Yeah, Baby! Okay, I admit my guilty pleasure...We saw Goldmember tonight with our buddy Jeff. I know, I know...Sophomoric, bathroom humor. But Mike Myers makes me howl with mirth. And the cameo appearances of various celebrities in Goldmember were great fun. Mike Myers has little competition for my yuks. Nobody but Eddie Murphy can play so many characters in one movie and get away with it. Well, okay, maybe Dana Carvey can, but I've not seen his new movie The Master of Disguise yet. Yet...

I think it would be wonderful to be an actress. I guess I am one already, but I haven't done any real gigs. I've always loved doing immitations and making up accents and characters, though. It's such a kicker to make people laugh and forget their troubles for a while. I don't think I'd enjoy the lack of privacy in a Hollywood life, though. No, I know I wouldn't. Still...Wonder what would have happened if I'd gone out there in the world and tried it...way back when...

(Insert harp music here).

I tried out for Grease in High School. I was totally unprepared for the audition (gee, some things never change, huh?) and grabbed an accompaniment tape I had, plus a little play whose title escapes me now, lo these 18 years later. I sang Sandi Patti's "Because of Who You Are", realizing as I sang it that it was truthfully beyond my highest range. What a track to choose, huh?!

The bit I read from the play was kind of fun, and quite a departure from that sweet little Sandi Patti tune. Like I said, I don't remember the play's title at all - It was just one of the paperbound playbooks the director had ready for those who, like me, were unprepared. All I remember was, the scene involved a very angry, sarcastic woman grabbing her husband's mail off the table and flipping through it to see who the letters were from. She had a comment about several of the envelopes. I really got into it, and had fun!

The director must have heard an alto voice in my screeching, and she must have thought I had the sarcastic delivery she wanted, because she chose me for the part of Rizzo. Oooh, I could just see how fun it would be playing that hard-nosed, wise-cracking, bubblegum hood!

I chickened out. I mean before the first rehearsal, even.

I don't know if it was commitment, fear of failure, fear of success....But for whatever reason, I never did it. And I'll tell you what, it's going to be one of those deathbed regrets. I've always wondered how things might have been different had I followed through and done that. My peers might have seen me for something other than the motorhead partier who was wallowing her way out of that mire and into a decent life. I might have continued on to try other theatrical stufff. I might have....Well, what's the point in wondering, right?

In college I again tried out for a play, this one being part of Romulus Linney's "Sand Mountain". I was offered one of the leads, the part of Mary. Nope, you guessed it. I didn't go through with it, either. That time I actually had a reason. I was a very gung-ho new believer at the time, seeing things very black and white, and there were some things in the play which offended me as a Christian once I read more of the play. I'd not read it through before auditioning, you see. That was silly of me, but as I recall, it was a last-minute decision to even try out. I remember how terribly I wanted to act in that play, and how excited I was go get the part...And the sick feeling I got in the pit of my stomach as I read the rest of the play and realized I had some serious inner conflicts with its contents. It's true, even now I would still turn it down -- but I wish I'd read the thing through so I wouldn't have tried out and gotten all excited over being chosen. Ugh.

I did sing in the University Chorus at campus, though, and really enjoyed that. Our director was a super lady who really taught us good methods to bring out the best in our voices. I loved the more complicated works by Bach and Mozart, which made us all mindful to work together and learn good dynamics and blending. During that time, I sang in our church's worship team and, again, loved that blending of voices. I used to do quite a bit of singing in churches and in some weddings, but it's been years. To tell the truth, I don't even want to do church music that much anymore. What I'd love to sing is big band and standards. That's my real musical love. But I digress...

It's ironic that I would have such a desire to do something with the characters, dialogues and music in my head, but be so lacking in self-discipline that I don't want to have to go to rehearsals, isn't it? I guess if I were pulling in 20-million for a movie, I might be a bit more motivated. I just don't want any part of the hard knocks it takes to get there. I read and watch biographies....Noooo way, thanks. I guess I'll just dabble in different things, make my friends laugh, sing a few songs, and remain a frustrated artist.

Last night I started an awful headache which morphed into a migraine. Noooo fun. Helpful hint: If you want the same effect as Excedrin Migraine, take 2 aspirin, 2 acetominophen, and drink a cup of strong coffee or drink a coke. As long as I keep up with this concoction today, I can function. As soon as I let it go too far, though, the headache starts sneaking back in. Ugh. It's a heck of a lot better than it was last night and this morning, though!

A bit late, here is my response to the The Friday Five, which I yoinked from Busgirlie's site:

Friday Five (.org)
Answer the following five questions in your own weblog. Make sure you leave a comment here with a link to your post or just leave your answers in this post's comments section.

1. How long have you had a weblog?
Ummmm....What's a weblog? Sorry couldn't resist. That's a question I've heard repeatedly since starting mine on Friday, May 24. Before that all my epiphanies were noted via e-mail to a few friends. Now I tell most folks to read my blog if they want to know what's in my head, LOL.

2. What was your first post about?
It was all about appeasing my pal Angie, who'd lit the blog fire beneath my butt and gotten me to do this. That first post also revealed what inanimate object I am.

3. How many changes (name, location, etc.) of your weblog have there been, if more than one?
I've always called it Gardenwife's Plot. I just realized as I typed that how the name is a double entendre. Wow. I originally called it Gardenwife's Plot in reference to a plot being a piece of land that you work and grow. However, the cool thing is that a plot is also a storyline. This is so cool -- Wish I'd done that on purpose! Okay, anyway, I started out having this hosted at Prodigy.net, our old ISP. They don't support a lot of cgi script stuff, though, and some things I wanted to do wouldn't work. So, I ended up using the domain I'd registered and had it hosted at Newfield.net -- A decision with which I am very happy.

4. What CMS (content management system) do you use? Do you like it or do you want to try something else?
I am using YACCS, part of the Rate Your Music site. I'd been trying to get signed up for a couple weeks, but due to the limited availability to new members, I always missed out. They'd accept 25 new members every 12 hours, and I never managed to get signed on. They did let me be a beta tester for their new FTP version, however, and now I'm a happy camper. The only thing on my wish list for YACCS is e-mail notification. The site's creator, Hossein Sharifi, did clue me in to a news feed service which would let me receive notifications of comment updates via pop-up windows. I'm not sure whether I'll go for that or not. Anyone know how to modify a YACCS template so it automatically spawns an e-mail to me whenever a comment's left? Purty please?

5. Do you read people who have both a journal and a weblog? Or do you prefer to read people who have all of their writing in one central place?
I'm not sure what the difference is between a journal and a weblog. To me, they're one in the same. Maybe someone can enlighten me as to the difference. I have my favorite folks' blogs in their own favorites folder, and I make my rounds almost daily. I just haven't gotten around to linking to them all yet.

Okay, your turn! :)

Buddy seems to be what he answers to, or at least notices, so that's what we call him. Not my first choice in names, but since we were saying it in a general way, why not? He slept on the bed all night, and this morning I noticed he and Emma were asleep facing each other, a tangle of paws on both short and long dog legs between them. Buddy also endeared himself to us by coming up to the head of the bed and putting his cold nose by my ear to wake me up. He had to go out. Boy, am I glad he's a conscientious little fella and woke me instead of just finding a corner of the bedroom -- or bed! -- to relieve himself.

DH called the dog pound this morning, and no one has reported any male beagles missing. Yay! There's no listings for any in the paper, either. Double-yay!

For now, we're calling him Buddy. Here he is, in all his stubby little Beagle glory. ;) Man, he has big paws for a dog his size. They're stubby and wide, just like my DH's feet.

Well, it's my birthday today. I'm 35 now, as opposed to 34.99 - LOL. I figure if little kids can round their ages up to the next half, why can't I express mine in retail terms? I shall spend my birthday afternoon at the surgeon's office, finding out whether I will have inpatient or outpatient surgery, and when, and all that good stuff.

I saw this pretty little beagle wandering around our neighborhood for two days, collarless and with no ID. Yesterday, he tried to get in the postman's truck when the man got back in it at the nearby school. He looked so sad when the truck pulled away, taking a few steps after it. Then this morning, I passed him on a fairly busy road as I was going on an errand. When I came back from the errand, he was at the corner of our street. I pulled over and opened my car door, calling him. He trotted right up and got in the car with me! :) :)

When I got home, I knocked on the door rather than just walking in with him with the dogs loose. You should have seen Howie's face when he opened the front door to find me standing there with this little fella. His face broke out into a huge grin and he said "aaaaaaaaaaaw, he's so cute!".

Howie's always wanted a beagle.

This fella's neutered already (good thing, seeing how Emma's in heat, huh?) obviously loves people and gets along with cats and dogs alike. His teeth are clean and pretty white, so he's probably a fairly young dog.

Our two curious girls overwhelmed him at first, and he came and put his paws up on my knees as if to say "help! protect me!". After the initial introductions, though, he acted as if he's lived here all his life! Howie gave him a bath to make sure he had no fleas, and he didn't see any. Emma loves to play with him, and he puts up with her rambunctiousness like a saint.

Seeing how well they all got along and afraid to leave him out loose when I was out, I put him in the huge crate with Sarah and Emma when I went to the doctor's. When I came back, they were all sound asleep and didn't stir until I clomped down the basement stairs and opened the rec room door - That's never happened before, LOL.

We're watching the lost and found ads in the newspaper and local radio stations. If no one wants him bad enough to call and place a free "lost pet" ad or hang up a few posters, they must not want him. I suspect he was dumped by someone.

I was ready to give him to my mom if nobody claims him, thinking Howie might not want a third dog. Howie said he wants to keep him if that's the case, though -- :D Yippee!!

Pictures soon......

Oh, yes...One other thing. Today our little girl became a woman. Our puppy is officially a bitch. As you can see, she doesn't look too thrilled to be wearing her sanitary belt, but the alternative to this is....unthinkable. Anyone want to take her for a week or three?



We budgeted money for her spay for August, but she surprised us. Oh, joy! No more carefree romps, Emma dear. We learned several weeks ago she has a hankering to run, so she's never out without a leash now. She's gotten loose from us twice, but it was by accident. She is NOT easy to catch when she does get loose, either. It's all a really fun, endless game for her --- Dash up to mommy, fake to the right and run left! Whip by daddy, tail held high!

The first time she got loose, my hubby came stomping into the house ticked off as could be. "It's your turn!" he intoned, "I've HAD IT. I can't catch her!" So out I went, walking through the school parking lot behind our yard. DH said she'd even been running in the middle of the road -- Oh, Lordy! Finally, though, I found her near the doghouse of a neighbor's dog, right next to the large schoolyard field. If it hadn't been for the flash of white in the moonlight, I'd never have found her.

She was silent and sneaky, watching me search and hearing my call and the rattle of her treats bag. As soon as she realized I'd found her, she began her mad dashes around me. Despite my having a bag of her treats, despite my crouching on the ground in the middle of the field, she would not come to me. She's a beautiful dog, and to see her run unchecked is to see fluid poetry in action. But not at 1:30am. Not when you're sore and tired.

Behold! Here came DH riding up on his bicycle, intending to herd the wayward puppy toward me.

What does a puppy do when she sees something she's never before encountered? Does she care that it is the wee hours of the morning? No! She barks and exclaims "what the HECK is that thing!? Ohmygosh it's big, but it could be fun!" She advances, then skitters back, then advances again, barking. It's all such great fun! Plan A is a dismal failure, so DH turns his bike toward the school's exit to our road and starts toward home.

Something I can only liken to the Pied Piper Effect occurs: Emma follows him, trotting behind the bike with her tail held high, like she's done it a thousand times. She docilly and quietly tailed him all the way up the road and right into the garage, where he nabbed her.

The next (and last) time she got loose, slipping her collar, I joined the search looking like a metro housing reject. It was that bad. I'd been doing some cooking and was just chillin' at home that afternoon. No bra. Tomato-stained white t-shirt. Shorts. Hairy legs. Messy hair.

Of course, Emma was back behind the same neighbor's house, trying to engage their English sheepdog in play. Poor Lucky, said dog, is shy and was a reluctant playmate. As soon as Emma saw me, the chase was on again. This time, she grabbed something from the ground in her mouth -- a wad of red socks from the look of it -- and pranced around carrying it like a great banner. Then she ran back to Lucky's domain. And back out again to get the sock thing and strut. I could see people moving around inside the house belonging to Lucky girl. By the time my hubby met me at the scene of the crime, the neighbor had exited his house and walked up toward us. He was smiling. This was a good sign!

Once he stooped to pet his own dog, Emma couldn't stand it. She had to run up and get attention, too. Her saving grace is her love-sponge nature, yes. Howie hooked her back into her collar and thanked the neighbor as I crossed my arms over my chest and smiled broadly, hoping my smile would be a bright decoy and distract him from the rest of me. I hope he didn't notice how trashy his dog-crazy neighbor looked, but if he did....Oh, well. :)

No more solo runs, doggie girl, especially now.

I was so touched today by the arrival of the most beautiful birthday card I've ever received, from a dear gardening friend I've yet to meet "in person". I have had a lot of pain today for some reason and was really feeling down for a while, but getting that card really perked my spirits! You just never know how some little thing like that can make such a big difference. Another happy thing was I heard from a friend with whom I've been out of touch for a while. It was such a cool drink of water to see an e-mail from her, and it was good news I read in there. So I've been blessed both by snail and e-mail this day. :)

Yesterday I had the treat of seeing the caterpillars of tiger swallowtail butterflies on a stand of Queen Anne's Lace in a friend's field. I had decided to sit and wait with Howie while the group at a cookout took a short walk to let dinner settle. Thanks to Teresa for telling me they were there and showing me just the plant where the group saw them! I was so excited to get more pictures having to do with these flying jewels. :)

The cookout I mentioned was a really nice time. Several of my hubby's coworkers are gardeners, and they decided earlier this year that each would have the others over for a cookout during the summer. So, this first cookout was held at Rick and Susan's, and we so liked just sitting back and enjoying the gardens at their place. They have some cool and unique stone sculptures, including a bench made of huge slabs of stone. They told us the stone had been carved from giant bolders; the company which sells the stone has the boulders brought into the facility on railroad cars, then slices through them with giant saws. That must really be something to see!

They put the bench in their garden in memory of a good friend who died a few years ago; he used to visit and loved to wander their property and enjoy the land. I think that's a marvelous tribute. I told Susan it reminded me of the piece Robert Fulghum wrote about a bench he saw at a cemetary. I'll find an excerpt sometime and post it here. In the meantime, you can pick a copy of the book its from up at Amazon.com for 75 cents (used).

I am so excited! Today I got a second chance at some butterfly pictures, and this time the butterfly stuck around. It wasn't the pretty black one today, but rather a tiger swallowtail. He let me get within 6" of him and take shot after shot. Those echinacea must have been awfully tasty to keep him still for so long. They pictures came out great and I'm really happy with them. Until I get them on my site, I've posted them in this journal entry at Dave's Garden. Enjoy, and feel free to poke around the other entries there. The site's my second home. :)

Emma, our greyhound-mix puppy, has a small brown splotch on the white portion of her forehead. This is not a natural splotch. When I mentioned it, Howie said "Oh, I spilled coffee on her." Yes, our dog is a carpet. I took her coffee-stained head in my hands and kissed her nose, crying "we can't have a white dog any more than we can have a white shirts, for the stains!" Poor puppy, I must wash her head.

Uh, oh....Maybe my family is right. I just learned I am 65% Internet Addict

I am pretty addicted, but there is hope. I think I'm just well connected to the internet and technology, but it's really a start of a drug-like addiction. I must act now! Unplug this computer!

Take the Internet Addict Test at fuali.com

Oh yeah? So take the test yourself! ;o)

My DH designed his own logo for his webpage. It really looks like him - I love it! It just doesn't reduce well, as you can see. If you click this thumbnail and see the full-size image, it's okay. Is this because the graphic is saved as a GIF file?

I'm beta testing YACCS's comments service. So, I'd appreciate it if you would leave a comment today.

I stayed up until nearly 7:00am today, editing photographs, working on my website, and just puttering around. I just wasn't tired, so I figured I would enjoy the night. When I finally did sleep, it was the sleep of the dead. I slept straight through until 4:00pm, and it felt wonderful. I feel no guilt for sleeping in at all, because that's the first really good night's (or day's, but who's counting) sleep I've had in weeks and my body and mind both feel refreshed. Aaaaaaaaah.

When I looked out the front window this afternoon, I saw a pretty black butterfly noshing on one of our pink delight buddleia. I dashed inside and got the camera and strode toward the door as I turned it on and set it to its macro mode. I opened the front door just in time to see that butterfly flitting toward the back yard. Still, even without a butterfly, it was overcast, but bright light and I took some shots of the perennials out front. Thunder rolled, and the sky turned very grey. Oh, God, I thought, please let us get a good rain. It was then that one of those rare and cool weather things happened; I heard the rain start pouring a ways off, then saw it come slashing down out of the sky, but it was down the hill from me. As I watched, it came rushing toward our house in a torrent, covering the yards between us like a forest fire licking through dry grass. I fled for the porch and, once inside the front door, turned to look back outside.

The butterfly alighted on the porch rail, four feet from me. And then the rain came, and he skipped away in the raindrops.

What a tease.

One last thing before I slumber: Blog Haiku. This is terrific stuff, from the beautiful and simple page design to the collaborative haiku efforts of people everywhere. Kudos for taking two art forms and combining them, taking them to the next level -- oh-so-much-better than peanut butter and chocolate. Well, close, anyway. And that's really something coming from this girl. ;)

Well, it was bound to happen. I stumbled upon a TechTV fan site: TechTVTechies.com, and I took a quiz which tells me which Screensaver I am. Screensaver as in person on TechTV's "The Screensavers". And the drumroll, please....

Take the
Which
Screen Saver are you? quiz.

It's the quiz with oomph!

Created by Rachel (oomph)

and John (woobyslj)

Actually...All except for the getting sympathy from women part, it's pretty accurate, LOL. I *love* TechTV. The geeks on that channel are brains, but also great at improv. "The Screensavers" is our favorite show -- Those guys make my husband and I laugh aloud, every show.

Having read Big White Guy's "Squidgy Pickle Incident", I was doubly amused when I found something aberrant in my pickle jar. There I was, minding my own business, getting read to top off a lovely cheese and Miracle Whip sandiwich with a few bread and butter chips.I unscrewed the lid on a new jar. With my fork hovering over the contents, I saw it. A smiley face. In a pickle slice.

It was just too weird. There they were: two little round eyes, a perfectly-centered nose, and....AND...A crescent shaped mouth. I laughed aloud (something actually not that unusual for me). There was a split second where I just knew I should take a picture of that pickle. But no, I didn't. I ate the evidence with my sandwich. And it was good. Of course, I called my husband at work and said, "I found your pickle", thinking he'd done it as a prank. He is a prankster, after all. But he had no idea what I was talking about.

Then, I turned to my friend Pangie and asked her if she'd messed with the pickles last time she was over at our house. After all, she is known to mess with my desktop wallpaper. She replied that, though it did sound like something she would do, no. I even called my mother and asked her if she and dad had pulled a joke on us. No. Was it at the factory, then, that someone gave a pickle slice its happy countenance?


Weirdness continued, weeks later. I opened another jar of pickles - this jar being dill pickles - and saw another face. This one, unlike the first, appeared surprised. It had eyes, a nose, and a round mouth. Triumphantly, I marched into the office to show my husband. "Those are holes from the seeds," he declared. And then he proceeded to snatch that puppy from my hand and eat it. Again, no evidence! But I swear it was a face.

I can see it now: "Woman sees face of Jesus in Dill Pickle Slice" Yeah, THEN they'll all believe me.

Breaking news from the Gosh, I Need A Life department:

I just realized today that I've come to recognize the various chewing sounds the dogs make. Emma, especially, tends to lay on the floor behind my recliner and chew whatever's close at hand. The Nylabones are very hard plastic (AND bacon flavored, might I add), and they make an appropriately irritating tooth-on-bone scraping sound when being gnawed. Rope, the dogs' beloved rope bone, squeaks as the fibers are pulled between Emma's teeth. Hot Dog Squeaky toy is a rubber squeaky toy, so that's not hard to figure out. Oh....And when Rabbit is treated for his numerous dog-induced injuries and sent back to the front lines, well, he's easy to discern thanks to the squeakers embedded his body.

The wisdom of this last toy was obvious after Emma systematically destroyed three other fuzzy squeaky toys. Rabbit has very long legs and ears, providing an excellent flop factor, as I dubbed it. He can be shaken roughly by any appendage or ear and he has a suitable dead-animal flop the dogs both seem to enjoy. (How do they fling their heads and necks around like that without getting a major dislocation, anyway!?) The second reason Rabbit was an exellent choice is the three separate squeakers in his body: one in his ample midsection, and one each in one foot and one hand. The advantage of this redundancy? Even if the dogs dismember this fella, they still have at least three squeaky toys, nomatter how odd the parts look when separated from the whole.

Any other sound - especially that which sounds like plastic wrap, tinfoil, plastic yogurt cups, tuna cans or, worse, like something too small to produce anything but lip-smacking sounds - is cause for immediate investigation. A twist tie or paperclip, though fun, can be deadly.

I found out from my second doctor's appointment that the discrepancy in my ultrasound versus the CT-scan is almost surely due to adhesions (scar tissue) that have formed at the site of a 1992 surgery. An ultrasound does not show them, but a CT-scan does. It's nice to know my pain is validated -- this has been going on for more than two years and getting worse, and it hasn't just been my imagination or low pain tolerance.

Anyway, I go back to see the surgeon on July 25, and by then this OB/GYN will have spoken with him and discussed what the best course of action will be for me. I wonder now if the surgeon will be able to do the surgery as outpatient. The hernia is up high, just above my belly button, but the adhesions are very low in my abdomen and in my pelvic area. So....I guess I just wait and find that out next Friday. It's my birthday, incidently, and I just can't wait to sit in a waiting room on my birthday, LOL. ;) But I do feel relieved after seeing the OB/GYN this week and hearing what she said.

I have to say, I have the best husband in the world, too. He went with me to the OB/GYN's office, not only to the waiting room, but to the exam room as well. I was really nervous and didn't know what to expect to hear, so he was willing to brave the estrogen-laden environs and be my ever-lovin' support. His only complaint was the glaringly obvious lack of mens magazines. He forgot to bring his computer geek magazines with him, so he instead perused the titles on the tables in the waiting room.

There were oodles of ladies' magazines strewn about on the tables: Child, Parent, Town & Country, Working Mother, Fit Pregnancy...But not an Outdoor Life or Car & Driver to be found! Not even a People Magazine, that staple of doctor office waiting rooms everywhere! What is UP with that? Surely a few men darken their doorstep every week, and why shouldn't they have something to occupy their minds while conversations around them drift toward things like When was your last period? How long did you bleed? How heavy was the flow? and other frank discussions of feminine hygiene and parts.

My man really did make a sacrafice. ;)

Whew, okay, now the date header is working. I messed up the blogger button and will have to copy that code back into my template, though. In the meantime there's a link, at least. And still have to get the comments working. Anyone recommend a good comments service or script that's easy to use? I'm using enetation.com's service now, but I'd really prefer something which would e-mail the comments to me as they come in. Drop me an e-mail if you have any suggestions.

The date headers from blogger are not working right....Still working on them. And I need to get comments running again. When I do, will ya make it worth my while and leave a comment? ;)

Well, it's getting there, this page. I was bashing my head against the keyboard trying to figure out how to add a column to this page using HTML, when it occurred to me: I own FrontPage 2000. D'Oh! I know it adds all its own junk, but I found I could still just copy the blog template into the HTML section of a new page in FrontPage, then go to the "Normal" tab and fiddle to my heart's content in WSYIWYG, then toggle over to "Preview" tab and check it out. When things looked right, I'd just toggle back over to the "HTML" tab, copy the code, and paste it back in my blogger template. Voila! It worketh! And with no FrontPage extensions. I am a very happy camper. :) Now I need to figure out this comments stuff.

No, you're not going crazy. Well, okay, I have no way of knowing that, actually. But you're not imagining things if you think my blog is transforming before your very eyes. I've been tweaking a template I found at blogskins.com and having some trouble getting my table to be three columns. I want a column in the black space to the right of this entry. Aaaaaaargh. My favorite tech support gal is away from the computer for a while, so I'm muddling through this myself. No comments working yet, either. So e-mail me if you want to say hi or leave a comment. :)

I see another doctor tomorrow to try and figure out what's causing the pain I've been having. I'm ready to just get things moving - If I have to be admitted for exploratory surgery, so be it. If I don't, then I'm ready to have the outpatient hernia repair done. I just know I am really tired of waiting; this in-limbo feeling is yucky.

Clueless at the Movies

My DH and I went to see a movie with our friend Jeff tonight. Our intention was to see Bourne Identity. We bought tickets for that, walked in the cineplex, and managed to wander cluelessly into the wrong theater! What we saw was Minority Report, which was excellent. I saw a preview of this movie months ago in a market research survey I took for Greenfield Online and thought it looked really interesting, and it proved to be so. The basic premise is three people, known as precogs (as in precognitives), see murders which are going to occur in the future. Technology allows the police to view the thoughts of the precogs in audiovisual form, where they search the images for clues as to where the murder is going to take place. They then dispatch cops to prevent the murder, and the would-be killer is arrested for intending to murder. They precogs are never wrong. Right?

I won't give anything away. There were a couple of inconsistencies, but they were far outweighed by a good, complicated plot and great acting. There's also a scene which I really loved, being an avid gardener. Remember Little Shop of Horrors? Well, that ol' boy has nothing on this one lady's work. Anyway, no spoilers here. Just suffice it to say we walked out of that theater so psyched and talking about it!

Walking into the wrong theater was one of the best mistakes we've ever made. :)

I'm feeling blue today for a few reasons. I can't really go into details, but one good thing has come of it. I realize I need to culture my relationship - my friendship, really - with God more. Though I am a social person and get along well with people (nobody's a stranger, you know the type), I don't have many really close friends. I have a pretty small circle of people with whom I feel really comfortable and with whom I want to spend my time. It isn't that I dislike others so much as this:

In a nutshell, I appear to be really outgoing, and I am. I just don't let people in very easily.

The thing is, though, I depend on the people in my life too much. God wants me to get to know Him, but I tend to gravitate toward my (for lack of a better word) "earthly" friends instead of God. Nurturing human friendships and having a vital relationship with God is great, but not one at the exclusion of the other. So when my happy norm of friendships is upset - be it by absence, sickness, you name it - I am left twiddling my thumbs and feeling bereft. I don't know what to do with myself! God wants to fill that gap, I know. But I have such a hard time really trusting Him with my heart sometimes.

If you've read my entries here, you know my relationship with my "absentee father", is not good, and I have no good father memories associated with him. So it's hard to trust God as Father. It's hard for me to really trust people, too, but people are just so much easier, in a way. You can look 'em in the eyes, see their expressions, hold their hands, hug 'em, and pat 'em on the back. Even my good friends from the Internet - many of which I may never meet face-to-face, are often more real to me than God. I can chat with them in word or type through this marvelous network tying the globe together. But God is so "out there" to this believer most of the time. I know there's the Bible, but even it just feels like a one-way conversation to me when I'm down like this. People give me the two-way communication I thrive on; but I need that with my Maker, too.

I am a Christian, and I've seen God work in my life. I have no doubt He's real, but I just wish He were more real to me. I know the only way to get to know people is to spend time with them and learn about them...I need to get past what keeps me from doing that with God. He already knows me, after all. It's not like I'm apt to say something inappropriate or shocking to Him. I need that communion with Him to sustain me.

I just realized last night that an older version of my blog was still at the main gardenwife.com page. That made things kind of confusing, considering those entries quit prior to July 4th! That's remedied now that I have a basic splash page up. Hope it didn't make your brain hurt too much in the meantime. ;)

This evening I caught up on a little blog reading at Bus Girlie's site, and one of her entries really threw me for a loop. It isn't that anything she wrote ticked me off, offended my sensibilities or made me want to write my congressman about something. Actually, she describes driving past a really bad auto wreck and mentions how the family members must be wondering where the people are.

In 1989, the year I was a senior at the local tech college and didn't yet have a car, my grandparents drove me to campus in the mornings and picked me up in the afternoons. One afternoon, they were late in arriving. For my chronically early grandpa who couldn't stand being made to wait, this was really unusual. I stood out in the May sunshine, glancing at my watch every so often, and waited. Finally a friend on his way home asked if I wanted a ride.

We drove toward my town, and on the way we looked down off the expressway to a sidestreet below and noticed a car wreck. By the time we got home and my mom's landlord came running out to tell me I needed to get to the hospital, I knew the feeling I'd had was right on. That mangled piece of metal was my grandparents' car. I hadn't recognized it when I saw it by the side of the road, surrounded by EMT's and squads. Maybe I didn't want to recognize it.

Shirdan drove me to the hospital. He was driving stickshift, but held my hand at the same time; I can still feel his warm hand when I let myself remember that day. We arrived at the ER and I walked around until someone noticed my questioning look -- doubtless a familiar look there -- and took me aside. Again the touch. Only this time it came in the form of a little grey-haired ER nurse. As I cried out "Where are they? Where is my grandma?", that little nurse took my hand.

She said, "Honey, it was a really bad car wreck. Your grandma was hurt really, really bad.....She didn't make it." All the while patting my hand. At the time I don't think I even felt her touch. But I remember it now, over a decade later.

My mother, who'd received word separately, was there, too. I don't remember who got there first. I remember clinging to her and crying, some of the few tears I shed during the whole ordeal. Grandpa was hurt, but would make it. I can't imagine the anguish that must have pierced his painkiller-induced grogginess! His wife was dead! He was obviously in pain, but he made his (and her wishes) clear when he uttered two words: "No wake".

They ER was ill-equipped to handle his injuries, so he was sent to a hospital in Columbus. My mother and I followed the ambulance, ambulance chasers in a somber sense, and arrived a few minutes after the squad brought him in. And again we waited. Another ray of light appeared in the form of my friend Rosa. She appeared and enveloped me in a big, squishy Rosa hug. Thank God for full-figured mamma types. :) Again the touch. This time in the form of Rosa brushing my hair. Right there in the ER, she got out a hairbrush and brushed my hair. She and I have lost touch through the years, but I vividly remember that tenderness.

Grief is such a strange thing. My grandpa had to stay in the hospital for quite some time, and missed grandma's funeral as a result. Mom and I, propelled by shock I suppose, were the most "together" at the funeral home. We went around comforting others. Grandma was an English teacher, and active in her church's ministry with developmentally disabled adults, and the calling hours preceding the funeral saw many unfamiliar faces filing through the room. All of them had been touched by her. But still we walked and ministered and shared good memories. I still don't know if it was shock or if it was just God's comfort. I suppose they're equal in most ways.

I hardly cried. Relatives converged on my grandparent's house to gather and reminisce and take care of "business". But grandpa was still in the hospital, so being there in that house with all those people not normally there -- that was surreal and awful. One day during all of this, I retreated to the woods which abutted my grandparents' property. There, in my familiar and safe getaway, a bed of pine needles in a pine grove, I sat cross-legged in the softness of that spring day and howled out my grief. It was so raw.

But then I was done for a while. My teachers at college were all very understanding, especially my accounting teacher. Alex Roletta is his name, and his wife Lois and he used to drink coffee and talk with my grandparents at the doughnut shop. Again the touch. His eyes were so sad and sincere when he spoke his condolences to me. You don't have to touch someone physically to touch her heart.

Grandpa lived until 1990, as I recall. He tried to be brave and keep some normal routines in his life, but it was hollow and meaningless without her. It was for all of us. They had a big picture window in their livingroom, and as far back as I could remember, they'd stand with their arms around one another waving to us as we backed out of the driveway to leave after a visit. After her death, we'd pull in the driveway to see a different inner world at that house, with my grandpa slumped in his recliner watching TV or dozing. I was young and selfish, hurting and confused about things of my own, and couldn't face the rawness of the pain there, so I avoided the house. I feel terrible about that to this day, even though I know why I did it.

It wasn't all doom and gloom, but there was a shadow cast over everything. He came to my graduation, though. He beamed, so proud. I know he was thinking of how proud my grandma would have been. We started going to restaurants for holiday dinners. It was painful trying to be cheerful on those days. I think all of us would have rather just stayed home and denied the holiday was even there. It just felt so empty.

When he was in the hospital later, with congestive heart failure, I visited him. I'd just sit and read while he dozed or watched TV. Again the touch. This time, it was just the action of being present that touched. My mom told me later how he loved how I'd just sit and be there. He hated small talk, so that's the best gift anyone could give him.

Writing this is so painful; I've never actually thought about it and put it down in writing. I've related bits and pieces to those close to me, but never the whole story and the incredible import of the little things which transpired over its course. I am saddened to think they never got to meet my wonderful husband or my step-dad. Tears did not come easy to me then. Today, especially as I write this, they flow freely when my heart is touched.

But there are many gifts I carry with me to this day. I love nature, especially birds. I love to read -- I have to read. I am excited about learning. Oh, when I think of the fun they both would have had on the web...Once they got over the technology of it, they'd have loved it. Okay, now I'm smiling again, and I think it's a good place to stop.

Wooooooooooooooooo! The camera sold right away today with Buy It Now on eBay, and the lady paid for it right away with PayPal. I am so thankful! Our friends are buying the Olympus we have now, and can pay us Friday. So...Now we're shopping for the Olympus C-2100uz. We can't afford to buy one brand new unless it's on a really great sale somewhere, so we're looking at factory refurbished units. The warranty will only be 90 days from Olympus on them, but we feel pretty comfortable with that. I love shopping online for stuff, so this is great. I like digging around for the best vendor coupons and stuff. Yippee!!

By the way, here's a shameless plug. Hey, it's my blog, so I'm allowed! ;) I'm selling a Canon Rebel G 35mm camera and setup, complete with three lenses, a bag, some filters, the original manual, plus a second book. I'll probably post a link here soon, soon as I get it listed. Check out eBay and search for me by username. I'll give ya one guess what name I use there. Hint: It's in the title of my blog. And I don't go by Plot.

Added: One auction, comin' right up! Please spread the word if you know anyone who's camera shopping and wants an outfit in near perfect condition, and from a heck of a nice couple to boot. ;)

One Surgery, Comin' Right Up....And Plants Galore

I've not heard anything back about the CT-scan. I suppose no news is good news? I should have called the surgeon's office today and checked, but a friend called and came by unexpectedly and I forgot all about making that call. I guess I'll have to call tomorrow - either that or be a geek and fax the office tonight asking they call me. Hmmmm...I like that idea better.

A friend from church who had hernia surgery has been dealing with complications. I didn't know this until I read her e-mail Sunday night. She's had fluid building up and has had to go to the surgeon's office multiple times in the last three weeks to have it drained. How awful for her! She may end up in the outpatient surgery clinic the same day as me if she has to have a drain put in. Poor gal.

Oh, me oh my. I wasn't really nervous about my own impending surgery until today. On the one hand, I want to feel better, and I know this thing isn't going to just mend on its own, thankyouveddymuch. But I don't relish surgery and recovery and all that. Yuck-O. I've not looked up the procedure online yet; I'm not sure if I want to research this procedure before Wednesday. It's sometimes easier going into this stuff just a little blind when it's not a serious operation/condition and when you trust the surgeon, I think. I sure don't want to see pictures!

One GREAT thing today, though: My friend Bev (a friend I made through the master gardener program) came by at my urging and took home a bunch of perennials. DH and I bought oodles of them in mid-April at an annual 25-cent perennial sale and then didn't get most of them planted. Next time, we will have the beds prepared before we buy plants or grow any from seed. She walked away a happy lady with lots of new plant babies, and watching her depart, I felt a huge burden lifted from my shoulders. There's a few left still needing homes, but nothing like there was before. Some of 'em I might pot up into gallon pots where they'll stay until we can plant them in the fall. It's just really been bothering me to see all these poor plants in their pots out back. I'd been fairly realistic and potted most of them up into bigger containers so they would have a little relief and room to grow -- plus not dry out so quickly -- but there they still sat. And when this hot weather hit, I could see it was a lose-lose situation having them drooping there in the heat. Aaaaargh - never again!

Note to self: If you have the beds ready BEFORE getting any plants next season, all you'll have to do is dig teeeeeny little holes and plant the seedlings right then. You won't have to worry and watch them languish in pots all over the patio while you see the weeks slip by with no new flowerbeds in sight.

I had my CT-scan, along with the standard pre-surgery tests, Tuesday. After rushing around madly to get there on time for my 9:30am appointment, I got there only to learn they were running "about a half hour behind". Okay, I thought, that's not too bad as far as doctor's office delays go. A lady brought out a quart of barium and told me to drink it at 10:00am. I asked if it would be okay for me to run over to the other area labs and get my other tests out of the way while I waited for the test, and she said that would be fine. She asked I be back by 11:00am.

Shaking the quart of milky white barium in its plastic bottle, I went out to the car and headed over to another local lab. Ignoring the straw, I just took the lid off the jar and chugged the stuff down. It wasn't as bad as I'd expected; it's changed since the last time I drank it in the mid-1980's. Now it's flavored something akin to strawberry, but not quite strawberry. Still, I didn't want to sip the stuff leisurely. I ran my errands and left vials of blood and EKG printouts in my wake, and got back to the first lab by 11:00am. Great timing, thought I.

I waited. And waited. Finally, at 12:15pm, they took me back and gave me the chest X-ray, getting that out of the way. Then I was sent back out to the waiting room to wait some more. They did have this going for them: The offices and waiting rooms are beautiful and have very comfortable furniture in them. And I had my Dean Koontz book to read. Without it, I would have been stuck reading really old issues of magazines.

Speaking of magazines, when I was waiting at the other lab the other lab, a 60-ish fellow walked into the waiting room. He glanced down at the table of magazines and commented, "They must only see women here." I looked over and laughed when I saw the rows of neatly arranged Women's Day magazines covering the table. That's all there were. I picked one up and said, "Oh, c'mon, here's one with an article about grilling That's a guy thing, right?" He and I then discussed Martha Stewart. There's advantages to being a person who loves to talk to strangers - it sure passes the time!

Back to the CT-scan. After my chest X-ray, barium lady came back with another quart of the good stuff and asked me to drink half of it. Awwww, only half? I complied, wishing it were a nice, icy-cold Coke. No luck. I learned I not only got to enjoy the chalky goodness of barium, but also get an injection of dye! This I was not expecting and I had done well not to faint when my bloodwork was done an hour earlier.

*SIGH* To her credit, the lady doing the CT-scan, Callen, was so sweet and gentle. She kept asking me how I felt and explained everything so I'd know what to expect. She asked if I'd like a cool cloth for my head, and I told what I couldn't wait for was a Biggie Coke (no food or water after midnight, remember). She was such a nurturer!

She left the room for a bit, and when she came back in, she said, "I know you said you wanted a Coke, but would a Pepsi be okay? I brought you a present!" She handed me a wonderful can of Pepsi, condensation glistening on its surface. There was also a wide piece of surgical tape around it with a note: "KB, have a better day!" and a smiley face (she had my name spelled out). I loved that woman then and there. :) When I left, I gave her a big hug, and she said she loved it when patients were huggers. It just made my day - what a sweetheart. I walked out of there at 1:10pm, hours later than I'd expected, but that gal had me smiling.

Fwoooooooooooooo.

All this to say, you just never know how some small kindness will affect those around you. Dear Reader, have a better day.

Normally, I don't make it a practice to reply to spam. I mean, what's the point? It just lets the spammer know they've reached a human being at the end of the line and that only results in more spam. But since I'm getting ready to close down the e-mail address which received the spam, I felt an uncanny freedom to reply. So I did. The spam, which I'll include here, is a long one from someone claiming to be clarivoyant and to have received my name and e-mail address from when I answered an ad on twistedhumor.com one time. I can tell you, the spam I received from twistedhumor.com, even after my "officially" unsubscribing after finding their newsletter pretty offensive, was really something. It was just non-stop! Anyway, what follows is this chick's psychic spam and the reply I sent back. If I get any reply from her, I'll post it here, too.

K, please forgive me for writing such a long letter, but I sincerely believe that what you are about to read can be of great benefit to you. You are receiving this letter because you responded to my advertisement on twistedhumor.com If you responded in error, or wish to be removed, simply hit reply and type remove in the subject line.

My name is Cheryl Jones, and although we don't know each other yet, we do have a common bond. Since birth, I've been blessed with a gift from God called clairvoyance, which essentially means that I can connect with the energy of others from a distance and read into their past, present, and future, and provide valuable insight and professional advice. I have and continue to help countless people worldwide every day in dealing with relationship and financial issues.

First, I must tell you upfront that no one can magically make your problems disappear, issue spells hexes or curses, or anything of that nature. If you gain anything from this letter, PLEASE, do not send money to anyone professing they can do this, or anything else that seems too good to be true.

Being born clairvoyant was, and still is a challenging life. I too have had my fair share of troubled relationships in the past and know exactly what you are going through. When it comes down to dealing with life's everyday issues, I'm a woman just like any other. I suffer through hard times, wondering, "Why me?, How in the world am I going to get through this mess? Is the man I'm with really right for me? Is he faithful?, What should I do?"

Knowing how the gift of clairvoyance can help answer these questions, I too sought the help of others who professed to have this gift. Unfortunately, as you are probably aware, many are frauds. I too was promised miracles, only yet again to find myself with a broken heart and empty wallet.

After witnessing first hand all the false promises made, hyped up T.V. commercials, magazine ads and web sites, I swore up and down that my gift would be used to benefit a few select individuals who really wanted and needed my help, as it was intended. When you call for a reading, you will always speak with me personally. I am not part of a network, or in a group of people sitting around a conference table answering telephones reading pre-written scripts.

I know it's extremely convincing to hear that your loved one can magically be reunited with you, someone can cast a spell to draw anyone to you, or that winning lottery numbers can be dropped in your lap tomorrow, but think about it: Would anyone who could legitimately do this be willing to share this information? If so, it would have been so widespread by now that everyone alive today would be filthy rich and living in total bliss with the partner of their dreams. You and I both know how far-fetched this sounds.

Okay K, so now you're probably sitting there wondering if all this is not possible, than why is a clairvoyant stranger writing me and saying that my life could change forever by picking up the telephone?

The truth is simple. Only you have the power to take action and improve your life. Only you can do what it takes to repair a damaged relationship or move on and find an ideal partner.

As a professional in this business and having been in your shoes countless times, I share your frustration and can provide a real service that guarantees accurate results, because I have your best intentions in mind. Once we speak, I will clearly see your current circumstances and see what your future holds based on what actions you take or overlook. This vital information will empower you to make decisions leading to optimal results. Here are just a few questions you may have which I know I can be of help with:

*How does the person I'm with really feel about me?
*Is he/she being faithful?
*Would it be in my best interests to end this relationship?
*Will someone new be entering my life?
*Do you see children or others in my future?
*Will my financial situation change?
*Do you see me at a better or different job soon?
*What should I do, right now, to get the results I desire?

Revealing accurate information concerning current and future relationships has been my forte since I first discovered this gift. Sometimes, answers to questions you may not ask about, such as financial matters, pop up anyway. You may even be shocked at some of the secrets we discover!

Are you stuck in a dead-end relationship, dead-end job, or just tired of being alone waiting for that special someone to show up? Why not stack the deck in your favor, right now, and find out exactly what you need to do to be on the best path your life has to offer?

Once we speak, you'll instantly realize that I am a genuine compassionate woman with a remarkable ability to help you. In a matter of thirty minutes, I'll provide insight and specific information to you so profound and powerful that I guarantee you will want to save my phone number for the future or pass it on to friends.

Since I am extremely proficient at what I do, I can tell you that a call typically lasts 30-40 minutes, sometimes longer. Regardless, I charge one flat rate of $77 for my service, as I cannot do an accurate reading if you are focused on how high the charge will be during the call. Please note that I can only accept MasterCard, Visa, or Discover for payment.

Now I've taken the first step and reached out to contact you, but the final decision is yours. Within a matter of hours you could be in possession of vital information leading to better times ahead, or this information can go undiscovered. The choice is yours.

I truly hope that you have no doubts about me and will take action and call me today at (###) ###-####. If you like, you may leave your contact information at the following link and I'll call you within 24 hours to schedule an appointment: http://www.###.com. Either way, remember, I'm here to help you when you need it.

Your Friend,
Cheryl Jones
(###) ###-####
VISA/MC/DISCOVER ONLY

P.S. Remember, I work alone, so if you get my voice mail when calling, please be sure to leave your name and telephone number so that I may call you back promptly.

Weak with laughter here. Okay, now here's my reply:

Greetings, Cheryl! :)

Well, if you are clarivoyant, you must realize that

(1) I did NOT respond to any ad on twistedhumor.com

(b) I am not at all interested in your spam any more than I was interested in twistedhumor's relentless mailings following my request to unsubscribe

(three) The e-mail address to which you sent this spam is soon to be permanently closed, so it matters little to me whether you bombard me with more junk because it will be bouncing right back to ya.

Just know that this is being fowarded to the government's UTC address and to every abuse address I can find regarding your ISP and those through whom your message bounced on its way to me. Being clarivoyant, though, I'm sure you surmised this already.

Thanks, and happy future readings,
You-know-who

Many, many thanks to Tom Dye for his assistance and hosting prowess. Check out his site at Newfield.Net. Goofy Angie documented the migration of Gardenwife's Plot from my old spot to Gardenwife.com yesterday. Silly girl.

I have my own website now, hosted officially and everything --- WOOOOO!!!

WAAAAAAAAAAH!!

Is it already over? *sigh* We had the BEST time down in Tennessee with our DG friends. There were 27 Dave's Garden subscribers down there, and by the time all the spouses, significant others, kids and friends were included, the count was around 72, I believe! There were liberal doses of hugs, lots of laughs, and -- holy COW -- a lot of plants traded. Howie and I tent camped, and we learned the tent sites were quite a ways away from the RV spots and main "civilization". At first, we didn't like that (especially considering the shower house was that far), but in the end we found it was nice because it gave us the chance to get away from the crowd a bit and greet each morning at our own (very slow) pace.

The campsite was sheltered (if you can call it sheltered) by some trees which attracted some huge emerald beetles. They kept their activities up in the top part of the trees, thank goodness. The few we saw were, ummmm, otherwise occupied (read: mating). We enjoyed being serenaded by a mockingbird, both day and night. Horseshoe counted sixteen songs coming from it one time -- just amazing. I'm not sure if I'd enjoy having one sitting outside my window every night, but it was fun for a couple days. We also enjoyed freshly brewed coffee with Horseshoe each morning, courtesy of Shoe and his cast-iron dutch oven. Seeing Shoe and his daughter enjoying each others' company like that made me wistful; I think it's wonderful they have a good relationship and have been able to enjoy a week's camping together like that. I bet mamma's going to be glad to see them back, though!

There's just so much to tell about this weekend, I don't know how to write it all down. The weekend went way too fast, just like they always do. I can't believe it's over, but it is. DH and I left Tennessee about 1:00pm and pulled in at home around 10:15pm. Unlike the ride down, which was lovely and cool because we drove overnight, the trip home was horribly hot and sticky because we drove home in the heat of the day. Our poor puppies were sacked out flat in the back seat, panting hard and looking pretty listless. We stopped often, gave them water (and even Gatorade at one point!) and let them (and us) stretch. But, oh, how interminable that drive seemed!

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.