The day's arrived and we'll soon be heading to Tennessee to meet our DG friends. My DH has been *wonderful*, coordinating and packing the car and getting so much ready for our trip. I packed my clothes. LOL. He's so good to me and I'm crazy about the man.

I saw the surgeon today and after a brief poke-poke here and prod-prod there, he said, "hmmm, yep it's a hernia. When'd you like it fixed?" He's a cool doctor, really nice, and puts you at ease. And he'd GOOD. He did my mom's mastectomy and some other friends' surgeries, so I am very comfortable having him do this. I'll have outpatient surgery July 10. This Tuesday he's having me get a CT-scan to see if it will help show the reason for the pelvic pain I've had for two+ years. That's been worse than the hernia pain, and I hope these tests will finally show a reason for it all.

Oh, and a bit of fun happened once we got home from the doctor's office. I heard a curious drip-drip-dripping sound in the kitchen and traced it to a place between two of our metal kitchen cabinets. Evidently we have a leak in our roof, or maybe (our prayer here) the torrential rains we had this afternoon somehow worked their way into one of the attic vents. It really did rain hard. It looks like the rains are almost over, so we're just putting a bucket beneath it to catch the drips and counting on my folks to take care of things if anything unusual happens. They'll be stopping by to check on the kitties, anyway, and they'll watch. Dad (not absentee father) said he'd go up in the attic and check things out when we get back.

Oh, we really hope it's not the roof. The building inspector told us in 1999 that we'd be fortunate if we got another 5 years out of the roof. Ugh...It's just that we are planning a trip to Louisiana for Thanksgiving,and if this roof thing happens, we won't have the cash to do that. We don't have credit cards any more because we were too foolish with the darned things. Times like this, when there's big-time costs looking us in the face, it's easy to get just a smidgen stressed. And now that I know I have to have surgery and recover from that, I can't think about getting a job right off to help out. Blargh (an Angie word, but it just fits).

But...We're going to Tennessee and I am going to enjoy myself and meet my buddies. And we'll just have to take each day and each issue as it comes. What else can one do, you know?

HEY! It just occurred to me that we'll be able to see MIBII before I have my surgery. Way cool - I can't wait to see Tommy and Will at it again. And, unlike some mega-hyped sci-fi movies (which shall remain nameless - as if I NEED to even name the latest one), this will not dissapoint. Of course, give it ten years, when they've done MIBIII, MIBIV, MIBV, MIBVI...Then ask me if I am still hopelessly enthralled by them. (I think I will be).

I think I will watch a bunch of movies after I have my surgery. That just sounds really, really fun. ":o) When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, right? Oh, and by the way, DO NOT just go to mibii.com - it's a porn site, I just learned. Garsh! It's mib2.com that forwards you to Sony's official site. Whew!! Never saw so many danged pop-up windows. Yuck!

By the way...I'm just so darned happy right now. After weeks of obsessive uncertainty over whether anyone's even been reading my little blog, let alone wanting to comment about it, I figured out how to add a comments facility! Now I can look at the comments section and see that no, no one is reading it or cares to comment. And it's all thanks to Enetation's fabulously simple-to-use (and free!) service:

Tonight we went to the birthday party of a friend. To set the scene, it was a casual outdoor party, everyone there was an adult, and it was all people we've known from various churches. When one lady mentioned that a coach at a Columbus HS took the team to Hooters after a game, we shook our heads, laughing, thinking that probably was the last place one would want to bring a busload of hormone-pumped teenage boys.

One guy said, "Well, they do have great wings...you know, chicken wings?" and before I knew what I was saying, I blurted out, "Yeah, but they have great breasts!"

Fortunately, after about a second of stunned silence, everyone howled. I added, "You know, chicken breasts!"

If you don't have Hooters restaurants where you live, I guess this might not mean much to you and you'll just have to look the corporate website up for yourself. You can guess what the main attraction there is, though (second only to those great chicken wings, that is).

HACKER ALERT! HACKER ALERT!

How did ANGIE get in here?! Okay, friend that Pangie is, she fixed my archives and comments section for me. I trust her with my blog. Doesn't that make you happy? You can find more of her demented musings at The Compost Heap, our Official Team Blog.

Thanks, Angie!

what kind of friend would i be if i didn't post an entry to jimberley's private blog. hmmmm?

My father called and left another message on the machine. It was almost a minute long, and he said he just wanted to say hello. He also said "sorry I called you a name but I lost my head and got mad a the world, but now Social Security has sent me emergency money for my utilities now....And everything's okay". Then goes on about his health problems, blah, blah, blah. I suppose I should be thankful that he apologizes for calling me a bitch, but it all kind of rings hollow after a while. And it's obvious he's been doing his crazy impulsive spending again if he had to get emergency funds from SS again. When will he ever learn?

Ah, those parents.... {shaking head and chuckling ruefully}

Honestly, I can't wait to get this or another modem working with the caller ID so I can just zap his calls before they even get to me. I don't want to hear his voice, his sob stories, or his excuses anymore. I've just had my limit. :(

On a brighter note (laaaa!), DH and I are driving down to Tennessee next weekend for a get-together with other members of Dave's Garden! I think there's going to be around 75 people there, including families and kids of members, and we have a whole campground to ourselves. It's about an 8 hour drive each way, and we'll be roughing it with (1) No A/C in the car and (B) both dogs with us for lack of money to board them. Actually, it'll probably be better that way since we'll be used to the heat by the time we get there, plus I want our friends to meet Sarah and Emma. There will be loads of kids around (especially since Michele's coming with six little girls in tow, LOL!), plus other folks are bringing their dogs, so I think our girls will stay occupied. We can't wait to meet our friends from DG!

I hate hearing people say that online friends aren't real friends. Frankly, I communicate with my online friends far more than I do with my parents or even local friends. I participate in the DG forums every day, and chat with many of my online buddies every day as well. We post prayer requests, stories from our days, and share our triumphs and tragedies; when we finally meet in real life, then, it's like we've known each other for years and we have a great time.

Sure, we don't share everything with people, and the internet does afford a measure of anonymity and the ability to create whatever personae we want, but don't we do this in our "real" lives with "real" people, too? Most of us have certain confidantes with whom we share our nitty-gritty secrets and dreams, but most of us also have casual friends and acquaintances with whom we just hang out and have fun. I don't think there's anything wrong with that; I don't think anyone can (or should) have nothing but deep, intense relationships with a great many people. And sometimes the friends in the two camps merge and switch spots, as the situation dictates. Hey, it's a big enough world for both.

Okay, something lighthearted here. What would happen if you, say, translated "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" into Spanish...Then translated the Spanish into English? Hmmmmmmm.....

{insert harp music here}

Here's the original lyrics, c. 1969, Northern Songs

Joan was quizzical, studied pataphysical
Science in the home
Late nights all alone with a test-tube
Ohh-oh-oh-oh...
Maxwell Edison majoring in medicine
Calls her on the phone
"Can I take you out to the pictures
Joa-oa-oa-oan?"
But as she's getting ready to go
A knock comes on the door...
Bang, bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Came down upon her head
Bang, bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Made sure that she was dead
Back in school again Maxwell plays the fool again
Teacher gets annoyed
Wishing to avoid an unpleasant sce-e-e-ene
She tells Max to stay when the class has gone away
So he waits behind
Writing 50 times "I must not be so-o-o-oo..."
But when she turns her back on the boy
He creeps up from behind
Bang, bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Came down upon her head
Bang, bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Made sure that she was dead
P.C. Thirty-One said "we caught a dirty one"
Maxwell stands alone
Painting testimonial pictures ohh-oh-oh-oh
Rose and Valerie screaming from the gallery
Say he must go free (Maxwell must go free)
The judge does not agree and he tells them so-o-o-oo
But as the words are leaving his lips
A noise comes from behind
Bang, bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Came down upon his head
Bang, Bang, Maxwell's silver hammer
Made sure that he was dead

And here's the English-to-Spanish-back-to-English translation:

Joan was quizzical
pataphysical science, studied in the last nights of the home
everything only with a test-tube...
Ohh-oh-oh-ohh-oh-oh-oh
Maxwell Edison majoring in medicine
the flame on the telephone
"can I takes to him towards it go to the Joa-oa-joa-oa-oa-oan-oan pictures"

But as she is being able ready to go
the blows of A come in the door...

The explosion, explosion,
hammer of silver of maxwell came down on its main
explosion, explosion,
hammer of silver of maxwell made sure that it was dead

posteriora part in games of maxwell of the school again
that the professor of the idiot obtains again
bothered that wishing to avoid sce-e-e-sce-e-e-ene disagreeable
she says the maximum to remain when she has left the class
so it waits for behind
the writing 50 times "I do not have to be under-or-or-oo..."
But when it behind gives return him in the boy
who it crawls for above of behind

the explosion, explosion,
the hammer of silver of maxwell
came down on her explosion main,
explosion, the hammer of silver of maxwell
made sure that it was dead

P.C. Thirty-One
this "we took to the dirty pictures testimonial
ohh-oh-oh-ohh-oh-oh-oh Rose of one one"
of maxwell single painting of the supports
and Valerie that shouts of the gallery
it says it must freely go (maxwell must go freely)
the judge does not agree
and he says to them that under-or-or-oo
but as the words are going away their lips
noise of A comes behind from the

explosion, explosion,
hammer of silver of maxwell
came down on its main
explosion, explosion,
hammer of silver of maxwell
made sure that it was dead

Alrighty then. My brain officially hurts and I am a candidate for a migraine from figuring out where the heck the line breaks should go.

Okay

My father left another message on the voicemail today. He called a couple times yesterday, so the caller-ID display told us. The voicemail wasn't on, and he called back three times and let it ring many times before giving up. He must have just gotten his mail today and called as soon as he saw the precious Makita drill was not there. "Keep the Makita, BITCH" and then he hung up. In today's message I heard the vile tone of voice that I remember from bygone years, spitting venom still. Yuck. Yep, that's my father all right.

We use the computer for voicemail now rather than the old answering machine, and I am keeping copies of everything he says. If he ever does start threatening us like he did my aunt, I will have record of it when I file a restraining order. This just isn't good. I thank God that he is disabled by this Parkinson's, but only because it limits the chance that he would actually follow through on his anger and come out to Ohio.

Someone I know asked prayer for her daughter, who must pass a certification test tomorrow in order to be able to teach agriculture classes. She is concerned because though her daughter is bright and very good at teaching, she does not test well, especially on comprehension types of problems. What immediately came to mind was the scripture

John 14:26
But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.

As I told my friend, I realize this is quoting Jesus as He talks the disciples. He's talking about the Holy Ghost bringing His words back to their (and our) remembrance. But I can't help but take it a bit further. After all, God's character is consistent, even if the situation is a little different.

He is the Comforter, He teaches us, and He brings all things to our remembrance. I think that applies to all areas of our lives. :)

Still in a funk, but it's because I can't figure out how to get my archive set up on either of my blogs. Help, Angie! Help!

Tinka Tinka Tee...(my very best Samantha Stephens)....Ahem:

"Calling Dr. Angay, calling Dr. Angay. Emergency! Come right away!

I'm in a funk. There's so much background information to go with the baggage, I don't know where to begin. I'll try to make the background part short; I have to include it or you'll have no idea why I am in such a funk about all this today.

My biodad (aka absentee father) lives in Illinois. He and my mom divorced the summer after I finished fifth grade. He was a violent alcoholic, with bi-polar disorder to boot, and did not want the responsibility of a family; he pretty much told mom it wasn't important enough to him to make the changes the family counselors told him he needed to make. Mom and I lived in the same town for a while, but it was awful.

I would visit my father and find heaps of dirty, stinky dishes waiting for me to come and wash them. And all his laundry, and all sorts of other odd jobs. I'm all for kids having responsibilities, don't get me wrong. But he made it very obvious that I owed him these, and that my visiting him and doing anything while visiting him was contingent on my doing his junk. I had to earn my time with him, basically.

He bought stuff for me after the divorce, but I had to keep it at his house. He knew I loved drawing, so he bought me a nice drafting table and chair -- Oh, yes, it was mine....But I could not take it to the home where I spent the majority of my time. It was like that with almost everything. On one occasion, I took something he gave me home -- I don't remember exactly what it was, but it might have been a little radio. He went into a rage and came to our apartment, pounding on the door and yelling curses in the hallway. I was terrified.

Whenever I'd have a weekend at his house, mom had to stick close to the phone because she never knew when I'd call and want her to come and get me. I couldn't stand being with him and his craziness, so I'd often take off and call mom from the gas station a few blocks from his house. This went on for a couple years. I starting skipping school and getting in trouble at school when I was there; mom was concerned with some of the kids I was starting to hang out with and decided to move us to Ohio, where my grandparents lived.

That was in August 1981, and the move to buckeye country was my saving grace. I was still a messed up kid, and gravitated toward the partying crowd at the high school I attended, but it was miles better having miles between my father any us. At first, he wrote to me. And I visited him a few times, but I remember one time was such a bitter disappointment I came home weeks before I was scheduled to fly home. His letters eventually ceased and I went years without hearing anything from him.

Every once in a while, when he was at a mental low, he'd call or write (long, sloppy letters full of disjointed thoughts, letters I could hardly follow). My husband and I visited him in Illinois once in 1995, but that's the last time I've seen him.

Fast forward to fall of 1997, when I got a call from my father's sister. She told me he was so depressed he could not function, and she asked if I would mind if she became his guardian. Would I mind?! I gladly gave her that responsibility, believe me. He was in a nursing home from 1997 through December 2001.

Unbeknownst to me until he called me last year, he learned he has parkinson's disease. He also had brain surgery to implant electrodes to control the tremors from it. He called me out of the blue to tell me all this. The surgery left his voice slurred and hard to understand, but he was glad to put up with that in exchange for being able to use his hands again.

So now, this man who is basically a stranger to me now also doesn't even sound like the father I knew while I was growing up. That made it doubly weird and icky. Still, I am a softy and thought it might bring him comfort to talk once in a while, and figured what's the harm in his calling me every so often to chat? So I sent him the occasional letter and pictures, and called once in a while on holidays.

There's no way he was in any shape to live on his own, but he browbeat his sister and his caseworker until they finally relented and agreed that he could try living on his own in a government subsidized apartment. Prior to this, he'd obsessed so much about his "stuff" that his sister had to get her number changed so they could have some peace. The "stuff" was the belongings his sister and BIL stored for him at their house after they had to go through the monumental task of clearing out his junk-filled shack and selling the house. But he is obsessive compulsive along with being manic depressive, so to him it was a huge deal and he could not let anything go.

Well, it was a big ol' mistake, turning that man loose on his own. One of the biggest mistakes in the History Of Mankind. Once he had a phone, he started calling me all the time, sometimes several times within a day. And it was always such stupid stuff he wanted to talk about, just to hear my voice I suppose. You have to remember, I have no history with this man, other than really bad history. He is not a person I would want to befriend were I to have a brief conversation with him in a the supermarket checkout line.

Completely self-centered, and completely irresponsible with his money, he spent on stupid things (like caller ID, all sorts of new stuff for his house, etc.) despite his being on a fixed income. When his social security checks got messed up, he fell behind in his rent, lost his phone service, had shut-off notices for his utilities...And then he called me from a payphone, begging me to consider opening a joint account with him and being his joint-payee (a requirement since he's mentally ill). We could not assume that sort of financial risk - I mean, holy cow!

And he also drove his sister and BIL crazy with his rantings and his demands. His sister started getting migraines daily from the stress of it all. She already has a retarded adult son living at home with her, and this was just icing on the cake. The final straw was when my father wrote a threatening letter to them, saying he'd have to come to their house with armed guards so he could get his belongings back from them. This scared them, and they had restraining orders filed against him, cutting off any contact. She also turned in his last social security check to the local SS office and wrote the judge telling him she no longer wishes to be his guardian.

I don't blame them. But he is so far gone, he has no idea why they would do it. He has all these delusions about how his BIL has brainwashed his sister against him, how he thinks he can have an electrical contracting business again...Just all these weird, unrealistic thoughts and ideas. And when he got emergency funds from SS until things were straightened around, he paid his PHONE BILL, not his rent. Priceless, but hey - that's him in a nutshell.

Okay, that pretty much brings us up to the present. Regarding his insistance that he could go into business again, he talked me into saying I'd make him some business cards. Well, that's not exactly fair to say; he said he wanted to get some, and I said I could make them. I was being sucked into his little act, and feeling sorry for him. I thought, what would it hurt for me to make up a few cards for him if it will make him feel better? Yeah, you can see the pattern. I put off doing them because I had some other responsibilities I needed to take care of first.

All this time, I'd been talking with my friend Angie about all the crap with him, and she was challenging me to examine why I even stayed in contact with him when all it did was suck me dry. What was my motivation, anyway? Some misguided, guilt-ridden feeling that he was family and that I owed it to him. I didn't want to send him the cards, yet I'd told him I would. I printed them, but then stuck them in an envelope on my desk while I tried to be more objective.

He started sending cards, supposedly get-well cards and such, but all were covered with references to his wanting his cards. That just made me want to drag my feet even more.

Finally, one day he called me. He wanted me to type a letter for him to send to his building's manager. I told him I was not involved, could not be involved, being two states away. He replied, "Oh, but you ARE involved". That was the last straw. I really let him have it, telling him how I felt about him. I told him all the crap that's been in my heart for years, all the frustrations, all the anger. All the vile sewage I'd never told him. He was quiet for a while and then said, "So are you going to still send me my cards?"

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

I launched into another diatribe, this time about his incredible self-centeredness. I did tell him I would send him his cards, but ONLY beause I'd promised him them. Finally, he got off the phone. I didn't hear anything for a while, a few weeks I think. Then he started sending cards again, along with packages of junk -- all with notes about his danged cards.

OK. So, last week I sent him the latest packet (a bunch of assorted greeting cards with the occasions crossed out and written in by hand - just crazy stuff - and all with notes on them about his business cards), along with his cards, and the following note, which I had my husband mail Saturday while he was out. It was a long time in coming -- far too long, in fact -- and I did not want the opportunity to chicken out and change my mind.

6/8/2002

The only reason I am sending these is I already printed them and it would be wasteful to do otherwise. Also, I keep the promises I make. That said, and these cards mailed, I am done.

I would prefer not to have contact with you at this time. For a while I made a go of it, but I have nothing to give anymore. There is too much sadness and anger in the memories I do have, and I have no desire to forge new ones.

Please respect my wishes. I will return any further mail and don't wish for you to lose the postage costs.

My father called today and left two messages on our answering machine. The first said he knows I don't want to talk to him, but he got the cards and the greeting cards from me, but he didn't get his drill. And he just wondered where that was. Then he called again a few minutes later and said he wants me to mail him back this Mikita drill, priority mail or first class, and this week because he needs it back now.

Ummmmmm. I don't think so. He sent this drill to my husband and I as a gift. It's an old cordless power drill he'd had and he sent it to us as a gift. This is just SO damned like him.

OK. Well, I believe this explains my funkdom. I already have the health concerns going on, and now he's going to call and harass us for his drill. We're going to get a modem which supports caller-ID and have it set to sound like an out-of-service phone number when his number dials us. If he gets sneaky like he did when his sister got caller ID because of him (calling from payphones or other places so they would not see his number), we'll change our number. I don't want anything to do with this man. I have truly reached the end of my rope with him; I tried, with all best intentions, to help him, but he abused it and started sucking me dry, just like he has the rest of his family and friends. It is no wonder no one wants to have anything to do with him any more.

It's really sad.

"The true harvest of my daily life is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the tints of morning or evening. It is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched."

-- Henry David Thoreau, Walden

Thanks to Angie, I saw this quote today at Spendor Of Creation today. It's the website of a Vikki, a lady who's posted her nature photoraphy online. I really like her style and way of looking at things.

I wrote to her to tell her my appreciation for her site, and in so doing found myself thinking a lot about what photography means to me. When I am walking around with my camera, I am so absorbed in what I'm doing that time just flies by. I don't feel hungry, distracted, hot, or anything; I am just really into the moment. I find that I really see things when I am looking at my surroundings with pictures in mind. Taking macro shots of plants and insects is expecially exciting to me because I often notice yet more cool things later when I view the shots enlarged. It's always a surprise to find some little bug I didn't notice on a petal before!

Another thing about nature photography is the reference part of it. I like being able to look back at the pictures I've taken of plants in my own yard, for instance, and be able to ascertain that the dianthus by the front steps started blooming April 24, or whenever the shot was taken. That's valuable to me in coming years, plus all the pictures of my own garden's plants are great to look at on those interminable, grey winter days here in Ohio.

oo000OO ><}}}>

By the way, I am a LOSER again. I have lost 10 pounds since going to the doctor last week. Yippeee!! It feels good to be regaining control of my appetite and habits, to be on the losing side of this battle of the bulge again. :)

A story about Hattie, our little long-haired black cat. Soon after we first got her back in 2001, we thought heard mewing coming from down in our basement. When we went down there, the mewing seemed to come from upstairs. This went on, with us ascending and descending the steps repeatedly as we tried to pinpoint the source. Finally, we decided she must have crawled through one of the temporarily ungrated intake vents for the heat/AC and gotten down into the heating ducts in our basement! Just what we needed, a young kitten stuck in the bowels of our house!

The only answer seemed to be to dismantle the ductwork until we found her. As we stood in the kitchen contemplating how to even begin this task, we heard another series of meows. Finally, listening carefully, we traced them to their source: the kitchen cabinet. They're old 1950's metal cabinets, and her cries reverberated in them, sounding like they came from elsewhere.

We opened the door and She, High Princess, padded delicately into the light, purring her greetings, her tail held high in the air.

Cats.

A girl just exposed to broadband
Was sucked to her chair as with quicksand
Oh, try as she might
She could not hope to fight
The allure of such speed at her mousehand

An Ode To Angie's Installation of Cable Internet Access

Angiepangie of the US Nation
Described cable with such adulation
Readers cried and they laughed
As they sampled her craft
And now she's a blogging sensation

I'm just up from bed briefly, having awakened with that great bladder urge, but I must write something before it leaves my mind in the activities of the waking day. It is densely foggy, and the air feels heavy to breathe, palpable. The floodlights which illuminate our patio and back yard are mounted just above the bathroom window, and just now in their light I could see the fog pouring off the roof of our house. It billowed and cascaded along the current created by the slope of the roof, swirling and breaking up as it got just past the lights. It was mesmirizing to watch this, fluid and beautiful.

Sweet dreams.

I've just been reading an interview with cartoonist Lynda Barry on Salon.com. I found her comics while browsing some other stuff there, and I'm hooked. How did I miss her all these years? She's friends with Matt Groening of Life in Hell and The Simpson's fame, if that tells you anything.

Anyway, I find myself drawn not only to her acerbic humor in the comics, but her writing as well. She's got a lot of good things to say. A lot of really cynical things to say, too, but hey. This interview is especially thought-provoking, especially her comments about life in junior high school. Ouch.

DH and I are going out to lunch and to a used book sale with our friend Amy. I'd better scoot. I just had to mention Lynda Barry before I forgot.

Nothing, and I mean nothing beats a nap on the couch when your livingroom is cool and dark, and you have a puppy blanket. :) Yesterday I took a long nap and both dogs were sacked out with me. It was so nice. I can't imagine life without dogs. I grew up with them and loved them, but when I moved away from home and started apartment living, I couldn't have one. My husband was raised with dogs, too, and had to give his away when we got married and he moved into my apartment in 1992. For years we rented and just enjoyed our two cats; since we couldn't have dogs, the subject never really came up too much.

When we bought our house in 1999, talk of dogs ensued. We held off, though, not wanting the responsibility of a dog: the walking, the extra pet hair, having to find someone to watch them if you went out of town, etc. But we finally got the itch in 2000 and answered an ad in the local paper regarding puppies. As it turns out, their mother is the dog we fell in love with. Her pups, four months old, were backwards and terribly shy. Sarah, on the other hand, was a bundle of happy friendship. The family raised beagles, but had too many other dogs and needed to find homes some; after a brief exchange of words, said we could take her home. According to her owners, she's the result of a chow-chow getting to one of their beagle bitches. Looking at her, you can see the beagle, but the chow is questionable; if anything, she looks like a small version of a lab, with more beagley ears. She's all gold, save a white toe, and her muzzle's now greying.

We were amazed that she does not run away; if we're working out in the yard, she finds a sunny spot and is content to just sit there, contemplative and sleepy. Her one vice is her complete obsession with squirrels. We call her Vibro-Dog when she sees a squirrel outside the window and starts shaking and shuddering in her excitement. At times, she shudder so hard her teeth chatter, LOL! We used to have the head of our bed up against the window, but after too many mornings awakening to the shuddering of Vibro-Dog at our heads, we moved the bed so she has to be at the foot to see out the window. Better yet, we close the blinds so she has no temptations at all.

Up next: Emma Ada Riblet. :)

Spoilers ahead....We saw The Sum of All Fears last night with Angie. It started out a little slow, but it really kicked into gear after that and was pretty darned suspenseful. And for a while there, I was stressed for another reason.

There's a catastrophic scene in which a nuclear bomb goes off in a crowded football stadium in Baltimore, and seeing that happening really took me aback. I was at the point of tears, because it went beyond movie fantasy. This could happen. Crap. It made September 11 hit home again, once more reminding me that life is not necessarily going to settle back into any sort of routine. We are so fortunate to live in a country where suicide bombers are not the norm. But who's to say they won't become the norm?

Most of the time, I just do my "thing", and don't let myself think about it. Ultimately, my worrying about it won't change anything for better or worse. I suppose it's one of those "cross that bridge when we come to it" sort of things. But it's still unsettling.

Back to the movie: Ben Affleck did a great job. This movie is another adaptation of a Tom Clancy novel featuring the character Jack Ryan, who was played by Harrison Ford in the previous movies. In the other movies, Ryan is married with kids. In this movie, though, Ryan is unmarried and has no kids. It seems to take place right now, so it's not a prequel. That stuff didn't really bother me, though, because the story stood well on its own. Just a minor anomaly, LOL.

On other news, I have to have an ultrasound this week because it seems a hernia's developed at an old incision site. Yuck. I want to get my plants in the ground, but my tummy hurts -- but if I have surgery, how long will I be laid up and not able to do any of that? Bleah.