Happy Birthday Liz!

So, I started this birthday missive last week and trust me, it was hysterical and probably best work I've done to date. Sadly, and not unsurprisingly, I hit an errant button and "poof" the entire post vanished in to thin air. Now some of you will want to tell me things never disappear from dataland, but I have neither the expertise nor the will to commit myself to that search. In truth, I will not be able to recreate most of the post and but shall now effectuate the task trying to remember.

So my oldest friend, that is to say the friend who I've known the longest turned 58 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.

I met Liz at the tender age of 13. 

She moved to Guam with her parents in 1966  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. 

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.

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.

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.  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. 
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.

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. 

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. 

 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. 

Here's a picture of Liz on the beach, nice suit btw. 

And here's the spot we camped while we were there.  Sadly the babe in the picture is me.

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)

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.   

So happy birthday Liz.  You are now immortalized in the blog page of my life and forever in my heart.  Peace on You.

 Rush.

Cheers,

Squidgy

Well, 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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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 that 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.

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.

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 "It's Windy Today" 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.  

Life is good.

Cheers,

Squidgy

And a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you!

The festivities of Christmas are over.  The spouse and I have returned from our sojourn to the deep and dirty south.  We have shed our faux accents, although the phrase "Ah'm a gonna give ya'll a fist full of shut up if'n you don' cut it out!" will stay with me for a very, very long time.  Another Christmas memory to cherish.

I obtained a very healthy Xanax prescription before we left for North Carolina.  It just seemed prudent in light of the many circumstances we were apt to encounter whilst visiting.  Happily I did not need them and even more happily, I took them anyway...well I had paid for them after all.  So I spent the first couple daze in a haze and enjoyed myself.  We had a yummy luncheon with the spouses offspring  at a  (what else) BBQ place on our way to Asheville one day.  Picture this:  Pulled pork plate with sides of cole slaw (just slaw if you're from there) and hush puppies and two kinds of BBQ sauce.  Bliss.  I have some roots as a daughter of the south, but we just won't go in to that right now.  At any rate I luuuuuuve hush puppies and BBQ and Slaw so the visit was starting out to be just fine.  We then visited a truly depressing and worn out used book store in the hinky part of Asheville.  I really like old bookstores, but for what ever reason this one just made me want to hang myself.  Before you sit up too alertly, be it known that I did not hang myself, rather I played Dominoes on my phone, quietly...in the corner...alone in a Xanax enhanced euphoria.  Not soon enough we left and went to an arty gallery in a better (read expensive) part of town.  So I got better.

Another day we drove back up to Asheville to go shopping with mother of spouse, or M.I.L. (mother-in-law)  I wonder if Mike Tindall refers to P.A. as MIL.  Kinda like that idea.  I digress.  So we had another yummy lunch, this time at a place our current "Leader of the Free World" has been known to frequent.  He was not there on the occasion of our visit, but we were made aware that there is a plaque some where in the restaurant that proclaims this to be true.  So there.  Anyway, after another scrumptious meal we headed off to the gallery we had visited before, indeed had visited the time before this on another visit.  But whatever.  We shopped and had a grand old time before we headed off to the Biltmore Estate for a tour of the manse built by some Vanderbilt.  It was really big.  And really cool.  I could easily have lived there because there were so many bathrooms.  And there are quarters for the domestics downstairs near the bowling alley.  Not sure if that was on purpose or not.  It goes on my list of neat things I've seen, but for pure opulence and over-doing it, Hearst Castle wins by a fair margin.  The castles and what not in Europe etc. still win hands down for building homes that are just enormous for what ever reason.

We had a couple dinners with the good friends of my MIL during our stay.  I feel fairly confident announcing that we have had quite enough of the "churching up talk" to last a good long time.  But we also had great meals and we are grateful that they were Episcopalians so we could drink heavily.

The long dreaded Christmas eve at the starter wife's house came to pass without a hitch that I remember.  I do know that Steve was given a mostly unbroken horse of some suspect lineage by his former spouse.  The beast stands over 17 hands (5'8" at the wither, we've been through this so I shan't go further) is pretty dark haired and has the amusing propensity to run you over.  The ex-spouse recommended "Natural Horsemanship" to cure him of this habit.  I wait breathlessly for this to arrive to our home and hearth.  Oh right, his name (currently) is Biggie Small.  Lucky Stevie.  We think we should send it to Derek (you awake there sport?) for some "joining up".  Spread the joy as it were.  Happy Holidays!

So we got through Christmas day by visiting Spartanburg, South Carolina.  It is indeed spartan and the tallest building there says "Denny's" right on the very top.  We assume it means that that is the world famous world headquarters of the national (international?) chain of the same name.  We didn't go to Spartanburg to see that, though it would have been worthy of the visit in any case.  No, we went to Spartanburg to go to the movies.  War Horse if you must.  I think it falls on the "yeah, go see it" list, but at times it was pretty much "Black Beauty goes to War" if you know what I mean.  The horse was spectacular to look at, though he had a nasty stop in him. (if you don't ride, go ask someone what this means, I'm busy right now.)

And now we are home.  Sick with some vileness we procured on our travels.  Why even as I patiently type this missive to y'all, the spouse is moaning pitifully from his bed demanding I rush out, in to the cold no less, to gather up more sick room supplies.  Specifically 1.) Aloe Puffs 2.) Air Borne 3.) the fixins' for meatloaf and also for macaroni and cheese.  what.ever.Steve.

I saw two of my delightful children yesterday at Fairy Tale Town.  I also saw my Auntie, my cousins wife, my cousins daughter and two of her offspring and my own grandchildren.  And we had a grand old time watching the urchins scamper about the nursery rhymed theme park that I remember scampering about on when, a long, long, long time ago I too was a child.  In any case there were four generations of my family there and they varied in ages from one year to ninety years old.  I think that is pretty remarkable.  So cheers to us all.  pip pip

Since we are sick, we have no plans for New Year's Eve.  Since we are lazy we  also have no New Year's resolutions to proclaim.  And with that, I sign off for the last time in 2011!  Raise a glass and what not and a prosperous, happy New Year 2012 to all y'all.

Cheers,
Squidgy

Better Watch Out

Today was a banner day in so many ways.  Number one being the fact that I did not leave the house.  Number two, my mother-in-law friended me on FaceBook and finally, I finished a project in time for Christmas giving.  Enormous pat on the head!  What did you do?

After months of angst, I have finally discovered what became of my down comforter.  It's been missing and now that we are in the winter weather I need it on my bed to keep me comfy, warm and toasty.  Naturally I was quick to assume that the daughter of Steve mistakenly took it off to school and I was grumpy about that.  Then I started pricing similar comforters and was horrified to discover that I would have to give up about 10 tanks of gas to pay for it.  We've been huddling and shivering under the summer weight down blanket and a quilt which I assure you after many years of down puffiness when it is cold, down flatness is a poor substitute.  So anyway, I've been crying and whining and muttering and sending not so subtle hints about this catastrophe for some time now.  Last night I asked the spouse to send a text to his child to inquire if she had the comforter and if so would she bring it home so we could get it when we visit at Christmas and he said ok.  He said it in that way that you just know really means, "if you will just shut up I will agree to anything you have to moan and bitch about."  This being the case, I reminded him this morning to text the child and he said, "You know I think I might have that at the office from when I took it to sleep with when I had to spend countless evenings sleeping on the floor of my office during the fair."  He went on to say, "Would you like me to drop it off at the dry cleaners?"  This can only mean that I should probably, in the case of public health and what not, contact the guys in the hazard suits to come dispose of it.  I'd forgotten that little inconvenience for him, it in no way affected me.  So a conundrum.  Do I whine and cry because I still don't have a comforter?  Do I praise the addle-pated spouse for belatedly remembering that he was the culprit in the missing comforter case?  And more importantly, do I have to apologize to the child for defaming her character, or do I just keep quiet and assume that no doubt I missed some other egregious act and the defaming was warranted?  You just don't find the answers to stuff like this on Jerry Springer.  Or even Ellen.

I have many gifts to still buy.  Basically I have a mother-in-law, two son-in-laws, two daughters and a granddaughter done.  Which means one son-in-law, one daughter, one husband and four grandsons are giftless.  The daughters always say, "Oh Mama, you don't have to get us anything." and "The kids have all they need."   But they don't mean it.  I know they don't.  I'm not very good at remembering anniversaries and have a bit of a time with birthday presents, but Christmas?  Not too easy to forget is it?  And the "other" parents IE: my ex and his current will get them all something appropriate and tasteful and exactly what they want.  I have a lot of competing creativeness to do between now and then. 

And what do I want?  Oh, you mean besides world peace and good will towards y'all?  I was thinking of the 2012 Equine Coach.  Bonus:  We can live in it.  Bonus:  I'd have to get a horse to put in it.  Bonus:  We could move whenever we wanted without having to pack.  We move a lot.  I've never lived in a house longer than something like five years in my life and in the past ten years we've moved five times.  So if you think about it we'd be saving like a whole forest of trees if we lived in the equine coach just in not having to get moving boxes.  Always doing my part for the environment.  You're welcome.

So this time next week we'll have placed the doggies in puppy purgatory at the kennel, and should be winging our way to North Carolina for the holidays.  I've already regaled you with the anticipated expectations, great or not.  It's the holiday travel that has me in knots.  We leave on the 19th, which may be early and we might, just might miss the havoc that is holiday bad travel juju.  But we come home on the 26th.  Now tell me, is this a good day to travel or a really stupid idea in its entirety?   There is always the possibility of getting bumped due to the airline over selling the seats and the ever present opportunity to get free flights to where ever you want.  Conversely there is the danger of sitting next to Uncle Joe in the middle seat.  He will be grossly overweight and suffering from way too much brandy in his eggnog and a little too much stuffing in his gullet.  These types always like to tell you about every aspect of their lives with little regard to mortifying halitosis.  Since at that point Christmas will be over and therefore there will be no point in being good and watching out, I fear that my limit will be breached in a remarkably short time span.  The FFA frowns on cranky passengers.  I must desperately  hope for the free flight and the bumping it entails.  And speaking of bumping ticketed passengers.  WTF airline?  And what's with the $$charge for bags?  And in what level of sanity do you expect people to b.u.y. that swill you foist on them disguised as a meal?  I feel a full on "episode" coming my way.  Wanna go with?

But before we enjoy our trip, we must first get through this week.  It looks something like this:

Monday - nothing except the above noted highlights

Tuesday - go badger Honey and admire her horses then later, go have a boozy dinner with Chris

Wednesday - ride in the morning, thanks Andrea, and then have a boozy dinner with Linnea and Debbie and hopefully Megan and Lindsey. 

Thursday:  Thank God Steve finally turns fifty!  Act all lovey dovey.

Friday:  Have boozy celebratory dinner with family in extended birthday celebration of Steve's fiftieth

Saturday:  Go to boozy holiday party

Sunday:  Celebrate no booze

That about sums it up.  I was going to go to a boozy cookie party on Friday, but the hostess was invited to a better party which will involve dancing and dressing up and such like and so we all got the boot.  The hostess did ask if I would still send cookies.  I cannot print my response.

I hope you all have the holiday you deserve.  Or at least, deserve a holiday.

Cheers,

Squidgy

Hip Hop Dressage

If you're going to do dressage then fancy it up wit some hip hop music. I recommend hip hop dressage on You Tube.  You're welcome.

You're, your.  Can you tell the difference?  It's the apostrophe (that's the little teardrop between the "u" and "r" in the first example.)  The apostrophe means that the following letters are a contraction of a whole word.  As in You.....Are.  Like you're asleep in grammar class.  As opposed to "Let's go to your house." Unnerstand?  Practice makes perfect.  And you're isn't the only example.  I've used many apostrophes in this paragraph.  For extra credit can you find them all and tell me what the whole words were?  You're welcome.  Oh and please don't knock me off my high horse, you're and your and their, they're and there are pretty much the extent of my know it all stuff.

Yep it's that kind of week.  Post Thanksgiving doldrums.  Really too early to shop for those on your list as you have at least 24 20 days from today to get that hot mess done.  And too close to the "day" to spend money on your self.  Ergo, flat line inspiration.  Not that that has ever stopped me.  No sirree Bob.  Read on MacDuff.

Thanksgiving was fun.  The spouse and I got up early, around 10 in the morning, and drove to Cool for the festivities and enjoyed the grandchildren and their parents.  We had a lot of good food and amusing conversation.  We had the annual name your favorite movie segment, Megan said mine was Dirty Dancing and she may be right, but Princess Bride is right up there.  Conversely, Steve and Josh's were Full Metal Jacket, Apocolypse Now and Repo Man...See a pattern?  Sorry Malcolm, that awful movie we saw in Fresno a hundred years ago didn't even hit the radar screen.  So there.  We laughed about Thanksgivings past and agreed that you should hold the cardamon pods out of the pumpkin pie.  Then we left.  The other children had other plans and so did not get to weigh in on cardomon pods or favorite movies.  Better luck next time offspring.  We, however did not get to enjoy scalloped pineapple or the green bean casserole.  Trade offs.

Steve had had all the partying he was was going to enjoy after the feast so he did not attend the festivities Saturday night in Carmel Valley.  I, however, am always ready to partay and so off I went.  And enjoyed the party with the requisite glasses of wine and then waaay too many Cosmopolitans.  Sunday was a complete and total fog for me.  We went to breakfast, then came home and watched three movies and that was that.  Hangovers suck.  (No Country for Old Men,  Killer and Secretariat if you must know, and Secretariat is definitely one of my favorites!  Tommy Lee Jones can do no wrong, and Ashton Kutcher is a sucky actor.)

Speaking of Steve, he went to see Breaking Dawn with the middle daughter, Chang, and I a couple weeks ago.  I fully expected that he would be the oldest man there.  But I was wrong.  And it's even funnier that Derek went too, but not with us.  Steve and Derek did have very similar reviews of the movie.  If you would like to discuss them with them I can give you their emails by private treaty.  If that seems like a little too much work for too little gain...you're probably right.  I think the eye rolling is sufficient for our purposes.  Bella's dress totally rocked BTW, much better than Kathy Cambridges IMHO.

Today I practiced the fine art of Japanese T-shirt folding as per You Tube.  Like I said, slow news week.  And I can attest that it does work once you remember which is right and which is left and where points A, B and C are.  Devious.  I also changed the sheets on the bed, though that will make the dogs fussy as they have arrayed their nasty little hairs just so on the sheets and they were pretty well seasoned for their purposes and now I have washed that aforementioned sheets in blistering hot water, bleach and Tide in order to exorcise their remnants and now the babies will have to start all over.  If I were a rich man I'd have those sheets changed every day.  And ironed.  And they would be made out of linen.  And the dogs would be washed every day and would probably be better behaved.  Although I've heard that the Queeen of England is one of the richest women in the world and her Corgi's are nasty little ankle biters and not too keen on going outside to do their duty if you get my meaning.  (Sorry Alden, Chris and Sue..but you can't make this stuff up.)

We are venturing to the east coast for Christmas.  I could stop there, because that would be the right thing to do, but I won't because what I am about to be subjected to is just too weird not to share.  We will put the babies in kennel hell while we cavort in North Carolina for a week.  Steve's mummy is thinking about selling her house in Tryon, NC, so no tension there.  We'll no doubt spend Christmas day with my spouses starter spouse, so no tension there.  What could possibly go wrong?  My family is deeply weird there's no doubt about it, most everyone's family is some kind of weird, but just for a minute imagine  spending Christmas with your boyfriend/girlfriend/spouses first love, a doting mother and a teenager.  I keep telling myself that I'll be beautifully behaved at all times.  You know that's a lie.  And that there will be no tension.  You know that's a lie.  And the time will just fly by.  You know that's a lie.  Merry Christmas, Irish Coffee for everyone, and pass the bottle.  80 Proof Bottle of Tear Stopper.  I love George Strait.

When we return from the east, we'll do some sort of get together with the good   my family.  They have their own peculiarities, but I caused most of them so it's ok.  Hopefully no one will decide to embrace some weird dietary aberrance as they are wont to do.  We've been through the gluten free, vegan/vegetarian, and anti-carb/anti-meat diets.  None of them stuck.  and do you know why?  Because food that is bad for you tastes good and just exactly how long did you plan to live anyway?   I had a button once that said, "Live long enough to be a problem to your children."  Well I checked that box a long time ago.  I'm working on the g'children now.  It seems to be working.  I was pretty far down on the I Love so and so list the other day when I queried the girl g'child.  Her christmas present will reflect that.

You'll be relieved to know that the Squidgy house sitting gigs will be starting up early next year.  The regal ones from Petaluma will take their weary, wind ravaged, fog bound, dank weather selves off to Hawaii for two weeks.  I will be in residence at the casa praying for decent weather while they bask in the sun and waves and enjoy umbrella cocktail type drinks with the puu puu platters.  How nice for them.  I'll be changing out rain soaked horse blankets and picking out muddy hooves.  God help me and give me strength.  And a sense of humor.  I prefer temperate weather.  Not that anyone cares.  Fine.  

An update on the trip to Loving via automobile.  The son in law, who is in mortal peril of falling off the mother in law approval scale, not that he cares, none of them do, is wingeing a little bit.  I had all these wonderful entertainment ideas for our road trip, most of which involved me being incoherent, but he owns his own business and has some weird sense of duty.  A most unpleasant quality if you ask me.  Fun should always trump business.  The secret of my enviable success revealed.  However, if the trip happens, it will be in late February now.  Not in time to spend Valentine's Day in Loving.  I'll still buy chocolates for everyone and then eat them all.  Just always doing my part to save everyone else.  What. A. Saint...

And with that, the saddest part of your day..Adieu mon ami

Cheers,

Squidgy

Smile on your brother

Ahh the Youngbloods and God save ITunes DJ.  So that's what I'm doing, sitting around, doing nothing, listening to ancient music.  Oh, and waiting to go to Fresno...again.  With the three dawgs, the little truck and three hours of driving monotony.  Spare me.  On a high note, there's like a 50/50 chance of rain...or not, so an opportunity to pack everything you own.  neat.  I really shouldn't flaunt my extraordinary life, you must be so green with envy.  sigh

I went to Carmel Valley on Saturday to a TROTT benefit.  TROTT is an acronym (big word) for Training Racehorses off the Track. So I mingled with  fellow horse enthusiasts for an afternoon of music, laughs, wine and noshing.  TROTT, a worthy non-profit if you are looking for a place to put your extra money.  (http://www.trottusa.org/)  Chekkit out. 

I have agreed to go on a road trip with my youngest daughter, her delightful husband, he of the yurt for mama fame, and their three offspring, my adorable grand children, they of the money grubbing and tadpole massacring fame.  We are going to end up barking mad  I mean we're going to end up in Loving, New Mexico at some point.  Along the way I expect to  visit Disneyland and the Grand Canyon.  I've seen the former and I'm suspicious of the latter for obvious reasons.  So the grand urchins will be six, four and a half and two and a half.   Which means, in proper parenting, that only the oldest one will be able to fully enjoy the amusement park due to height restrictions and just plain meanness at the Happiest Place on Earth.  The youngest one will no doubt challenge gravity at the big hole, as he is fearless.  And the middle one will be desperately looking for a nail salon.  I'm also willing to bet that the parental units will think it's a must do to hike up or down the canyon  (or both) much to my angst.  They're like that.  I blame her father.   I must see what I can do for sedatives before we go.  As an added benefit the son-in-law has promised me that I can have a room to myself at the motels we stay in along the way as long as I include the children in my aloneness.  This is promising to be an epic worthy adventure.  If I am able to, I will chronicle this journey in excrutiating detail when it comes to fruition.  I'll bet no one will know if I have Vodka in my cranberry juice in my Cleen Canteen.  Things may be looking up.

The middle daughter, Chang, made the sabbatical to Loving, New Mexico (I hope you have Google Earthed Loving, New Mexico) last weekend.  She amused herself by re-organizing all the eldest daughters stuff.  Which is ok, but when she tried to organize the brother-in-laws spices and other stuff the sh** hit the fan I hear.  I am giggling.  Because I'm vengeful.  Everyone knows that you n.e.v.e.r. tell your victims you are re-sorting their stuff, it takes the fun out of that phone call in the early morning hours with the expletive deletives with the specific query as to the location of their stuff.  hehe.  I threw away most of Alison's clothes during my sojurn to New Mexico.  Admittedly, they'd only just made it to the garbage bag in the hall stage.  But they were off the hangers and out of the closet.  I'll tell you what I told her..."some things are just not meant to last more than a season.  So just accept that and get rid of all the stuff "you had to have" because they are impulse items, and are a result of lazy shopping."  When you save your impulse items it becomes junk, then someone like me, has to come along and give you the hairy eyeball and repeatedly ask you what you were thinking when you bought this or that.   And you will feel inadequate and I, or someone like me, will be fierce and ruthless with your uh collections.  Buy Couture.  (def:  created or produced by a fashion designer: couture clothes)

The dawgs have sufficiently annoyed me with their scolding of the the neighbors that I have started looking for a new pad for us to live in.  I am so desperate that I v.briefly entertained the idea of  a one bedroom guest cottage on some acreage.  Close, but no cigar.  Here are the current requirements.  Pet "friendly", whatever that means.  (I kind of hope it means that no one will shoot the babies, not that that is a deal breaker)  No white carpet, or indeed carpet of any kind.  Acreage, horse facilities big plus. TWO bathrooms for obvious reasons.  Lots of closet space.  Gas range (I pretend to be Top Chef on occasion.)  The dwelling itself must be in good repair and barring that at least cute.  I'd also like it to be free, ideally, but of reasonable monthly compensation if necessary.

My little friend Kristi will be in Fresno this weekend.  She'll be riding a million horses so she won't be a ton of fun, but hopefully she will have a little extra time and we can drink heavily catch up and laugh until we cry.  She's that kind of friend.  She'll also bring Erin who, in addition to being fun, also has a v. cute dog.  Kristi has a dawg too.  He is a son of Emma, the demon  dawg of cat shredding fame.  Anyway the son of Emma has a name and it is Stanley.  He is a good dawg, but has dubious genes and a really sketchy pedigree.  Many, many people have sons or daughters of Stanley beause he appears to be a good dawg, but Kristi never tells them that Emma is Stanleys mother.  That's just a little irresponsible if you ask me.  Disclosures don't you know.  In Emma's defense, she was treed by a whole gang of coyotes intent on making her an amuse bouche once, that may have damaged her some and made her a teensy weensy bit psychotic.  C'mon folks we forgive serial killers all the time for an event that altered their sense of right and wrong.  Give lil Emma a break.

Really, how cute is that?

Next week we give thanks for overeating.  And college football.  yeah.  And Arlo Guthrie.  Email me if you want the reference explained...Anyway, the spouse and I will go up to Cool to overeat with the youngest and her brood.  Should I be nervous this is her first turkey and she thought a 20 pounder would be appropriate for four adults and three children?  Turkey.  Bestserved between two slices of wheatberry bread with Best Foods mayo, salt and pepper, alfalfa sprouts, cranberry and teensy bit of lettuce.  Try it.  You'll be a believer.  Oh, and turkey soup.  Oh yeah and hot open faced turkey sandwiches on thick white bread with left over mashed potatoes and gravy.  And pumpkin pie in the morning with your 'joe.  You can keep the football.

So I read this notice from Nordstrom the other day...guess where I'd be shopping this holiday if I was planning to shop.  Amen.

I must pack now for our visitation to Fresno.  Bon Chance to all y'all.

Cheers,

Squidgy

ps:  lemme know if you are reading this by replying to the email...just say so and send money. :-)

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I may seriously have to consider therapy - mental therapy.  I helped horse show mom move out of the whine country estate last Friday, Sunday and Monday.  I am damaged, probably beyond repair.  No snarky comments please, it's unbecoming.  Anyway, the real tragedy of the thing, besides that unfortunate incident of the Jeroboam of whine in the garage and the impact of same on the concrete floor, RIP, was the fact that Monday was Halloween and horse show mom and I had to fight off the hoards of beggers.  Now granted the little ones were pretty cute and it was kinda fun to see the parents dress up as well as they chaperoned their little hoarders around the hood.  However, there were the teenagers (one group of which I addressed as the Sonoma High School Senior Class...), slackers who didn't even bother to dress up and sadly, a homeless freak, thank God Muffie got that one. 

I may have mentioned that Steve and I wisely turn off all outside lights and all lights inside that are visible outside and huddle in the murky darkness with the tee vee and refuse to answer the door.  We put shock collars on the demon dogs so they don't warn the miscreants of hiding humans within.  It's a lot of work avoiding Halloween.  On the upside, Steve bought mini candy bars on the off chance that someone would manage to break through security and demand a treat.  Happily all was secure in Vacaville and we have a nice supply of fat food to nosh on through the cold, cold winter. :-)

So I was talking about the horse show mom and the moving out of the whine country estate.  Sadness, mostly because now I am out of a valuable money making scheme, but also because the horse show mom will need to have a new name applied to her new status as a townie dweller.  Heaviosity.  Will there be no limits on the creativity that is expected?   Sadly, for you, no.  Any way do you remember that adage of round holes and square pegs?  Well use that sort of logic for moving a ton of stuff from a 5000 square foot house to a 1700 square foot house and just for fun add in an eight stall barn full of horse stuff (read heavy, awkward stuff) and you have an idea of what the move was like.  There were even professional movers who fried out and fizzled not to mention horse show moms mom.  Yes Penny, we should have had cocktails all day.  It would not have made the move even slightly easier, but it would have made it more entertaining.  We tried to get Horse Show Moms dad to come help, but he didn't answer the phone.  Not sure what that meant at all.

I have a pretty good eye for product placement in one's home.  But to be honest when I left, rather hurriedly, on Tuesday a.m., you could not even negotiate a clear pathway through the dining/living room and there were boxes and bags and all kinds of catchalls everywhere.  Gross.  Horse Show mom called this very morning and asked how I was holding up and I mentioned that I went home on Tuesday and slept all day.  Yesterday I went to the gym, but other than that didn't even leave the house.  She said she hadn't had a good sleep yet and she couldn't find anything, like her clothes and that she was still wearing the same dirty jeans from a couple days ago.  I said that was nasty and went back to bed.  Age does have its privileges.

So yesterday I decided that the dogs needed to have their nails trimmed.  This is cause for much angst in our canines world, not because I'm a bad clipper, but I may have a little bit of a short fuse when the malcontents resist the mani/pedi's.  Ungrateful  little snipes.  Anyway, as I was still recovering from my help in moving gig, I was a little more short tempered than usual.  I managed to trap snare bag hold the first one lovingly and began the ritual snip snip of the nails being careful to only get the white part, sadly, this one has a lot of black nails.  It's kind of hard to tell where the nail quick begins so you kind of blindly try to just cut the same length of nail on those as the white one...more sadly, this doesn't always work out so well.    By time I was done with the first dog, our bed looked like a war zone with blood all over the sheets, thankfully only on Steves side and the dog is still resentful and runs for it every time I come near, and hauls buns to the haven under the deck when I call her.  Tragically, the blind dog was next, and he just bled and growled and pulled back and generally just was pitiful through the whole exercise and then left huge bloody toe prints all over the formerly white rug.  I didn't even see where I'd cut him too short, so I guess he just bleeds randomly because he can.  I didn't even bother with the third one, mainly because I was afraid to and she's the cutest and most deadly.  Don't tell me I can't learn a thing or two.  Perhaps I will just give up on dog grooming and take them to the pet store where they will be pathetic and Carlos will pee on the floor, the table, on the groomer and anywhere else he chooses and I won't have to clean it up.  Sounds good to me.

Last Thursday I gave up my valuable nap to assist the middle daughter in assessing all the junk in her basement for she was holding a garage sale that weekend.  Now the house she and her beloved live in belonged to the beloveds grandmother many years ago.  And as is the case when one gets to live in granny's house, you also get to live with granny's stuff.  All the important stuff like antique furniture is long gone, but those 3000 canning jars, the chest freezer, and all the kitchen gadgets are still there.  I have to tell you that I was positively itching to start ditching (catchy eh?) all that old stuff.  But oh no, we would have had to get papal dispensation to off load any of that stuff  those valuable heirlooms from the beloved, who was sadly unavailable due to rice harvest.  One does not bother the beloved during harvest, planting, fertilizing, watering and all the other stuff farmers do to their crops.  So we could have had a bonanza of stuff to sell, but were severely limited to my old stuff which I assure you I have no great love for. 

On the day I didn't go to the former whine country estate, I did go to the garage sale.  It was not rewarding to see all my stuff go on the block for a fraction of it's true value.  It was, how ever, rewarding to go to lunch, post sale, and have many, many, many Cosmopolitans with a gigundo burger to assuage the misery.  Let me just say right here and now that I do not like garage sales.  Steve and I had one once and it is a lot of work for not a lot of gain.  Marking, sorting, moving, haggling, and disposing of all the junk you've accumulated just is not my cup of tea.  The middle daughter has the mutant gene that makes her like this sort of activity.  I just turn a blind eye. 

We also visited the youngest child up in the backwoods of No. CA to watch the little ones play soccer.  These are the same little ones of the money grubbing and tadpole killing.  So the two oldest ones play soccer and the baby runs amok.  Well actually the oldest one plays soccer and the middle one twirls her hair and looks around whilst on the field and runs off at the first opportunity to go have a snack...and a rest.  They don't keep score officially at these little tyke games.  But I can assure you that the parents do, and they know who made what goal and who should be benched for life and you get the drift.  Because there are no winners OR losers the kids just run willy nilly and the parents swell or deflate depending on the skill of their offspring.  My grandson is the best player of all of the other kids combined.  He is the Pele of kid soccer in the backwoods.  Full Stop.  My granddaughter on the other hand would be much happier with a hand mirror and a tutu.  Just sayin'.  I'll get some grief for that bit o honesty.

The newest grandchild in New Mexico appears to be thriving.  The "other" grandparents went for a brief visit last weekend and have proclaimed that I know what I'm talking about when I talk about cute babies.  The new mummy and daddy have not had a good nights sleep yet.  When your children have children, and that is a very scary thought to be sure, then you get your revenge for all the sleeplessness you endured when they were self entitled infants.  And that is pretty much all I'm going to say about it.  Except, new daddy's?  Probably the very worst thing you can say to a new mother in the morning is "did he/she sleep all night?"  I'm pretty sure there is no man slaughter penalty in that case.  I believe it is the same statute which applies to what ever answer you give to "does this (fill in the blanks) make me look fat?"  Just don't go there.  Ever.

Alas dear reader, once again I have hit the proverbial writers wall.  Just be grateful you aren't me.
Cheers,
Squidgy