Call Before You Dig...Right?

I'm a little nervous.  A very large dump truck just pulled up into our cul-de-sac.  It is pulling a trailer loaded with digging machines.  The orange-vested men are in the process of unloading the... oh... wait they are done.  There is now a 2678 CAT and some sort of hydraulic pounder machine now parked in front of my house.  They are setting out orange cones and hustling about in their work boots yelling things like "Yeah, put her down!  Keep a comin' yep, just a little more... HO!"  Beep, beep, beep, beep.  What?  Now they are loading it back up and attaching it back to the dump truck.  Orange vest driver #1 is now making a cell phone call.  The others are watching him.  All engines have stopped and lunch coolers are being set out.  This can't be good.

The last time such an event took place, the Freon line to our air conditioner was snapped.  Bzzt.  No more cool air.  Another time all water stopped flowing to our home unexpectedly, and a rather apologetic, haggard man appeared at my back door and while trying to seem authoritative, asked if I knew where my water line was. 
My response: "I'm guessing it's quite near to where that big, old pile of fresh, black dirt is over there by the street- real close to that digging beast you just jumped off of - what do you think?" 

Then there was the time, that a heavy equipment outfit was in our neighborhood for about six seconds when I heard the crackalackin crunch of our wooden fence.  When I appeared in my backyard looking concerned and surveying the damage, I heard from behind the part of fence that was still standing, "Ooops... is she still standing there?"  

Oh, and then there was the time that my husband accidentally cut our cable line while doing some brute-force landscaping.  No heavy equipment that time - just a custom job,  conversion van wheeled in, slammed on the brakes, and cable guy workers jumped out and slapped a "Cable TV" magnet on the passenger door.  In approximately .4 nano seconds they arrived at my front door, each with a shovel and some paperwork.  We exchanged a rather short passage of convoluted communication complete with random hand waving and head nodding, and then they hopped into my yard and started digging.  Still not sure what they did, but the Internet was in full steam when they slung their shovels over their shoulders and zoomed off Mystery Machine style to their next destination.

Right now, we have workers eating lunch - probably plotting what random pipe, wire, or cable they are going to sever just to mess with me.  I must be staring.  I think one just waved at me.  Ahh, yes... there's the wave.  Hi.  I'm definitely in for it.
More on this later.  Must close wooden blinds now.

Ninety-nine Reasons to be Glad

Today I received an incredible gift.  I spent the afternoon with my Great Aunt and her daughter.  My Great Aunt is ninety-nine years old.  Yes, ninety-nine years old.  After greeting me with a huge hug and her unconditional smile, she immediately apologized for the condition of her hair - she will be getting a permanent next week she informed me.  We had tea and coffee cake and our conversations travelled through the past, the present and the future seamlessly, as though we were actually walking down the path of her life.

She wanted to know everything about me and my family - does my son play sports and what are his interests?  What does my daughter like to do?  How is my husband?  And without fail, she listened and commented on each and every answer.  Every topic was discussed in detail and with a smile.  We talked about each of her family members - the great grandchildren - and how she loves each one of them, her granddaughters, their families, and how she admires each one of them  - all in her humble way.

We talked about current political candidates, recent flooding in parts of Minnesota, the state of our environment and how the world continues to change.  We laughed our way through memories of family gatherings that occurred during my childhood and how we loved to have our whole family together for picnics and sing-a-longs. We laughed about the time one of the grandchildren announced, "Uncle Fish caught a Frank!" 

Every so often, she would interject a memory of something that happened eighty-five to ninety years ago.  We talked about the Dust Bowl and how one year her father gave she and her sister the choice between one pair of shoes or one pair of boots for the year.  We talked of the time spent mending silk stockings and her dislike of potato bugs. She explained that she and my grandma's sheets were made of muslin and had to be stitched together.  Therefore, the seam separated the bed they shared into two sides - and woe be to the sister who dared to cross as much as a pinky toe across that seam! Then, with a contented sigh and a glance out the window, we would slide right back into the present and talk about her son's newly built home and his plans for more travelling abroad and her daughter's love for her job coordinating figure skating programs.  It was an amazing afternoon.

I was unable to attend her 99th Birthday Celebration in July.  By all accounts, it was truly a beautiful celebration.  I told her of my sadness of not being able to be there.  No matter.  She told me all about it and how touched she was by each loved one's memory and sentiments shared with her that day.   Earlier in the day, as I was making my way across the metro to see her, I was afraid that the moment I saw her - thinking that it may be the last time I see her- I would burst into a flood of tears and not be able to hold a conversation.  I continued to worry as I pulled up to her home.  The door was ajar when I arrived, and just as I began to knock, I heard, "Come in! Is that my Julie?"  No tears.  Just joy - an entire afternoon of smiles and laughter.  We spanned a century of memories in two and a half hours. 
The way I see it, she receives the birthdays...the rest of us are blessed with her gifts. 
Thank you, Aunt Glad.

Happy Halloween...

Okay, I'm slinking around Target waiting for a prescription to be filled.   So after a glance at the floor lamps, scented candles, shampoo, photo frames, and winter hats, I thought I might peruse the Halloween costumes for my kids.  Am I the only one that thought a cat was a good costume?  Or a witch?  Maybe a princess or a mummy?

These are some of the choices available to my female 6 year old:

1. Punk Pixie... Sorry, but what the..?  What even is that?

2. Little Miss Good and Bad... some half devil/half angel thing that had one side of the "skirt" hemmed up to the hip, and the other side hemmed to below the ankle.  Not only is it appropriate - it will be perfect for sub-zero, Minnesota trick or treating!

3. Skeleton Princess... cross and skull bones a-go-go - all over the outfit, complete with tattoos for the face.  I don't know about you, but when I was in first grade, a cross and skull bones meant POISON - STAY AWAY.  What the heck kinda costume is that?  And what first grader comes home from school and says, "Mom, Dad, I think I would like to be a poisonous chemical for Halloween.?

The whole experience made me feel like Peppermint Patty from the Thanksgiving Charlie Brown episode when she yelled at Charlie Brown for not having a traditional Thanksgiving meal.  This time though it's about Halloween and I'm yelling at Charlie Brown, "Where's the black cat, where's the scary witch, where's the cute little pumpkin, where's the ghost!  You can't have Halloween without the ghost, Chuck!!"

I'm old.

Another prompt: I Remember Biting...

I have always been fond of biting things.  I'm the person that always bites hard candy and completely crunches it up before the it's hardly out of its wrapper.  Squeaky cheese is another favorite.  One of the most vibrant memories of biting something goes back to a Sunday afternoon when I was about six years old.  I had been marveling at the wonders of Silly Putty and how it picked up the images of Family Circle, Dagwood, and Beetle Baily when it was smashed and flattened out on the Sunday Comics.  I enjoyed stretching their faces into odd contortions and then laying one image over another and pulling them apart.
Hmmm...
It smelled like rubber bands.
It felt like smooth, plastic playdough.
It was the color of shiny flesh.
It made no sound - unless it created an air bubble during play that you could snap and pop.
But, yes, how did it taste?  Well, I guess I needed to find this information out.  I remember sitting on the floor near the fireplace and carefully looking around to see if anyone was looking at me.  The coast was clear.  I had to go for it.  I took one squeaky bite into the dome of rubber.  As you can surmise, it was not yummy.  It was like chewing on the leg of Malibu Barbie.  However, I was a bit intrigued by the marks my teeth left.  I was just about to give it one more try to see what kind of indentation my molars would leave when I heard those damning words: "EEEW!  Julie's eating Silly Putty, Mom!  That's so gross!  I can't believe you're eating that - it's like you're a puppy or something!!" 

Experiment over.  Will eat strange things behind closed door next time.

The Mama and the Dell

A few conversations I would like to have:
Syncing ipod... do not disconnect.
Okay. So what about when I'm "syncing" my thoughts and I keep getting "disconnected" from them because someone wants to know if they can use the old cellphone they found in Daddy's desk drawer for a walkie talkie and someone else is angry because her leotard is itchy and can I fix it RIGHT NOW?!  That sounds like a pretty definitive statement.  I think I will start using it.  "Syncing brain.  Do not interrupt.  Doing so may cause permanent damage."
Would I like to download the latest version of whatever or would I prefer not to be asked again?
Sure... will I notice a measurable difference in the performance of whatever?  Or is this simply to just make me feel like I'm on the cutting edge of computer fashion? If I say I never want to be asked again - does that mean that I will be stuck in a computer fashion rut forever?
Error found on page.
Fine.  Thanks for the explanation.  It's all clear now.
Files cannot be written to CD.
Super, because I don't even have a CD in the burner, a file that needs to be written, and have no idea why you keep informing of the this apparent complication.  I think you have the wrong number.
You are about to view a web page with unsecured information, do you want to continue?
I don't know.  What kind of unsecured information?  Is it the kind that wobbles around when a six year old is cartwheeling through the house yelling, "Sorry, Mom - I just can't stop!"  Or is it more like the kind of information that if I find out about it, someone would have to kill me?  Because those are two very different kinds of unsecured.  Could you give me more details before I make a final decision? 
The page you are looking for cannot be found.
Really.  Come back and tell me that again after you have looked under your bed.

Stoplights and Pancakes?

I'm bringing the kids home from school... a different way than usual.  After winding roads, potholes, and random 4-way stops, I'm beginning to think there is probably a better way.  Then my thinks - they are confirmed.  I'm at a stoplight out in the middle of nowhere - you know the kind that are not on poles, but just swingin' in the breeze from wires?  That's the kind. 
Anyway, I was under the impression that the road was a simple 2-way highway with a total of two lanes.  I'm waiting for the light to turn and along comes a minivan from 1987 who sidles up right along next to me - on the shoulder.  No problem - right?  Wrong. This van is so close to me that the driver who's got his bare, muscled arm leaning on his open window can reach out and touch my car - oh, wait a minute - he IS TOUCHING my car! 
So here's the picture:
1.Mom in minivan listening to Nate the Great (audio book) with captive belted-in audience in back seats. 
2.Mom looks over and sees scary man with a total of three teeth leaning out of his minivan (which he has clearly outgrown) and is now resting his Andre the Giant-sized hand on the passenger side handle of MY vehicle! 
3.Light turn green, light turn green, light turn green... pleeeeeeeese! 
This is clearly an invasion of my personal space.  I am trying not to look directly at him - so my eyes are aching as I am calling up all the strength of my peripheral vision.  All the windows in my van are open at some level, and apparently hearing skills of elementary children are impaired after 3:30 - so the audiobook is playing rather loudly, and here's what happens next - I kid you not.
Audiobook: "I, Nate the Great LOVE pancakes!"
Scaryman (while still touching my car): "Heh, heh, me too. Heh, heh."
Children: "Who's that, Mom?"
Appalled Mom: "A man who likes pancakes."
Light: Green
Appalled Mom: "Good-bye."
Scaryman: "Have a good day, Mith!"

Okay, so Mama overreacted a bit.  Turns out that Scaryman - isn't so scary.  He just happens to have a mouth full of compromised dental work... and he also likes pancakes... hmmm... are the two related?

Kudos

Let's talk about yesterday.  I was exceptional in many ways.  I got everyone out the door and to church almost on time.  I chose (quite carefully) the most uncomfortable shoes I own to slink around the Fall Festival at church in for several hours.  I fed my children wholesome corn dogs and pickles on a stick for lunch - and I didn't forget dessert: candy necklaces and dilly bars.  I helped my children build a mini golf course in our garage using random planks of wood, shoes, gasoline funnels, flower pots, a bike helmet and way too much painters tape.  I completed folding laundry that was started last Wednesday - I'm especially proud of that one. 
However, my best work of the day involved two "napping" fish, one beat up paper cup, and a toilet.  Good-bye Spiky and EX Glower.  As they were taking their last swirl around in this world, Maya yelled down the toilet, "Remember! All drains lead to the ocean!!"
Thank you, Nemo.   
Near the end of the day, while I was making some killer quesadillas, Joseph thanked me for feeding him, singing with him in church, and for letting him use the cardboard from the recycling for a fort in the sun room.  And then Maya added, "Yeah... me too."
The pay is lousy, but I wouldn't give this job up for anything.