We got a new phone carrier for the house.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Me: Sounds just terrible</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">HH: We're saving 18 million dollars a month over ATT.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Me: Well worth the money</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">HH: We also have a new TV service.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Me: Groan. Have you lost all my saved recordings then?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">HH: No, just Pay Per View</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Me: $%^%@#%&()_(*&^%$</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">HH: Sorry</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Me: I only rented one movie. And it was terrible. You should talk to my child. I rented many more movies while I was at her house and they didn't whine at all.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">HH: Still sorry</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Me: !@#$%^&*(</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">And now, evidently, I have reached the limits of creativity or something.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Cheers,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Squidgy </span><br />
<br />Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-5335869634251005742013-02-10T10:20:00.000-08:002013-02-10T10:20:13.367-08:00Chez Two RockI'm working. tsk tsk such a mundane thing this working business. But being a jolly and optimistic sort I thought I'd share with you the days I'm spending here in west Petaluma mucking out in the frost and being disrespected by the canines. Their Highness's are once again in Hawaii for their winter respite and have prevailed upon me to keep hearty their domestic home and hearth. Which is to say woudja feed and muck out the seven horses and medicate the ancient and worthy dawg and try not to kill the annoying and over anxious not young dawg? And being a charitable (and broke) sort I agreed.<br />
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I'm on day nine of a fifteen day stint. I mostly have been trying to work out a schedule and it goes sometimes like this:<br />
7:30 a.m. threaten the alarm to within an inch of it's life.<br />
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7:45 press the button that makes the coffee <br />
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8:00 run out in the frost and feed grain like substances to the seven grumpy equines. Accept their thanks and haul a___ to the newspapers and scamper back inside to the relative warmth of the domicile.<br />
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8:05 (I can move if I want to) Arrange the newspapers, get coffee, medicate old and worthy dawg and prepare myself for the humiliation which occurs whilst conquering the crossword.<br />
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Around 10:00: Remove myself from the comfort and warmth of the kitchen to the fickle outdoors to remove 50# top blankets from the equines and dodge, artfully, the teeth that want more than anything to help me with the disrobing process. Fold carefully the tonnage of blankets and sit in the cold barn aisle and review the days progress. Finding none, begin the chore of cleaning up the messes said equines have made over night.<br />
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A word about horses and poopage. They poop a lot. Boy horses have a proprietary interest in their poops. As in , don't touch it it's mine, and oh wait whose poop is that in the wheelbarrow, should I investigate? So about the part where they take an interest in preserving the art of poops they have made and deposited randomly where ever the heck they want. What they don't want is for you to remove it and to that end use any number of ruses to thwart your efforts to remove said poop in the form of grabbing the end of the pooper scooper (I have pictures, just not on this computer) and holding on for dear life with their teeth or standing directly in back of you feigning affection, don't be fooled, or the all time fave, dumping the wheelbarrow, best performed when it is full creating a montage of poops. I know men like this. But instead of guarding their poops they just announce that deed has been done and does anyone want to alert the media? Good grief. There is a girl horse here who take no interest in the poops she makes, and stands a discreet distance away and is thankful she has a minion to come clean up that mess that someone made up and takes it away. Thanks so much. And Bless Your Little Heart.<br />
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Somewhere around 11:00-12:00 Finish up the barn chores depending on how messy the boys have been and tramp back to the house and collapse in leather recliner with a firm grip on the tee vee remote and spend some time catching up with the "Property Brothers" and "House Huners" and perhaps have a little snooze. Then I may or may not take myself off to the market for greens and other delights like chocolate and Barista coffee.<br />
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3:30-4:00 Once again tramp out to the barns to reattach those 50# blankets to resistant horses. Artfully dodge the teeth and fall to knees in gratitude that they missed me. Scoop up the days artwork, that is to say, remove the precious pebbles the dudes have arranged, feed itchy hay and by 5:00 or so make my way back to the house for a nice warm shower and to plan the evening festivities.<br />
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Mostly those evening festivities involve an instant meal and a salad, but I've been to dinner with Horse Show Mom where we imbibed in Lemon Drops that were too good for words and once I suppd with my beloved for a Thai Mystery dinner also with a Lemon Drop. There may be a trend in the works here. <br />
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8:30 In bed with the annoying, over anxious not young dawg, making ample room for him by clinging to edge of the mattress and sleeping and getting up to let the annoying, over anxious not young dawg out, let him back in, go back to bed, find edge of mattress, lay there for a minute or two then get myself up to do what needs to be done in the freezing middle of the night, return to edge of mattress and sleep till the alarm threatens me again in the morning. What. A Life.<br />
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So I'm on the downstretch here. Her Highness has not called to <strike>check up </strike>see if I'm alive in two days. Whatever hater. I have Valentine's Day to look forward to, the spouse and light of my life, my moon and stars will let me take him to dinner<br />
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I'll leave you with that dear reader.<br />
Cheers,<br />
<br />
SquidgySquidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-33359709979960264802013-01-09T12:13:00.000-08:002013-01-09T12:13:09.770-08:00Addendum to 1/8/13 post.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cop</td></tr>
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So the cop came last night. We actually have been burgled (not robbed as there is a difference which cops will tell you about in patient detail).<br />
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I had to wait till Steve got home, really late last night to make a phone call as we are modern and don't have a land line and I am afraid of our neighbors. So I called the cops. And our "public safety officer" came over about three hours later. Let me just tell you that it wasn't like CSI or anything. I fully expected flashing lights, lots of fingerprint dust, guns and interrogation of the sketchy neighbors. In fact when I mentioned the dogs might jump on our "public safety officer" and would she shoot them, she said she didn't even have a gun. Another disappointment of epic proportions. So on the upside the "public safety officer" chastised me for having my social security card in my wallet and then showed us pictures of her miniature dachshunds. All in all a very civilized encounter with law enforcement at 10:30 at night. I might add that I'd just turned out the porch light as was preparing to go night night when she showed up. <br />
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As it turns out our Kindles have been stolen as well as my cell phone. The box that housed the package from ATT was used to haul away our valuable loot. Strangely, none of the jewelry which was cleverly hidden in a jewelry box was taken. The tee vees are still here. Mummy's silver, still here. You'd like to think if you're going to be burgled, you could at least have discriminating criminals with taste and an unerring eye for the valuable. We got ghetto burglars. Some how that's just insulting. PLUS I have to wait till this afternoon to get my replacement phone from FedEx today. We definitely need to move from this joint and find an address in a tonier area.<br />
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I know all (both) of you were worriedly wondering what the outcome of the incident from yesterday yielded. So now you can rest easy with the knowledge that I did not stroke out and I'm not crazy. Quit sniggering, it's unattractive.<br />
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All the best.<br />
Cheers,<br />
Squidgy<br />
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<br />Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-56073344053988131732013-01-08T17:40:00.000-08:002013-01-08T17:40:51.329-08:00Let the memories begin.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Merry Christmas. Happy Holidays. Feliz Ano Nuevo. Seasons Greetings<br />
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Before we could seriously get in to the spirit of Christmas in my world, we had to first get through celebrating and regaling my beloved on the occasion of the anniversary of his birth. That was accomplished on the fifteenth of December. He got a pedicure gift card and tickets to a classical Chinese Dance performance. He is well rounded. And were then free to commence with the stress and decisions that encompass Christmas. Wa-Hoo.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">they look horrified when I hold them too.</td></tr>
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I babysat the grand urchins for two days in December. I would never deny you the pleasure of living through this <strike>penance</strike> happy time with the children. I mentioned something to Mila about coming to stay with her the other night and she burst in to tears. I firmly believe they were tears of joy...the visit went off without much of a hitch. As I discovered with my own offspring, the TeeVee is a wonderful babysitter and I'm sure the daughter and her spouse didn't mind the pay per view charges for the Tee Vee I enjoyed . They were happy no one was damaged ...- permanently anyway. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFxen6uvZH2uiNCzn0BwPds_K3InqxjXaWk69v6MsrQgqCOBRPJJJlr3TF5AqvggYZIbJyJNEpvtzXJwUZ7QKCU6t-e0DbGLdilVH0eBa44jgbyhX3p2fzHu9BjEXBDS5UfwtaJA4HE4I/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFxen6uvZH2uiNCzn0BwPds_K3InqxjXaWk69v6MsrQgqCOBRPJJJlr3TF5AqvggYZIbJyJNEpvtzXJwUZ7QKCU6t-e0DbGLdilVH0eBa44jgbyhX3p2fzHu9BjEXBDS5UfwtaJA4HE4I/s200/download.jpg" width="200" /></a>The old daughter and her familia honored us with their presence (presents?) on December 31. We had another Merry Old Time with them for the week they were here. And I had an opportunity to <strike>corrupt</strike> fawn <span class="st">(To exhibit affection or attempt to please</span>) on my youngest grandchild. He lives too far away for me to get my clutches in to him on a regular basis. I may have moaned about that before. It's still true. BTW, he had a John Deere Tractor Pinata at his birthday party in October. What did you have? He also had a green and yellow cake. Obviously.<br />
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In my next life there will not be so many birthdays so close to Christmas, or we shall do away with Christmas altogether and celebrate birthdays only. But I would still like gifts if you don't mind. We have Steve's birthday on 12/14, Cowboy Tim's birthday on 1/4, and precious darling Jack's birthday on 1/6. We don't have such an onslaught on my bank account till the June birthdays come around. What in the world is going on in April/May and again in October? (do the nine month math thing, try to track.) honestly.<br />
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So now we are in to 2013. whoop whoop. It can't possibly be any worse than 2012 was in my life. So here's to it. Hip Hip Hooray and all that. I saw a phrase that I liked a lot. It said "Life becomes easier when you learn to accept an apology you never got." I will try to remember that the next time someone cuts me off, pulls out in front of me, or anything else that my sensitive little self takes exception to. I feel better already. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHfrBIrcRTyK5rUqNyxJUPgWjwcxicstT3qQ0oaTDrGJejbFs0wurg8hSEKwK5zdCat3krFJiqXI4vKJy4aEwwOTDEj1MCJAkRBSc3_GYld1q4rZSFQgWjuthrvxdqPVLiSlrp3PWhujo/s1600/iphone.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHfrBIrcRTyK5rUqNyxJUPgWjwcxicstT3qQ0oaTDrGJejbFs0wurg8hSEKwK5zdCat3krFJiqXI4vKJy4aEwwOTDEj1MCJAkRBSc3_GYld1q4rZSFQgWjuthrvxdqPVLiSlrp3PWhujo/s200/iphone.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It looks like this only it had a Barbie cover on it, pink and purple. sadness</td></tr>
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Do you remember some time ago I shared with you the ignominy of falling in to the swamp with my brand new shiny iPhone? Well, now I've got a true mystery on my hands. I came home from running errands today, changed and took my extraordinarily large self off to the gym to commence with this years attempt at fitness. My back hurts, by the way, fitness sucks. Anyway, when I got home, (cue mystery music here) the front door was dead bolt locked, and not by my doing I might add. A box which had been by the front door entry was unpacked the goods were left, but the shipping box was gone. The back door, which is never locked, was locked and dead bolted. Some things were out of a drawer from Steve's night table and my phone, she is gone. Naturally I thought perhaps Steve had come home and to that end I emailed him and axed him all those questions. I would have called him, but MY PHONE IS GONE! We don't have anything worth stealing so all of our icky stuff is still here. However, I just discovered that Amazon .com is happy to announce that I've successfully changed my name to Keith 707. I am bewildered. Perhaps I've had a stroke. At least I've documented with all y'all what I believe to have happened. Assuming I don't start drooling in a bin somewhere, I'll let you know how it all turns out. <br />
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Over the holidays, I had another two opportunities to visit my Aunt Betty. Once at a nice dinner with my cousin and two of my very favorite people in the the world Charlotte and Cheryl. They've had the dubious honor of knowing me since before I was born. You know how sometimes you have people in your life that you just love unconditionally? Thats the way I feel about Charlotte and Cheryl. Charlotte was my moms best friend forever( I believe she is a BFF) and Cheryl is her daughter. She wouldn't let me wear her toe shoes when I was little. But she was my idol as a kid. I also got to see Aunt Betty with two of my chillens, Alison and Megan and their assorted offspring. As is their wont, Jack and Mila extorted gifts from A. Betty in the form of (Jack) a brain coral and (Mila) a conch shell. Not sure how that all came about, but there you have it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl71PA7_YcJrjy2TT2109HTuVAChQXTZQMNA12gutjj9dbqeqh2DU98Yy7oW-agFgT55DmGDIM1qX4EXvpFZbM9yuvTCYmZ-iMWIIyZWibGT9fytmbMt64paQqEu8Jc1B7cy1gQBPYEzU/s1600/MP900440899.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl71PA7_YcJrjy2TT2109HTuVAChQXTZQMNA12gutjj9dbqeqh2DU98Yy7oW-agFgT55DmGDIM1qX4EXvpFZbM9yuvTCYmZ-iMWIIyZWibGT9fytmbMt64paQqEu8Jc1B7cy1gQBPYEzU/s200/MP900440899.JPG" width="133" /></a>I had an opportunity to spend the day with Horse Show Mom the other day. She's been a busy little thing selling horses left and right. We took one sale varmint down to Menlo Park to the vet for a presale check and as is the case with horses and vets and buyers and sellers that took all bloody day. As the horse sold on the spot, I was compensated for being agreeable and easy to get along with by a nice dinner and a couple tasty cocktails. I'm easier to get along with if booze is involved. Sad but true. Maybe not sad.<br />
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I must fix dinner now. And rest up for the arrival of my new phone tomorrow for which I must sign. Wouldn't you sign for something that arrived at your house unless it came from the judicial department or the IRS or something?<br />
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Cheers and all the best for a great New Year!<br />
Squidgy<br />
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<br />Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-62223894356205836002012-12-03T17:06:00.002-08:002012-12-03T17:06:34.081-08:00Post Turkey<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Annual Thanksgiving awards: Alden wins for most pictures of a cooked bird. Sue wins for the most turkey roasting drama. I lose for having inedible Brussels sprouts. End of Thanksgiving.</span><br />
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<a href="http://media-cache-ec6.pinterest.com/upload/140456082099916367_Zr2sKYcZ_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Gorgeous DIY branch tree!" border="0" class="PinImageImg" data-componenttype="MODAL_PIN" height="200" src="http://media-cache-ec6.pinterest.com/upload/140456082099916367_Zr2sKYcZ_b.jpg" title="" width="114" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">On to Christmas. For the first time in history, I decorated the house before December. As you will recall, last year we traveled to North Carolina for Christmas, and a jolly good thing we did at that. But we did no decorating, save a winsome, lonely wreath on the front door. This year is another story. The tree is up and decorated within an inch of its life, the mantle is draped, festooned and lit with gobs of stuff and the buffet in the dining room is replete with sparkling, freshly polished silver. Not to be happy for her mother on this unprecedented feat, daughter Alison, in her snarkiest New Mexican, inquired if I'd also set the table for Christmas Eve. Alison's birthday is on the 2nd of December, how do you think that worked out for her?</span> <span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">That's what I thought too!</span> <span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"> I sent her pictures of the house and asked how she was doing. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Daughter Lindsey and I went to see the last Twilight movie. We had to, we'd seen the last two or three or however many there were. And we are not apologetic. We also got our nails done. So one treat offset the other so to speak. I was amused by the sign proffered at a bar stating that a 20% increase to your bill would be assessed by showing your "Breaking Dawn Part II" ticket stub. What ever hater.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Daughter Megan and her beloved took themselves off to Portland Thanksgiving week for an adults only trip by themselves. The good grandparents had the grand-offspring. Steve and I managed to catch the plague the week of Thanksgiving and so were <strike>spared babysitting duties</strike> um not available to help out. Oh right, thanks to Malcolm for the plague, way to share sugar.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">At this point I had ready a rant and a rave about the whining post election. I got over it and I feel sorry for those of you who can't. I rest.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">In an effort not to be a horrible person, I visited my ancient Auntie the other day. She kept reminding me that she was 90 years old. I said not for long, as her birthday is in January. She was confused about that. She got cross with me several times and then told me I could come by any time but there was no guarantee she would be home as her schedule varied from day to day. I agreed to do whatever she wanted, she was carrying a stout cane. I love her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">So there used to be this computer game called Bureaucracy. It was in DOS format. I </span>believe that DOS stood for dumb operating system. I played this game on an Apple PCJr. Suffice it to say that this was in a galaxy far far away. Before windows. Anyway, Bureaucracy, the deal was you had to type in commands to perform simple every day tasks like finding the phone, getting the mail, talking to repair people etc. Each time something went haywire, like you didn't move the correct object to find something to find something else your blood pressure would rise. Eventually you would have a stroke and die. The game gave up the ghost for me after I discovered you had to stroke the llama's tongue to open the mailbox, but I digress. Anyway, I tried to reach the repair/service department at a Sears store today. OMG and FML, epic fail and all that, I never did talk to a service person at the store, but I did talk to some call center in Bangladesh or where ever and nearly popped a vessel talking to the phone maze. The upshot of this is my beautiful Cobalt Blue Kitchenaid stand mixer, that I bought for myself when I had a pity party for myself back in 1986, seized up last night in the middle of making gingerbread. And all I really want to do do is find someone to fix the thing. A quick call to all the appliance repairs idiots in Vacaville got me no where as, to a man, they only do major appliances and my major melt downs had no affect whatsoever on any of them. I feel my blood pressure rising just thinking about it. Perhaps a nice cocktail will calm me down. Who cares if it's 10 in the morning. I'll bet it's 5 in Bangladesh. This would be a bad time to offer platitudes... or advice. Real bad.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">RIP</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">On that happy note, I shall sign off for now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Adieu,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Cheers,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">Squidgy</span>
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<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS",sans-serif;">' </span><br />
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Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-60562478392018632372012-11-16T10:55:00.002-08:002012-11-16T10:55:58.023-08:00Hacked OffSo last week started off on a high note with the discovery that my email had been hacked. Great. All my plans to extort money have been circumvented by some bad guys wearing clown suits. JK they weren't wearing clown suits that I'm aware of. On the upside, I heard from so many of you I've not heard from in <strike>centuries </strike>forever. Just to be clear, I'm not in London, though I wouldn't mind, and I would love for you to send money. I know from previous attempts to prod you all in to sharing your wealth with me that this is a faint and pathetic request.<br />
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Sadly, the hacking incident was the high point of my week. I should get out more often, but it all seems rather futile. For instance, Sunday I never even got dressed and utilized my time by trying out a new Macaroni-n-Cheese recipe and watching "My Fair Lady" for the umpteenth thousandth time. Once again the Ascot scene was the high point. What a frenzied moment that was...<br />
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We survived another Ram Tap a couple weekends ago. Barely. It was the first trip to Fresno for the little adopted squirrel dog. She was impressed. She also picked a fight with Emma over who got to be next to the people in the bed. A lot of scrapping later, Steve suffered damage to his digits whilst separating the <strike>piranhas</strike> snapping, snarling babies who each had a death grip on each others mandible and maxillae. Hate the babies. Steve is still suffering from his injuries, but not nearly as much as yours truly who is required to minister medication and cluck sympathetically over the state of his suppurating sores. I am not a nurse. Full stop.<br />
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The dawgs have not scrapped in a couple days now, nay Emma and the squirrel have been caught engaging in what some might call playful banter, batting at each other and jumping about. I steadfastly force myself to believe the warring is over, but judging from the look on Emma's face, she's just biding her time for an opportunity to send Lili packing to the giant tamale stand in the sky. (Lili is a chi hua hua afterall) I believe a Lab is in my future. I mean I hope a Lab is in my future.<br />
<br />
We took ourselves off to the northlands to watch the grandbabies play soccer. I would have to say that perhaps little Mila has decided that it is a far better use of her time to stare at pictures of herself on the "other" (read "good") granny's iPhone. So Megan screached at her daughter "get out and play and take no prisoners" and like that, and I'm all "so, you're <b>that </b>mother" and all her cronies were like, "yeah, Meg, so you're <b>that</b> mother." And Megan was all "shutup mom" and Mila ran for cover on the lap of the good grandmother. The "good" grandfather was not in attendance as he was busy playing kick the soccer ball with Jack who was all "old guys ...give it up man" and Ken was all sweaty and red faced (he is older than me afterall) Sitting in his newly acquired extra large folding chair that was purchased only that very morning on a very special trip to WalMart, was my beloved who was engrossed in a riveting game of Free Cell on his iPhone. And where was the father of the grandurchins? why sitting in his little chair wondering why all of his inlaws had come up to disturb his weekend and would they be staying afterwards or would they (please, please, pretty please) be going straight home? Ah, family togetherness. I just can't wait for the holidays. Oh wait, yes, yes I can.<br />
<br />
Speaking of the holidays. My ex-brother in law invited all my children to come to his house for Thanksgiving. This invitation did not include yours truly and my spouse. As is my wont, I was very sulky and pouty for a few minutes. And I might mention that the aforementioned children rejoindered with a rousing chorus of " where were you when we were children on Thanksgiving? Oh, right, you were at Ram Tap at a horse show." Little beasts. Because I feel like cooking, I would like to have just have a little dinner party at home. I have invited the royalty of Petaluma, they have not agreed to come yet. We'll see what happens. I suspect we will have turkey loaf and instant mash in the solitude and of our little casa, just the two of us. Happily what this really means is a great deal leftover $$ for me since I won't be celebrating Christmas giftage with the ingrates. Ho Ho Ho time for receiving.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Aj7KmyYhTS4TTpf44bHe-sEcTXCj6kbUeU2B3v68Cw4trJ2gde2qm7Aeu1KGLZr0X-9Ouvj_1bofLsG6ErPjozao0b4gFOK9XhJVjhs30ZK3cI47Dd4UQx6EXNEITeaQJN9x9CAbVHs/s1600/precious+at+ram+tap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Aj7KmyYhTS4TTpf44bHe-sEcTXCj6kbUeU2B3v68Cw4trJ2gde2qm7Aeu1KGLZr0X-9Ouvj_1bofLsG6ErPjozao0b4gFOK9XhJVjhs30ZK3cI47Dd4UQx6EXNEITeaQJN9x9CAbVHs/s320/precious+at+ram+tap.jpg" width="320" /></a>This is Precious at Ram Tap circa 1990's<br />
<br />
Today we leave for the last and final Ram Tap Horse Trials. I have been going to Fresno several times a year for the past thirty some odd years for this event. My spouse, who had a privelaged and sumptuouis upbringing, evented here as a tyke and can remember when you got brownie points on cross country for going really fast. Still, the event was well established before Stevie was even born. So it ends on Sunday. Another eventing institution, good, bad or indifferent, gone gone gone.<br />
<br />
On that up note,<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20aPyV4DRKCg0RnUyVbt7jPz0j6weHHg4Ia0Zty9IsrDogcyZ1L9we7z3tsJlg6VUsGjrl9zu1ROmynHljgSqXnDhGaf2hV044PhFtuulm7I2YW_uZLLRmyt1Ei3FxxWPJMXO67Xdryk/s1600/Galaxy+XC.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh20aPyV4DRKCg0RnUyVbt7jPz0j6weHHg4Ia0Zty9IsrDogcyZ1L9we7z3tsJlg6VUsGjrl9zu1ROmynHljgSqXnDhGaf2hV044PhFtuulm7I2YW_uZLLRmyt1Ei3FxxWPJMXO67Xdryk/s320/Galaxy+XC.tif" width="194" /></a>Galaxy XC at Ram Tap circa 2006</div>
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Cheers,</div>
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<br /></div>
Squidgy<br />
<br />
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<br />
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<br />
<br />Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-5792356558566674362012-10-03T13:15:00.002-07:002012-10-04T11:10:08.034-07:00Didja miss me?<h2 class="entry-title">
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<span class="entry-source-title-parent"><br /></span><span class="entry-author-parent"><span class="entry-author-name"></span></span></div>
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I
have had a very busy summer. Not much of it was good, sadly. Last we
spoke I'd been to the fair with the grand off spring. Three days later I
was in North Carolina. My mother-in-law (Mary) had surgery and as
Steve was in the middle of his annual fair deal at Solano Co. I was
elected to be the family in situ. The long and short of it was a
diagnosis of stage 4 cancer on July 29 and a very short time till Mary
Frances Libby Hales passed away on September 16. God Speed Mary.<br />
<br />
It was a difficult time for everyone, but the days spent with Mary were
extraordinary. I wouldn't trade that time with her for anything. Steve
was able to come out during the recuperation and we three spent a lot
of time laughing and remembering. We left North Carolina on August 14
and returned in a hurry on September 7. And well you know what
eventually happened.<br />
<br />
A word about Hospice. I hope none of you ever have a loved one who
needs Hospice. But Hospice Facilities are a refuge and while the usual
out come is the passing of a life, the atmosphere is not dreary or
depressing. Somehow the feeling is one of acceptance of death and not
resignation to it. You learn, or I did anyway, that death is a part of life
and the journey does not have to be one of sadness and angst. Steve,
his sister, Sandra and I spent many hours with Mary during that last
week. I don't remember many tears but do remember a lot of reminisces
and laughter. The hospice nurses told us that even though Mary was not
participating in the conversations and stories, she could hear what we
were saying and we talked to her constantly. At times we could tell
something made an impact, or at least we like to think so. The nurses
and aids were without fail kind and willing to share their experiences.
They were not afraid to let us know what certain things meant when
breathing patterns changed, or the skin felt cold, or there were weird
sounds. It's all a part of it. My own parents both died quite suddenly
and I wish I could have had the few weeks with them that I had with my
mother-in-law. <br />
<br />
A word about post death. Funeral homes are creepy. The voices used
there are hushed and intended to be comforting. I just wanted to ask
them to speak normally. And get rid of the unfortunate wall paper
border in the "room". Basically funeral homes serve an unpleasant
duty. <b>And </b>they are paid handsomely. The funeral directors have
had very little time with the deceased and while I'm sure they are
trying to be respectful, the usual feeling is not one of true
compassion. If they have had any interaction with the departed, it was
to exalt the virtues of this service ($cha-ching) and that ($cha-ching) in order to "make it
easier on the survivors".. ($$$ching ching ching) Hooey. They go under the heading, "gross
jobs I'd never do in a heart beat". I was most uncomfortable with the
breakdown of charges rendered for the appliances used during the storage
of the body, the cremation, how much a death certificate costs and
especially the fees for running an obituary. I understand the funeral
home is not responsible for the costs charged the family to run an
obituary in a newspaper, but they are the messengers and you know what
happens to them...The San Francisco Chronicle wanted over $1000.00 to
run Mary's obituary. The Monterrey Herald charged $100 for the same
article. It is fairly gross how institutions and people (clergy
included BTW) take advantage of the family of the deceased. Emotions
are high and judgement is poor as a rule. So if you saw the death
notice of Mary Hales in the SF Chronicle and thought it was short, that
is why. While all the funeral home stuff was deeply weird, perhaps the
most onerous part of the whole post death scenarios had to be the church
stuff. Mary planned the whole service, which in itself is morbid. She
also made several handsome bequests to her beloved Holy Cross Church
over the course of time. When it came to the interment of her cremains, it became clear that no interment would be happening until the<strike> hostages ponied up</strike> I mean the priest and deacon were paid their tithe. I believe the tithes totalled over $800.00. Hallelujah! <br />
<br />
In the middle of the North Carolina trips I went to England for 18
days. I love England. Love the food, the weather, the small streets,
the little villages and the people. I had the opportunity to go to
Burghley for the Horse Trials and as ever, it was a fantastic event.
The best riders in the world competed and it was a privilege to watch
them go. I had some friends competing too, especially one of my
favorite people in the world, Kate Hicks. She was there with her
mother, husband, adorable son and a few friends. In spite of the
challenges of competing, Kate was a star and gracious to all. She did
not have the best competition score wise, but at the end of the day she
finished the most difficult horse trials in the world and never let her
nerves get the best of her. She remembered her dressage test, jumped
cleanly around the cross country course and finished the show jumping in
good order. She braided her own horse and pitched in with all the day
to day stuff of caring for a horse and accepted that some days the
competition was not her to win. She didn't blame anyone for her scores
and was pleased with her performances. She was a happy and positive
force in our barn aisle. I love you Katie.<br />
<br />
So that was my summer. How was yours? Oh, I almost forgot, we have a
new dawg. We adopted Mary's chihuahua, Lili and brought her home with
us. I know quite a few of you know my precious baby Emma the killer of
all that moves. We were very concerned that Emma would see Lili for
what she really is, a barking squirrel. But from the start and from the
safety of her Southwest approved dawg carrier, Lili put Emma in her
place immediately. When they were allowed to meet face to face, little
Lili growled and snapped at Emma and just confounded her. They are
romping in the back yard as I write this. Lili loves me and I am Emma's
personal person, so every now and again there are some territory
issues, but I believe all is and will continue to be peaceful, well as
peaceful as can be with two Jack Russells and a Southern Belle.<br />
<br />
Cheers and thanks for letting me share,<br />
<br />
SquidgySquidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-57661971750830093522012-07-23T11:12:00.003-07:002012-07-23T11:12:54.451-07:00Oh, hello there. How you been? (como frijole)So I've been pretty busy. For me. For instance I did make the trip up to Washington state a couple months ago. It rained.<br />
Then I went to Woodland. It was hot.<br />
Then I went to Carmel Valley. With Kristi. <br />
Then I went to Carmel Valley again. Alone and over stayed as usual<br />
Then I came home for two days.<br />
Then I went to Sonoma for ten days. It was hot. And tiring.<br />
Then I went to Woodland for one day. It was still hot.<br />
Now I'm home. Whoopee.<br />
<br />
Also in that riveting agenda, my old daughter, Alison, came home with the good grandchild. We went to the State Fair. We also went with the young daughter and her offspring and the middle daughter who just looked glamorous. Who looks glamorous at the fair? It's a little demoralizing. She didn't stay long. Not that we don't love her, but <i>we </i>didn't glam up for the day. However, we did look a little more put together than 99.9% of our fellow (and I gag a little) fair goers. Gads, am I turning in to a snob? gasp.<br />
<br />
The young daughters three off spring are old enough to run away from you at the fair. It would appear that this is not a good thing. So each child had to pick a grown up to be its person. Jack either picked or got me. That's OK because we spent a lot of time picking up crawdads from the trough containing same. So they have this exhibit which all about the water and the things that live in it. One of those things is the mighty crawdad/crayfish or what ever. For the uninitiated they look a lot like swimming scorpions with no stinger. They do, however, have nasty claws and pincers with which they will pinch their enemies and maim their fellows. This last was evidenced by the unsettling number of crawdads sporting one or none pincers and the remains of those pincers scattered on the bottom of the tank. Vicious little brutes. We were talking about catching them weren't we? Mr. Jack was the crocodile hunter of the day and he modestly told me he'd picked up all of the prehistoric creatures and released them. relief As if to prove it to himself, he proceeded to pick up all of them again. Did I mention there were at least a hundred in the tank? May be not. He <strike>forced my hand open</strike> allowed me to hold the baby ones. Super neat.<br />
<br />
Then we petted the sturgeon. For a long time. I wonder if there's a way to skin them and use the skin for say a summer weight jacket? It's really velvety. We practiced our steer roping skills, well perhaps skills isn't the best descriptor, but let it be known we were there for a long time. Alison came along during this event and proclaimed that everything was wrong from the type of rope to the direction the steers head was placed. I had to churry her along before she changed everything. She always was a bossy little thing. I was also in charge of the super sized baby stroller. It was roughly the size of a giant SUV and about as handy. Needless to say I was not a good driver and manged to run over a lot of toes and bashed in to quite a few things and people. I'll never see those folks again so I guess I'm OK with it. And that, dear reader, is why I have so few friends. Or any. Will you be my friend? I thought so.<br />
<br />
I was discussing the fair. But I guess I hit the highlights. Sorry. Nothing really interesting happened. Megan brought us lunch so we did not devour fair food which was a little disappointing as we were all jonesing for corn dogs. But we looked self important eating our edamame and healthy organic salads. Then I polished that off with a fried Snickers and thereby captured all the food groups. I also bought a fried Twinkie, but just didn't have the heart for it. Sadness. Suffice it to say there was ample (and I do mean ample) people watching to enjoy, though Megan and Alison screeching at me to stop staring really ruined my rhythm. What's a girl to do? They need some elder care sensitivity training. Elder Abuse Abounds!<br />
<br />
I spent a week, plus some, in Carmel Valley. The lord and lady of the manor scooted off to Bromont and I was in charge of the horses. Six horses. One had the nastiest sarcoma on its ear. It looked like a mushroom only it bled and needed to be treated, gross. When Bea came home we wrapped a bunch of rubber bands around it and lo and behold! it fell off after a while. I wasn't there for the delivery, but I hear it was a successful separation. Now, I am...a surgeon. Praise Be.<br />
<br />
I also spent an idyllic (not) ten days in Sonoma house and horse sitting for our favorite...Horse Show Mom. This job almost didn't happen due to an extreme misunderstanding of what I charge per day, which is non-negotiable. I like to think I don't need the money, but that is a fallacy, just ax Steve. But I can't/won't work for peanuts either. At any rate we came to terms and I took myself off to whine country. Normally I clean a few stalls, maybe ride, maybe not, feed, change blankets, lunge, <strike>watch tee vee</strike>, medicate (see previous paragraph) and the like. For our <strike>little tight wad</strike> I mean HSM my day went something like this:<br />
<br />
7:00a Arise, feed two dawgs, two fish, one rat, one cat and a bearded dragon.<br />
<br />
7:01a Leave for barn (leave earlier if possible)<br />
<br />
7:25a Arrive at barn having burned up 13.5 miles<br />
<br />
7:26a Determine who is getting turned out and try to remember who can be next to who, who can't be in the first turnout or the last, fill water troughs up, roll hose back up, forget to turn water off. Race back to turn water off. Collapse in office with the flies.<br />
<br />7:30a Contemplate life and listlessly sweep office out<br />
<br />
8:00a Decide to ride. <br />
<br />
8:30a Decide who to ride<br />
<br />
9:00a Groom and tack up horse<br />
<br />
9:15a Have urgent need to pee<br />
<br />
9:20a Get on horse and hack around and do something like dressage or just plain flopping around depending on who you are<br />
<br />
10:20a Get off, untack, hose horse off, move horses in paddocks around, refill waters, turn other horses out (see 7:26a) put the ridden horse away, select next victim.<br />
<br />
11:20p Tack up, ride, untack, hose off and put away victim #2 <br />
<br />
12:20p Decide lunging is a good option for next horse.<br />
<br />
12:45p Groom horse, select lunging equipment, fiddle with lunging bridle, fiddle some more, wander around looking for fly spray, sho sheen, hoof oil etc<br />
<br />
1:45p Take horse to lunging arena and chase it around both directions until bored.<br />
<br />
<strike>1:46p </strike>JK 2:10p Take horse back to barn. Horse is recalcitrant and has developed deep seated fear of the barn, the mats, the wash rack, water, hoses, but sadly, not me<br />
<br />
3:30p Finally get horse hosed off in wash rack, braid mane over, drink about 4 gallons of water put horse away.<br />
<br />
4:30p Have to pee<br />
<br />
4:35p Select easy horse to ride, tack up, get on , hack around, go in to arena, horse freaks out at the music coming from the many speakers placed all around on arena fence and has hissy fit. Contemplate carne asada caballo. Hold temper. Get one good trip around arena each direction and get back to the barn, untack, grudgingly hose horse off and even more grudgingly put it away.<br />
<br />
6:00p Prepare evening meals for the horses, meticulously adhering to each horses specific diet and studiously memorize the amount to feed of each ingredient, figure out supplements, water everything down and, with a flourish, present each custom meal to each horse. Bon Apetit' <br />
<br />
7:00p Leave barn. <br />
<br />
7:10p Remember phone is still at barn. Retrace steps, waste gas and time.<br />
<br />
7:30p Leave barn again and travel another 13.5 mile back to HSM's house. Eat a sandwich. Feed dawgs again, check the food and water for the cat, make sure rat, fish and dragon have not expired.<br />
<br />
8:00p Take shower and go to bed with wet hair. Gross<br />
<br />
8:15p Remember that I forgot to water all the semi growing stuff in back yard. Get up, crossly, and splash water around, step in dawg doo, become enraged, wash feet, turn off water, mutter invectives to dawgs and lock them in prison in the garage for the night.<br />
<br />
9:30p Go back to bed. Still chuffed and out of sorts. Have weird dreams.<br />
<br />
Repeat for next nine days. And develop a rash. One that won't go away. Gross<br />
<br />
It makes me tired all over again just thinking about it. I must select a cocktail now and relax with the teevee remote and catch up on Dance Moms for a bit.<br />
<br />
Cheers,<br />
<br />
Squidgy<br />
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<br />Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-11171602857462878882012-05-23T14:08:00.000-07:002012-05-30T12:41:18.532-07:00Farmer girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_KOQzHrx3g0bwtxE4_yOPq83svGunVprXgI9ecJ3AtzBX4Nb_uSe3sk5_L8cRwOSjPCuMqR5riJM7IlCQ5QLTSyrnJQ87DUMr3GhyphenhyphencOgl9J_2Mp6JeoNGBxP6jfWuqHADtxO6psFYjyg/s1600/209379-Royalty-Free-RF-Clipart-Illustration-Of-An-Outlined-Farmer-Girl-Holding-A-Rake-And-Waving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_KOQzHrx3g0bwtxE4_yOPq83svGunVprXgI9ecJ3AtzBX4Nb_uSe3sk5_L8cRwOSjPCuMqR5riJM7IlCQ5QLTSyrnJQ87DUMr3GhyphenhyphencOgl9J_2Mp6JeoNGBxP6jfWuqHADtxO6psFYjyg/s200/209379-Royalty-Free-RF-Clipart-Illustration-Of-An-Outlined-Farmer-Girl-Holding-A-Rake-And-Waving.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
I have discovered my inner farmer. I planted a bunch of doomed flowers and plants yesterday. It's anyone's guess how long they will survive. But for the moment all is beauty and life. And I have dirt under my fingernails. And the dog is busy at this very moment either digging up my flowery children or eating the hose. That too is anyone's guess. It doesn't really matter, for tomorrow I take my little self off to Petaluma to be in charge at the highnesses digs. And everything will perish in my absence which is somewhat better than having them die in my presence because now I can blame Steve. sucka<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF951Gta0FYGrJHZi4X3TwQMQ5-RWCoCImhEpVy_bJTYTEe53u4MPxusCkDxUbvO3dX-X4_pVDKoCulIgvbFYJ0McQLGo01PDBY3VVbc105rxM8DHcWnBS5FWBb8g0FKB0FcdtBEhdgA8/s1600/crow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF951Gta0FYGrJHZi4X3TwQMQ5-RWCoCImhEpVy_bJTYTEe53u4MPxusCkDxUbvO3dX-X4_pVDKoCulIgvbFYJ0McQLGo01PDBY3VVbc105rxM8DHcWnBS5FWBb8g0FKB0FcdtBEhdgA8/s200/crow.jpg" width="200" /></a>Nothing has prepared me for the carnage I am expecting to find there. Her highness called the other day to share the days grossness with yours truly. (really?) It seems the black birds at the rancho have nothing better to do other than commit suicide in the water troughs. She told me she's fished as many as 7 or 8 birds a day out, most of them dead, but some dying. In any case she tenderly (lol) puts their little wet bodies in the bushes where miraculously they are revived and fly off to join their bretheren. Just kidding. What's really happening is the crows are swooping down and whisking the desperate, dead and dying off to become part of the days ala carte menu. Her highness found this to be terrible and currently she hates the crows. I have no particular fondness for birds, but I'm thinking at least someone is tidying up besides you or me. Then because I wasn't grossed out enough she regaled me with the tale of the vultures (CA condors) dropping their carrion in an empty paddock where they then invited all their kin over for a big ole nosh. The crows were invited too, but had to wait for everyone else to finish before they were allowed to clean up, if you will. I think I've been to that party.<br />
<br />
So I am really looking forward to this visit. On Saturday the royalty will buzz back up to Petaluma from their horse show to attend a high school graduation party. They have included me too. Since when are adolts invited to high school grad parties? Why my own grad party was cloaked in such secrecy that there were more than thirty layers of subterfuge to go through to even find it. Naturally it was such a great time I remember nothing of it. I do remember walking home in the morning from somewhere. Never mind. So the mother of the grad is French so the food should be good and I know them so anything I do under the influence will be expected and nothing I do should be any more embarrassing than usual. Little upsides.<br />
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The old daughter and her little family visited last week. I finally got my grubby paws on the youngest Grand Off Spring and I don't mind telling you he is THE cutest baby in the world. And very happy and laughs a lot. I take all the credit for his good looks and temperament. The parents don't agree, but I just ignore them. And you should too. The real reason the little family came to California was to attend a wedding that I was not invited to. This meant that I could babysit the three old grandchildren...again. But first we got to spend all day at the Sacramento Train Museum. I'm sure baby Sam from New Mexico will savor those memories forever. He is, after all, seven months old. Then we all, and by all I mean the three daughters of moi, the four grandchildren and one son-in-law had lunch. Naturally one of the four grands had a pseudo melt down and had to be rewarded for that by having a present bestowed upon him in the form of a bow and arrow set. You're welcome Megan. I bought little presents for his siblings as well. While Mila liked her jewelry box, though she wanted to repaint it, Silas had a tantrum about the darling train I gave him and wanted Jacks weapon instead. Jack and I high fived it because we know that sharing is for losers. We bought Steve a snow globe. If you are ever in a position to scratch your head puzzling over what gift would be appropriate to give my spouse, you can never go wrong with a snow globe. He can put them on the window sill of the state run extended care home that I will put him in when the time comes. I am so funny. And I am cracking up just now.<br />
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I have been invited to drive up to Washington State with my little friend Kristi week after next. Yes, Kristi I'll go, but I am wondering about my sanity. Why does it always sound like such a great idea to go on a road trip, then spend a long weekend freezing or broiling and walking and scurrying about? Because that part is fun. Then you have to drive home. That part always sucks. Always. Kristi is one of the best traveling companions because you can whine and cry and badger and carry on and she thinks you're kidding. And she can whine and cry and badger and carry on and I think she's kidding too. What this means is we are two old bags let loose on the world without a cognizant thought between the two of us. Why we have ever made to where we were going together is anyone's guess, but we always have fun.<br />
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For instance, there was the time we thought it would be a good idea to go to the Fair Hill Three Day Event in Maryland one year. We left from Sacramento planning to end up in the city of Brotherly Love via Houston. So far so good. Once our flight stopped in Houston it seemed prudent to go have a couple of cocktails. Then, because we were buzzed and neither of us knew the real time our flight was to leave, we thought it would be good idea to have another cocktail and some food. Long story short? At some point we figured out our plane was leaving at that moment and we were in a bar/restaurant miles away. So we hauled buns dragging all our stuff through the airport, where all the guys with the fast little go carts ignored us, and we arrived at our gate just as they closed the doors. And you know no matter how much you cry and beg and harangue and argue there is no way in hell they are opening those damn doors for you. Frustrated and by this time somewhat sober we had to finangle a flight to Philly that night.<br />
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The travel Gods took pity and we managed to wheedle our way on to a flight to Baltimore where we rented a snazzy little Mustang and drove up to the Philadelphia International Airport. We weren't planning to go to Philly at all but you see our luggage was sober and straight at the airport in Houston - so it did get on the original flight. Now we had to drive to yet another airport to reclaim our luggage. And we hadn't actually had any meaningful sleep. At that time of night, no I mean morning it doesn't really matter how long of a trip from point A to point B it is, it is way tooooooooooooo long. But we arrived in Philly, managed to discover the whereabouts of the airport and then discovered that no one was in charge of lost luggage. And no one would be for many hours from the time we presented ourselves. Pretty much there is nothing more desperate than a large airport in the predawn hours when you have too much adrenaline going, too little sleep and no prospect of a solution to your woes. So finally, much, much later, we collected our belongings and took ourselves off to Fair Hill. I think we were ok that first day, who knows? But the following day when it was pissing rain and everything that resembled dirt became an unpleasant mire I lost the car keys to the cute little Mustang. And then we discovered that if you live in Maryland the only neighborhood you know is the block you live on and maybe the way to work. But under no circumstances would you ever know how to get to Elkton, MD much less Fair Hill. I know this because I dispatched no fewer than six tow trucks to come to my aid and not one of them found the place. And I felt that I should stay with the car on the off chance that one of those mouth breathers should actually find me and rescue the car etc. What this meant is I missed all of the cross country sitting in the rain and Kristi knew better than to hang out with me while I was sulking and pouting. Anticlimax you say? The keys got found and we made good our escape in time to catch our flight home. Amen. Oh and we crashed the competitors party which was a dud. And we were excused from the Patrons tent for not have the right credentials. Great trip.<br />
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While we were chatting just now, the dawg ate the hose. I just thought you should know. Oh, and the hose was running because I forgot to turn it off while I was over-soaking one of the newly planted plants. Don't quit your day job sweet cheeks.<br />
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I think I've entertained you enough for one day. Feel free to re-read this tomorrow. Nothing will have changed except you will be another day older and uh deeper in debt.<br />
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Cheers,<br />
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Squidgy <br />
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<br />Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-40748193602892377042012-05-11T14:38:00.002-07:002012-05-11T14:38:49.930-07:00Where do I begin?Since we last chatted both the Rolex 3-day Event and the Kentucky Derby have come and gone. April and May are big horse months in my world albeit from a safe distance. No surprise that the British rider Wm. Fox-Pitt took home the trophy from Rolex for the second time. Those Brits seriously know how to get the job done. Which is not to take anything from Alison Springer, but I'll bet she's kicking herself for the long option on xc or that bloody rail in show jumping. Kudos to the live coverage on the USET network. Athena and I enjoyed rehashing the daily results with a little concoction I call Mothers Milk; vodka, cranberry juice and ruby red grapefruit juice. Don't stop at just one. :-)<br />
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My friend Kristi came home from her three month jaunt to the east coast to
event with the big whigs. . She rode and finished at Rolex
too. Currently she is my personal hero, well one anyway, she prefers to be the only one so there you go. Something like 27 riders did
not finish out of 58 starters. We had a celebratory lunch to um celebrate. We had whine with lunch. Now we plan to hang out. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Famous people I know who got to go to the Derby </td></tr>
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The Kentucky Derby. I can't even believe the finish. What the h***? Thank heavens I was able to turn the calendar from April and a big ole picture of Union Rags to last years Derby winner Animal Kingdom who, while not my pick, definitely has a cool name. But "I'll Have Another" and it was for a cookie? Gimme a break. My faves were (in order) Union Rags, Gemologist or Bodemeier and Hansen. Big fat heavy sigh. Only Bodemeier did what he was supposed to do in my opinion. Wish I'd have the nerve to bet on a 40-1 longshot. I'd be riiiiiiiiiiiiiich. Daughter Lindsey came over to watch and enjoy a bright pink cocktail with her mamma. She picked her choices by saddle cloth color. As it turns out her method was as good as any. To add insult to injury, the cocktail of the vibrant hue wasn't even that good. So I was pretty pleased that I personally squeezed the lemons and oranges for juice and used up some valuable vodka. >:-( Vodka Flinch? Never mind.<br />
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I successfully survived a week long house sitting in idyllic Carmel Valley. There were five horses to pester. And I managed to stay healthy. And I managed to attend two dinners, one party, and entertained at the casa. All in all a most satisfying week. Oh right I also cleaned stalls, scrubbed out automatic waterers, raked, groomed, rode, fed and all the while I played at hostess to two of Bea's cousins. The daughter cousin ran in the Big Sur marathon on the Sunday. Her feet hurt afterwards. But she finished and that is major (majah). Were that I was so inspired...alas not. But I am in awe of her. If you're reading this Bea, pass on my accolades.<br />
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I also picked up a minor case of poison oak. Think it came from one of the dogs. I hate poison oak. I have no anti itch will power and so have made a right mess of my arm. Plus there is a rather suspicious patch of something on my face. FYI Technu does wonders...Just that I'm a wimp.<br />
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So we were subjected to an inspection by the property manager this morning. I spent Saturday in the jockey position behind the lawn mower. And I spent all of Sunday cleaning. I stopped short of shampooing the carpet but I did engage not one but two vacuum cleaners and even made a swipe at the windows before coming to my senses. So that took all day and when the inspector came to inspect what did she look at? Under the sinks. Where did I not clean? Under the sinks. Something tells me I should not bet on anything this month.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVKOnevZurgqja3oIJokpC-ilnDlS4tZpKfbXJwlux6JFqBkCXDSR5ASNFGNMrt9EM1rTssIqHzwV0sZ8lyLSzsl3YTIYGnAB_CuWU0Ujp9iZzjEjhLHgx1S74cfb-8RVrrjJXA-V7h0/s1600/joe+cocker.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRVKOnevZurgqja3oIJokpC-ilnDlS4tZpKfbXJwlux6JFqBkCXDSR5ASNFGNMrt9EM1rTssIqHzwV0sZ8lyLSzsl3YTIYGnAB_CuWU0Ujp9iZzjEjhLHgx1S74cfb-8RVrrjJXA-V7h0/s200/joe+cocker.jpg" width="198" /></a>I will, however, recommend Leon Russell and Elton John on the Union album to you. You're welcome. I went to see Joe Cocker in concert back in my desperate youth only because of Mad Dogs and Englishmen and the expectation that Leon Russell would be with him. Instead we just watched a sweaty JC spazz out on stage. No Leon. sigh On a similar note I also saw Alice Cooper in concert. Maybe I should stay away from concerts too?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5vIfoghrWM4H6tY-nfTo7RoUIuZ30YyZ5ZHf8NSjiuLn2mcr8KxCUaOTXewoYE3WFm4srO9s1dShvjPrQw02dLlpqYDc_N56uF7FM10LpTwV0qU9gyaJMr4L_IOwHAidyl_PHRb6Dlzg/s1600/margaritas.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5vIfoghrWM4H6tY-nfTo7RoUIuZ30YyZ5ZHf8NSjiuLn2mcr8KxCUaOTXewoYE3WFm4srO9s1dShvjPrQw02dLlpqYDc_N56uF7FM10LpTwV0qU9gyaJMr4L_IOwHAidyl_PHRb6Dlzg/s200/margaritas.jpg" width="195" /></a>So I spent a couple days with Horse Show Mom. Yup, and drank Margarita's. And spent the night, a wise decision BAC* wise, but not a popular choice with the spouse as I had pledged not to spend the night in pastoral Sonoma. But best laid plans and all that. I'll bet he wasn't in the least bit surprised I didn't come home. So I spent the night in the office/spare/ cat room at the manse of HSM**. I say cat room because not to be content with two Jack Russells the family has now adopted a cat of dubious character. I think it might me Emo if it were a person, with a serious cutting problem. It is all black with orange eyes, which is a sure sign of instability. And it plays with you while you try to sleep, oh and drinks your water out of your glass in the middle of the night - loudly. Well loud enough to wake me up and I can sleep through B-52's flying overhead all the time. Awesome. HSM needs a new house with a separate guest quarters/cottage so I might slumber in solitude. Perhaps you'd like to drop her a text and explain why that would be a good idea? Thanks so much.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's a pacifier.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Eldest daughter and family will be dropping in a for a brief visit next week. I am allotted roughly 10 or 15 minutes with them as they will be busy. I will be stalwart and mature about not having an adequate amount of time to <strike>warp</strike> spend a great deal of quality time with the youngest grandchild. But you would be surprised how much you can get done in a short time frame if you put your mind to it. <br />
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So while I was in Carmel Valley the spouse called and wanted to know if I'd paid the registration on his truck as he just got around to noticing that he did not have a current registration. So I said I have no idea at all if I paid it or not why don't you call DMV and find out? And he said I should call DMV and find out. So rather than get in to a big old fuss about it I call DMV and with an extraordinary amount of pressing of this and that on the phone pad finally learned that I would need the info from the old registration card such as VIN#, license # and other stuff that I did not have handy but the spouse would have handy if he went out to the truck to look. The phone maze stuff at DMV then told me it would be some kind of huge wait to talk to the one person in the universe who could help, but if I left my name and phone number someone/something would call back within 15 minutes. That sounded like a great idea so I left Steve's name and mobile number. Then I sent Steve a text with that info, told him DMV would call him within 15 minutes so he should go get last years registration card to have it handy and to answer the phone because all of this was a pain in the ass for me as he well knows. I know you know how this ends but let's just read on, shall we? About five days later I get a call from Steve wanting to know what this babbling text message about registration and DMV calling and whatnot was all about. And I said, oh, too bad you don't actually read your texts from me because you're too busy getting scratched by your cat and watching YouTube videos at work to pay any attention to any info. I have for you in the form of text messages blah blah blah. Well I'll just tell you right now that this went over like a fart in church because we were stalemated at this point. I cooled down after a very long while and when I came home I went online to the DMV website and discovered the registration had not been paid and we now owed like $70 more on it, so I paid it online, with insufficient funds no doubt, and here we sit. So here's what I have to offer. I'm old, I hate details, I can barely survive getting myself around without help (something for the children to look forward to) so why in the name of all that is holy, would anyone in their right mind expect me to remember paying a registration? Because you know that $70 late fee? That fee could have been a pretty cute pair of shoes, but now I have to go to Target to get shoes and it's upsetting. <br />
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To that end I have just sent an email to my children with a list of stuff I must have. I think that they should be madly scrambling around on the internet to make my wishes come true because the awful fact is I can be pouty. If you can't get on the Lands End, Garnet Hill, Dooney &Bourke or Brooks Brothers websites it is because they are making todays dreams come true. Sunday is Mothers Day. You only have one so spoil her if you can. Or me because I have beautiful manners thanks to my mother and I will say thank you.<br />
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Cheerio<br />
Squidgy<br />
*BAC: blood alcohol count<br />
**HSM: Horse Show Mom<br />
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<br />Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-15379815994523702742012-04-16T12:40:00.000-07:002012-04-16T17:58:51.397-07:00Bucket List<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ZzsQ5Eywy23gVSs2wigEfz0k3PUZ1E8p86bvA_CWFDeYOo9rswCFgv3drqsC-Pba2S5QD3x1Be5ZroSncwxJM-l6_pXBxmpoCLasdRD8XyTparzVC4mIAcPCKyFc-REOMYbrKYW9MG8/s1600/IMG_0212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ZzsQ5Eywy23gVSs2wigEfz0k3PUZ1E8p86bvA_CWFDeYOo9rswCFgv3drqsC-Pba2S5QD3x1Be5ZroSncwxJM-l6_pXBxmpoCLasdRD8XyTparzVC4mIAcPCKyFc-REOMYbrKYW9MG8/s320/IMG_0212.JPG" width="315" /></a></div>We had to put our dog, Carlos, down this past weekend. Granted he was old and sick, but the void he left is taking some real adjusting. We got Carlos from a breeder in Sebastopol in January, 1999. As are all Jack Russells, he was an adorable puppy, and like all Jack Russells had an understanding of how his world should be organized. He was named for Carlos the Jackal. My fondest memory of him as a puppy is being tucked in the crook of Steve's arm, under loads of jacket and sweaters, driving a massive tractor around in the freezing cold. He was meant to be my dog, but from the start he chose Steve and there was never a closer bond of boy and dog. He was a fearsome ground squirrel killer and managed to dispatch as many as ten a day on a good day. He like to shared his um meals with Steve when he could. He also deposited a squirrel in daughter Alison's car which then was parked for two weeks in the sun. It was a rather pungent surprise for her when she came home. Little tyke. He was very territorial and all who were not approved were the enemy. Most folks were not approved. Katie, I hope you are paying attention. He was partial to the back turned then assault. But a few were treated to full on aggression. If you showed fear he was on the offensive in a trice. If you saw straight through him, all but a few did, he was the sweetest little serial killer you've ever known. He had a mentor in Barnaby the fox hound. Barnaby was also fearless and a great protector of hearth and home and any other place he happened to be. He was also the great varmint hunter, in particular the hunter of the wily coyote! He would hunt with little Carlos and when he came upon a pack of the coyote trespassers he would come at a full gallop to them and literally bowl the pack over. Then Carlos would bark and snap till the interlopers were sent on their way. You could see him literally dusting his paws off when the enemy was sent packing. In the past three years he's been pretty ill and eventually lost his eyesight completely due to complications of diabetes. But he stoically managed until suddenly the other night it all became too much for him and he let us know the time had come. Rest in Peace Carlos. 10/25/1998 - 4/14/2012. You were a fine little dog.<br />
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It has been a pretty rough few days in my life with Carlos and Amy Tryon both passing suddenly. I have been left with a pretty big empty spot in my heart/soul whatever that threatens to become tears in unsuspected moments. But naturally it seems prudent to make a bucket list cause stuff happens and you/I should have filled as many moments as you/I have left with stuff to do.<br />
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<ul><li>Go to the Kentucky Derby. And if possible the Preakness and Belmont as well.</li><li>Visit Connecticut, New Hampshire, Maine and Rhode Island.</li><li>Go to Badminton and Burghley and Gatcombe again.</li><li>Go to Rolex again</li><li>Visit the south of France</li><li>Touch a snake, (for Gods sake why?)</li><li>Have another horse to compete</li><li>Go to Bermuda, Aruba and Puerto Rico. And if possible to do that from a good sized sail boat with a load of friends.</li><li>Insist that my funeral arrangements be a nice long boat trip out on the ocean and a burial at sea. That is a real and honest wish. You may have KD Lang along to sing "Hallelujah". I'm sure she's not busy. I would also like it very much if everyone who goes out for the final voyage misbehaves and shows unimaginable immaturity. Thanks in advance</li><li>Wear a size 6 again.</li><li>Most of all I want to keep all my family near. And all my friends, both of you, in my life. And btw I have some openings for new friends as well. </li></ul>That should be a good start. Carpe Diem<br />
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Cheers,<br />
Squidgy<br />
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Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-73345444860262291592012-04-11T12:10:00.002-07:002012-04-11T13:41:01.064-07:00A virtual mish mash<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWZnsc9lSnr-byGHcljDGKRK-xdfOgNS9HID164UxPeg3597nIf6wsRIF4TzqWN8J9_P3V2o3Yd4ByNxjA7zmofw_xSRAyr95kPdwg-0GHN4GZs0JwklLwD-tdM6Ryq_HHBVXnmNfKGNE/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWZnsc9lSnr-byGHcljDGKRK-xdfOgNS9HID164UxPeg3597nIf6wsRIF4TzqWN8J9_P3V2o3Yd4ByNxjA7zmofw_xSRAyr95kPdwg-0GHN4GZs0JwklLwD-tdM6Ryq_HHBVXnmNfKGNE/s200/images.jpg" width="171" /></a></div>
So this is the creepiest tattoo I've ever, I mean EVER seen. Not that I make it a habit to study tattoos, but, well, anyway I couldn't keep it to myself. Good thing I have y'all to share with.<br />
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Specifically this issue is for #3 son-in-law who whined that- <br />
1.) the blog is too long...um not possible slacker<br />
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2.) There aren't any pictures. Um this is a picture<br />
And thanks for the asparagus Farmer Boy, it was derishes with Parmesan and oil roasted in the oven. yum<br />
Sorry there aren't any pictures of that, food pix bug me as I have stated on Face Book. Not that anyone paid any attention.<br />
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Hi There! How was your Easter? The bald guy at the grocery store had his head painted like an Easter egg. It seems he's had it done for the past eight years running. What happened at your market?<br />
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We have a week more of rain to look forward to starting tomorrow, joy. We're heading off to Fresno (again) on Thursday night and so far the forecast is for rain on Friday and sunny rain on Saturday. I say sunny rain because that's what it looks like on the weather app on my phone. Who is the person who designs the whatever they're called pictures for apps anyway? I have a hard time believing, "Hey! That's a GREAT picture! Let's use it for sunny rain. You go nerd!"<br />
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I read other peoples blogs over the weekend. You know who you are, that interview with Ollie Townends brain monkey slayed me. You may find it on Eventing Nation. <br />
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That picture creeps me out. Strangely, the eyebrows look those of one of my cousins and he's not even a serial killer that we know of.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPiJn6nUg6buKK6iHDY4B9Zt7n5MBMwTp-o67hoRNVhQwVq9AqEsybXeyyN6LEoqqx_kxn8_zqGHxhrqrOffBVKiFmAxm46lmqvhRNVuJ5FJi5OSm-ZWvzQbc0kwZkNjlnYtMwHKIKtiU/s1600/IMG_0088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPiJn6nUg6buKK6iHDY4B9Zt7n5MBMwTp-o67hoRNVhQwVq9AqEsybXeyyN6LEoqqx_kxn8_zqGHxhrqrOffBVKiFmAxm46lmqvhRNVuJ5FJi5OSm-ZWvzQbc0kwZkNjlnYtMwHKIKtiU/s200/IMG_0088.JPG" width="200" /></a>Happy Birthday Sue! I left you a message on FB. So, Sue, your horse is a rock star! yeah you! and Linda? what can I say? I am honored your horse friended me on FB! You non horsie types? yes, we really talk like this. sorry. If it makes you feel any better my #$%^&* dawgs have Face Book or rather dog book pages. Yeah, well? Here's a picture of the dawgs. They look guilty because they are guilty. This picture is titled "Dawgs and a dead flower" Pretty snazzy eh? It could also be entitled "You've stolen my soul" except their souls are black and mostly rotted, really not worth stealing. :-)<br />
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I figured out Pinterest yesterday. And because it's annoying I've started following other peoples Pinterest pages. Basically what Pinterest is is a virtual pin board (bored) where you "pin" stuff you find whilst screwing around on the Internet or whilst stalking other peoples Pinterest boards. Once you have happened upon an image of something you like or are intrigued by, then you can "pin" or "repin" the images on your own board (bored). If you're as clever as I, you can have many boards. Mine are labeled Horse Stuff, House Stuff, Family Stuff, Weird Stuff, Clothes Stuff, Hair Stuff and it's mostly all either lovely or strange...or both. Mostly both. Lots of really cool people are following me. Are you? What does that mean?<br />
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Chicken and Dumplings for dinner. Really? Delicious. Comforting. Homie. lol Dying to say that all day.<br />
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"Words With Friends" has taken over my life. I have about eight or nine games going right now. I'm not clever. I just throw letters at the board with the fervent hope that they will make a word that is acceptable and also hope to hit bonus squares. It is the secret to my success. I get beat all the time. BTW Satan and bitched were not accepted. WTF but neither was wrad which would have scored a lot of points but there you go.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuGCQ7r_rCcIWCTtKwb2C6SKRbEYmjgI-HSirRywxcYudrXz_3FB5pEyf72jGoEZQ3Kvqg0EqeqKZCVmhYLIUWjPWXvenag40u2LMegCRAMVeuwyTZiUQcN53oniaaE1IXWdnrQcDVE7U/s1600/Mullet-28578.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuGCQ7r_rCcIWCTtKwb2C6SKRbEYmjgI-HSirRywxcYudrXz_3FB5pEyf72jGoEZQ3Kvqg0EqeqKZCVmhYLIUWjPWXvenag40u2LMegCRAMVeuwyTZiUQcN53oniaaE1IXWdnrQcDVE7U/s200/Mullet-28578.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqkiXCxT7qAhlXdebLH1cUL_NhALF27i-ouKTu6HcPN_xB8LLhuLkoUvFlHSJmPOYXuSN0iBHlr1Ytoz16APJTiZvMSXZg9ew_Dzunjt3HWWv_REC1vTWFP3hIDFu6R8i2fwaWs2xWLsU/s1600/Moe_Howard_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqkiXCxT7qAhlXdebLH1cUL_NhALF27i-ouKTu6HcPN_xB8LLhuLkoUvFlHSJmPOYXuSN0iBHlr1Ytoz16APJTiZvMSXZg9ew_Dzunjt3HWWv_REC1vTWFP3hIDFu6R8i2fwaWs2xWLsU/s200/Moe_Howard_2.jpg" width="200" /></a>So, in an effort to be frugal and other stupid stuff, I went to a stylist for a haircut based solely on the recommendation of some woman who was in front of me in line at the market. Her hair looked awesome. So I said, "Um excuse me, your hair looks terrific. Do you mind telling me who cuts it?" and she smiled a little condescendingly and said, "I geet eet cut by Errrrrasmosssss." and I said, "what?" and she rolled her eyes and said "Errrrrasmosss, I ave been having eet cut by heem forrrr pipteen yearrrrs. I don' eben tell heeem what to do any more." and another smile. Somewhat intimidated by now, I may too have rolled my eyes and said, "is he/she/it local?" and she said "hee iz the best stylist in the world" or something like that. So I wound up the conversation by axing if she had his number and she did and she gave it to me and I called and made an appointment. Let me just cut (ha ha gittit?) to the chase. I went, we discussed Mexico, the fact that the lady in the store was from Puerto Rico, and that he'd never even sat on a horse. What ever. So the whole time he wasss cutting away and I was, as usual, scrupulously not paying attention to the snipping of hairs and finally I was cut, blown dry and out the door and my hair looked if not great, then certainly good enough. That is till I tried my own personal magic wherein I washed and styled it myself and discovered to my horror that what I really had was a combination mullet and Moe from the 3-stooges style. I am not happy. Now what this really means is that I have to call Tiffany, who has "done" my hair for over five years and whom I should never, ever, ever forsake. And I shall have to grovel until she agrees to fix this mess and take poetic license of her own bend to repair the damage. She will spend a good deal of time not telling me what an unfaithful b**** I am but making that point unnervingly plain. Let this be a lesson to all y'all. Don't piss your hair stylist off. Don't tread in unfamiliar waters. Be true. I'm the one in the hat till she agrees to see me and she may make me wait a while just to make her point crystal clear. I'm sad.<br />
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Another chapter down the tubes. Do as I say not as I do. That will always be the best course.<br />
Cheers,<br />
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Squidgy <br />
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<br />Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-49941390719582806452012-04-03T13:05:00.000-07:002012-04-03T13:05:44.526-07:00Waiting for NothingI'm in a funk. My cute little car decided to do a bunk and in order to reestablish itself to its usual good natured reliability, it required new tires plus an additional $3000.00 worth of work. If I house sit for the rest of my life I might be able to repay the loan established to get those repairs done. On the upside, the car handles so much better now that the shuddering and shaking is gone. Sort of like going through a 12 step program or methadone therapy or something. sigh<br />
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I swear its true. The youngest daughter requested my valuable child rearing skills again last Saturday so she and her beloved could go fraternize with friends and drink too much and whatnot. This time no one melted down until well in to the third hour of my vigilance. And then only for a little while, though I must say being told to "Leave me alone" from a four year old kinda sucks. Sadly, the mother did not think it a good idea to prepare a nourishing and healthy meal before she hightailed is outta there. No, she left that little detail to yours truly. I must be still a little on the defensive from when I used to feed my own brood when they were young and having them tell me that everything was disgusting and so and so won't eat anything green and another so and so won't eat brown stuff the other so and so would only eat processed food. I used to have frequent nervous break downs and go to my room for a self imposed "time outs". Anyway, so I was faced with the daunting task of feeding the grand offspring. The mother suggested hot dawgs. All I can say is at least they weren't some tofu inspired soy substitute uselessness. If you are of the leaning to enjoy such stuff, well bully, but hot dawgs are meant to be suspect in their content and that's that. So anyway I also decided the little darlings should have something green so I nuked broccoli (little trees btw), stuffed sticks through the dawgs for Mila and Silas, squished ketchup on their plates and did not stuff sticks into Jacks, but prepared for him a multi-grain sprouted something or other bun with only mustard, bon apetit" or what ever. And they ate! Even the green stuff. good deal.<br />
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I also got to supervise the darlings yesterday! Do I look like a nanny? Or even a good person? Someone should contact the authorities. In any case I treated the darlings to frozen yogurt with three toppings and then took them off to a park so they could run off the sugar ingested from gummie bears, marshmallows and mini M&M's. Swell. So they ran around and gamboled and I studiously ignored any grievous misbehaviour and tried not to think of all the germs that had to be breeding rampantly on the swings and stuff and just closed my eyes to the backed up water fountain that ALL the children were using. Parks are gross. The mother arrived, the girl child had a freak out and I left.<br />
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I had the opportunity to go to WalMart after my park stint. You should be particular which WalMart you frequent. No really. You should. Barring that perhaps just not going to WalMart is OK too. None the less, off to WalMart I went with the sole purpose of buying syringes for the @#%^& dawg who requires twice daily insulin injections. And some fascinating people watching. Have you received copies of the WalMart shoppers email? Tasteful shots of some folks who have no access to a mirror. It makes its way around annually. But back to my personal experience, yesterdays winner was the plus sized woman in a HUGE leopard print Sari or something all in black and yellow and gold with a matching (not) head scarf in an understated fluorescent pink shade. Eyes watering, I made my way to the nearest exit. You can't leave WalMart in a hurry because then the store police assume you have "borrowed" stuff. The exit walk has to be fairly precise. I was safe because I only had one item and I had a receipt for it. Thank God. You know I've seen three shoplifting take downs at my neighborhood market in the last year. I've lived in some pretty shady areas in my life and Vacaville is certainly not the worst of the worst, but three take downs at a relatively upscale market? Either they have no sense of humor with theft or Safeway just builds thievery into its working budget. What say you? Maybe I just need a life.<br />
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None of my valuable work opportunities panned out last weekend. I had (count them) three gigs to choose from and not even one came to fruition. See paragraph one.<br />
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I've resumed my gym attendance. In fact I was supposed to go to a yogalates class this morning, but I forgot. They have new recumbent bikes. So usually I sit on one of them and pedal furiously for a time and listen to a book and play Mah Jong or Words w/Frenemies. That way time goes faster and I can ignore the weird little ancient man in the black Adidas who always shuffles in after me and always sits on a bike next to me and pretends to read the paper. creepy. The other day I decided to incorporate some weights and other machine torture to my routine and the creepy guy followed me in there as well. ew. Someone take pity on my and treat me to a nice full body liposuction so I can be safe. Really.<br />
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OK, so I've read the <u>Hunger Games</u> and the sequels. Go ahead and read them. But basically the message is Government is bad and corrupt. Revolution happens. There are losers, they are punished. And there are winners. They might be bad. Brand new shiny Government is formed. Government is bad and corrupt. Good is bad. Bad is good. Rinse, repeat. You're welcome.<br />
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What else am I reading? Rick Riordan and the Tres Navarre series. Irreverent private investigator in San Antonio. Yup Pulitzer material, and entertaining. Evidently he also writes some fantasy, sci fi stuff, but I don't hang with that genre usually, so I have no review to share. I just finished the Dismas Hardy series, by John Lescroat (lawyer in San Francisco, irreverent and a winner.) If you really want weird, and who doesn't? I recommend the Donovan Creed series and please, start with the first one and read in order or you'll miss a big, important part. They are written by John Locke. He also writes a series with Emmett Love. Also entertaining. If you like weird and just outlandish. Katie, you would be a fan because everyone is just a hot mess and I know you like that. Think Gramma Mazur as the normal one. You get my drift.<br />
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Tomorrow is current #1 son-in-laws birthday. He's #1 cause he'll be forty. Lordy lordy. I should mail him a card with a pithy, witty message. Perhaps I'll just send him the other #1 son-in-laws card from January that I never sent. The sentiment is the same for all of them. Except #3 son-in-law. The #3 son-in-law is OK with me having my drivers license taken away down the road and being required to ride the seniors community bus to get around. It will be a very long time till he digs his way out of that nonsense. Planning my revenge as we speak.<br />
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I have to confess that the trip that was planned for a great family outing to Disneyland, the Grand Canyon and Carlsbad/Loving, New Mexico fizzled and died. I'm not really that chuffed about it, but the newest grandson has not had the benefit of my "special" attention. And his hair is a mess.<br />
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But really, ain't he just the cutest lil thang? <br />
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I'll leave you with that. Au Revoir mon amis.<br />
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Cheers,<br />
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SquidgySquidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-47389728821048603392012-03-21T12:05:00.000-07:002012-03-21T12:05:06.036-07:00While I was on hold this happened...My mantra for the day is be <em>strong</em> and think <em>positively</em>. As I was pushing the yard waste bin through the over-growness that is our back yard this afternoon, the aforementioned bin tipped and sent me flying in to the swamp that is the decorative frog spawning pond mentioned some time ago whilst the grandchildren were visiting and shaking us down for money. I was <em>strong</em> enough to save the iPhone from a drowning and I'm <em>positive</em> I won't be doing any more gardening during the last few pathetic years I have left. So there you have it. Happy days. I might mention that the pond is full of nasty little frog stuff and a great deal of lawn debris courtesy of an abhorrence to gardening on my part and complete and total indifference on the part of the spouse. I am also <em>positive </em>that I will have a word with the spouse. <br />
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What else has happened? The youngest daughter asked me to baby sit her three offspring. Being a wise mother she did not tell the little darlings who was coming up to visit and in no way warned them that she and her beloved were scampering off for a night of debauchery on St. Paddy's day. Once the parents made good their escape, little Mila, who only the other day thought I was the very best g'mother in the world (and she would have been correct) while I was squiring her around the zoo, now determined I was the epitome of all that is evil and wrapped herself up in the canopy over her little bed and refused to acknowledge my existence, nay screamed bloody murder at the sight of my visage. I wisely took refuge in the living room, winced at the sound of the door slamming behind me and the boys and I entertained ourselves with a couple movies, Rio and How to Train Your Dragon if you must know. I made one more attempt at winning her over that resulted in her squiggling out of my loving embrace and propelling her little unpleasant self back to the sanctity of her <strike>dungeon</strike> room, slamming the door once again. I can take a hint. I am not a good sitter, but the children amuse me nonetheless. The girl child finally exhausted herself and fell to sleep. Of course the two boys were still up and watching the TV when the parental units made their return. But we all sat around and watched some more TV and finally we all went to bed. The next morning was a little rough because the boy children had not had their usual allotment of hours in the sack there were many highs and lows of moods. The girl child had had way more than usual number of hours of sleep and was gratingly in good humor, though a little hungry. I made my escape a little after noon when the prospect of ice skating with the little family seemed a disconcerting certainty</div>
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I may have neglected to mention that it snowed in Cool too on Saturday. The children and their mother made a snow man. Because it snows once in a blue moon in Cool, the children have all the requisite snow garments. Snow garments have not changed much since I was a child with the possible exception that we no longer have to grow the plant and weave the material to make snow garments. What I mean is, it took a lifetime to put all the stuff on, find the gloves, put the boots on the correct feet and what not. Then the little darlings went scampering out to the white coldness and fussed around for awhile only to come back in just nanoseconds later so all the stuff could come off, get hung to dry,a few minutes would pass and the whole process began over again just minutes later. This just made me tired. </div>
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I am not too old to remember the "getting dressed to go out and play in the snow procedure" happening to my brother and I when we lived in Nebraska (yes Nebraska, I'll tell you all about it later) and mummy would dress us all up in our wintry outfits and we'd go out for about 3.5 minutes and want to come back in. My mother was wise to us though and I believe we had to stay out for a certain length of time, probably 20-30 minutes though in Nebraska it probably felt like days and it was dang cold. Except for the time when I drove my brothers sled in to the concrete ditch and the bottom of the hill and crashed mightily and fractured some ribs and had a concussion. My aim for the plywood bridge was off slightly. I was allowed back in the house right away. And this was before any nosy gomment agency butted in with child protective services! The parents became somewhat concerned when all I wanted to do was sleep. So off to the emergency room it was. As you can tell, there has been no lasting damage. lol</div>
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I was engaged to watch a horse settle in who had just been imported from Ireland a week ago. And I spent a good long weekend doing that very thing. I watched it roll, scamper, buck and frolic. When I wasn't watching, it jumped out of its paddock and made good its escape. Awesome. Happily it wasn't that interested in being free for very long and was soon captured. I don't know why it didn't continue to jump out, but I am relieved to state that the owners came home way before that could happen again on my watch. It is a simply charming horse with buckets of personality and I took loads of videos of it that didn't actually get recorded, but I sent them on to the new owners anyway. No Oscars coming my way for shots of the dirt and the inside of my pocket. The owners are far too well bred (lol) to comment on my failure to get movies to them. But they have the same phone and probably know what a challenge all this modern technology is to us. I'll have another opportunity to watch it beginning next week. Perhaps I'll obtain a naughty horse cam to help with the watching duties. jk</div>
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I've been told that these attempts at literature have a tendency to be too lengthy. So to y'all I'll say adieu for now. Maybe something interesting will happen or I'll remember some snippet that might amuse you, I am not optimistic.</div>
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ps: so slowly I turned...not really. But the phone slowly made a death spiral and I was forced to replace it. Note to self. Buy the bloody insurance. Dammitall. I then made my way to daughter Lindseys and assuaged my grief in a nice bottle of Pinot. Lemonade dears lemonade...</div>
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<br /></div>Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-53463033594915628442012-03-08T15:24:00.000-08:002012-03-08T15:24:14.887-08:00tv postThe spouse watches reality TV shows that originate almost exclusively from Georgia. This is very disturbing. Take Auction Kings, please. It centers around a family of auctioneers in, where else? Georgia. That would be enough for most people, but I digress. In the last episode he watched, a shrunken head was on the block. I mean really. Really? Really. Not good.<br />
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Last night he/we watched Toddlers and Tiaras. Now this is show about mothers who wasted their youth and must now live vicariously through their offspring. They subject the spawns of their loins to baby beauty pageants. So very wrong on every level. So these mothers (and fathers and grandmothers) spend thousands of dollars on little hooker dresses and doll their kids up in false eyelashes, pounds of makeup, spray tans and false finger nails. If the child has the gall to say lose a tooth, or not have a perfect array of ivory, then false teeth are inserted, they call the false teeth a flipper. I call it revolting. The hair styling is probably the most disturbing. If you would take a look at your pictorial of Marie Antoinette before the beheading, you will get a pretty good idea what the hair looks like. Simply a.m.a.z.i.n.g. Not enough to just to have toddlers parade around in their little hooker dresses, some pageants have...bathing suit competitions carefully disguised as "costume of choice". Ok, I just got a little sick in my mouth. But by far the most disturbing of all is what these "mothers" will feed their offspring to get, hmmm oh right their energy up. One child proudly announced she'd just downed five Pixie Sticks in about two minutes. A Pixie Stick is essentially fruit flavored sugar in a straw. Another parent was a little sneakier when she forced her two year old to drink cokes for the buzz. Where's a cop? Now I realize that I am being judgemental and narrow focused, but really? Baby Beauty Pageants? Excuse me while I go shower.<br />
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More? Of course. There are the reality cooking shows, not from Georgia necessarily but I know one took place in Texas, close enough. Anyway, bad manners, foul tempers, lots of tattoos (de rigour iffn you cook evidently) horrible hair and above all terrible shoes. There are shows where you have to make something edible using all the ingredients in a mystery basket. Why only just the other night there was the leftover basket. Pot roast was one of the leftovers. Dangerously close to being dry and over cooked on a good day, this chunk o meat had long passed its die by date and was a drab brownish gray and begged to be fed to the dog you don't like. One of the wannabes made Tempura out of slabs of this. Great idea to fry already overcooked meat. Not. The judges were not pleased, but it was a good enough, or not as terrible as someone else's, offering to move on to the next level. Tragic.<br />
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Dance Moms is on tap for the recording queue too. Fat, big mouth dance instructor who badgers tiny ballerinas and puts them in suggestive and inappropriate costumes all the while haranguing the mothers who pay valuable money for the privilege. Riveting.<br />
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One of the spouses most favorites is Dual Survival. So you take one ex Army ranger type and pair him with a "live off the land pseudo hippy type freak", and drop them both in some inhospitable locale, give them a toothpick or something as their only tool and expect them to survive together in the wilderness. Hint: they always get out of it, but sometimes they have to eat worms or something.<br />
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Not enough for you? How about Sons of guns? Swamp Loggers? Ice Road Truckers? Women Behind Bars? Right now I want all of you to feel sorry for me and buy me that IPad I so dearly must have. Only one of you responded to my last entreaty and Malcolm? that your wife would not like it is scarcely an excuse. Step up man.<br />
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I'm going to go make some chocolate chip cookies now and drown my sorrows in butter and sugar. Tonight we have the Top Chef reunion and I must be readySquidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-4034595261016744172012-03-08T10:29:00.000-08:002012-03-08T10:29:21.746-08:00One more thingDateline One Week Ago:<br />
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I was driving to Sonoma yesterday to be the trabajando du jour for HSM when I spotted a telephone pole just lying on the side of the road at a "it just fell there angle". And I just thought to myself that nothing good could have come from the circumstance of a telephone pole just laying there because it probably had to have fallen off something and since it was still there, either whoever was driving the something didn't notice the pole had come loose and dropped to the ground on a busy road, or didn't care. In any case eventually someone had to come along behind this situation and therein lies the problem. So there it was when I drove in in the morning and still there when I drove by on my way home. There's a story in there somewhere. Just like the car with the gigantic, pumpkin sized hole in the windshield. It had all the requisite spidering that comes with splintered auto glassn and was parked or stopped suddenly on the side of the road on the way to the Two Rock Event Center in Petaluma. One time I drove by and there were many cops examining the car, like WTF, and I had to put my phone down until I passed., but the car stayed there, as a matter of fact it was still there when I made my escape from Petaluma on Monday last.<br />
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I lived through the house sitting of two weeks unscathed. I was neither bitten nor kicked. Nothing died or ran away which is considered something of a victory to me. That's not technically true. A mouse met its end in a trap which completely grossed me out. I had a day or two of angst debating whether or not to ignore it and its deadness or man up and remove it from the trap and dispose of it. In the end, I picked it up trap and all with the manure fork and threw it in the dumpster avec trap. Another day whilst dutifully examining drinking water levels in the containers, I noticed the shadowy outline of something dead on the bottom of one. That grossed me out too. I had to dump the water barrel and fork the dead thing up and toss it in the field. I couldn't make it to the dumpster because I was gagging. Oh, it was a rat. I amaze myself. And you should be amazed as well.<br />
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Dateline A Week Later:<br />
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I have survived a weekend of grooming at an event. It has been a very long time since anyone trusted me with their horses while they are there to see me do my uh magic. I even braided! And remembered why, back in the day, I considered it a very good investment to have someone braid for you. Nonetheless, the mane stayed tied up in knots in spite of the slippery thread used to bind the hairs together. Good equipment is vital to a professional outcome. The horses did look pretty good as they went off to do their various jobs of the moment. There was that rather unnecessary episode of one of the horses taking exception to yours truly and punishing me by tearing the lunge line out of my delicate paws and ripping around with the line flying behind her... twice. My beloveds comment was less than sympathetic. He marveled that I wasn't fined or scolded by the judiciary committee of the horse show and subsequently had some sort of sanction foisted on me. I believe we call this wishful thinking.<br />
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I saw my little friends Sue and Linda. They may be the two people who read this blog and as such have a rather high ranking in my appreciation book. At any rate we do seem to have a lot in common such as impatience, intolerance and a jaded view of life in general. I admire that in a person. Sue is flogging jewelled spur straps, vintage stock pins and new this year, lapel pins in a little cottage industry venture. Because I am a really fantastic friend and find stuff out, I discovered one of my other friends was in need of a stock pin and brokered a deal to exchange goods for valuable money and therefore have ingratiated myself in to the lofty aura of the babes from So. Cal. Even to me that made no sense. But you may take my word for it that she has really groovy stuff and had I a magnificent steed to ride I would be giving her all my money so I could have all her shiny stuff. I like shiny as you well know.<br />
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My little friend Horse Show Mom was my companion at the show. We got to share a room in the hotel together along with three children, one of whom is the offspring of HSM. I will tell you right now that I do not find it adorable that she whined piteously about the delicate and infrequent snores I make in my sleep, while she babbles on incessantly in <em>her </em>sleep. How cute was it that both Mom and daughter won their respective divisions? The daughter had a mention of her win in the Jr. Training division in a popular Eventing website marveling at her age and all that. The mother was not mentioned which is somewhat ironic, but you might of had to have been there. FYI Novice Horse is not Advanced. Inside joke, but some of you might get it.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVFl_e2ZLsFMOVMsFlRwYIzWns1aCWwGiuliWsDH8bABzsNuNDCgpgbYAbC_N7uiUYN6k-tukzN-mY2P5eub8bQPBZ1E6xnn4gqTh6Ghr5zWT5nuhubZHJVcOyHM61H5MFKd6XzG1Id5s/s1600/66033477_07944fabb7_t.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVFl_e2ZLsFMOVMsFlRwYIzWns1aCWwGiuliWsDH8bABzsNuNDCgpgbYAbC_N7uiUYN6k-tukzN-mY2P5eub8bQPBZ1E6xnn4gqTh6Ghr5zWT5nuhubZHJVcOyHM61H5MFKd6XzG1Id5s/s1600/66033477_07944fabb7_t.jpg" uda="true" /></a>Not that you'll be surprised, but I did make a rather spectacular gaffe in the middle of a lot of people I didn't know. So I saw this enormous horse trailer with human living quarters as well as horse quarters and lots of awnings and solar panels and pop out rooms and what not parked near where I knew one of my friends was parked. Thinking she must have just purchased this rolling brothel looking contraptions, I came around the corner and queried, querulously, who owned the rolling house of ill repute. Well, it became almost instantly apparent that it did not belong to my friend at all. No, it belonged to someone I did not know, nay, never had laid eyes on in my life. And she immediately demanded to know if I had just called her a prostitute. I recovered rather more quickly that you'd imagine and replied that if she owned the rolling brothel then that would make her a madam. She was mollified by that assessment, agreed the trailer could be used for that profession on the side and offered me a drink, which I took, out of politeness only of course, and we got along just fine from there. Always remember to make lemonade out of your lemons. And leave after your one polite drink...<br />
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I enjoyed a day at the zoo with the grandchillens yesterday. We also had a picnic and played on the slide and spiderweb, (don't ask - I never saw the point of it, but the little tykes evidently knew what to do so all needs were served.) We pulled a wagon with our stuff in it, but not with the children in it as was my intention, but they walk now so there you go. Little Silas wore bright orange Crocs which I know used to belonged to his brother. That was a long time ago. They were not cute then, nor are they cute now, but it would seem they have the shelf life of a Twinkie and they do not look any different today than they did years ago. While a good investment dollar wise, really, they are super awful to look at and the stupid little charms you can spend valuable money on just make them look like really ugly decorated pixie shoes. Well that was emotional wasn't it? Back to our adventure at the zoo. My favorite creature of the day had to be the baby orangutan who was scampering about with a sheet over its body. It looked like a little ghost and here it was not even close to Halloween. Seemingly it was important that it be covered as we returned for another viewing after a bit and it had a large piece of heavy paper over its head. I have a picture, but the IPhone won't share.<br />
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I have quite a few house sitting gigs set up which means that I won't have any horse show news for y'all. What it does mean is I will be earning valuable money which makes the spouse happy and cranky at the same time. He's very complicated and complex. And not very tidy. He has a new cat at work, well not new or probably even young, but new to him. He likes having his own pet and the cat amuses him. It (the cat) prefers to sleep on the desk between my beloved and his computer keyboard and tolerates the typing on the keyboard bit of computing but takes some exception to the use of the mouse. I think the reason for that is obvious, but the spouse doesn't get it. Do you? My beloved is somewhat useless in the administration of medication for the creature and it has worms. I bought a de-wormer for it because worms are disgusting and provided the spouse with the cat piller device, but because he's a man he can't seem to work out how to use it. We had the same problem with the Starbucks Via coffee this morning. It's instant dear. Pour hot water over it. Voila! Running out of coffee for the machine is a really bad thing. And having to demonstrate the making of instant coffee is embarrassing. Pilling the cat really only has two options of places to insert the cat piller. The mouth is the right one. FML The cat is Siamese and talks a lot. Naturally the only civilized name for a Siamese cat is Meow C Dung but sadly it has another name, it is pathetic and I won't bother you with it. Suffice it to say some of the guys at the Fairgrounds named it and it is not descriptive or good.<br />
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I take myself off to the land of the privileged tomorrow to put a beady eye on a new horse who arrived from the Land of the Shamrocks the other day. Seemingly the proud new owners have pressing obligations elsewhere and need someone to <strike>blame </strike>watch over the new addition that it doesn't take the opportunity to jump out of its enclosures. It's a jumping horse folks, what do you think it will do if it finds it needs to go somewhere else? At any rate I seem to have fooled them in to thinking I am knowledgeable or at least alive and can handle the many opportunities for inopportune events. Naturally I will keep you apprised of the happenings. Hopefully the most exciting thing to happen will be dinner with friends. Or drinks.<br />
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Remember to "spring forward" on Sunday. I can't figure if you get more or less sleep, my mind doesn't work. (that way) But I assure you it will still be light when you finish your chores at night and that is a good thing.<br />
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Cheers,<br />
Squidgy<br />
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</div>Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-74037587530904210202012-02-10T14:40:00.000-08:002012-02-10T14:40:10.717-08:00Greetings from PetalumaIt's a misty, rainy day here on the west coast. I was reminded of England and the fabulous weather one is accustomed to in that clime, but no one is driving furiously on the wrong side of the road and there are few stone walls. So I'm not there, I'm here and as I said it is raining. I am gainfully employed for the next ten days or so while the lord and lady of the manor are in Hawaii where they are not cleaning stalls or mucking about in the mud. Bully for them. I, however, have cashed the check and have some vague sense of responsibility to perform the duties set forth at the behest of her highness. Besides which I am deathly afraid to piss her off.<br />
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For instance. A horse arrived here at the Two Rock Event Center for the Equestrian Arts and Sciences and I, foolishly it seems, put a blanket on it at night that looked like it had perhaps come with said horse. Even more foolishly I mentioned to the lady of the manor when she called for the 400th time that day, that the horse had indeed arrived, settled in nicely and oh by the way it came with a really nice blanket. Herself was on that in a flash with all the what does it look like (the blanket, not the horse) where was it and on and on and on like that. Might I mention that it was about 9:30 at night by now? Anyway, so <em>she </em>finally comes to the conclusion that the blanket in question did not belong to the new horse, but was Killers spare/extra/special/private blanket and therefore sacrosanct, whatever that means. (see <em>It felt like a bomb went off but there was no noise </em>for the Killer reference. I would have used footnotes but well never mind) In any case it was beginning to sound like I was going to be ordered down to the barn to change that blanket right now in my jammies, but I desisted. Eventually I got <em>her </em>off the phone, but <em>she</em> then pestered and peppered me with text messages till I promised that taking that blanket of the new horse would be my only priority the next day, probably before first light. Happily I was able to call <em>her </em>the next morning @ 7:00 my time to inform <em>her</em> that the blanket was off the horse, the horse had been scrupulously examined for any sign of skin disease, was found to be clean and oopsie forgot there is a two hour time difference and how did Maui look at 5:00 in the a.m. anyway? Small victories.<br />
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Their highnesses have left behind two dogs and a cat, in addition to the eight horses, and all but one of these house animals must be medicated. The dog I don't mind as Maxine is mostly bluster and no substance since that unfortunate incident a million years ago when she tried to bite me in the face. No, it's the cat. Now I know many of you are cat people and, in fact, I too, like cats. But pilling a cat is an entirely different story. And I don't care how easy you think it must be, cats hate to have anything shoved in their mouths. Not that I blame them, but still... Since the cat hates the pilling and by extension me, it cowers under the big bed in the master bedroom. And being a cat it knows to the precise millimeter how far under the bed it must go to avoid being dragged out by yours truly for its twice daily medicine. So this means I have to go out to get the dust mop and badger the cat till it makes an error in calculation thereby allowing me an instant of opportunity to grab its tail or leg or what ever and drag it out. Then it just yells at me. It could be a Siamese cat for all the caterwaltering (lol, I just spell checked that and it suggested grandchildren) it puts forth. I am happy to report that as of yet it has not scratched or bitten me. I fear things will go south with an unfortunate rapidity should either of those misfortunes befall me.<br />
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The house animal who does not require medication is a Border Collie. He is intense. He also insists on constant interaction in the form of a toy, in his case a nasty round Frisbee thing, a ball, a bully stick or anything else that can be thrown. I am a pathetic thrower and he feels sorry for me. I don't care and just a few minutes ago I threw the nasty round Frisbee thing in to the shower tub with the glass doors and closed said doors. He is staring at the shower. This may go on for the next ten days. I'm OK with it.<br />
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Last Saturday the spouse and I got up at some unholy hour to meet up with the middle daughter and her family so we could drive to some high school to watch the youngest son wrestle in a tournament. I am troubled by the wrestling outfits. I am also troubled by the little elf shoes wrestlers wear. All in all it was a troubling day. I asked a friend of mine if her kids had wrestled in school as they had done every other known sport. But she said no, they just liked to wear the outfits. This too added to the troublesomeness. At any rate the son wrestled in like four bouts or whatever they call them and then we left and high tailed it back to the sanctity of our little abode and huddled on the couch. <br />
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I have a new phone. A white iPhone 4s to be precise. (Designed in California. Assembled in China) I feel so modern. That I can only utilize and/or understand about 1% of the features is negligible. Well, to my mind anyway. I'm pretty sure the spouse will and does have and entirely different take on the matter especially in light of the fact that while I did have upgrade eligibility and a new phone discount I no doubt could have filled my car up six time with gas for what the phone cost. But I'm pleased and what more could you ask for? Funny you should mention that ask for thing, I now want an iPad. The new one of course. Surely I will have no need for anything more in my life once that need is satisfied? Maybe one of y'all will take pity on the spouse and take the burden of that purchase on your own generous self? Thanks mucho. Much obliged. Anyway back to not utilizing my new iPhone to the extent of its capabilities, I just transferred all my contacts (444 btw) via the transfer contacts app (don't ask) and now I have many many duplicates of what I had to begin with. I understand from looking at the Verizon website, that I may reserve a spot in an iPhone 4 class to be held at my local Verizon store. This intimidates the hell out of me. Perhaps I can get the spouse to go for me or barring that with me. How 'bout it huni buni? xxx.<br />
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I fear that it is time to go pester the horses for the afternoon session of cleaning up after them and feeding them dinner. They are not grateful. They will, in fact, be rather obstreperous about the timing, quality and quantity of the dinner. I will be cold and wet, so I won't care. That's why I get paid the big bucks!<br />
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Cheers,<br />
Squidgy<br />
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<br />Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-86043509907427685942012-01-30T17:43:00.000-08:002012-01-30T17:43:48.546-08:00Happy Birthday Liz!<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
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So my oldest friend, that is to say the friend who I've known the longest turned <strike>58</strike> another chapter over last week with the celebration of the day of her birth., She will no doubt be quite happy to point out that she is not the age accumulation oldest, nor even as old as me. My fathers birthday was on the same day, but since he's gone on to the great B-52 in the sky we only celebrate Liz's anymore.</div>
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I met Liz at the tender age of 13. <img alt="Guam Island Seal Vinyl Stickers/Decals 8" x 5"" src="http://thumbs4.ebaystatic.com/m/mpTLLxQD08NqTSKhGXsan7A/140.jpg" title="Guam Island Seal Vinyl Stickers/Decals 8" x 5"" /></div>
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She moved to Guam with her parents in <strike>1966</strike> during that Viet Nam altercation. I had already served a year there and had my posse of friends. I use "I have lived on a small island in the south pacific" line all the time in that fun fun game three truths and a lie. It never fails. I digress. Anyway, Liz's daddy was a mega-giant rank wise in the USAF, sporting one maybe two stars on his shoulders which in any case made him a big shot on the base. Big enough shot that when he came to Guam he also made a new golf course happen. Liz will deny this of course, but I maintain it was the scuttlebutt of the day, and who am I to argue with history? Live with it LK. So I met Liz at school, Dededo Jr. High, and was so sorry for her with her unfortunate blue, sparkly, bat wing glasses, braces on her teeth and curly hair that I (with my uber cool friends) only managed passing and grudging hellos in the hall. In Jr. High I was a mean girl. Still am. At any rate I was no prize in the looks department, but I didn't have braces or glasses so there. I was going to include a picture of each of us in those unfortunate days, but my year book has vanished. tsk. tsk. </div>
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Soon enough I was whisked away from the island to the sultry climes of Louisiana to begin high school. Not so long after that Liz appeared there as well. My other best friend, Annette, and I were chivied off to the "big manse" which belonged to the M. Gen. John Kline to welcome his daughter to the "fold". Annette had also resided on Guam at the same time as Liz and I. Annette and I , even then too cool for school, were relieved that Liz had shed the ugly glasses and braces and had managed something respectable with her hair and we considered being friendly with her if only to get the parental units off our collective butts. Mrs. Kline sat with us for a few minutes then went off to order the help around and the three of us stared for a long time at each other. Then Liz said, "I'd give anything for a fag." To which Annette and I, always prepared, said "We've got fags." and our friendship was sealed. This is Liz smoking...something...on the hood of my dad's VW. We used to steal that car all the time. Finally my dad gave me a set of keys of my own. Perseverance and all that.</div>
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<img border="0" gda="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijN6DgVUjvLNlI1aMykh8l-ix5btPOo64QX5Oq_bMDevzrHiRf4ztwT-yIrJyPkMMYtcXV1YRFwC0gb5BtVO-6PVBw5xoaMh4v7HzMne0AusPsKHfdhXDESeQyNlbRF7i0q8FNzxyeSzg/s200/Liz+smoking+012.jpg" width="200" /></div>
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Annette and I had a spot of bother at the local public school, that is to say we hated it and had enrolled in the spiffier private "academy" run by the Daughters of the Cross. Liz arrived way too late to join us in the land of school uniforms and nuns and had to go with the proletariat at Airline High. Meanwhile, Annette and I took the bus to downtown Shreveport to join the privileged in our Catholic education. Nonetheless, Liz and I grew closer due mainly to the fact that we both had horses and those horses took us away from the ever watchful eye of my mother in the guise of long rides. And we compared notes about the in crowds at our respective schools and made nefarious plans for our weekends.<br />
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Our weekend plans usually involved taking the bus from the base to downtown Shreveport. Since my parents played golf on the weekends and weren't about, we usually met at my house to put on our hippy clothes and looking really scruffy, ill kept and hip slipped out without parental advice as to what we should be wearing. Dress regulations are so tiresome. We always followed the same routine. We were/are products of a military upbringing after all. Anyway, we went to a hotel for lunch for ham and cheese sandwiches which we chased with rum raisin ice cream. Then we would creep around the floors of the hotel which I believe may have been um residential. At any rate it was all done up in art deco with round mirrors on the dressing tables and big leafy patterns on the bed spreads and curtains. Then we would run out and start taking pictures of the local population with our Instamatic's. What we were really doing was looking for hippies. This was during the mid-60's and surely there had to be one or two hippies in Shreveport. Nevertheless we were successful in nabbing a couple of long hairs on at least one trip downtown, I have the picture. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Z5RBFi9ug4ap98P79pc96guf-helFtS22D-1Bbo9cG3854XozlbTjw4BpqDzmUaP9633nhgxeAlij1ew56n-dYfNyv8FsgaK_X4AyII7WbCJaoGN5uiA6dVqAadnizuj7PG-oZbHsOs/s1600/Shreveport+Moratorium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gda="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Z5RBFi9ug4ap98P79pc96guf-helFtS22D-1Bbo9cG3854XozlbTjw4BpqDzmUaP9633nhgxeAlij1ew56n-dYfNyv8FsgaK_X4AyII7WbCJaoGN5uiA6dVqAadnizuj7PG-oZbHsOs/s200/Shreveport+Moratorium.jpg" width="190" /></a> They were members of the Shreveport Moratorium Committee; concerned with that nasty bit of unpleasantness happening in Viet Nam and were collecting signatures of sympathisers to their mission. Quite happily, Liz and I signed the petition. What we didn't know was that copies of that petition found their way to the desk of General Kline who was less than pleased to find the signatures of his youngest daughter and her best friend. To put it politely, we were in deep shit. It seems when ones parental unit is employed by the great war machine of the age, it is considered non grata for ones offspring to protest said war. I mean they just could have said that but oh no, a full court high inquisition followed and we were chastened and I was probably grounded for a month or so for that particular sin. <br />
Eventually I was paroled and our lives continued. We were quite involved in the local party scene with other tykes our age. We discovered that Dr. Pepper and Bourbon was a nice mixture and tasted a little like a root beer float when mixed properly. We also like Colt Malt Liquor and Whiskey Sours all of which were drank bottoms up for as long as we were able. Malt Liquor was not a friend to Liz as it turned out. I discovered her in my room one night beating on my mouses cage with a curtain rod because Hector the mouse was running on his wheel and it squeaked. It was always dangerous to have a party at my house because my parents had an uncanny ability to ferret out any signs of misdeeds and I always got caught. Being lively and headstrong had no place in Colonel Marden's house I assure you. We never partied at Liz's house because along with her dad being a general and like that, her house was also occupied by the "aids" also known as house slaves as their mission in life was to set the table, fix dinner and rat Liz and I out on our many sins. There were two aids and they were the generals personal servants, but the Air Force paid for them. We liked only one of them, but he spent an inordinate amount of time cleaning Gen'l Kline's golf cleats and clubs. The other was creepy and noticed our footprints from where we had scaled down the wall from Liz's second story bedroom to the tool shed and made our escape at night when we joined the other thugs from the hood to swim in the officers pool at midnight. Your tax dollars at work.<br />
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My senior year of high school we moved. I had a boyfriend my parents actually approved of. Annette had flipped out and run off and married this guy named Clyde and Liz and I were closer than ever. Her parents, for whatever reason, actually invited me to live with them my last year, but the parents were not having any of that. FYI, if you find that you need to move and one or both of your kids are happy in the high schools they are going to you should not move them. Just sayin'. Your kids will be resentful forever. Anyway, we moved to Abilene, Texas. Arguably the arm pit of the nation at the time. I now know that perhaps Fresno has that distinction, but I didn't know that at the time. Or maybe not on reflection. It was not a good year. But Liz dutifully came for a couple visits and I went back to Shreveport for a couple so while it was really really horrible, it could have been worse...I guess. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPjp7zkL-_3g1-j8bRRwZsdPBbm7ZZoYSagd_K9Y_lCFdly33u13Q7gVolOswPN9njXkGSKZQ-16NNWjomVMkKMIRV-JKZ6VpJQdLrG_XQPK3oKOnRMjTtvliPeGjYMQF0kW4wxLyIfw/s1600/Hair+on+fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" gda="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPjp7zkL-_3g1-j8bRRwZsdPBbm7ZZoYSagd_K9Y_lCFdly33u13Q7gVolOswPN9njXkGSKZQ-16NNWjomVMkKMIRV-JKZ6VpJQdLrG_XQPK3oKOnRMjTtvliPeGjYMQF0kW4wxLyIfw/s200/Hair+on+fire.jpg" width="200" /></a>The year I turned 20 I went to Greece to stay with my parents for the summer. Here's a picture of me trying to light my hair on fire on my birthday. </div>
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Somehow we convinced Liz's parents that nothing would be more educational than for Liz to join me for the summer and after swearing she would pledge the Kappas or what ever in the fall, she came over and we took a foreign country by storm. We spent a huge amount of time traveling around the Greek islands via ferry and spent maybe 10 days or so on the beach on the island of Santorini during one especially long sojurn. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ3T5gqd_LnhCHsp4XPv4dVhjxdSjbxLLe3XZG7rQ0aQTfe04eP4hPZ5VeFHAqrUyGgruOnrbjqcd8lJCrOYyeWUsOA-VTj_gmioU4hpckpemzeWrJSMAG8EUT0KTX9QToAnkVZn6Z89U/s1600/Liz+on+beach+santorini.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gda="true" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ3T5gqd_LnhCHsp4XPv4dVhjxdSjbxLLe3XZG7rQ0aQTfe04eP4hPZ5VeFHAqrUyGgruOnrbjqcd8lJCrOYyeWUsOA-VTj_gmioU4hpckpemzeWrJSMAG8EUT0KTX9QToAnkVZn6Z89U/s200/Liz+on+beach+santorini.jpg" width="195" /></a></div>
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Here's a picture of Liz on the beach, nice suit btw. </div>
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And here's the spot we camped while we were there. Sadly the babe in the picture is me.</div>
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And these are the guys we met...Graham and Rick and they were from England so they had accents and thought we were cute. They had long hair. L-R Liz (with arm up, Rick and Graham)</div>
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Eventually, our visit to Greece ended and we traveled to our respective places, Liz to UT Austin and the welcoming arms of her sorority sisters and me to Chico to try to get an education. Over the years she has come to visit quite a few times. I am a bad friend, and she tells me this, and have never gone to Texas to visit her even though she lives in Austin. The last time we got together was sad. We met up in New Orleans to go the wake of our dear friend Annette who died suddenly at age 50 something. In spite of the gravity of the occasion, we did manage to have a fantastically good time. It's what Annette would have wanted in any case. That we partied with her husband and his best friends from his way back machine only added to the weird nostalgia of the thing. So we drank Manhattans and listened to old music (on records btw) and told stories of our lives. </div>
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So happy birthday Liz. You are now immortalized in the blog page of my life and forever in my heart. Peace on You.</div>
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Rush.</div>
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Cheers,</div>
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Squidgy</div>Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2025955224794091215.post-11977514843442347532012-01-20T14:50:00.000-08:002012-01-20T18:11:53.370-08:00Well, hello there!It is my most fervent hope that you have missed me. Sadly only a couple of you have suggested I write. Sigh. When last we spoke I was in the middle of getting over Christmas and travel and what not. So I managed to do all of that and now I am sitting patiently waiting for the biiiiiig storm that is not manifesting itself as such. Instead it is dismal, cold and gray outside, but dry. The guy at the smog place was crying pitiously yesterday, about the lack of snow so he could not terrorize the slopes on his snow board. He was also grateful that he'd not bought a season pass. I too was grateful. I was also grateful that my car passed the smog inspection with flying colors. Small thingies.<br />
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I went to a schooling horse show over last weekend. I went with Horse Show Mom and her brood. I'm not sure how I managed motherhood. I should query my own brood as to their interpretations/memories, or not. At any rate it is fun to go hang out with horse people and because it wasn't a "real" show the stress level was waaaaay down. I took care of the magnificent Kilo of previous writings. Such a grown up boy he is turning out to be. He got real tired. That was good. When he was done for the day his little nose was in the weeds hanging over his stall door. He was too knackered to do any of his annoying habits like dancing in place (weaving), biting, striking or neighing. All of this was good as it gave me ample opportunity to be bossy. Also, Steve, I didn't clean any stalls so there. Thanks HSM you were a trooper. <br />
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I also got to be a participant, though a blameless one, in the great police take down as we were driving home from Sushi Saturday night. It is some mystery why neither the driver of the car or me noticed we drove half way across town without the head lights being on. Further mystery why there are still cars that you have to turn your headlights on at all. Bad luck that the cop parked at Rite Aid did notice that very thing and pulled us over. He was a cute little thing. He also did not detect any drunkeness and so we chit chatted awhile and soon enough he told us that he was just giving a warning and let us go. This was probably the last bit of good luck for the year so it seems prudent to share with y'all.<br />
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On the way home from the show one of the dawgs of HSM vomited all over my lap. May I say right here that I was not amused and may I also say that the brood and the mother were very amused? It is hardly believable to say you're sorry and are you alright while peeing down your leg laughing? Exactly. Then, because horse show mom ain't too bright, she called me up yesterday to ask if I would adopt the vomiter! What is wrong with you HSM? Crimenty. No, I did not take him and not for those reasons only. There are many reasons. 1. He's a Jack Russell 2. he's not nearly close enough to death 3. we have three Jack Russells of our own that we don't like and 4. We just spent a small fortune on one of the dawgs we do have at the veterinary and fo sho don't need another.<br />
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Perhaps I should regale you with my tale of woe at the Veterinary Hospital the other day. We have a sick dog who needs evaluating from time to time. So I made a two o'clock appointment and managed to arrive on time, nay, early for the appointment. They kept me waiting in the lobby just long enough to be assaulted by the lady who was hawking SPCA t-shirts and since she actually had a 3xxxlt, which is Steve's size I felt obliged to buy one for him and, of course, one for me but not in that size. That bit of commerce taken care of we were eventually escorted by a student to room and the inquisition began as to the status of the dogs health. The fact that the dogs chart is easily three inches thick did not seem to concern her, so she asked all the vital questions like what kind of dog, sex, neutered?, weight, age etc. I patiently answered the obvious and was, as always, simply stunned that the chart wasn't reviewed at a minimum to discover those basic questions. However, the fun was just beginning though I didn't know it at the time. So then we progressed through the basic questions like why were we here? I have a snarky side and it was giving a mighty effort to come out, but I saw no value in antagonizing a student when there are bigger fish to fry. So I quelled my urge and said that Carlos had to come in every year so the real doc can write prescriptions for his meds and his special hideously expensive prescription diet. Because she has to see him at least that often to prescribe in good conscience. I might should mention that when the dog got sick initially, he lived in ICU at this very hospital for about two weeks and our final bill was over $10,000. It makes me twitch to think about. So anyway I have tried to explain to the staff, students, residents etc. that the dog is old and sick and we have limited funds so lets not do any expensive magic ok? At any rate during my interrogation by the student I mentioned that Carlos seems to collapse when he lays down. All the student heard was collapse. I also mentioned that the dog seemed to be much more disoriented since his return from the kennel when we took ourselves off to N. Carolina over Christmas. I also recounted other ailments that this poor dog has like some hearing loss and poor bladder control. In short, the dog is declining and I thought that was pertinent information. But as I mentioned, all she heard was "collapse". After twenty minutes or so of this back and forth about the "collapse" she finally left me alone and went to confer with her "boss" the resident.<br />
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Remember that 2 o'clock appointment? Well at 2:50 the student poked her little head in and said she was sorry about the delay, but Dr. Self Important would be along shortly. I said I was not amused and when offered an appointment I fully expected that my dog would be seen sometime close to the scheduled time. So the student got all wide eyed and informed me that this was a teaching hospital and therefore niceties and promptness had no place here. To which I replied, this would never happen in the real world and that my tenuous hold on my patience was at risk. So she wisely scooted out and about 15 minutes later the snarky Dr. Self Important came stomping in and thanked me, in <em>that </em>tone, for my patience. I said I was all over being patient and keeping someone waiting (me) for that long was not respectful and I resented the disregard she/the hospital had for my time. And then I stared at her. And she explained to me that I should know that all appointments will take all day. Then she told me I should have received a letter explaining all this to me. To which I replied that I'd not received any communication from her/hospital except for bills in the over thirty years I'd been coming to this facility. And further what was her point? I was here to have the dog looked at, not to discuss her poor time mangement skills. Well, Dr. Self Important did not like that one bit, but she agreed the dog's health was the issue and so she then began to ask me about the dog. She pretty much asked the same questions the student had, but was a little more concerned about the collapsing. I told her it seemed like a weakness in the hind end, but I was also concerned that he just would collapse in odd places like in doorways and the middle of the hall, not normal for Carlos who really used to like to have cover from the insurgents that were bound to attack at any minute and would always have a wall behind him covering his flank.. No doubt the dog was military in a previous life. I'm just guessing here that none of what I said had any impact on Dr. Self Important because the next thing I know she's scheduled the dog for about $1000 in blood and urine tests, ultrasounds and x-rays.<br />
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It seemed to me that that might be a bit much considering our usual financial status. So I called Steve and told him what was being proposed to which he said (and I quote) "tell them to f*** off". And I recommended that he talk to Dr. Self Important and get her take on it and so he did and since he hadn't been sitting in an ugly little room for and hour and a half by this point, he had a lot more tact and patience than I did. And by time the doc got through with him and guilt tripping him about the dog the testing was approved and Carlos was hauled out of there for his tests. @#%&*. The results were that the dog (still) had diabetes and probably (still) had Cushings and all the other stuff was within normal ranges. So there you have it. The vet will not call me back, opting, instead, to deal with Steve. Steve calls her Dr. Girl Friend so you can just imaging how that galls me and I have sworn off going to the vet school alone for the dog and I insist that Steve always take the damn dog in himself, because afterall it is his dog. Sucky. I feel so much closer to you after sharing. <br />
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I rode this week. I do not have a lick of sense so on Wednesday I rode three horses in a row. The next day I was crippled, but rode one anyway. Then I left and had my car smogged, bought some coffee beans and some shampoo (which I should use btw) and came home to discover that I could feel my back spasm and my abs scream. Perhaps I should pace myself. And go to the gym as often as I think I do. Whatever. It was nice to have someone get the horses ready so all I had to do was get on. I could get used to that convenience. There is a description of getting a horse ready to ride in a posting I made called "<em>It's Windy Today"</em> if you feel you need clarification. The long and short of it is you could spend your whole riding time allottment just getting ready to ride and never actually have the chance to get on ride.<span lang="EN" style="color: #3b5998; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 8.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f"> <span lang="EN" style="color: #3b5998; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 8.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f"> <span lang="EN" style="color: #3b5998; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 8.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" id="_x0000_t75" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f"> </shapetype></span></shapetype></span></shapetype></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJL8b5butdUtzmuu1FCDxpeWvSUhMROIiNnR6D99WIZfxnRJjgp_u0oKAxR44qdGXE1oowFsFMVLIn-8OHVGaSMPlE7rX_dhvwJAva7BLA2MntoJONq8S_gKNc4UV79P9ZwEh3TG-0heg/s1600/untitled.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nfa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJL8b5butdUtzmuu1FCDxpeWvSUhMROIiNnR6D99WIZfxnRJjgp_u0oKAxR44qdGXE1oowFsFMVLIn-8OHVGaSMPlE7rX_dhvwJAva7BLA2MntoJONq8S_gKNc4UV79P9ZwEh3TG-0heg/s1600/untitled.bmp" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: #3b5998; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 8.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f"><span lang="EN" style="color: #3b5998; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 8.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f"><span lang="EN" style="color: #3b5998; font-family: Tahoma; font-size: 8.5pt; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><shapetype coordsize="21600,21600" filled="f" o:preferrelative="t" o:spt="75" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" stroked="f"></shapetype></span></shapetype></span></shapetype></span>Life is good.<br />
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Cheers,<br />
<br />
Squidgy<br />
<br />
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<br />Squidgyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13150595749817896637noreply@blogger.com2