Tag Archives: humor

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Redbud Lane

I went for a walk today with the dogs and my camera in tow to take some pictures of spring flowers.  It seemed that almost all of the trees were blooming and budding out  and the vast majority are redbuds.  I had forgotten the multitude of redbuds growing in our little burg.  In fact one of the roads is lined on both sides with redbuds.  I decided that we need to rename the road to Redbud Lane.  I’m not sure what the process is to change the name of an existing road, but I’m pretty sure it is a pain in the patooty.  So I’m taking it upon myself to rename the road to Redbud Lane for the spring.  It can revert back to the old name for summer, fall and winter.  I think that’s a fair trade, after all I’m only claiming one of the four seasons.  From now on, in the spring if someone asks the name of the road, I will truthfully say, Redbud Lane but come back later in the year and all bets are off.

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The Most Dreaded Words A Man Will Ever Hear

I can utter a two word phrase that will send Mitch in a panic. “It’s dated.”  Whenever I speak those two simple  words together in a sentence, Mitch knows that another home improvement project is coming at him.  Some might argue that men fear hearing, “I think I’m pregnant,” more, and that may be true for younger single guys, but for a married man, my money is on, “It’s dated,” every time.

In the kitchen the conversation will start something like this.

“You know I think I’m going to paint the kitchen.”

Which causes Mitch to look around at the walls and say, “Why, what’s wrong with the color now?”

“It’s dated.  A fresh new color will make the room brighter.”

He’ll look at me and say, “Okay if you want to paint go ahead and paint, but I think the walls look fine.”

The next words out of my mouth will be something like this, “We really need to change the countertops too.  They are so old and faded, with stains and scratches.  And while we’re at it, we ought to think about new cabinets.”

Translation: he’ll be doing all of the heavy lifting, ripping out cabinets, installing new countertops and whatever else I decide to change.  After we spend days arguing over style, color and materials.  It must be true that opposites attract, because our personal styles are complete opposite.  Mitch has to have balance.  If you have a mantle and you place candlesticks one side of the mantle there has to be the same identical and number of candlesticks on the other side.  Asymmetrical design equates to total chaos to him.  While perfect balance and symmetrical design is boring to me.  I like chaos, it makes life and design interesting.

“What’s wrong with the cabinets?  Wait don’t say it, they’re dated, right?” 

“Now you’re in the spirit, maybe we’ll go darker,” I will answer, totally ignoring the sarcasm.

This will bring on the eye rolling and heavy sighs, but he knows he’s lost the battle, again.  Poor guy.

After the shopping, the arguing and the ultimate compromises on both sides, Mitch will then be called upon to do the hard labor.  I’m the idea person and he’s the implementer.

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It’s Them or Me

It’s them or me, and my money is on me. I’m the one with the opposable thumbs. I have the power to reason through a problem. I have tenacity. I also have osteoporosis. I was diagnosed in the fall of last year. Me with osteoporosis, no way. I’ve taken calcium religiously for decades. I was devastated when I found out. I’ve always thought that I was unbreakable. No matter how many times the dogs knocked me down; (and they knocked me down a lot) I would get right back up with nothing more than a few bruise to show for it.  Well there was that one time I tripped over the dogs on a walk and tore the cartilage in my knee.  Mitch had to walk home get the El Camino then come back and get me sitting on the side of the road.  Not now.  I have 5% bone loss, which I was told is significant bone loss. So now I’m taking my weekly dose of Fosamax and have realized that I’m quite breakable.  I’m now afraid of falling and breaking something.  I don’t like feeling this way.  I don’t like fear. 

I’ve not taken the lunging or the yanking the dogs do while walking seriously until now.  It’s been a source of entertainment and fodder for my stories.  But now I’ve realized that together the three dogs are much bigger and stronger than me.  I was five foot two before osteoporosis and losing a half inch, which makes me a great boat anchor dragging behind the leashes, but little more than that if the three choose to charge after the object of their interest. 

Basically they’re good dogs, fairly well behaved, but tend to feed off of each other’s emotions.  If one gets excited about seeing someone, the other two join in and I can’t hold them back.  Not anymore.  So now the serious training begins.  I know labs are hardheaded and stubborn, Orso especially seems awfully thick at times, brilliant other times.  We call him “Box of Rocks”.  Charlie is just hardheaded and willful.  When it comes to a battle of the wills, he will not budge one iota.  The thought of violence is often considered with him.  AJ is soft and submissive, but when no one expects it, he will instigate trouble then stand back and let the other two get yelled at.  Sneaky.

Training three dogs at once is a challenge.  One at a time would be easier, but I don’t have the time to work with each dog individually.  So three at a time is our only option.  I’ve given Mitch the ultimatum, “It’s either they get trained to exhibit patience and not lunge or we can’t have the dogs”.  And I have no intention of not having the dogs.

So it’s them or me.  Bet on me.

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Three Thugs

I was out walking last night and observed three tuffs walking down the road.  Each had a cocky air, heads up looking mean, keeping watchful eyes out for any trouble.  Their steely gaze traveled back and forth striking fear in the hearts of all whose paths they crossed.  Their chests were puffed up and out trying to appear larger and meaner.  Their gait was slow and purposeful, each step placed ready to spring into action toward any perceived threat.  The way they walked down the road reminded me of the old westerns with the gunslingers walking down the main street, cowboy hats pulled low shading the face and eyes, guns slung low on the hip, ready to be pulled and fired. 

I walked along going the same direction as the three thugs wondering if I might end up as a victim of an attack or just part of the collateral damage if one or all three decided to confront some impending threat.

What was worse, the trio knew together they were intimidating, individually not that tough, but all together, the three dogs looked downright scary.  I would have been terrified if I had been a squirrel.

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Look Ma No Cavities

Charlie came through the dental cleaning with flying colors.  No cavities, just one cracked tooth, but our vet said it still looked healthy so he left it in.  He came out to greet me with a total lack of manners.  He jumped up on the counter pretty clumsily, still suffering from the effects of the anesthesia.  Charlie looked a little loopy, his eyes drooped slightly, but he was happy to see me, all was forgiven. 

I went to pick him up on my way home from work, so I was driving my car, a Pontiac Firebird, which normally none of the dogs get to ride in.  Besides no room for a dog, I like driving in a car with no dog hair swirling around my face, or leaving a dog hair contrail when I drive with the top down.  I put Charlie in the car hoping he’d climb in the back and lay down.  No, he wanted to hang out in my lap.  I had to remind him that he was a sixty five pound dog, not a yorkie.   

We got home just in time for dinner.  Charlie rushed into the kitchen and drank water like he’d been lost in the desert for a week.  Poor baby.  As I dragged out the dog food buckets and dog bowls, Charlie looked at me with a skeptical look, wondering if he was really going to get fed or if I was just torturing him.  He ate with gusto, as always. 

At bedtime, Charlie climbed into his round bed, snuggled down and slept like a rock all night.  All is right with the world, again.

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Just One Glance

That’s all it takes.  One look from Orso with his head lowered and it’s GAME ON!  AJ, our eleven year old lab accepts the challenge with loads of exuberance, causing Orso, our five year old lab to reply in kind.  This sets off a charge toward each other from opposite corners of the room and at the last moment just as the two would crash into each other, both raise up on their back legs and slam into each other with a forceful chest bump.  Then they hit the floor chewing and barking at each other.  AJ will then lunge at Orso, who for some reason will back up around to the hallway or stand in the bedroom doorway and bark at AJ. 

AJ will then pretend to charge, stop short of actually connecting with Orso, then back up and bark back at Orso.  Orso will lunge back and pretend to come out of the bedroom but doesn’t.  The coward.  All the while this is going on between those two, Charlie will stand at my side and bark at me, just to let me know that AJ and Orso were behaving badly and that he had nothing to do with it.  If I don’t react and make them stop on a timely basis for Charlie, he will then join the fray, taking it out on Orso.  This causes a mass Orso attack, hair up barking, snarling and chewing.  No blood is drawn just wet slobbery necks and legs. 

Orso will escape run towards the bedroom and leap onto the bed from the doorway with Charlie in hot pursuit.  One of these days, one or both of the dogs is going to crash through the bedroom window.  On that day, we’ll have dog stew for dinner.

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Today Is Not My Day

Today is just not my day.  I didn’t sleep well, even though I took a sleeping pill last night.  Maybe having a seventy nine poundLabradorlying across my legs all night had something to do with my lack of sleep.  Consequently I didn’t even make the effort to get up and walk on the treadmill.  Sometime between last night after yoga class and this morning I lost one of my rings.  I didn’t notice it until I took my rings off to put on lotion this morning.  Talk about being aware of my surroundings. 

Since I spent the morning scouring the house, my gloves and the dogs’ mouths for any trace of the missing ring, I was running a little late to work.  That was when I noticed that I was almost out of gas.  That necessitated a trip to the gas station, woohoo.  There goes another thirty dollars and I get to smell like gas all day.  What a waste of the Calvin Klein, Euphoria I dearly love.

I get to work, turn on my computer and attempt to change my voicemail recording, but kept getting an automated response saying I was entering the wrong access code.  I thought “what the..”.  That was when I noticed that the extension on the display was not mine.  My first thought was that some jackass was playing a practical joke and had switched phones.  Not funny.  I spent five minutes looking through the extension list looking for the person whose extension I had.  I found it under “W”, of course it would be “W”.  To make matters worse, it was a person who worked the parts call center.  That means my phone would ring nonstop from customers wanting to order something that I would have no idea what they were asking for or how to get it to them.  I had no idea who had my phone or if they were calling 900 numbers on my extension, oh joy.  I could hear HR calling me to the office.  And it’s not even 7am.

I think I should just throw in the towel, go home and crawl back under the covers and the seventy nine pound lab.

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A Poor Lost Soul

A washing machine has mysteriously appeared in front on our little burg’s City Hall.  It showed up last week and so far no one has come to claim it.  I have to ask myself if there was some ulterior motive behind the washing machine’s sudden appearance.  Is someone trying to make a point?  Does the City need to clean its dirty laundry?  Does the City have dirty laundry?  We live in a teeny tiny city with a population of about 250, only about 122 homes.  So how much dirty laundry can we have? 

The front entrance to the parking lot at City Hall is well lit with one of those horrendously bright mercury vapor lights, so I would think that the person or persons dropping off said washing machine were well illuminated and therefore either very gutsy or complete idiots.  Or maybe they were wearing cloaking devices that shielded their identities.  I wouldn’t have the nerve or the stupidity to discard an appliance in front of a city municipality structure.  I guess my parents beat the fear of consequences too well into my hardhead growing up.  Maybe that’s the problem today, minimal or no consequences for our actions.  Sorry I almost climbed up on my soapbox.

Anyway back to the speculation about the wayward washing machine.  Could it have run away from home, tired of all the dirty clothes it had been forced day in and day out to clean; now choosing to live a life on the mean streets of our humble little burg?  Maybe it’s just waiting for the bus, even though no bus ever comes to our fair town (not counting the school bus).  Maybe the previous owners are just getting a jump on our annual City Cleanup day.  The only problem with that theory is that one of the rules of the City Cleanup is no appliances.      

Maybe I should take pictures of the washing machine and post around the city and surrounding areas to see if anyone has lost the machine and is looking for it.  Wouldn’t that be a happy ending?