December 12, 2011

Well, I got to thinking about it the other day…

…and wondered what might be going on around here. I mean, it’s been a longish time since I investigated the old blogstead, and you never know when rabid coatimundis might move in and take over.

THEN, out of the blue, Larry “Kudzu Acres” Anderson sent me a note saying I should update things just to prove I’m not lying beside the road playing dead or something.

Well, I’m not.

Since I last ventured past here in August, I have done got promoted to head honcho in my division. That was nice, although the pay raise I got was the same percentage I was scheduled to receive last year when I was but a mere peon, but didn’t get. Not that I’m bitter, because I’m not. Much.

And they actually hired two guys for me to boss around, which is nice, because I went ten months trying to keep things going around here, and it made me sorta grumpy. Or bitter. Except I’m not. Much.

Kids? Still have four. Two in college, one about to be in college next year, and one just starting high school. All of the heartwarming baby/toddler/little kid stories are history now—hard to believe that ten years ago when this place first opened up they were 12, 9, 7, and 4. Never quite thought about what they would be like at 22, 19, 17, and 14, but I think if I had I would have been wrong. I do know that I remember hoping they would quit trying to tear the house apart. Didn’t happen. Also that they would quit trying to send us to the poorhouse. Again, didn’t happen.

Animals? Got three now. Patches, the previous object of affection, has been followed by a new kitty to replace Lightning. She was a rescue kitten, and replaced ANOTHER rescue kitty that we’d originally picked out, but one that experienced an untimely demise at the hands of his neuterologist. Never heard of a kitten dying from getting fixed, but I suppose it can happen. Anyway, the new kitty is the sister of the one who took the long nap, and her name is Zoe, and she’s very long and slinky and stays inside because she jumps the fence and runs off when we leave her outside, because of the OTHER animal we got. An American Eskimo dog that we bought back in June. She is now about seven months old, is named Pippa, and I promise that I have never seen an animal with more bounce. And such utter lack of regard of other people's (and animals') personal space. Poor Patches has to suffer her constant desire to play and be right in his face—before he always looked so sad and lonesome when he didn’t have a playmate, now he simply looks miserable WITH a playmate. Maybe she’ll eventually grow out of the puppy stage. And quit chewing on rocks and concrete and the big conch shell we have.

What else is going on in the world? Well, Mr. Perfectly Creased Trousers continues to amaze and astound me. Not in a good way, though. Just remember what I have long said on this blog (look it up, it’s in here a bunch in various wordings)—it’s not the stupid people who are the problem, it’s the people who think they’re smart. And another thing—he’s not even a good liar. He lies with such heavy Nixonian hatefulness that you get the sense he enjoys none of it and performs it merely from rote.

What sort of a politician is that?!

Say what you will about Sheriff Joe, he’s one who’ll sit there and grin like a mule eating briars while he tells you about how carved Mount Rushmore with a pen knife, or how he once performed brain surgery on himself (actually, based on what I’ve seen, read, and heard, that one might be true), or that he ties his own shoes, all told with that same sincere, winsome twinkle in his eye, without a trace of irony, doubt or ambiguity. Until it’s time to make up new true facts. His skill at BS is so widely varied, yet so finely honed, I’ve tried my best to hire him to write for this blog, but to no avail.

Anyway, I look at it like this: if Jimmy Carter and George H.W. Bush didn’t deserve second terms, no plausible case can be made that the current guy does. Give him his participation trophy and team photo, and send him on his way.

Okay, now that politics is out of the way, what about sports? The best line I’ve heard lately is that everyone who hates the BCS should at least be happy that an SEC school is finally going to lose.

Food? Someone needs to find a way to make synthetic gluten that doesn’t irritate the innards of celiac people. We’ve been trying to find ways to make life reasonably normal for Rebecca, but it’s difficult to live in a wheatless world—especially for normal people who don’t particularly like having to shop at Whole Foods Market, simply because of having to deal with all the semiurban hipsters who need their organic, fair/free-trade, recyclable, reusable, locally-grown, lifestyle choices validated in the most expensive way possible. (Yes, I know—shop Amazon.) And even MORE especially when you start thinking about a big, hot, yeast roll with a thin sheen of butter on top that you can taste every single gooey morsel of flakiness of. (Sorry, I’m drooling.)

Literature? I read The Book Thief a few weeks ago after Cat finished it (it was a school assignment for her). Pretty interesting, even with the depressing topic.

Movies? I haven’t seen anything in a long time—the current crop of crap is just like the popcorn--just not worth paying 8 bucks for.

Tee-vee? I spend most of my telly-watching time tuned to the local NBC station’s secondary digital channel where they have MeTV. Old shows all the time. Some of which hold up surprisingly well. I’d forgotten how good the early Odd Couple shows were. Oddly enough, it used to be that comedy writers could actually write comedy. Yeah, I know! Who’d have thought that!? Of course, there were hacks back then, too (I’m looking at you, Lucy Show) but it says something that even my kids prefer the old stuff to what’s on now. With the exception of Raising Hope which always makes me laugh out loud.

Anyway, my brain hurts now so I’m going to sneak back out into the real world (so-called) and do some stuff. All of you be sure to have a nice [insert proper religious and/or secular holiday] time with your families in the upcoming weeks and be sure that no matter what your belief system, remember that it’s always appropriate to send me large sums of cash.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:22 PM | Comments (10)

July 12, 2011

Y'know...

...if you don't put something up here, the entire shebang blows away! So here's something. But not much.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:16 PM | Comments (0)

March 11, 2011

Y'know, it used to be...

...that back a year or two ago, when I was busy, I would think to myself that I couldn't get any busier.

Now I know better.

Which is why it's been nearly two months since I've not blogged. When I gave up doing this, I always figured I'd still hang around in the shadows and post pithiness and junk, just much less regularly. But great gravy! I never thought I'd actually not have the wherewithal to sit down and say something.

But it's true.

The work load here at the ol' salt mine grew exponentially after the early retirement of my boss and my coworker, so before when I was doing my work and half of someone else's, now I'm doing that, and everything else, too.

Luckily, no one has seen fit to pay me more, or else I'd probably go and get all high-n-mighty and stuff and think I was important. (Insert image of small, sad, large-eyed child holding a puppy and crying, while tiny violins play in the background.)

Anyway, life continues around here. Or not, as the case may be. Back in January we lost poor Lighting, the World's Most Expensive Free Kitten. He'd grown up into a beautiful tom, but some sort of respiratory ailment overtook him suddenly, and he died coughing up blood one cold night back in January. He'd been sick the week before, we took him to the vet, they gave him fluids and a blood test that told us nothing, sent him home feeling slightly better, and then he expired with great drama. And I'm still trying to pay off the $300 vet bill.

We buried him out in the yard, under Ashley's tree, close to where Patches puts down his old filthy sheets and sleeps in the sun. It's sorta like they still pal around, in a way.

And yes, Patches is still hale and hearty and full of vitality, and his desire to hump the air at the slightest provocation continues unabated.

Let's see--in other news, we found out Middle Girl has celiac disease, which has been a bummer for everyone because everyone loves crackers and pasta and white bread and we're trying to get rid of all that now. But there is rice, and potatoes, so maybe the desire for salty, fatty, starchy food can be sated other ways than by yummy wheaten products.

Tiny Terror? She's FOURTEEN years old now! How can this be?!

Boy? He's 16, and can drive, but doesn't bug us about it, which is nice, seeing as how I can't afford ANYone to have ANY wrecks right now.

Oldest? Got herself another beau, and one who actually seems mentally stable. That's a good thing, I think.

Miss Reba? She's real pretty, and I still love her very much. She occasionally reciprocates this feeling. And on occasion, she will allow that she thinks I am real pretty, too. Which makes me feel good, until I wonder what else she lies so shamelessly about!

Now then, now that you're slightly caught up, I'm going home now. (The ol' Volvo says hey, by the way.)

OH--almost forgot--got a call one night from my big sis down in Mobile. "Hey, do you know anything about something called 'Possumblog'?" I had to confess I'd never heard of it, and that it was surely some other Terry Oglesby.

I don't think she believed me...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 06:18 PM | Comments (5)

December 25, 2010

Well, whaddya know!

All those years of singing "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas," and the dream finally comes true!

Christmas 2010.JPG

Merry Christmas from Maison d'Possum. Hope you all have a wonderful holiday and a very happy New Year.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:54 AM | Comments (8)

September 24, 2010

Okay, well THAT'S a new one...

I realize I'm not the most non-descript person around--the combination of a boulder-like head, pile of Shoney's Big Boy hair on top, and being on the slightly husky side (in the mushy tub-o'-lard sense) all mean that I could pretty easily be picked out in a crowd.

This is me, striking a mock-serious pose that helps hide some of my double-chinned-ness:

angryme.jpg

(For comparison purposes...Shoney's Big Boy, boulders, and something smooth and creamy.)

So, having that sort of description, you'd think I'd never get that "Hey, you look like [insert name of handsome celebrity]" comment from people, but as a matter of fact, I do occasionally get a few comparisons.

Now, I think I bear a pretty good resemblance to a middle-aged Raymond Burr, but that's neither here nor there. We're talking about what other people say, after all.

A long time ago, I used to go to church with an old fellow who would tell me every Sunday (morning and evening) that I looked just like "Voice of the Crimson Tide" Eli Gold. (Eli used to have big hair, too.) Several other folks have made the comparison, too--especially when I imitate his voice and scream "WHITEKNUCKLEWEEKEND!!" (Which I try not to do very much.)

My kids, of all people, have several times mentioned that they think I look like local veteran Fox news anchor Scott Richards. (Shown here about ten years ago before he started slathering on the hair product.)

So, I have sorta gotten used to those comparisons. However, today I got a new one, and I think I'm insulted.

I was walking into the credit union to get a check cashed, and this happy bald guy (who himself looked like Michael Chiklis--or Don Rickles) comes bopping out and nods hello and brightly (and loudly) says, "HEY, YOU LOOK LIKE STEPHEN KING!!"

!?

I was immediately tang-tongueled and managed to say something like, "Oh, okay, hi? THANKS!?" and walked on in the lobby, but I gotta say, it threw me.

Muppet-mouthed, weird-eyed, occasionally-beared, flop-haired Stephen King?

Now I'm just gonna feel all creepy and peculiar the rest of the day.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:30 PM | Comments (7)

September 15, 2010

A rare occurrence.

Two (non)posts in one day? Well, I just felt like I had to since I found out one of the commentor/bloggers who used to wander around here regularly, Dave Helton of Red Georgia Clay, suffered a total loss of his house due to fire on Tuesday morning.

Dave reports that he and his wife, their dogs and their horsies are all okay, although two felines are missing and presumed to be only missing and not reduced to kitty briquettes.

Dave says they (he and his wife, not the cats) have good homeowner's insurance, but this sort of incident is never easy, even if it is only stuff and things that are gone. Given the geographic distance between here and north Georgia, I'm not able to do much in the way of physical help, but I did promise him that his family would be in my family's prayers, and I'd like to ask you all to do the same.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:24 PM | Comments (2)

Men.

We are simple creatures, you know.

Not quite amoebic, but still simple enough an organism to be able to enjoy things that higher beings might find off-putting. Such as, oh—I don’t know, listening to the uncomplicated music of an AC-130 firing its door-mounted howitzer. Or feeling the soft warmth of a rack full of fresh Krispy-Kremes as they disappear down one’s gullet. Or the wry smile brought on by a particularly piquant quip by Moe as he coyly slaps Larry and Curly across their faces with a sledgehammer.

And speaking for myself, there is the overwhelming joy of being able to stand (fully-clothed no less!) whilst conducting emiction. I don’t really know why, but it is satisfying in the extreme to stream satisfyingly into various vitreous porcelain basins, or even upon the random campfire.

Science (SCIENCE!) tells us that Men, being what we are, are biologically driven to produce things, and this is one of those things where we can produce abundantly, and several times a day (depending on bladder capacity and beverage selection), and receive immediate satisfaction. Almost as soon as we can stand and deliver the goods in early childhood, our productive output is met with cooing words and applause from our progenitors. Although this tends to diminish in adulthood, we still have a sense of great satisfaction once we have completed the task at hand.

And not only is this ability oh-so-keen in and of itself, men everywhere will confirm that there is even greater fulfillment when there’s actually something to ‘shoot’ at, as it were. We are overjoyed at the opportunity evinced by the presence of bits of paper or lint in the receptacle and we can pretend to be just like that big AC-130, blasting furious death from above onto the poor unsuspecting objects below. O! and heaven help us all should it be something ANIMATE! A stray fly or ant becomes an imaginary MiG fighter or scurrying grenade-tosser to be dispatched with extreme prejudice!

So then, imagine (after all of that build-up) what it must have been like for me the other day when I sauntered into the men’s room at work, unzipped, and just happened to spy hiding under the rim of the urinal, a small, thin, leaf-green, grasshopper!! “YEE-HAW!,” I thought to myself (since yelling such things in a municipal government men’s room tends to attract the wrong sort of attention) “I am about to have some FUN!”

Over and above the usual fun, that is.

I prepared myself carefully for the upcoming ambuscade, and ever so deftly began the slow dance of liquid annihilation.

It was at about that same moment that my intended target decided it best to act like a grasshopper, and, well, you know—hop.

I'm not sure why this was such a surprise to me, other than the fact that I'm an imbecile, but the sudden counterattack made me let out something of a girly "Eeek!" sound and begin firing in earnest in an attempt to keep the foul beast from rising up and devouring me like a blade of ripe rye grass, all the while doing a set of wild, dance-like gyrations intended to keep myself from being set upon by the monster, but yet keep most of the payload flowing into the receptacle.

I thought I had the upper hand until he managed to get above the rim, and so my freaking-out went into high gear. Unfortunately, my ammo supply was running out. Quickly.

I won’t bore you with the remainder of the details, although obviously, I did survive this run-in. And I think I might have learned something.

Don’t pee on grasshoppers unless you’re loaded up with napalm.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:01 AM | Comments (10)

July 23, 2010

What not to do.

Well, it's summertime here in the Heart of Dixie. That means it's hot. A lot of hot.

For those of us who grew up wearing husky-size jeans and graduated into the big-n-tall portion of Wal-Mart in later life, the heat of summer can bring particular miseries. Especially when one's fat little legs work themselves together as we walk, and produce an effect much like a Boy Scout starting a fire with two sticks. (Assuming he's starting a fire with two chubby sacks of meat instead of sticks.)

Anyway, that sort of a heat rash is bothersome, and it's nice to have a little talcum powder to cool things off. I've about finished off all the bits and pieces of baby powder we had left over from when the kids were little, so when I went to the store today, I figured I'd pick up a replacement box.

'Say,' I said to myself, 'I wonder how this Gold Bond Medicated Powder would work?', being that I'd seen it provide instant cooling relief to a variety of low-paid actors on late weekend night television commercials. I compared the name brand to the store brand, and was about to get the cheapo version when I espied the EXTRA STRENGTH version of Gold Bond. Ah, nothing like the nuclear version, right?

Right.

So, I finished my shopping, came home, unloaded, made lunch for myself and the kids, went and got some more stuff from the store that I'd forgotten, did a load of clothes, and then remembered my powder purchase--you know, what with all that to-and-fro friction I'd brought onto my limbs from using them to walk.

Upstairs, peeled off the safety seal on top of the powder, dropped my jeans down, pulled out the waistband of my tighty-whities, and dumped a generous helping of talc, acacia, eucalyptol, methyl salicylate, salicylic acid, thymol, zinc stearate, 5.0% zinc oxide, and 0.8% menthol down onto Area 51.

Hmm. I expected...well, something. Oh, well.

Hitched everything back up, put away the powder, sat down to check my email, and was suddenly reminded of the old Richard Pryor routine where one of his characters decided to splash some aftershave onto himself, and decided to splash some everywhere, and was suddenly betaken by an intense burning the like of which he'd never felt, causing him to want to flush certain parts of himself down the toilet.

I was reminded of this routine because after about ten seconds of sitting, I began to feel a distinct tingling sensation, something like when you slam your elbow into the corner of a table while catching your little toe on the corner of your bed while eating a bowl of jalapenos inside of a blast furnace on the Sun, all concentrated into a small area not usually accustomed to such sensations.

Those of you who've ever been victimized by the application of a dollop of Icy-Hot or Atomic Balm to your athletic supporter by your "friends" in the locker room might be familiar with the sensation.

That was about thirty minutes ago now, and I think in the future, I shall not be nearly so free in the application of Gold Bond (Extra Strength) Medicated Powder to my more sensitive locations.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:11 PM | Comments (7)

July 14, 2010

Artist!?

Oh, hardly. ::disdainful look of false modesty::

Despite the fact that Possumblog long ago went the way of the passenger pigeon (hunted to extinction by those with a taste for scavenging marsupial flesh, and ill-written silliness), people DO still occasionally find themselves here.

AND on occasion, that particular people-person is someone REALLY FAMOUS. In this instance, one Andrea Lindenberg, local Tee-Vee morning anchor and fellow Auburn alum!

(Quick backstory--Andrea is part of the team who eventually wrested control from the vile usurpers of the original Wendy Garner Show anchor crew--oddly enough, the original person they brought in was just yesterday confirmed to have been made redundant. Anyway, although I always resented Wendy being so unceremoniously dumped, she actually has made her way back to the station for the noontime lifestyle show gig, so that's good. And I like Ms. Lindenberg, so I didn't hate her for being on in the mornings instead of Wendy.)

Anyway, so after Possumblog became deader'n a hammer (due to work constraints and having exhausted the supply of stupid things I could say about things), I figured to stay hip and with-it, I'd at least try this Bookface thing the youngsters are all so wacky about. As was the case when I blogged regularly, I felt duty-bound to try to be the creepy-stalker guy I always was and make sure I loaded up my friend requests with all the local attractive journalism grads (and a few national ones, too), and sure enough, some were just naive enough to click the accept button. Notably, one previously mentioned A. Lindenberg, who this morning sent the following note to me:

Subject: Howdy

I JUST realized you are the artist behind Possumblog!! I'm slow, but I usually get there. ;) Enjoy your writing.

Andrea/Aunie

I would have answered her back immediately, but such sites are evil and blocked by our computers, so I figured the next best thing would be to cobble together this long-winded essay to say thanks to her for dropping by, reading, and supplying me with the constant positive reinforcement that I cannot do without. And to advise her to get help. Quickly.

ANYway, since you've all read down this far, might as well bring you up to date.

Work is more harried than ever. I've got stacks of papers surrounding me, and no time to file any of it, so I figure at some point it'll just spontaneously combust.

We did get to go on a brief getaway two weeks ago to the lovely DeSoto State Park and stayed in a very nice little cabin. Believe it or not, when I walked in and went to the back door to look out, I saw a danged WOODCHUCK scurrying his fat butt into the woods! 48 years old, and never saw a woodchuck in the wild, and within the past four months have seen TWO of the things. We also saw a fox while we were there.

Speaking of 48 years old, I turned 48. Jonathan got me a Lego Empire State Building, which I put together with his and Catherine's help. I think I could have done it alone, but it would have made them sad. I do enough of that already, though. Reba got me some books, and being completely disinterested in things political, she picked some solely on the basis of price and fancy cover typography. She actually did pretty good, although one howler that sneaked in was a thin Lewis Lapham screed from the dollar bin. I didn't have the heart to fill her in about this poltroon's gift of insensibility, so I'm still trying to figure out a suitable way to make use of it. I think back to all of those old National Geographics my mother painstakingly folded, spray-painted, and glittered to make tabletop Christmas tree decorations--maybe that would be the best and highest use for it.

There's probably other things that might be interesting, but I don't know what they are right now. SO, get back to work! (And thanks for peeking in every once in a while.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:18 AM | Comments (0)

June 21, 2010

VOTE! UPDATED...

No, silly--not that kind of vote--the kind of vote that might get one of my kids some money for college!

Okay, here's the deal. FastWeb (well-known Internets clearing house for college internship and scholarship offers) is running a contest where contestants use the FastWeb logo in creative ways to drum up business for FastWeb.

Winner gets a $15,000 scholarship.

I want MY kid (Rebecca, in this case) to get that scholarship, people!

And you want me to be happy, right?

Of course you do.

SO, here's what you have to do--the onerous, stupid rules of the thing say you have to sign up with FastWeb to vote. They ask for your name, e-mail address, and you have to create a user name and password. And it will only let you vote once per day.

I know, it's a pain. But remember, you're doing this so I at least have the potential of not having to pony up $15,000 for the kid's education, so there.

Now then, her entry can be found here http://fastweb15years.com/entries/667/. She ransom-noted various college logos to create the FastWeb name and tagline, and aside from a sorta poor quality job of photographing her effort, it's an interesting concept, and one that you SHOULD vote for, simply out of your undying devotion to this unliving blog.

SO, if you've got the time, between now and July 2, register and vote at least once per day and let's win something! (And by "let's" I mean "me.")

EXCELSIOR!

UPDATE 7-6-10

Well, chalk up another one for Lost Causes! Many thanks to everyone who voted for Rebecca's entry, but sadly, it wasn't quite enough to overcome some actual talent amongst some of the entries, as well as what appeared to be some highly irregular voting shenanigans very near the end of the contest. Still not quite sure what was going on, and the FastWeb folks did recognize something was amiss, but were apparently loathe to do much about it.

Ah, well. Such is life, I suppose.

Also, seeing as how the contest didn't quite turn out as planned, the ponies, ice cream, and Fritos will have to be returned to the store. Sorry--but I gotta save that money for tuition.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 05:20 PM | Comments (11)

April 26, 2010

Although Possumblog no longer exists…

...there are those occasions that simply must be commemorated in some way, if for no other reason than to let random passers-by hear me brag on my kids. And what better way to do that than by using a marsupially-named defunct blog!

In any event, tomorrow is one such occasion, wherein Boy will be tapped into the National Honor Society, and Middle Girl (who is already a member of the NHS) will also be tapped into the Spanish National Honor Society.

Obviously, they get their incredible brainiousness from me.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:29 AM | Comments (7)

April 14, 2010

WOODCHUCK FURY!!

We were coming home from church Sunday afternoon last, and as we got close to the turn there at Queenstown Road, Rebecca suddenly broke the contentedly quiet ride with an interjectory, "DADDY! What kind of animal! is sort of brownish!, and looks kind of like a beaver!, but with a little short! tail, and it's BIG! And it was in that person's DRIVEWAY!"

Obviously, the stress had gotten to her. Must be seeing things. Probably was a cat or something. "NO! It was some kind of big thing sort of like a BEAVER!"

Uh-huh. Well, we'll just see about this. I turned around in Southside Baptist's parking lot, and after what seemed like an eternity waiting for the huge line of traffic (four cars) to pass, headed back up Chalkville Road to see what it was that was of such interest.

Maybe she really did see something.

Or not!

We rolled back up the hill, around the curve, and right there where there before you get to the house that has donkeys, right there where there's that little hollow full of dead kudzu, right there in the gravel driveway, there it was.

Well, I'll be! I said gopher, but it was bigger than a gopher. Just sitting there watching the world go by.

I went past and turned around again, this time at the place where they've got the big pasture, across from the place that's got the long pond with the ducks and swans. Surely whatever it was would have run away by the time we got turned around.

BUT NO!

It was still sitting there, munching away on something. Rebecca got the camera out and snapped a picture, then the fat thing turned around and waddled off down into the kudzu.

Oddly enough, I've never seen a groundhog in the wild, but by golly, that's what it was. And I thought the armadillos we've been seeing were exotic!

Anyway, here he be from a distance, and here's a closeup, for them that like closeups.

Now then, back to not blogging.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:50 AM | Comments (15)

January 19, 2010

Not Sin.

(But disturbingly close for my tastes.)

Anyway, got Cat from Grandmom’s, got home, unloaded, got some stuff out for supper, and was just about to get out of my work clothes when I noticed the answering machine flashing away. My medicine was ready at the CVS at the foot of the hill, so I got on a pair of jeans and my trusty Auburn sweatshirt, told Cat I’d be right back, and headed back out.

“Hmm,” I thought, which is usually what I think, and then I thought while I was out I would also get us some meat to go in the meatless fettuccine and sauce I’d been contemplating for supper, so I went on past the drug store and parked at the Food World, and strode in with the express purpose of getting some Italian sausage.

After several minutes trying to figure out where the Italian sausage was kept (by the ground beef, silly!) I snagged a pack, decided to get a pack of ground beef since it was conveniently nearby, and headed for the checkout.

Along with everyone else in town.

Must have been a memo about going to the store.

I stood there patiently along with eleventy-dozen other shoppers in three lines, and finally another line opened up, and in a nice turn of events managed to snag the number two spot behind a twenty-something odd couple made of a hyperactive Federlinesque goober and a stunningly well-packed lass, equally devoid of motor control and notions of societal constraints.

And joy of joy! The cashier was the sour old wart of a woman I usually get when I’m in a hurry! She seems stymied by any technology invented after the rotary telephone, and is resistant to logic when it comes to fixing things. I’ve stood there patiently (for some reason) in times past while she nearly destroyed the coupon-thing that spits out coupons for things you don’t want. She’s always somewhere else mentally, and gets perturbed when you point out that you only got two boxes of something, rather than 20. She’ll sigh, and have to figure out how to work the microphone to summon a manager, then fiddle with the key to try to crank up the override, and then go back to mindlessly scanning things with not so much as a grunt of consolation for having made a mistake.

Anywho, she’s gonna be my cashier. Right before I got to the conveyor, I spied a display of hot Italian bread, so I scooted over and got a loaf and put it on the belt with my two packs of meat. She gave the perfunctory greeting “heyhowreyout’night” without even the affect of a question mark at the end, scanned my stuff, gave me my total, and started putting the items in a bag.

I swiped my card, entered my PIN, pressed “yes” for the total, looked around, and what to my wondering eyes should appear but Ye Olde Cashier holding (nay, cradling) my just-purchased loaf of hot Italian bread gently--ever so gently--to her nose, her eyes closed in rapture, deeply quaffing the aroma of the bread into her vacant cranium.

“That smells good.”

Well, yes, I’m sure it does. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I bought it. But after I’ve bought it, I would appreciate it if you’d KEEP YOUR OLFACTORY RECEPTORS OFF OF IT!

Yes, I know--in the greater scheme of things this ranks no higher on the scale of minor indignities than when you take your car in for service and the mechanic feels duty-bound to readjust the seat, the radio, and the A/C controls because he was in the driver’s seat for about five seconds--but still, is there not some level of common sense that would make a person not act that way!? I guess the answer is obvious, but it nonetheless still surprises me when it happens to me.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:07 PM | Comments (3)

December 28, 2009

Gigantic, SUPER End-of-the-Year Omnibus Catch-All Post for 2009!

Well, it was certainly interesting.

I mean, you know, if you like that kind of thing.

Well, let's see:

1. If Possumblog still existed, it would now be 8 years old, having begun broadcasting on December 20, 2001. But it doesn't, so never mind.

2. I have a job. Still! It has not been slack over the past year for more than about ten minutes at a time, so for that I'm real grateful-like. I think it's something like what they used to call "job security," although sometimes it's more like a big aneurism in my head.

3. I got some very nice shirts for Christmas, and a steam mop, and a combo fax-printer-scanner-copier-hot air popper, and some socks, and candy, and some ties, and other things. They were all very much appreciated.

4. I am a bit concerned that the air travel security system that was noted in the past few days as having worked as designed relies so heavily on hoping for the failure of PETN-laced Nigerian underpants to explode. We should be safe as long as no one other than Wile E. Coyote tries to attack us.

5. The Volvo continues to roll up the mileage. It hit 260,000 miles a couple of weeks ago and kept right on puttering along. However, if anyone would like to give me a nicer car, I would certainly be willing to take it. Thanks!

6. The children are now grown, at least for all practical purposes. A harbinger of the years to come visited itself upon us this weekend, when yesterday we sent the three who still live at home off to Huntsville for some sort of church camp thing. The house is now completely empty of them, which left time for Miss Reba and I to be on our own for a few hours yesterday. We used our new steam mop on the kitchen and bathroom floors.

7. I gained weight this year, even though I tried not to. I'm hoping that next year I will lose weight, even though I will try not to.

8. (Reserved)

9. I have a marimba in my garage. It is a fascinating instrument that I did not fully appreciate until Boy and I had to disassemble it and bring it home. I believe it marks yet another example of extraterrestrial alien contact, because quite frankly I cannot understand how any human could have ever figured out how to make a musical instrument from the remnants of a boiler explosion at a parquet-flooring factory.

10. The dog and the cat seem to have reconciled themselves to each other's presence and get along fine. Aside from the occasional random cat-induced violence.

So there you go. Hope all of you had a good year, and have a better one next year!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:58 PM | Comments (10)

August 28, 2009

How about that for an August?!

Not that I remember much of it.

That was one of the good things about all those years of obsessive blogging--I had a way of recording all the silly and serious stuff that happened before it left my brain pan. But the now-no-longer-new job leaves not a lot of time for reflection and/or mindless drivel. Actually, the volume of work means I don't really get to do the job very well, either. At the moment, I've got about 40 various construction jobs from a few thousand to a few million dollars worth for which I'm supposed to provide varying degrees of oversight, and even the smallest nickle-and-dime jobs require constant babysitting and butt-covering. I can't get one thing done for having to go and do twelve other things that are suddenly CRITICAL. What time I have left over is devoted to trying to scoop my neurons back into a pile. I get to check in a little with folks online and read a few news feeds occasionally, but it's hard to get into the swing of trying to formulate a pithy comment about anything. You have to get into a groove for that sort of thing, y'know.

You'd think that with my current schedule (four 10 hour days with Fridays off) that I'd be able to maybe take that Friday and have a great big Possumpalooza of stupid junk to read, but alas, Friday is now just as busy as Saturday and Sunday used to be (and, in fact, still are). F'rinstance, this morning I took Cat to school, went to do the Winn-Dixie leg of the grocery bill, went to the bank to pay the mortgage, stopped beside the road briefly to weep uncontrollably for my bank account that has the integrity of a cotton candy fishnet, unloaded groceries, put up the ironing board that Rebecca left out, came upstairs to gather up the laundry, stopped to write this, and afterwards will separate the clothes, put the blue jeans in the wash, go do the Aldi leg of the grocery bill, come unload the groceries, fold jeans and prepare to do the other six loads of laundry to be done this afternoon, go pick Catherine up from school, maybe get Jonathan to take him to the stadium for the football game tonight, go to the game tonight (10,000 STRONG!), come home late and help the kids pack to go white-water rafting with the other kids from church tomorrow morning, and then collapse in the bed to try to get ready for tomorrow. I don't mind doing that stuff, but all that makes it difficult to do much of this here thing. Good thing I quit doing this here thing!

Anyway, if I were still blogging, I would have many uncomplimentary things to say about our current Administration. And for the people who seem shocked and dismayed that it's turned out this way. As Dr. Reynolds is fond of saying, "So, who are the rubes again?" But some people just refuse to pay attention.

Not that it would have been any better with the alternative. I really like Sarah Palin, but she wouldn't have been the President, it would have been Mr. Unpredictable Maverick. And unlike now, he wouldn't have had the press fawning over his every move, and actively supporting his agenda, and proclaiming how wonderful it is to have all these wonderful funemployment opportunities for urban swells, and would probably take more than a little interest had Mrs. Palin said anything about bankrupting the country in order not to bankrupt the country. Hard to tell what would have happened in an alternative universe of a Republican win, but even if the status quo of the Bush days had held on, we'd have never heard the last of how awful it was. And, again, that's assuming it would have still been good--as it is, Senator McCain's one consistent quality is his fundamental inability to be consistent. Add to that the fact that he has just about as much spendiness and government-interventionalism in his genes as a regular old Democrat, and that he would have had to work with a Democrat-dominated Congress. I'm afeared the spending and stupidity would have been just about as reckless as now. But, again, the press wouldn't have been so cautious in squealing about it.

Anyway, I guess America is just fated to occasionally have to be reminded of how awful it is to try to answer every problem by letting a Washington full of bureaucratic nannies handle it.

Just remember--if you thought FEMA's reaction to Katrina was bad, what makes you think that the same people could do any better with universal government-funded and controlled healthcare? Sheriff Joe and The Lightworker, despite their good press and the overwhelming confidence they place in their vast intellectual depth, cannot make this work.

Yeah, I know--I'm just an ignorant racist idiot who can't be compelled to vote or think the right way, even when it's just so obviously in my financial best interest to do so.

But then you all already knew that!

Anyway, I'm gonna go do my laundry.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:40 AM | Comments (12)

July 08, 2009

Greatest thing about no longer blogging?

I no longer feel compelled to post that I'm about to have a birthday. I mean, after a while, what else can you say about getting another year older that hasn't already been said, right?

Right.

So I'm freed from having to think up wise stuff to say, or worrying about what sort of wonderful, expensive gifts I'm going to get from everyone, and I can just go on about my day tomorrow as if it's any other day.

Thank goodness!

Oh, and I don't have to think of any clever rejoinders for people when they point out they have underwear older than me, or, for younger readers, that I'm old enough to be their grandpa's Victrola repairman. That's a relief, y'know, being that I've been out of cleverness AND rejoinders for some time now.

I'll just relax and do all that fun work-related stuff that I don't blog about, either.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:26 PM | Comments (17)

June 15, 2009

Well, I don't quite know what to make of that.

Had to stop at Target on the way home from church last night for some stuff. I parked and let Reba and Cat out to go in while Boy and Rebecca stayed with me in the car. Rolled the windows down and sat there for a minute to quietly collect my thoughts.

Been a long week and all.

Sat there vegetating, and ever so steadily, the sound of the shopping center's piped-in music began to register in my mind. The same instrumental, quiet, pervasive, calming tones one hears in elevators and suburban strip malls.

It's...no, surely not.

Then Jonathan piped up, "Hey--you hear that!? It's that song from Guitar Hero!"

Otherwise known as "Paint It, Black" by the Rolling Stones. Shorn of every bit of rollingness or stonitude, dipped in warm goo and made background noise for people walking to and from their car.

It was just all kinds of odd.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:55 PM | Comments (10)

March 02, 2009

For children in the middle part of Alabama…

…there is nothing so tantalizing as snow. Just far enough north to know for a certainty that it could snow, if only it would snow. Just far enough south to make it an equal certainty that it will never snow this year, and probably won’t ever snow again EVER, and your life is ruined by the absence of powder stuff from the sky. And to make it worse, you remember the few times it DID snow, and in the deep recesses of your memory from when you were just a little kid (you know, three years ago), it was the bestest snow of all time, and you played outside for five weeks, and the snow was fifty feet high, and you made a snowman that weighed a billion tons.

And then, when you least expect it, after hardening yourself to never ever trust TV weathermen, you wake up one Sunday morning, on the first day of March (!), and the whole world went white.

And then your parents make you get up and go to church.

Because, despite the fact that the trees are white and there’s a good three inches of fat wet flakes on the ground, the roads are clear. So you have to go and sit through class and church, hoping against hope that once you come out of the building, it won’t have all melted away.

And it didn’t!

You can barely wait to get home, and you figure it won’t hurt if you get to go out to eat first, because at least now you can see the snow and you can tell it’s all still there.

BUT THEN—you come out of the restaurant, and the snow packed sidewalk you encountered when you first walked in is now dry and clear—and the snow’s dropping off the power lines! AGGGHHHH!

You get home, throw off your good clothes, get on something else you think will be warm, and run outside before it’s all gone.

Nothing like Southern kids in the snow. Clothes wet through and through, soggy cotton gloves, filthy jeans from flopping down in the melting wet snow which covers a now-sodden mush of red clay and grass, snowballs made of equal parts dirt, pine straw, grass, possibly some frozen dog poop (well, it looked like rocks, sorta), and snow, packed into ice as dense as depleted uranium, ready to make your siblings cry when it comes punching into their frozen noses. You wish it would snow forever--and then you begin to notice you can’t feel your face or fingers. You wonder if you’ve got frostbite like that guy in that TV show whose nose turned black and fell off. So you figure it might be good to go inside and eat popcorn and watch a movie and thaw out.

Maybe it’ll snow again tomorrow!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:12 AM | Comments (12)

February 02, 2009

I did not...

...see my shadow, which means six more weeks of something, but I'm not sure what.

And by the way, how did it get to be February so quickly!?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:14 AM | Comments (5)

January 01, 2009

Happy New Year!

Today's dinner menu:

Pork shoulder roast, a mess of greens and black eyed peas, cornbread. It doesn't get much better than that, folks.

Hope you all have a wonderful day and a similarly wonderful year.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:31 PM | Comments (17)

December 08, 2008

Well, I'll be!

On the way in to work this morning, and decided to pull in at McDonald's for one of their nutritious McSkillet breakfast burritos, as I on occasion am prompted to do by the combined effects of hunger and hip McGen-X advertising Mciconography I see on the tee-vee.

Ordered, heard my order mumbled back to me, and drove around to the window. Watched the driver in front of me pay, wondered when he'd get through with his chat with the cashier. He drove on, I rumbled up. Stuck my hand and my money out the window, and the girl said, "He pay for it for you."

I had one of those rare, genuine, flummoxed double-takes that you have when someone says something that simply doesn't compute.

"Do what?" said me, with an accent heavy with wtf.

"That man, he pay for your order. Is free!"

Well, I'll be doggone.

I didn't know what to do, so for some odd reason I smiled and thanked the cashier (who graciously accepted it), then rolled forward and did a double-tap on the horn and waved as the fellow in the Nissan Pathfinder drove off.

He waved back.

Just one of those nice little things that make you think nice little thoughts all day long. And to think--the guy was a Georgia Bulldog fan!!

Maybe there's hope for mankind yet!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:21 PM | Comments (11)

November 26, 2008

You try to make a list…

…but eventually you exhaust yourself with the possibilities. So, I have decided to condense all that down to two things for which I am thankful.

Life—all of it. From the worst despairs (which, given what I see in the world around me is about the equivalent of a flea-bite on an elephant) to the greatest joys (again, in comparison to others, I have been blessed beyond what is my right and due).

Love. That I am able to give it, and that I receive it far in excess of expectation.

May your day of Thanksgiving be full and rich.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:23 AM | Comments (8)

November 18, 2008

“Jeepers, Creepers…”

“...I'm sorry for absolutely ruining your life by passing along to you a genetic predisposition for myopia and astigmah-tizzzzz-um..."

Yeah, doesn’t quite trip off the tongue, does it?

But, it was bound to happen, and the warning signs have been present for a while now—squinting, confusing one letter for another on the chalkboard, difficulty reading. Tiny Terror has now joined the rest of her family in the need for ocular assistance.

And it wasn’t pleasant.

Of course.

Because when you’re a kid, you tend to say stuff like, “I want glasses like you and Mom and Rebecca and Jonathan and Ashley,” without really considering what you’re saying. And you complain about the aforementioned inability to see the board and stuff, and wonder why your parents won’t take you and get a cool set of glasses right THEN! And then you show up at the Walmart vision center and the doctor tells you you need glasses, and all of that theoretical ‘wouldn’t it be cool to have glasses’ make-believe stuff is suddenly very real, and you start trying on frames, and you think that your friends are going to make fun of you, and you’re a young girl at that age when any criticism of your appearance sends you into fits of despair, and you can’t find anything that you like, and everything you do kinda-sorta like your dad won’t buy because it costs too much, and then everyone’s trying to tell you to hurry up because the store is going to close, and you HATE EVERYONE and HATE YOUR EYES and finally decide you shouldn’t have been saying you wanted glasses, and you wish you could go back in time and say that you want perfect eyes FOREVER, and you close your eyes and wish hard and all you get are tears.

So, you know, lots of fun at the Walmart vision center last night.

She finally settled on a pair that was reasonably-priced and fit her face and looked very cute to me (but less so to her, of course). This angst was on top of the fact that we almost had to reschedule again, after having been called last Tuesday (when our appointment was) and being told the doctor was ill, so we’d have to pick another day. Couldn’t do it Wednesday (church), couldn’t do it Thursday (the other doc doesn’t take Blue Cross), couldn’t do it Friday (football game), or Saturday (youth trip to Atlanta), not Sunday (church), so yesterday was pretty much it.

And so then when Reba got there, they said none of us were on the schedule.

Seems whoever called us didn’t actually write it down on the calendar. I heard all this second hand through the cell phone:

REBA: “They say we’re not on the schedule, and we’ll have to come back another day.”

ME: “No, they’re going to see you, because they already called us and changed it once, and I don’t care how many other people they’ve got to see, they’ll have to see you, too.”

R: “But they’ve got other people already scheduled.”

M: “Not our problem—tell them to make the other people wait.”

R: “Terry.”

M: [thinking angry thoughts]

R: “They’re asking who called you.”

M: “How should I know!? They called, we rescheduled because they called, and you’re not leaving until they see you! It was some woman, and I don’t know who it was. I didn’t ask for her name, she said she was with the Walmart vision center!”

R: [relaying information] “Okay, well, they said they don’t know who it was…”

M: “It. Does. Not. MATTER. WHO. CALLED. US. Look, ask them if the doctor was sick last week on Tuesday.”

R: [asking] “Yeah, they said he was out sick.”

M: “Okay, ask if they had someone calling to reschedule people.”

R: [asking] “Yes, they said someone called to reschedule people…”

M: “THEN THAT’S WHO CALLED ME! [thinking loudly to myself 'THIS AIN’T FRIGGIN’ ROCKET SCIENCE!!'] Now, TELL THEM THEY’RE GOING TO SEE YOU RIGHT NOW…”

R: “WAIT! Hold on and calm down--she’s talking to the manager—they said something about giving us a gift card to make up for it—”

M: “It danged well better cover the whole cost of whatever the insurance doesn’t cover, because we’re not going to go through this again.”

R: [asking] “Oh, okay—the manager just came out and said she was sorry and they’d stay here later and make sure we all got seen. Now calm down.”

In my snit, I failed to figure it probably would have been worth waiting another day or two, but once I get my dander up and think I know what’s acceptable and what’s not, there’s little to talk me down off that limb that I’m sawing so hard on.

But, it still rankles, you know?

I mean, do they have a problem with their staff prank-calling patients to tell them to come another day, and then not write it down? Is their staff so huge (with its five or six people) that they can’t figure out who screwed up? Is it really good policy to interrogate customers and expect them to anticipate being screwed over by whoever it was that called, enough to know it would be good to get the person’s name so when it came time to come to the store it would be readily available? Is it good to poke people with sticks and inconvenience them instead of the silly cow who messed up in the first place? And why is it they said they had four other customers scheduled at the same times as us, yet only one of which actually showed up? And why is my Blue Cross eye coverage so awful—it only pays for a portion of the exams, and nothing for glasses.

Anyway, I got off work and drove on over there (having a fine time all the way, venting and raging and Walter Mittying as I heard the staccato pocketa-pocketa sound as I crushed every single lens in the store under my feet), and everyone was nice and solicitous, aside from Miss Prickly Pants and her quandary about choosing a set of frames.

She was made to feel better with the purchase of a pink plaid patterned case that will hold her new glasses.

I wish I were so easily unburdened.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:51 AM | Comments (11)

October 13, 2008

Well, no...

...the intent is not to become All Bugs, All the Time, but what can I do!?

This weekend, Rebecca came running in the house asking in near-terror what sort of bug is huge and has wings and is ugly and is big. And huge. And HUGE. And ugly.

"Does it look like a big cigar butt?"

Not being a cigar aficionado nor a keeper of company with those of that ilk, the best she could muster was "I dunno. BUT IT'S HUGE! And PATCHES IS EATING IT!!"

I told her it sounded like he'd gotten a cicada (and no, I didn't wet my pants at the mere thought of it) and followed her outside to go look.

Sure enough, he'd found a big ugly buzzy play toy, rich in natural bug proteins and evil. According to Middle Girl, he was romping in the yard, then suddenly ran over to one of the trees and started snapping and pawing and chewing and rolling and tossing the thing up in the air.

Let me tell you--these things are apparently indestructable. Even after several minutes of abuse at his paws and jaws, the thing was still kicking. That's saying something, considering this dog could eat a wrecking ball.

Anyway, Rebecca took his toy away and hid it under something in the garden, and I was once again reminded of just how much I can't stand large ugly bugs.

I am heartened, however, that Patches will viciously protect me from them. It's almost enough to forgive him waking me up in the middle of the night last night with his infernal barking.

In other news, it's now been over a week since we had the kids from church over, and the downstairs of the house is STILL clean!

Second, Rebecca has now driven herself to work TWICE. All the way down to the foot of the hill. Without incident. That I know of.

Third, the upcoming election (or as I like to call it, "BOHICA--Carter's Revenge") got me to thinking the other day about what good things I remember from the years 1977-1981.

Eh. It was okay. Really. I know everyone likes to dump on the late 1970s, but aside from the awful clothes and awful hair and awful television shows and awful cars and general level of awfulness, it was survivable. I mean, I lived in a house, both my parents had more or less stable, moderately well-paid jobs, I went to school, ate three meals a day, had clothes to wear (and yes, I had several REALLY cool Quiana shirts, and a brown leisure suit, and a pair of patent-leather platform wingtips that were navy and burgundy, and I had many pairs of tight cutoff blue jean shorts that were entirely too short that I would cut grass in), had a car to drive around in (triple-black '72 Monte Carlo) and despite all the national and world turmoil, I don't recall being miserable and mopey and full of fear and dread and junk like that. Of course, that's filtered through 32 years of trying to forget everything bad that happened, and not having to live through it with the responsibilities of adulthood.

Things might have seemed a bit more awful in that case.

At least this time around, we've got really cool computers, and cars work darned well, and there are more than three television stations, and they all broadcast in digital, and there is some distinction in clothing worn by office workers and that worn by circus clowns.

So hey, how bad could the next four years be!?

OH! Something I forgot yesterday--one of our local Presbyterian churches has noted on their sign that they're having a Taize service this week. Being an unsophisticated backwoods rube, I had no idea what that was, and so every time I've seen the sign for the past few days, the only thing that pops into my mind is "DON'T TAIZE ME, BRO!" That's probably not very nice.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 05:04 PM | Comments (4)

September 29, 2008

XVI

Someone just turned Sweet 16 today, and her name's Rebecca!

I recall the late-night trip to the hospital mainly because I had an Aretha Franklin greatest hits cassette playing. The labor and delivery were generally unremarkable, aside from the obvious miracle of birth itself, which, being my first experience with the human variety of such things, struck me not quite so much as miraculous, but more like something out of the movie Alien. Except with better special effects.

In any event, she's a good girl, and I'm awfully proud of all she's done over the years, and what a fine, beautiful young lady she's turning out to be. (And I say that not just because I know she checks in here every so often.)

So Happy Birthday, my little jelly bean.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:10 PM | Comments (22)

August 18, 2008

The Strange and Icky World of Bugs

Yes, I'm still not blogging. As evidenced by this awful post.

But there was this gigantic derned moth banging its head against my window and those things (moths, not windows) just freak me out. I hate just about any of your large, airborne insects, because they don't have anything on their minds except procreating and flying into your mouth, or both. And moths try to cover by acting like fuzzy butterflies, but that's just as bad, because even butterflies freak me out, but at least they're slow enough to run away from, and they rarely get into the house, and bang their stupid heads against the window trying to get out. And don't even get me started on the giant palmetto cockroach bugs around here.

Anyway, the stupid huge moth was buzzering against the window when all of a sudden, it came down with a bad case of spider web. And so now I get to watch nature in all of her icky grotesque majesty as a giant flying insect does battle with a terrifying tiny spider that's probably a black widow or brown recluse (were I of a sufficiently fearless makeup to determine). About the only thing worse than giant flying insects are tiny creeping merchants of venom who spend their whole day trying to figure out how to build a nest in your ear. At night.

So, the moth gets further and further tangled up, and the spider waits for just the right time to tiptoes over the web to look at what she's caught, and she's as surprised as I am about how this big honking moth got caught, so she deedles around a bit and then runs back to the edge and licks her chops, and the moth just keeps on flopping around uselessly. Then it falls onto the top of the lower window sash, exhausted.

As this plays out, I have to kinda figure out who to root for. I mean, I don't like big flying bugs, but dying by spider bite is a heck of a bad way to go. Then again, I hate big flying bugs, and spiders gotta eat, right? And spiders are very industrious, even if they use their webs to entrap you and make you scream like a little girl. In the end, I figure I'll just let nature take its own solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short course.

I'm just that way, y'know.

So Mothra plays dead for a bit, and the spider gets almost to its underside, creeping along the threads of the web. You can see her playing out a few more strands to tangle up the legs of the moth some more, and then the moth starts wiggling madly again, and this time manages to actually break free of the web.

You could tell the spider was disappointed, but the moth was quite pleased with itself. It just better be glad it fell behind the books on my window sill and I'm lazy (and frightened), otherwise I'd get up and squash it.

As for the weekend past, it was okay. Grocery shopping, laundry, and I took Miss Reba a bunch of roses at work on Friday, because we had been married for 17 years on Saturday. I like her a whole lot, you know.

So that's about all there is to that.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:18 PM | Comments (15)

August 12, 2008

And that was that.

Quite a long trip since that late August day in 1995 when I dropped her off in the front of the elementary school and watched her toddle in for her first day of kindergarten—that being, the trip down to Montgomery this weekend past to deliver Oldest to college.

I suppose everyone has his or her own set of emotions when you do stuff like this, but I’m not certain most folks’ emotions include a sigh of relief. Time to let others grapple with the melodrama for at least a little while, and hope that the distance and new surroundings will do her some good and maybe squeeze a little of that melodrama out of her. Or at least give it some direction and constructive purpose. Despite all that has transpired in the past few years, I suppose I’m still an optimist and think better things must surely be on the way. Just like Charlie Brown when Lucy’s holding the football.

Anyway, it’s a nice place, and not too big, and very supportive (astonishingly so to this old man who simply loaded his junk in a travel trailer and went to school with nary an advisor/minder/ mentor/hand-holder/butt-wiper in sight), and pretty strict, and the dorm is new and neat and clean (astonishingly so to this old man who remembers the concrete block rat holes run by Northcutt Realty in Auburn that were so reminiscent of a Turkish prison that he decided it would be better to live in a travel trailer for five years), and at least for the time being she’s not complaining. To us.

So, you know, hunky-dory and all.

In other news, the rest of the kids start back to school Thursday, which is going to be good for them, too. They’ve done well this summer, with Rebecca working her vet job and enjoying the benefits that come from gainful employment, and Catherine working with the little old people at Reba’s work and enjoying the benefits that come from volunteering, and Jonathan going to band camp and enjoying the benefits of being surrounded by lanky leggy young women and being in the percussion pit (no marching!), but I think they’re ready to get back to school.

As for what’s going on in the rest of the world, who in the world came up with synchronized diving? And why? I mean, the synchronized swimming stuff is odd enough, but if you’re going to do diving, too, why not have synchronized every-other-thing, like gymnastics and trampoline and fencing?

Then again, fencing would actually be pretty cool if you had a whole heap of people going at it like in a pirate movie. Wrestling would be a lot better if they had tag teams, too. And maybe a steel cage division.

But synchronized diving is just silly. Unless we give them swords or guns or something.

There’s probably other things going on in the world, too, but I don’t know if I have an opinion about those or not.

So there.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:46 AM | Comments (24)

August 04, 2008

See?

Told you not to get used to it. I was off both Thursday and Friday of last week, and still managed to not find time to notblog. Just too much to do, or rather, too much to do interspersed with several minutes wherein I have to just sort of sit and stare off into space, trying to remember what I was supposed to do next.

None of which makes for anything interesting to say. Or at least anything that I can remember. I sure could use a new brain.

And a pile of cash.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:33 AM | Comments (7)

July 25, 2008

Okay, don't get used to this.

9:05 a.m.

Anyway, we'll see how this works out, but if it even for a moment starts to interfere with doing laundry or watching my shows, well, that'll be it! And no, this does not constitute a return to blogging. I quit, and I meant it. Mostly. Or not.

SO, Reba was out at 6 this morning. The state inspection folks walked in yesterday, and so she's having to go in early and stay late, which is tiresome. And it meant that even if I did have a day off, I still couldn't sleep late.

Dozed back off, then got up and got Jonathan up so he could go to band camp. This week is 8-noon, next week is all day. Heh.

Next thing on the agenda for later on in the day is taking the pets to the vet--AGGGHHHHH!! Rebecca had made the appointment (so we could get the employee discount) and made it for noon, and I didn't think about it until this morning, so after I got back from delivering Boy to the high school, had to call and reschedule the visit. So, 40 minutes from now, it'll be time to wrangle the pooch and kitty into the Volvo and go see if anything ails them.

Random thoughts: 1. Has anyone else noticed that the newest trend in men's hairstyles (that being the sort of product-laden short spiky-do that is gathered up in the center of the head liken unto Ed Grimley), has now made the jump to old guys? Several of the local teevee reporters/meteorologists/anchors have taken on this silly-looking new style. Or the alternative one, that looks like when Goober decided to become a swinging bachelor on the Andy Griffith Show and got some sort of weird Julius Caesar hair-do. Sorry, but it just looks stupid. And not just stupid on old guys, either.

2. I don't really give a fat rat's patootie if Europe would overwhelmingly vote for Obama. There is a reason we declared independence, and Europe has done nothing in intervening years to convince me that we made a bad decision. I have a deep and abiding mistrust of any American politician who craves the adulation of foreigners more than that of their fellow citizens.

Okay, I'm going to the animal doctor.

10:27 a.m.

Not bad at all--both Lightning and Patches were pronounced to be in excellent health, got their shots, and thanks to Rebecca being on staff, we got a healthy 50% discount. Which is nice, seeing as how this past Monday the Focus suffered yet another broken brake line, causing it to spew brake fluid from here to yonder, and necessitating the scheduling of yet another trip to the shop for a wallet extraction. ::sigh:: I sure wish I was independently wealthy.

Now, to get the dishwasher unloaded and reloaded, then to the bank so Rebecca can deposit her paycheck (she's so danged flush that she just bought herself a new LG Dare and agreed to pay the extra part of the phone bill for it) and then we'll go get Boy from band, and then we'll start on getting the clothes downstairs and separated.

Random thoughts:

1. I cannot tolerate the Rachael Ray show unless the sound is off.

2. Bob Barker was apparently not a very nice person in real life if the Internet is to be believed, but good grief, I cannot stand The Price is Right with Drew Carey as the host. Is there any way to reanimate Bob and wheel him around on stage? Or maybe get Bill Clinton to do it. Now THAT would be a show!

3. I am very tired of the local news media promoting their websites as a place where you can "start your own blog," or "blog your thoughts on our story." Most of these sites are nothing more than message boards. And leaving a single comment on a story someone else wrote about is not writing a blog. Then again, there's probably not a better way of illustrating how inept and out of touch traditional media is than to watch them continue to grapple with the phenomenon of independent citizen-journalists. It's not like it's new now, and yet it still seems like a mystery to most of the old-style print and broadcast folks. Then again, the difference between reporting your own opinion and reporting the facts seems to have eluded them, as well.

Anyway. Time to separate the clothes. Go to the bank.

2:20 p.m.

Bank, school, home, lunch (ham and cheese quesadillas!), clothes taken to the laundry room and picked apart, first load started (unmentionables!), Judge Joe Brown on the teevee, and boy would I like to have a nap right about now.

Random thoughts:

1. I wonder why none of the judge shows on the teevee have bleeding heart liberals? Probably for the same reason that liberal talk radio has such a tiny audience.

2. Speaking of TV judge shows, The Hon. Lynn Toler is really hot.

3. Lobsters.

Annnnnd, 6:25 p.m.

Still no sign of Reba, although I did get a call saying that it's going to be a while longer still before she's home. Supper's on, clothes being washed and folded, second load of dishes being washed, the hummingbirds are hitting the feeder, and stuff such as that. And thus ends the blogging portion of my off-day. Well, that is, if I still blogged. Which I don't.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:48 AM | Comments (6)

July 10, 2008

Another Birthday

Yeah, hard to believe—two posts in two days! Not that I’ve taken up blogging again, because I haven’t, but sometimes events warrant an update of an almost bloggish sort.

Got home from church last night (through a blinding thunderstorm, I might add), got the kids unloaded, got myself dressed in work clothes (at 9:00 p.m., I might add) and set to work fixing MY STUPID TIRE.

The other day I came out of the parking deck here at work and rolled over a high curb with the side of the tire and BANG-wheeeeeessssssshhhhhhhhhh. Big gash in the sidewall. The sidewall of a tire that I’d just bought a few months back after the “old” tire had suffered similar sidewall damaged by the hand of a certain wife of mine.

And this newest tire, only about a week old?

Seems it had gotten a nail in it while Reba was driving home.

At least not in the sidewall.

So, I got my pliers and my rubber cement and my rasp and my hook and my plug strips and my spotlight and backed the van into the garage (because it was still pouring rain outside) and set to work. The nail didn’t actually seem too deep. Probably could have left it alone, but because I’m a moron, I went ahead and pulled it and set to work making the tiny hole bigger with the rasp and had a heck of a time since it’s a BRAND NEW TIRE but finally got a hole big enough for the hook to go in and managed to tear up one of the sticky strips without actually plugging the giant new leak I’d made. Second time was the charm, though. Cleaned up the tools, pulled the van back outside and got the compressor out and proceeded to replace the air I’d let out (while standing in the rain, I might add.)

Got the pressure up to normal, unplugged, pulled the van in the right way into the garage, got out and went inside the house, got my work clothes back off, noticed Reba in Rebecca’s room on her bed talking, thought everyone should be in the bed, told Boy to get in the bed, and then Catherine, got my sleeping clothes on, decided to check my e-mail, sat there and vegetated and watched the news.

Reba finally came through the bedroom, and pointed to my left arm, “You’ve got black stuff on you.” Sure enough, I’d not been nearly as fastidious as I’d thought and had a smear of black road grime all over my left arm. Well, crap.

And then, “Rebecca wants to get baptized.”

WHOA—that came outta nowhere! But explains the confab there in Middle Girl’s room. Rebecca has been thinking about this for a while now, and she’d finally gotten to the point where she felt compelled to make that decision.

SO, we asked her if she wanted anyone to be there, and she figured it would be okay if the preacher and the youth minister were there, but that was it. Those calls were made, got Jonathan and Catherine out of bed and redressed, and it was back out into the rain and back across the county to the church building.

I had the same rush of emotion and found myself thinking the same thoughts as the time (almost exactly three years ago) that I’d had when I baptized Oldest, and found myself expressing similar sentiments to Rebecca once we were both down in the water (which we’ve now gotten hooked up to a filter system, I might add).

It is still quite a powerful thing to me—the idea of the new birth; not physical, but spiritual. I remember when she came squalling into the world, and what a fine big red baby she was and thinking how there could be no greater feeling. But there is, and it is the idea that when I lifted her back up out of that water, sputtering and snorting, the parent-child relationship had been supplemented by a greater one of being brother and sister in service together to our Creator.

She got her wet clothes off and changed, and we all had a short prayer together, headed back home, and got into bed sometime after 11:30.

And slept well.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:41 AM | Comments (10)

July 09, 2008

Cake and Ice Cream for ALL!

What do Fred Savage, Courtney Love, Kelly McGillis, Tom Hanks, Jimmy Smits, John Tesh, O.J. Simpson, Brian Dennehy, Donald Rumsfeld and I all have in common? (I mean, aside from our almost fanatical devotion to the Pope and nice red uniforms?) That's right, it's our birthday! YAY! So all of you are welcome to grab a big bowl of ice cream and a nice slice of cake (just be careful when O.J. is cutting his) and join us for a big celebration!

Other interesting things that happened today:

1540--England's King Henry VIII had his 6-month-old marriage to his fourth wife, Anne of Cleves, annulled. She got to keep the vacation house, the Mercedes, and her head.

1776--The Declaration of Independence was read aloud to Gen. George Washington's troops in New York. Afterwards they all went to see Mamma Mia at the Winter Garden Theater, and pronounced it "really FABULOUS!"

1816--Argentina declared independence from Spain. Spain was like, all, "yeah, whatEVer."

1850--Zachary Taylor, the 12th president of the United States, died in Washington, D.C., after serving only 16 months in office. Conspiracy theorists speculated an evil genius named Karl R. Ove who arrived from the future in a time machine was responsible for his death.

1896--William Jennings Bryan caused a sensation at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago with his "cross of gold" speech denouncing supporters of the gold standard. There were reports of mass harrumphing, and no small amount of men in bowler hats clamoring in the streets.

1947--The engagement of Britain's Princess Elizabeth to Lt. Philip Mountbatten was announced. The lovesick couple exchanged a restrained, yet heartfelt handshake and thenceforth were often photographed standing not far from each other.

1962--Terry Oglesby, inventor of the Cornatee (cornbread-battered and deep fried manatee on a stick), born in Birmingham, Alabama.

1992--Democratic presidential candidate Bill Clinton tapped Sen. Al Gore of Tennessee to be his running mate. Make up your own quip for this one--there are so many possibilities I can't choose one.

1995--The Grateful Dead played their last concert, at Soldier Field in Chicago. There are reports of mass mellow harshage, and no small amount of dudes being all bummed out.

1997--Boxer Mike Tyson was banned from the ring and fined $3 million for biting opponent Evander Holyfield's ear. George Foreman attempts to capitalize on the phenomenon with his Tender Ear Grill, with less than satisfactory results.

2000--Pete Sampras won his seventh Wimbledon singles title, tying the record for men at the All England Club. "Who cares," right? Right.

2001--A court in Chile ruled that Gen. Augusto Pinochet could not be tried on human rights charges because of his deteriorating physical and mental health. Reached for comment, Satan said, "Awww, how pitiful. I'll make sure when he gets here to have a nice quiet room for him with pretty flowers and a comfy bed."

2007--Sen. David Vitter, R-La., whose telephone number was disclosed by the so-called "D.C. Madam," accused of running a prostitution ring, said in a statement he was sorry for a "serious sin" and that he had already made peace with his wife. Wives of every other guy in America warn their husbands they'd best not think they can get away with anything like this without winding up seriously deceased.

2008--American press continues to report everything seemingly is spinning out of control. But you know, who believes anything you read in the paper, so I decide not to worry about anything and have a happy birthday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:36 AM | Comments (16)

May 23, 2008

I can't help it if I get distracted.

I suppose I should be ashamed of myself, but as I sat there yesterday, I had an unexpected reaction to the surroundings. Oh, I had the normal set of bittersweet thoughts you have at graduations, but as I sat there on those hard aluminum bleachers my mind wandered a bit.

I’m not sure how to explain it. Scrunched in too-tightly together with a few thousand other sweaty parents and grandparents and siblings and friends in the old football stadium. The whiff of outdoor-grade perfume mixed in with the occasional taint of a beer sloshed down and a smoke burnt to the filter in the car on the way over. The dimming light of a May afternoon that made the surrounding trees and low hills seem close and dense, and softened the clash of the red gowns on the green field. The sound of the speakers echoing through the neighborhood. Maybe it was the combination of all of that, but after we watched them all come in, and after we’d said the Pledge, and all sat back down, and I sat there listening to the valedictory, I was overcome by a peculiar sense of how uniquely American it all seemed.

I probably should have been at least as moved by the more personal aspect of watching my daughter receive her diploma, but at that particular moment, all I could think of was how the same ceremonies were being played out at similar venues in other small towns across the United States. And it made me so very proud to be part of that type of place.

No, we still don’t quite have down the proper way to wear a mortarboard (hint—pinned vertically to the back of your big hair-do isn’t it), but we still figure it’s important to have one. History, and all.

No, even though we make the announcement to hold applause so everyone can be recognized and one kid doesn’t get the silent treatment while another gets whoops and cheers, that lasts only about twenty people in, and then there’s that first guy, the one who had hurried down the Miller Lite and the Camel on the way over, who has to unsteadily give a big Rebel yell when his niece’s name gets read. And so, from then on out, the chorus of hollers and screeching ululations starts in earnest. (Well, except for those left-out kids with shy relatives or no friends, who wish at least one of their kin would lighten up for once in their lives and give him a little yell.) (And no, I’m not speaking personally, since my mother-in-law gave a long loud whistle worthy of a hog farmer at slop time when Oldest’s name was called.) Why? Because Americans love to cheer, even if under certain circumstances it might veer toward the uncouth.

No, there might not be anyone in the class who grows up to be President, but unlike some places in this world, you can’t say for sure someone won’t.

We’ve got a good thing here. Might not quite be doing everything exactly right, or in the exact right way, but I doubt you’ll find anyone working harder at—well, I don’t know—working hard at doing something. I don’t know, maybe it’s like that everywhere else in the world kids are graduating from high school. But I don’t think so.

Anyway, Oldest did graduate, and will be going off to Montgomery in the fall, and maybe that bit of distance and responsibility will make thoughts in the future lean more to the sweet side of the bittersweet equation. Or not. Hard to tell about such things.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:38 AM | Comments (20)

May 08, 2008

By Popular Demand

As warned in the previous post, if enough people asked for it, I agreed to post the tale of my recent struggle with the downstairs toilet room. In this case, "popular demand" consists of Miss Jordana asking to read it. I am nothing if not a sucker for pretty brunettes.

SO THEN, here it is.

PARENTAL ADVISORY: The following posts details events that occurred 13-14 APR 2008. This account contains graphic depictions of plumbing, excessive use of fossil fuels, deliberate concentration and inhalation of petroleum distillate vapors, and conspicuous consumption, yet is entirely devoid of entertainment value, as well as that patented Possumblog combination of mirth and despair. It is simply despair.

PLOT SETUP: I started in November of 2004 to repair the rotted floor of my downstairs powder room, the result of a small leak in the toilet flange. At the time, I could not find an appropriate selection of hardwood flooring to patch the pieces I'd torn out, and ever since then, the toilet room has been in a state of disrepair. Other stories here, and here, and here, and here.

I fixed my bathroom over the weekend, and I'm sore.

Pulled out the rest of the hardwood flooring with a crowbar, and thus began the first of several tasks that made me sore. Finally got it all hacked up, and went to the store to get something to go back on it. Decided to get some self-stick vinyl planks that look like wood. Also had to get something to take up the old glue, so I got something made to take up old vinyl flooring and glue. And some floor primer. And a scraper. And I decided to get a new toilet because the old one was a round bowl, and it's just not big enough for my butt, and it's also nasty-looking. The toilet, not my butt.

Went back, set to work with the chemical, and the scraper, and found out that the chemical was pretty worthless, and the scraper broke. Went to Marvin's and got a new big wood and metal scraper and a can of methylene chloride. Went home, doused the floor, waited, scraped some more and shriveled my lungs up to the size of raisins from the fumes. Bending and scraping and breathing toxic fumes hurts.

Finished, more or less, although there were still sticky spots in the floor. Didn't care. Dumped the contaminated chemical mess and glue in the garbage, washed the floor down with a mop and bucket, toweled it dry, and then started with the vinyl. Actually managed to do okay with it. Although it was in a tiny little powder room that's only 3 x 6, and all the stooping and contorting and crawling hurt more. And the sink is a pedestal mount, and so when I moved the hunk of leftover wood floor from under it, it dropped down and came loose from the wall. So I had to support it with my head while I tried to shore it up. And then move it around again while I put the vinyl down. After several hours wrestling with that and having to cut strips with a dull box knife so they'd fit up against the wall, I was done with that.

Went and got the new toilet and set it in place, and it was way too high. Rocked all over the place.

I looked, and came to the conclusion that the flange was sitting up too high, and I needed to replace it so it would be right down on the floor. Started beating and banging on the flange until I had beaten the thing to pieces and gotten it broken out of the floor piping. And made myself even more sore.

Sunday, went to church, came back and got a new flange and pipe dope. Filed down some of the bad places so the flange would fit, and it almost did. But it was very tight. Went ahead and primed it and glued it and set it in place, and started tapping it down with a big hammer. Wham wham wham, until it was nearly at the floor. Almost. WHAM WHAM WHAM CRACK CRACK S[letters deleted to keep from scaring the horses and the children]TFIRE!

I broke it.

And the bad thing is, even if I'd gotten it all the way down, it was still going to sit up too high. Seems that's sometimes a problem, and there are companies that do make spacers that sit under the base of the toilet to raise it up enough to get a wax ring under it and still be nice and tight to the floor. Which would have been helpful seeing as how not only was the flange a bit too high, the whole floor was raised up a bit where the pipe came through the floor, meaning I was going to have to shim the toilet no matter what. And if I'd only realized that earlier, I could have saved myself from hammering the new flange to pieces and just shimmed it up when I had THAT one in place.

So, I finished hammering the new flange out of the hole.

Almost.

Seems that unlike the old one, the new one was much more resilient, and wouldn't crack loose from the inside of the pipe. I'd glued it in there really good, you know.

Got it down as far as I could, ran to Lowe's and got a new flange of a smaller diameter that was intended to go down into the inside of the old new flange's opening.

Got it home, and it was much smaller than the other one—not a press-fit like I thought it would be. Back to the store for a big tube of something. Decided on JB Weld epoxy putty. Rolled it up, put it around the neck, and prayed it would hold. It seemed pretty tight, sorta, but to make sure, went back to the store and got ANOTHER tube of putty and squished it up the inside part of the flange underneath. Finally felt like I had it together.

Got redressed to go back to church for evening worship, and tried to figure out what I was going to do for a seal, since the wax ring that came with the toilet was for a bigger opening and wouldn't go into the new opening of the flange. Got out of church, went to ANOTHER Lowe's, asked some old fart who worked there if there was a wax ring made to fit "this type of flange" [holding up an example for him to look at] "Here. Use this," he said.

"No, that one is too big—see, the plastic part won't go down in the hole."

"Yes it will."

"Uhhhh, no—it won't. I've TRIED it, and it's the same diameter as the hole on the flange."

So then he took off to the other aisle to look at the flanges.

"You need one of these."

"No—look, I've already GOT this one in the floor—I was just using it to show you what I need. I need to know if there's anything made specifically for this type of flange."

"No."

STeeeeeYUPID SENILE OLD FOOL JERKASS MOFO!

In frustration, I got a big tube of silicone caulk.

Went home, put back on my work clothes, then put a paper cup down in the hole of the flange, and pookied the snot out of the depression in the flange around the cup and built up a big wad of it all around. Got the bowl, positioned a couple of pieces of hardwood flooring samples (that I'd gotten in one of my earlier trips for stuff) and set it carefully down, hoping I'd lined up the outlet of the bowl with the inlet of the flange, and that the big bead of caulk was going to be enough to hold it.

Bolted it down, bolted the tank on, hooked up the water, let it fill up, and then gave 'er a flush.

Thank the Good Lord, it worked.

No leaks that I could find. Adjusted the float, cleaned up the tools and the floor and the junk and the leftover parts and bolts and screws and took a tiny little tired dump to make sure that it would flush solids just like it did liquids.

And it did.

And so, that's why my neck, and back, and knees, and wrists, and arms, and inner thighs, and calves, and hamstrings are all very sore, even today.

Oh, and by the way, I fixed Lightning some boards on top of the fence so he could promenade along the fence or lie about in the sun.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:01 PM | Comments (23)

May 05, 2008

Look, just 'cause there's a...

title, and words following it down here in this part, it DOESN'T mean that I'm blogging. Sure, most of your mainstream daily newspapers and local television stations seem to think that's what constitutes a blog entry, but not me. I know better. So don't go getting all snarky and start asking why I'm blogging again when I said I'd quit, because I really did quit, and nothing you see here changes that in any substantive way.

Not even if I tell heart-warming stories of familial enjoyment or terrifying stories of suburban horrors. Which is good, because I don't have any of either.

All I have is about five minutes of less-than-full-throttle time from my paying work, and rather than do the prudent thing and go to the restroom or get up and move my legs, I thought I would exercise my fingers some.

It's springtime in Paradise By The Pinchgut, and as has been the case in the past, I have a lovely and verdant lawn full of various flora and fauna, generally in the form of weeds and fire ants. ::shakes fist:: I will offer my endorsement of Amdro--that stuff works very effectively. And it makes a great ice cream topping!*

The weeds, though--I leave them alone. If I killed all the weeds, I wouldn't have much of a lawn left. Then again, I would have less to cut. Hmm.

Wife?

Yep, still got one of those. And she's still really hot.** And she still seems determined to see to it that I stay out of trouble. Did I tell you I finally fixed the downstairs toilet and floor? I did. Very nearly killed me. Took two days of intensive labor, including being shot at by Bosnian snipers.# I told the whole sordid tale in a long-winded email to Doc Smith, and I'll reproduce it here later if enough people cry out to read about my idiocy. (And no, that won't be considered a blog entry, either.)

Kids? Yep. Still got those, too. Oldest graduates from high school in a couple more weeks, if you can believe that. Oh, by the way--remember when I used to say, "It's only a phase...it's only a phase...it's only a phase"? Well, it's not. It does remind me a bit of a Kafka short story I read when I was younger. And that's enough about that.

Boy just got back from Atlanta this weekend. He and his bandmates went to a competition over in Marietta, and then went and did the Atlanta tourist thing with stops at Cokeworld and Six Flags and some sort of medieval dinner theater deal. Sounded like he had fun, although he spent all day yesterday trying to keep his pants up. He packed the wrong pair of pants and forgot to take a belt. Thank goodness he had the decency to at least try to keep them up and not let them bag up around his butt cheeks. Anyway, given his frenetic schedule and adolescent desire to horse around and not sleep when given the opportunity at a nice hotel, he probably slept through all of his classes today.

Middle Girl is through with soccer for the school year. Managed to do quite well, although they did mess up their overall record by losing three tournament games mid-season. Otherwise, they did respectably well. And MG managed to keep up her grades to an extraordinarily high level. She's real smart-like. Overall, freshman year was a good one for her, which bodes well for the next three years. Although she did manage to miss last week due to a terrible stomach/intestinal bug. Blech.

Tiny Terror is still her same old ball-of-energy self. She's eleven, and at the very cusp of adolescence. Whiney, mouthy, loud, boisterous, but oddly lacking in guile. I guess that's good.

Patches? Lightning? About 1 and 2 years old, respectively. Still can't quite let Lightning out unattended without Patches going all puppy-silly and wanting to simulateously eat/play with the cat, who is baffled that anyone would want to tangle with him. Animals are weird.

Job? Still got one, and it looks like the decision to give up blogging was a good one. Not one spare minute in the day.*** But that's good. I've actually remembered stuff I shouldn't have forgotten, and have managed to avoid several instances where my ample buttocks could have been put into a sling. So, you know.

The world? I have no idea about anything, other than I really have very little other than contempt for whomever will be the eventual Democratic nominee, and little hope that the Republican nominee will manage to be able to win. I sense that 2008-2012 is going to be about like 1976-1980. Thank goodness I kept my leisure suits and two-tone platform shoes!****

Anyway, what's on your mind lately?

*Amdro is poisonous to all life and should not be eaten with ice cream, or anything else for that matter.

**Really. But don't be getting no ideas about her, or I'll track you down and smush you like a BUG!

#They could have been Serbs. Or not.

***Today excepted.

****Joking? Not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:38 PM | Comments (20)

March 27, 2008

That's odd.

And sorta frightening.

Oldest turns 18 today.

I remember when she was much younger--maybe 5 turning 6--and I went in to wake her up one morning. She opened her eyes and looked around, then sat up and started looking quizzically at her arms and legs. "What's the matter, sugar?"

"I though you said I was going to be a big girl on my birthday!"

Seems as though all of Mom and Dad's talk back then about turning the magical age of six and being a big girl was translated in her mind as meaning she'd wake up on her birthday and be full grown.

Having now lived with her through all of the less-than-pleasant turmoil of the intervening 12 or so years since that time, I have a feeling that having now reached the age of majority, she has the firm belief she is finally an actual grown up.

And, well, you know, good luck with that.

No, really.

I don't wish for any of my kids to have to endure bad times and bad things, but I know that being human, those things do come to us all. But I also know that despite my best efforts and intentions, she will meet the adult world woefully unprepared.

We've tried to show her, tell her, make her, cajole her into seeing and understanding and learning, and I know a few scraps of that made it through to her consciousness, but I also know most of what we've tried to make plain simply went into the mental shred file.

And that's a failure on my part.

But at least I can take some comfort in knowing that it wasn't failure by simple inaction. Somewhat like Wile E. Coyote (Genius), of whom it can never be said that his high rate of disaster was due to his being lazy and innattentive, I am perversely gratified in some small way that although my big box of ACME Parenting Skills blowed up real good, it was nonetheless spectacular and noticeable, and occasionally entertaining to viewers.

If only real life were like the cartoons, I'd be a bit less concerned for the fate of my own little roadrunner.

But, there she is, in the eyes of the law and in her mind's eye, an adult.

Like I said, good luck with that.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:31 AM | Comments (36)

February 29, 2008

All Quiet on the Moron Front

Rear, too. I thought there might be some disturbance the other day, but it was only gas. Okay, well, not only gas, but we shan’t waste valuable daylight discussing it.

ANYWAY, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it? Oddly enough, people still come around every once in a while, or on Leap Day, either by accident, or in the oddly misplaced, yet still charming delusion that they’ll find that I have come out of my forced retirement and begun blogging again.

Alas, I still am quite quit of blogging.

But it’s not really about me—I am haunted by those whom we’ve had to let go from the Axis of Weevil World Headquarters, who shuffled out the door holding their last paychecks and various stolen office supplies, going off into a cruel world where imaginary employees of imaginary enterprises are a dime-a-dozen.

And then alas, there is poor Chet the E-Mail Boy. Once so full of boyish charm (approximately 90 years ago) and now—now doomed to his new life of self-employment.

“Chet,” I said to him as kindly as I could on Layoff Day, “Chet, I hate to let you go, but it’s time—“

He raised his withered and liver-spotted hand, and in his high, thin, reedy, trembling, whispy, raspy, consumptively phlegmy voice told me that he had an idea for a new business venture. “Oh, but Chet, you’re old, and dim, and stupid, and infirm, and have to be told everything to do—and what will Miss Butch say?”

He bade me no mind, being the upstart, blackguard, and rogue that he turned out to be, and walked out without so much as a tear or sniffle.

Seems he’d saved up some money (how, I’m not sure, since I never paid him) and bought one of those little ‘Hawaiian shaved ice’ vending shacks that open in the summer and then shutter up in the wintertime. I laughed at the thought of him trying to sell overpriced snowcones in the winter, but then to make it even more laughable, he repainted the building and started selling bowls of cornflakes. Called it CHET’S FLAKE-SHAK. Silly old man.

Anyway, I suppose it pays to do something you know about, and if there’s anything Chet knows, it’s cornflakes. He started out selling just your plain basic bowl of flakes with milk, then as it caught on with the morning commuter traffic, he started offering a variety of milks—whole, 2%, 1%, skim, chocolate, strawberry. Then there were the sweeteners—sugar, Splenda, NutraSweet, honey, maple syrup, molasses, Karo. Seems people liked the variety, and his weird tales of telegraphy and Linotypistry, and I guess the convenience of not having to go to the danged pantry for a stupid box of cereal and the cupboard for a bowl and the refrigerator for milk and the drawer for a spoon.

After a while, it got more than he could handle, so he put Miss Butch to work in there and people got an even more entertaining floor show with her in her exotic Hmong dress, screeching curses at him in French. The idea continued to grow in popularity, especially when she created a new taste sensation when she “accidentally” “dropped” some betel nut juice into someone’s flakes. After that, EVERYone wanted some. Got to be that the traffic was so bad in the mornings that they’d have the cops come out and direct traffic. Chet decided to buy up all the defunct Hawaiian shaved ice stands in town and open a whole chain of CHET’S FLAKE-SHAKs. I tried to urge caution on him because he’s old and senile, but he acted as though he knew what he was doing. Idiot.

He hired a bunch of other stupid old people to man the new shacks, and sure enough, you’d think customers were sprouting up out of the ground. People were all over themselves to pick up a stupid bowl of cornflakes and milk sold by his wrinkly old geezer friends from the VFW. He started coming up with cutesy names for stuff—like his CUPOFLAKS for people who wanted their cornflakes and milk in a cup instead of a bowl so they could eat it while driving and talking on their stupid cell phones about their stupid jobs.

It continued to be a local phenomenon of some mild amusement, until some weirdo made Chet a MySpace page and put up a video of Miss Butch on YouTube, and then everyone under the sun jumped in. The Daily Show came and nearly got shot (Miss Butch thought they were Viet Cong), then Chet somehow managed to get on Fox and Friends and prattled on and on about meeting Mark Twain and Buffalo Bill Cody as a boy and how he loved cornflakes and being a businessman, and not ONE word about me or my influence on his life. Ungrateful old coot.

After that, he somehow managed to swing a deal with some crazy dumb hippydippy chick from California (who is NOT that attractive, by the way, because anyone can look tall and beautiful in California with enough money and plastic surgery and a degree from Stanford) to develop a line of organic “Worldcornflakes” using his name and confused likeness, and then the lawyers got involved, which I told him was a very bad idea, and they talked him into a cross-country franchise agreement for his stupid cornflakeshaks, and I’m sure he’ll wind up losing his new big fancy McMansion and his Maybach 62 sedan (which I thought was a dumb choice for him, seeing as how he used to jibber on and on about the “Hun menace.” Apparently now that he can go out and pay cash for some lumpy Kraut rolling symbol of self-indulgence, Fritz isn’t such a big threat anymore. Hmph. Figures.)

Anyway, here I am—my blogging empire reduced to nothingness, and I’ve got to stay late tonight to close up, which I hate, because we can’t throw out any of the day’s batch of cornflakes and I have to eat them all, and although my intestines have become preternaturally regular, the last thing I really want to have to do late at night is eat ten pounds of cornflakes. That, and wash out the milk machines. And scrub the dumpster. And call Chet “sir.”

So, you know, other than that, things are just fine.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:11 AM | Comments (13)

January 29, 2008

Pictures!

What better way to not blog than by posting pictures! (Aside from not posting pictures.)

A few shots from this year:


First off, PETS!!

Playing the part of Rafiki, Catherine. Playing the part of infant Simba being held up for approval of all the animals of the savannah, a very perturbed Lightning.

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Brilliant.

Enjoying the sunshine and dreams of chasing rabbits or rawhide bones, it's Patches.

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AWwwwwww!

Next up, some of you might be aware that the South was covered in a huge thick blanket of snow a couple of weekends ago. The teevee stations breathlessly dubbed this dangerous band of weather "WINTER STORM '08!" and gave it round-the-clock coverage.

It started about 11 a.m., was over by about 1:30, and left a killing choking layer of frozen precipitation nearly half an inch thick. It all melted by 5:00.

But dangitall, it was SNOW, and the kids have been irritated for several years now that the evil McBushitlerburton weather machine had not produced anything appropriately wintertime-frosty, so they were ecstatic. While it lasted. (Oh, ignore the date stamp--this actually happened on the 19th.)

Anyway, the first snowball:

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Boy holds up two rather pitiful competitors in the snowball arms race:

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Next, a tiny snowman, his tinier snow-progeny, a tiny snow-dog, and a giant ball of snow, all perched upon the gas grill to represent the growing danger of global warming:

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Global warming, though, is trumped by the threat posed by giant extraterrestrial canines transported to earth by a race of earmuff-wearing Amazons:

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The front of Casa de Possum, looking almost New England wintry. This was taken about an hour past the height of the blizzard.

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The Volvo looks right at home--

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I sorta wish it had that layer of snow on it all the time. Helps cover up the faded paint on the upper side. Also, if it had snow on it all the time, I would ride around with this on my back window all the time:

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I live for constant positive reinforcement, you know.

In other family news, Miss Reba had herself a birthday! As you can see from the candles on the cake, she's three.

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She's actually 48, and danged hot, if I do say so myself.

So, that's it for the family, although there is a dearth of pictures of Oldest, who does not take well to being candidly snapped.

And me? Oh, well, yeah, I guess there's a few shots of your host as well. Acting silly, as usual.

Hey, do you like those little butter mints like they have at baby showers and junk like that? Me too!

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What a moron.

Here I am all dressed up acting like a moron:

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AND FINALLY, this past Sunday we appointments to have our pictures made at church for the directory. This is what it looks like when I have to wait for something:

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Well, there you go.

Back to work now.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:47 AM | Comments (20)

December 21, 2007

It’s been an odd year in Paradise by the Pinchgut…

And not just because 2007 isn’t 2006 or 2008.

Although I think that’s still probably part of the problem. That, and monkeys.

But back to the point. Which is itself a first, seeing as how I’ve never felt constrained by the boundaries imposed by “polite society” to “make a point.” ::shakes fist at polite society:: Take that!

Anyway, it’s just been all sorts of topsy turvy—my new, bold, edgy blogging strategy at the beginning of the year—which I termed “NEW, BOLD, EDGY!!”—was quickly beaten to death by all of the usual old, timid, dull suspects. But at least there was still a vast quantity of old timid dull crap to look at, that is, until I quit blogging completely when I got my new job back in August.

That right there has itself been such an experience, one full of interesting stories and insights and catastrophes, all of which would have made such great new blog fodder if I still had time to write it all down. Which I haven’t.

And not only that, there was all the junk that’s been going on in the world that I had no way of commenting on, no matter how much I wanted to. All of the various celebrity shenanigans, the foibles of those quaint souls in the media, the vituperations of the vicious vivisectionists of the legal profession, the always bountiful stupidity of the criminal class and Congress (but I repeat myself), all the various heartwarming marsupial stories, the beauty pageants, the pie-eating contests, the World Series, the Piece of Wood That Looks Like Jesus Which Was Found In A Vacant Lot by a Poor Homeless Man Who Sold It On eBay for 5 Million Dollars But Who Had to Go To Jail When It Was Found Out He Was Really an Escaped Convict and the Wood Was Really Just a Hunk of Wood He’d Carved To Look Like Sorta Like Jesus and so He Didn’t Get Any Money Out of the Deal But Nonetheless Created an Even Bigger Stink When He Said He Found a Bar of Soap in Prison That Looked Like Muhammed And The Entire World Exploded in a Fit of Swarthy-Faced Wild-Eyed Rage By Militant Unitarians—that sort of stuff was just begging for someone like me to comment, but it was simply not to be.

But at least I am getting paid more now, and actually get to do productive-type stuff instead of acting as a bureaucratic anchor to progress, so hey, it ain’t all bad.

Back at the house, there’s been all sorts of stuff going on as well. It’s a constant blur, which was one of the nice things about having a blog, back when I had one, that being that I could write stuff down and have some way of not forgetting it all. That’s really the thing that hurts most. All those little stories and incidents with the kids or Miss Reba, none really earth-shattering or anything, just little bits of life, but they were bits of MY life, and there was some comfort in knowing that as they grew up and as I grew older and more forgetful, I’d have some way to look back and be able to relive a little of the fun. You didn’t get to hear about the dog eating the bike helmet, or Catherine walloping Jonathan with the broom handle, or the Christmas parade. Not that you really wanted to hear about them, but they had a nice touch of humor in them. Makes the day go by a bit faster, y’know?

SO, anyway, enough of all that. Here we are near to the end of the year. If I still had a blog, I’d note that yesterday was its 6th (!) birthday, and I’d tell you all that I’ll be at home all next week enjoying the holidays with my kiddos and the stuff they mooched off of Santa.

Oh, what the heck—I think, for just this once, I’ll act like this place is still in business, and wish all of you a lovely holiday (no matter which day[s] you holify) and a Happy New Year! All of you be nice to each other, and be nice to yourselves, too.

See you next year.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:51 PM | Comments (8)

December 14, 2007

End of Week Brain Dump

Okay, okay--I know. A huge buildup like that, and nothing to back it up.

The shame of having not even a teaspoonful of inanity to offer. And it's not like there's not plenty of fodder out there!

Oh well, let's give it a try anyway. As long as you harbor no expectations of quality, you'll not be disappointed.

Politics: Oh, please. They ("they" being the candidates) all stink, in varying degrees and levels of venality. And even the crazy people are a bunch of pikers. Lyndon LaRouche craps bigger crazy than Kucinich. Anyway, best I can tell the choices right now on the pinko/hippy side come down to purest distilled evil, some goofy kid, a smug foppish twit (with a twist of evil), weird dude, three old guys, and some chubby guy. On the unworthy-to-be-the-successors-to-Ronald Reagan side we've got another bunch of old guys, some guy I've never heard of, a couple of guys with enough baggage to keep a team of fifty bellhops busy for a year, and a former fat guy, and that guy with the hot wife and stack of residual checks. Both sides seem to have a base of vocal supporters made up of enough cranks and loose screws to assemble a fleet of Model Ts. Take THAT, rest of the world!

Weather: The high temperature was close to 80 degrees here on Tuesday. It's going to be barely above freezing on Sunday. ::shakes fist at thermometer::

Sports: Steroids? Baseball?! Eh, whatever. I say any sport where you get to wear jewelry while you play needs as much help as it can get.

Entertainment: Writer's strike? I've not been so disturbed about a labor action since the Amalgamated Brotherhood of Buggy Whip Craftsmen staged their walk-out in 1913.

Family: I have four children and a wife. Each seem to be trying to outdo the others in driving me to an early grave. I love them all dearly nonetheless.

Work: Between the previous category and this one, I have no time nor ability to form anything more than a variety of whale-like squeaks, whistle, clicks, and grunts in lieu of actual substantive conversation.

It's a darned good thing I gave up blogging.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 05:28 PM | Comments (7)

December 07, 2007

I hate school.

Not really.

It’s good to learn things, even if it’s just for the sake of knowing something you didn’t know before.

I suppose what I object to is that schools nowadays take great pride in assigning gigantic enriching multiculturally-engaging, multimedia-focused research assignments to kids who probably don’t get all that much out of it other than a sort of glossy simulacrum of a facsimile of understanding about the topic at hand.

Seeing as how such assignments invariably wind up requiring a huge wad of parental involvement and supervision and assistance.

Because it’s important for parents to be involved.

Despite the fact that my parents never assisted me in doing silly crapwork school projects.

And despite the fact that I have not the socially-desirable overly-stimulated and pampered single child to dote upon, but the near-to-being-white-trash FOUR children, ALL of whom are also given similar gigantic enriching multiculturally-engaging multimedia-focused research assignments.

What brings on this sudden fit of pique?

Boy, and his assignment this nine weeks. Seems they’re studying Asia in social studies. Or possibly language. Or maybe math. You know how schools are nowadays with all this cross-training stuff. Anyway, I think it’s social studies. So, their teacher gives them this big laundry list of activities to choose from in categories such as Culture, Geography, Art, Inscrutability, &c., &c., with each activity worth a varying amount of points, the idea being to allow each student the freedom to pick and choose enough activities from each category to add up to a theoretical maximum total of 200 points.

I’m not sure how much time they were given, although I figure it’s probably been over a month. And you know how good 8th graders are at time management.

So it comes closer to time to start fixing and doing, and Boy had actually begun working on some of his stuff as long as a couple of weeks ago. Me, not knowing exactly how much was involved in the overall scheme of things, was kinda gratified that he hadn’t waited around until the last minute to do his colored picture of the Silk Road, and a clever origami scorpion, and a picture of a samurai.

Little did I know that this wasn’t all there was to it. And that it was all supposed to be turned in today.

It began to dawn on me last weekend, though.

“I’m gonna make paper!”

Great, yeah, whatever, Son.

“And so I need to save the Sunday paper, because I’m going to take that, and put it in the blender, and put water in it, and some glue…”

WHOA UP, THERE, BOY!

“No. Jonathan, we’re NOT going to put paper and glue in the blender.”

Hurt little puppy dog eyes. “But—but I have to make paper for my class assignment.”

“WHAT class, Son?”

“That stuff I’m working on for my Asia project—you know, like that map I was doing.”

“Oh. Well, no blender. I’ll help you out on that.”

Because, I am a moron.

SO, thus began an ever deepening hole of paternal, and ultimately, maternal interference.

Because not only did I get to make paper, in the last four days I also wound up making an Ivory soap carving of a fu dog, a large model of a segment of the Great Wall of China, a printed itinerary for a imaginary 14 day tour of Japan (including travel distances and times for each leg of the trip), and a box lunch of three separate dishes, along with the recipe for each item. Mom got involved last night, doing a poster collage of a variety of images of China and Japan gleaned from a stack of National Geographics.

Boy was ever helpful—cutting and pasting and fixing and doing and mixing and assembling and such like, but frankly, there would be no way for any kid really to do all this junk without a big hand from their parents, mainly in the all-important task of project management. Given infinite time and resources, I know the young feller could have figured it all out himself, but something of this magnitude requires a ready-to-go set of skills in production means and methods that is beyond your garden-variety middle schooler.

I don’t know—maybe it’s all this blizzard of information we live in, where there’s so much access to so much stuff, that we seem to have come to think the past got there by a combination of magic and CGI. The fact you can pull up a billion images of every square inch of the Great Wall with nothing but a click of the mouse makes it seem less of a feat of engineering. Building a cardboard model of it (or helping Dad build one) is fun, but I dare say he still has little appreciation for just how massive such an undertaking was.

Me?

I think he’d have been better served to do fewer things, but actually do them himself, and not just the simple thing like origami. How about the teacher getting some stones, and some mortar, and a corner of the schoolyard, and letting the kids work and see just how stinkin’ hard it is to lay a straight wall on crooked ground, and then maybe get an appreciation for how long and hard it would be to do the same thing all across 4,000 miles of mountaintop.

Yeah, I know. Lawyers would love that.

Anyway, I am happy to say it all got done and transported to school without incident this morning, so who am I to grouse?

I just hope I get an A.

Colophon

Papermaking: I’ve seen this done on Beakman’s World, and got a refresher from several websites. Just look up ‘beakman’ and ‘paper,’ and you’ll find enough info. We took a section of newspaper (black and white—no slicks), tore it into thin strips, and then chipped those into very small bits with scissors. This part really would work better with a blender, but I knew a certain wife of mine would never go for it. If you want to make a lot of this junk, go get a blender from the thrift store. Anyway, get the paper all chopped up as fine as possible. I also got a wad of lint out of the clothes dryer screen to give it a bit more body. One thing I didn’t count on was the huge amount of girl hair in the dryer lint. This is gross, but not really noticeable until you get it all soupy and wet. Ick.

Next step was to get a plastic ice cream bucket and put the paper and lint in, and cover it with scalding hot water. Cover, and let it set for a couple of days to get good and mushy. This stuff was then mushed between my fingers until it was even mushier, then allowed to settle back out, and the water carefully drained off. The mush was collected, squeezed out, and then new hot water was put in the plastic tub, along with a big puddle of white glue. After this was dissolved, the mush ball was put back in and squeezed some more until well mixed.

To make the paper reconstitute itself into a thin dry sheet, take an old pair of panty hose and stretch it tightly over a wire coat hanger that you’ve bent around into a square shape. The next part I wasn’t really clear on, but what I did was place the hanger’n’hose into a shallow baking pan, and pour the whole mess of soupy paper mix over the top. I then patted out the mixture evenly and thinly over the whole screen and lifted it out, but that’s probably not the best way to do it.

The screen and mixture still has a lot of water in it, and if you have several days, you set it outside to dry in the sun. The heck with that. I laid it on some paper towels, and then carefully blotted the top to get out as much water as possible, then stuck the whole shebang into the dryer on top of the sweater rack, and let it run for an hour or so.

The end result made a nice 9 inch square of light blue paper, smooth on one side and pleasantly rough on the other, and my recycled paper only required a couple of gallons of natural gas-heated water, a half a roll of new paper towels, and an hour of electricity in the clothes dryer (set on high) to produce! Somehow, I think this is not the way recycling is supposed to work.

Eh, whatever.

Jonathan then decorated the paper with a rubber stamp we had of Chinese characters, and some brushed-on black paint in which he did a free-form sort of rendition of Chinese calligraphy.

Soap carving: I’ve never done this before, but I’ve read that all the great masters of sculpture merely carve away whatever doesn’t look like a horse or busty maiden, so I figured I’d do the same with the soap. Ivory™ brand soap seems to work best, since it’s soft enough to work with, yet strong enough not to snap in half. Boy found a picture of a pair of jade dragon/dogs, and I looked at it briefly and started whittling away stuff that didn’t look like a fu dog.

I blocked out the basic outline with a serrated paring knife, and then finished out the rest with my trusty reliable #11 X-Acto blade. It was very soothing, and I managed to do a really good version for a first effort, although the head looked less like a fierce dragon and more like a hungry pig.

Great Wall model: This one required some doing. Boy found a picture of a section with two guard towers on a rocky section of land. I figured corrugated cardboard would work best—it’s brown, and available in large quantities in our garage. The ground was another story. Needed realistic earth look, but no weight. And the whole thing needed a base to sit on.

Catherine had a big box her pair of boots came in, so I went and got that to use as the base, and fortuitously, it had several big wads of wrapping tissue inside. Hmm. I wadded up several sheets and put them on the boot-box lid, then laid several flat sheets over the top of that. Looks like rolling hills to me!

I glued down the edge of the large sheet to the lid of the box with white glue, then made a thin solution of white glue in hot water and sprayed the whole thing to give it a bit of body and stiffen it. This was then laid aside to dry for a couple of days.

In the interim, we built the guard towers by laying out a rectangle, scoring one side of the cardboard at three equal increments, and folding up the side and joining them with a piece of masking tape on the inside. Crenellations were cut afterward with the X-Acto—two slices down and one across (which would have been easier with a new blade), as well as doorways and tiny windows. I did one to show Boy how, and he did the other.

Needless to say, there was a difference in their appearance once complete. These were also laid aside for a day while I tried to think of how to finish the rest of the thing.

I finally figured I would slice through the tissue and insert the towers and glue them to the box lid underneath, and then connect the towers with sections of cardboard walls. Since the “land” surface rose and fell, one tower would need to be shorter to give the illusion of elevation change, so about an inch was sliced off the bottom of one, and the towers positioned on the now-dry base to eyeball in the correct alignment. Once that was settled, an “x” shape was cut where each tower would go, and the tissue paper flaps turned under.

Now, time to finish the ground.

First step was to try to get something approaching the look of dirt. I thought at first of spray painting it flat light brown, but remembered that stuff in the rattle can that is supposed to look like faux stone. Picked up a can of that at Wally World in the “Antique Ruins” color, as well as some model railroad grass from the hobby shop. (Didn’t need a lot, since the vegetation is supposed to be sparse.)

Sprayed the whole base, with special attention given to covering up the writing on the side of the box, and while it was still wet, sprinkled on the model railroad grass and patted it down gently so it would stick.

HEY! Looks like China!

As that dried, I cooked up the foods, but that has a separate entry below. Just imagine I’ve started back again after the base has dried, and that it’s nearly midnight, I’m punchy, and the X-Acto is now no sharper than the side of my hand.

The towers were glued in place, and the layout of the sidewalls contemplated. Since they had to sort of snake along, it was actually not as hard as if they had to be in a precise location. More cardboard cutting, with some additional trimming needed here and there to make sure they lined up with the towers, and the aforementioned crenellations added before each sidewall was glued down.

I started with the short segments that ran from the towers to the edges of the box first, mainly as a way to practice what I thought would work. Got those done pretty quickly, put in a walkway surface on each, and then moved to the center connection. Due to the way the base “ground” was made, this took a bit longer to fix and do, but it’s nothing more than holding up the cardboard and chewing away the parts that interfered, and bending it slightly side-to-side to fix alignment errors. Got the center part done, including the multi-planar walkway surface (more cardboard, of course), sealed off the underside of each end of the wall so you can’t see inside, did some touch up fixing with strips of the brown paper that was peeled from the corrugated core, and pronounced myself done. It turned out looking pretty doggone nice.

Tour itinerary: Google is your friend, even if they deliberately decided to be evil if it means getting to play in the Chi-Comm internet market. Ahem. Sorry for the impromptu commentary.

Not really.

ANYway, I reread the requirements for the activity—14 days, no more than two days per location, include activities, and travel distances for each stop. Oh, and in 16 point Times New Roman font. Silly teacher.

Got on the Web and Googled “14 day japan tour” and got several different travel service suggestions for trips, and settled on one that ran 15 days, and edited it down to make it fit. The suggested tour stops at each location were all written in traveloguese (Breathtaking! Thrilling! Unimaginable Luxury! Red Hot Vixens! Oh, wait—wrong one), so this stuff got edited out so that we got a list of cities, and a list of sights.

Next, the travel between each usually called for a train, and luckily there are enough online train schedules for Japan to make it a snap to figure out.

If all you want to know is travel time.

Oddly, it’s harder when you want to find actual distances. And another thing, the mysterious Japanese use some sort of odd measuring system that uses something called the ki-lo-meter.

So, yet another website, or three, to figure distances, and then some judicious use of yet another website to translate these enigmatic distances into American. All said and done, it worked out pretty well, as long as the teacher doesn’t get too weirded out by instances of slightly more than two days when you figure in arrivals and departures.

Food: Okay, yet another potential for disaster averted. Boy had to fix three separate food dishes, and had it in his mind to fix something grand and involved, aided and abetted by a certain wife of mine and her collection of cookbooks. I intervened yesterday and went to the store to pick out a few ingredients that would be quick, simple, and more or less Asian. What I settled on was a little make-your-own-sushi kit, some rice thread noodles, some wonton wrappers, and an assortment of vegetable stuff and a little meat.

Sushi kit came with rice and some seaweed wrappers, and that’s about it. I figured some carrot ribbons, a couple of pieces of bamboo shoot, and a bit of fake crabmeat would work fine. It looked pretty cool once I got it rolled up, but the little wrappers are tiny and it was hard to roll up. I had to eat one by accident, and it was good. Dish one.

Next, some quick fried wonton noodles. Cut the wrappers into strips and dropped them into hot oil, and they were done in about five seconds. Same thing with the rice threads, although I let the oil get too hot and burnt one batch and it stank the place up pretty well. Okay, that’s the second dish.

Final one, I took some chicken breasts and sliced them up thin, dropped them in the oil, cooked them quickly and set them aside. Poured out the oil and left only enough to coat the pan, and dumped in a pack of extra firm tofu cubes, let them cook, then dumped in some straw mushrooms. Cooked a bit more, poured in some soy sauce and the cooked chicken, some white pepper, some sesame seeds, let it all mix together and get hot, and I was done. The food was put in a little oblong plastic box with a lid, and Jonathan said it looked like the bento box his friend (friend’s dad is an expat who works for a Honda supplier) brings to school all the time.

Banzai!

Oh, and I had to also type out the recipes. 16 point Times New Roman, natch.

Anyway, so there you go.

And yes, I know you’d have preferred some pictures, but I can’t do everything.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:35 PM | Comments (9)

November 21, 2007

Never let it be said...

...that I'm too busy to wish all of you a very happy Thanksgiving! So, all of you have a very happy Thanksgiving, okay?

Okay!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:51 PM | Comments (4)

November 06, 2007

Chet's In Heaven!

No, not like that.

I mean he's just really happy because we got an actual e-mail today, and that meant that Chet the E-Mail Boy got to swing into a flurry of activity (as flurrisome as he gets, at least) as he got busy transcribing it from Morse code to Linotype to a printed sheet for me to edit then back to the Linotype and then back to me with the final copy.

Gosh, this better be good:

from: Marc Velazquez
10:33 am (3 hours ago)
to: Terry Oglesby
date: Nov 6, 2007 10:33 AM
subject: Sonic Snack

Hey Terry!

Hey Marc!

I hope you'll forgive my "nudgings" to get you back into some kind of posting habit. I do miss the daily fun we had.

Sorry, Marc. But I just can't anymore. In the immortal words of Chief Joseph, "I will blog no more forever." Or something like that. So you'll never ever have a need to ever come back by here, because there won't be any more new material.

Then again, most of it was leftovers anyway...

With that said, please feel free to use the following for posting material: Have you seen and tried the new snack, Deep Fried Macaroni and Cheese Bites, from Sonic?

I've seen the commercials, but have not observed them in their natural habitat.

When I first saw the commercial I thought, "How did they get that from Terry?" You mentioned last week about the boys in the R&D Kitchen Lab were hard at work, thus my curiosity. The article I gave the link for mentions that Sonic is not the first to come up with this snack.

The closest Sonic to me is over 20 miles away, ergo no FMCB's for me yet.

Please shed some light on this snack scenario, oh Grand Poobah of AoW and Cornaguin creator!

Actually, this idea is one of Possumblog Kitchen's rejects.

As you know, we believe it's important to have a sharpened stick inserted into our foods, and we believe in large quantities. Ever tried to stick a wooden stick into a big bowl of mac and cheese and pick it up? Doesn't work very well. We wound up using that wagonwheel pasta stuff that has an axle hole in the middle, which worked pretty well, but then someone pointed out that there was no meat.

We tried working on a chili mac version, and that didn't work, either. Then we went back to the drawing board and decided to take some of our tender, farm-raised manatees and feed them a strict diet of macaroni and cheese, and as a result, we now have a new product--Mac'n'Cheesatees! All the rich, blubbery goodness of genuine Florida manatee, sprinkled thru'n'thru with tasty bits of pasta and wholesome American cheese, all wrapped up in a warm, crunchy cornbread-batter coating, and then deep fried in TRANS-FAT FREE OIL, and of course, served on a genuine hardwood dowel, precisely sharpened for your eating enjoyment!

So, you know, if Sonic wants to stick (so to speak) with their puny little puffs of macaroni and cheese, eh, whatever. I'd rather that they'd invest in more fresh-faced, tightly-packed leggy blonde corn-fed carhops, and find some way to do away with all the slack-jawed pimply doofus dudes. But that could just be me.

Or not.

[PS With the writers strike in Hollywood, this could be a golden opportunity for someone like you who has a talent for comedic writing. Not to mention your vast knowledge of fine Southern living!]

Since when did it take talent to write for Hollywood?

These people are supposed to be the cream of the creative crop, yet all I hear on the news are these goomers walking around and chanting the EXACT SAME "Two-four-six-eight-insert your insufferably twee demand here and attempt to make it rhyme with 'eight'" commie protester chant that's been around FOREVER! Buncha crappy hacks can't come up with something better than THAT!? And they want more money for it!? Please. I say it's time for studios to start outsourcing some of that work to Mumbai or Jakarta or Singapore. If you're gonna get rusty retreaded crap anyway, why not economize a bit?

Good thing I don't blog anymore or I'd have to say something about it.

Hope things are going well for you and the rest of the Oglesby clan. I'm already starting to get sick of seeing Christmas commercials, considering I'm still eating stolen "Halloween" candy.

Speaking of Oglesby clan. Odd how Marc segues right from asking about us to talking about eating stolen candy.

HOW DARE YOU QUESTION MY PATRIOTISM!! I blame global warming!

There now.

But yes, we're all doing just fine, thank you for asking. And NONE of us are in jail!

Anymore.

As for Hallothanksgivchristmannukwanzyear'sday, I'm not tired of it yet. Marc, however...

I use the quote marks since the candy came from the Harvest celebration at church, or whatever euphemism they happened to label it with. I did get my own bag of candy, though, at the end of the night after manning the dinosaur bean-bag toss and picking up those *$#% stupid bags for 90 minutes. Ah well, at least the kids had fun (I hope).

I know how irritating it can be, but REALLY, Marc--you mustn't insist on calling the little old church ladies "*$#% stupid bags." At least not to their faces.

I saw Auburn is creeping up the rankings, though it would take a Bear Bryant-sized miracle for them to crack the top 8 and get into the BCS.

Not gonna happen, what with only two games left in the season. And Bama is probably pretty desperate for Tommy Tuberville not to start on another hand's worth of fingers. One prediction? Should Alabama win the Iron Bowl, I guarantee you someone will have tee-shirts on sale five minutes afterward with a cartoon Big Al holding up his middle finger (toe? What do elephants have?) and saying "I got your finger right here, Auburn!"

It's called "class," you know.

Anyway, Auburn won't get any sort of BCS recognition this year.

I watched some of the LSU-Alabama game and noticed some lovely ladies wearing houndstooth hats with yellow/purple coloring. It was pretty funny, unless you're a Crimson Tide fan.

The LSUsers do seem to take his departure from Miami awfully hard. It would probably not be quite so bad except they wound up with Les "I am Certifiably Insane" Miles. I congratulate them for winning all these so far, but he's not coaching Notre Dame and shouldn't rely on sheer blind luck to continue to win games for him. Fourth and half a foot and some of the toughest linemen and backs around, and you CALL A TRICK PLAY!? Moron.

And I know moron...

Well, at least Darth Saban had his somber face on after the game. Hmmm, maybe you can whip up some Cornabogs (batter-dipped and fried Bulldog on a stick) for the weekend?

AND there's another coach who's not screwed together right. That stupid display against Florida was weapons-grade, Howard Dean, outhouse rat crazy. Anyway, should be a pretty good game...

Bountiful blessings,
Marc

Thanks!

Wow. Makes me wish I still blogged.


Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:51 PM | Comments (29)

October 31, 2007

Nope, still not blogging.

Although in fairness, there are things I do even less of than blogging, such as logging, flogging, clogging, bogging, hogging, jogging, slogging, and playing the home version of “Jeopardy” in my birthday suit. Okay, so that last one might be higher on the list, but not by much. Really.

ANYway, I had a few spare moments, so I thought I’d wander in and tell you ALL the interesting stories I’ve gathered up!

Sure wish I could remember some of them.

If only I’d had a way to write them down in an easily accessible manner, possibly using an electronic input/output data storage device. Or even a pencil and paper.

Well, let’s try it anyway.

I have a new clock. The old one—my pushpin clock that I’d made way back while I was in school—had to be stuck into a cork square (because my office walls are plaster over depleted uranium and can’t be pushpinned into) and then the cork in turn had to be stuck to the wall. The adhesive was such in name only, however, causing both clock and cork to come adrift and fall to the floor during the times I was absent of my office. Stupid “adhesive” squares. Anyway, the new one is from one of Martha Stewart’s very own Third World sweatshops, which I’m sure is tastefully decorated with found objects arranged in clever patterns that cause the workers to have calm healing energy and be at one with their simple and obviously superior low-carbon-footprint lifestyle. Or something. Anyway, I guess it’s been discontinued since I can’t find it on the Kmart (pronounced “kmart”) website. It has a satin aluminum frame with a convex lens and a black face with silver numberations, and thankfully it DOES keep time and DOESN’T fall off the wall.

That pushpin clock sure does have some good memories attached to it, though.

Oh well.

Let’s see—well, what about politics? Yet another election cycle seems destined to be frittered away with no one stepping up and challenging his or her competitors to a Texas steel cage death match. Why is this? Back in the olden days, this is what the Constitution called for in determining who’s fit to run the country, and yet here we are, acting like it doesn’t say that at all.

Science? Look, if those clamdigging scientist guys were really all that smart, instead of just killing Old Nasty for sport and telling a bunch of reporters, they would have gotten some hot blonde to crack it open with her high heels and made people pay to see it. As it is, they’ve just got an old dead clam.

Entertainment? Emily Deschanel in a Wonder Woman costume. I have heard that Bones is loosely based upon the life of a real forensic anthropologist, but no matter how loosely, I still find it highly unlikely that said anthropologist ever dressed up in such an outfit whilst simultaneously tracking down some deranged clown guy. And frankly, I do not care.

Local interest? Rush Propst. Of all that I’ve seen and heard the past few months, I can say one of the saddest things in this whole mess is that unlike Bear Bryant’s mother, Rush’s mother never seems to have told her son, “never wear your hat inside the house.” And he calls himself a role model.

Weather? Sure is nice outside. I think I’m going to go for a walk.

See y’all later!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:36 PM | Comments (17)

October 22, 2007

Where have I been?

Why, in that bastion of red in one of the reddest states around, the University of Alabama! I had an asbestos inspector/project manager class that lasted all of last week, so I was even LESS in touch than usual. Good class, though. They do a very nice job and it was as enjoyable as anything about fibrous carcinogenic rocks can be.

Everything else is a blur, including several of the times I got home after a long day of coursework and took Middle Daughter out for driving lessons. She's actually not bad at it. We took an even longer jaunt yesterday, and she seems pretty settled. She makes mistakes, but doesn't freak out and get all flustered by them. At least not outwardly...

Let's see--Pup's doing fine, Kitty needs more exercise, Oldest continues to be overly melodramatic, Boy needs to shave, and Tiny Terror is working on being co-queen of the overly melodramatic. What I get to see of Miss Reba is pleasurable, but right now it's ONLY seeing, as her whole body hurts after taking a hard sit-down stair tumble last week while I was in class. Seems she missed the top step at the house and hit the first seven steps with her bottom and back before coming to rest on the landing. She's got bruises, and does NOT take kindly to my repeated suggestions that she needs me to massage the affected area. Go figure.

Anywho, I got a week's worth of work to catch up on.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:58 AM | Comments (13)

October 05, 2007

Everyone hates hearing about dreams…

But I had somehow wound up in the gymnasium, and for some reason I couldn’t find the stairs to get up to the upper level. A lady told me there was a set of steps around the corner in the locker, so I went around the corner, but the locker was empty. I asked the person next to me where the steps were, and I was shown something like a vertical drawer that had a padded front. This pulled out from underneath the upper level, and it contained a giant extendable ladder. I figured out that you raised the ladder, and then climbed up it to get to the seats. Odd, but what the heck, right? Right.

I raised the ladder and clambered up the rungs, which were also padded and upholstered like the front of the drawer had been, with a soft squishy sort of beige Naugahyde attached to polished metal bars. It didn’t add much to the feeling of security, but I went on up anyway, rickety thing swaying back and forth.

I got to the level of the seats, and toyed with the idea of going all the way up to the top of the ladder, which by now stretched all the way up into the rafters of the gymnasium. It was already so wobbly, though, that I decided I’d gone far enough and carefully edged off the step onto one of the bleacher seats, where I stretched out to watch the game and sleep.

Remind me never to eat grilled chicken ravioli before bed.

ANYway, still not much in the way of enough free time to blog, but enough to stay abreast of the events of the day.

More or less.

The little pup Patches finally decided he’d try out his barking. He’s got a nice bark. Loud enough, but not too loud. Big enough to sound like a real dog, but not so loud that it’s disturbing. Small, but not yippy or yappy. And he only barks when there’s actually something to bark at, not just when everyone else in the neighborhood barks. I hope he doesn’t grow out of that.

Nearly killed myself yesterday. Or more precisely, was nearly the victim of patricide. We (the three younger kids and I) were outside playing keepaway with Patches’ glow-in-the-dark mini football. (He wasn’t playing, just watching us.) Anyway, I’d managed to get in the middle, and in a ploy to appear disinterested, would not try much to catch the ball as the kids tossed it back and forth, and didn’t make a lunge for it when it landed on the ground. When I saw that none of the kids were going to make a run for the ball, which had landed only a yard or so in front of me, I leapt after it and scooped it up in triumph and started trotting away when I was suddenly and without warning WHALLOPED in the back by Rebecca, who’d (too late) seen me grab the ball and decided to get it back by running after me and trying to grab me. The whallop threw me off balance, and since I was already trotting down a very slight downward slope, and what with the momentum of my doughy, formerly-athletically-gracefully mass now hurtling increasingly out of control toward the ground, it was pretty apparent terra firma was going to win a round.

I tried mightily to react appropriately. Back in the old days, my feet would have caught up with my now forward-plummeting torso. Or I would have deftly dropped a hand to the ground to arrest my top-heavy bulk. As it was, my little legs tried to run, but were hampered by the combination of age, and slick-soled wingtip dress shoes on slick grass. My upper body was firmly in the grasp of the earth’s gravitational field and the laws of motion, and despite my most valiant efforts, I crashed heavily onto the yard, digging a big ditch with my right shoulder and arm, and a smaller one a few milliseconds later with my knee. The overall effect was something like what happens when you have a runaway wheelbarrow full of wet cement. It was at this time that the puppy decided this looked like a very fun game indeed, and rushed over to snuffle and cold-nose me in uncomfortable places.

At least I did retain possession of the ball.

Alas, dignity took a beating.

I was able to have a nice supper of grilled chicken ravioli afterwards, so there is that.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:07 PM | Comments (5)

September 26, 2007

Awwww!

Well, that's about the oddest looking Eskimo spitz I've ever seen.

Pup.JPG

But how could I refuse the little girl who was going to have to pay for it? Rebecca's been doing volunteer work for the animal shelter that sets up shop at PetSmart, and this little pup came in a couple of weeks ago with a couple of littermates. It took up with her almost immediately and she wound up spending most of last Saturday and the Saturday before that sitting around holding it while it slept in her arms. And thankfully, her association with the shelter meant that she was able to pick up a new Dogloo for it free. It had been returned to PetSmart because it was cracked, so they were going to donate it to the shelter, but they don't use them, so the shelter's volunteer coordinator said Bec could have it for free. Which was nice, because it was one of the $150 models. So that was nice. Aside from it having a crack, which Daddy will have to fix.

ANYway, as for the puppy, it's some sort of beagleterrier, and it's relatively calm as such dogs go, and last night (its first night at Casa de Possum) it was quiet and didn't whine too much. And definitely didn't bark any. About the only thing that remains is for Rebecca to give it a name. Nothing has quite struck her yet, but I suppose it will come.

So there you go.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:57 AM | Comments (33)

September 17, 2007

I have five minutes.

SO--

We have a fence, but no puppy.

I have new glasses, but find it difficult to see.

Alabama is 3-0, and Auburn is 1-2, and I blame global warming.

I remember now why it was nice to blog regularly, that being that it forced me to remember stuff. As it is now, I find it difficult to remember interesting tales of suburban bliss to share with you.

My yard has a fungus infection, which is worse than weeds, because if nothing else, weeds ARE green. The fungus just makes the grass turn black and die.

My car radio has given up. It's not the original one, and I'd think about replacing it except none of the car stereo places act like they make anything that will fit in a stupid twenty-year-old lump of iron. I have been reduced to riding around with a little transistor radio sitting in the pencil tray on the dashboard.

I'm not drinking nearly enough Diet Coke these days.

I finally got the paycheck with my raise included on it, and that is a very good thing indeed.

I have run out of my five minute allotment.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:22 PM | Comments (19)

September 05, 2007

Nope, nothing to see here.

No pictures or anything!


Which is probably okay. The new job has continued to take up a goodly portion of the day and I kinda like that, especially since the stuff I've been doing is stuff I know how to do.

It's not like it's particularly fun, like playing tickle'n'slap with Miss Reba, or people-watching at Wal-Mart, but it's also definitely not like slowly trying to strangle yourself to death with a spaghetti noodle. It's engaging and requires actual thought and junk like that, but even with having to be thoughty and all, it doesn't make my head hurt. It's been more than a week since I had my afternoon dose of Stanback and Diet Coke. (I've managed to cut out the Stanback part.) And so, I don't dislike it, even though it's work.

'Nother nice thing is that I get out of the office more. Got to go this morning with my old supervisor and watch him hammer on some bricks, and it was nice to just be the guy standing back and observing things with slight bemusement, rather than looking goofy hammering on the corner of a building. Then when we got back, I got to drag a carpet guy through the building looking at our pitiful carpeting. Remember one of my Rules of Architecture? The one that says, "put on a hard hat and carry a clipboard, and you can go anywhere in the world." Well, most of the time, you really don't need either one--just tell folks you're with the architect's office and you're showing the carpet guy around, and you pretty much have the run of the joint. Obviously, it helps not to be swarthy and shouting "Allah Akbar!" and the like (or a balding wide-stanced Idahoan with a liking for sparkly clean restroom floors), but still, I've found that it's nice to be able to wander around again acting like I'm supposed to be able to wander around wherever I want.

As for the update from the Home Front, we're supposed to be getting our new backyard fence this week. Got the utilities marked, the property lines staked, and everything approved by the pretty police. Left the drawing for the fence guy yesterday, and when I got home it was gone, so I guess he picked it up and took it to get his permit. I hope. Maybe I should call him...

Anyway, this is in preparation for the arrival of a puppy in the coming weeks. We haven't picked one out yet, aside from me telling everyone in the family we were going to get what I've always called an Eskimo spitz, but that Google now informs me is called the American Eskimo Dog.

When I was growing up, these were the only dogs we ever had, and I've always had an affection for them. They're smart and tough and outdoor-hardy, and pretty little dogs, and don't leave giant honkin' piles of crap everywhere.

The biggest thing we're doing differently is that I've gotten Cesar Millan's book about dog rearing. When I was a kid, dogs were dogs, sort of the way they were for Millan when he was growing up in Mexico. Dogs stayed outside, and they minded what they were told, and that was it. They weren't anyone's baby or brother, and they weren't little humans. (Even if they had lots of common sense, like our dogs Phyllis and Wendy had.)

But I'm sorta concerned about my kids, who've been exposed their whole life to this weird, media-driven celebrity culture thing where people such as Paris Hilton lug around odd little animals as accessories, or where the animal rights idjits treat dogs as people-equivalents, and I want them to understand before we even get a puppy that they are going to have to treat it like a dog if they want to ever be able to control it. Spitzes aren't particularly aggressive-natured, but they are active and intelligent (or wolfishly cunning), and so need calm leadership to be great fun dogs.

But my kids haven't been exposed to that idea--they've been fed this thing about dogs being like little people for so long, I was concerned that we'd have problems, especially with Catherine, who is still young enough that she anthropomorphizes everything, stuffed toy animals as well as living ones. Poor Lightning gets lugged around like a Beanie Baby, but he's a cat. Doing that with a dog has the potential to reinforce some bad behaviors such as jumping up on people and what we used to call "whiffliness," that constant nervous agitation some dogs have around people.

SO, the book has been a nice way for me to learn what I knew all along, and be able to explain it to the kids in a way that makes sense to them. I was talking to Catherine this morning when she got up about what all I'd read, and after a few minutes, she began to understand some things, and asked me if the retriever next door sees itself as the pack leader, and if that's why it's nearly impossible for his owner to take him on a walk or otherwise control him. (The answer is 'yes.') She also understands that the shih tzu who lives on the OTHER side of us ALSO thinks she's the pack leader. All that jumping up and down on Catherine isn't because she likes Catherine, it's that she is attempting to show dominance. And she gets rewarded for it by getting petted and cooed over.

It was quite nice to see Catherine think all this through and begin to understand what a puppy is going to require. Maybe if I can get her with the program, Mom and the rest of the siblings will take to it better. (He said, with much trepidation.)

Anyway, other things continue as they always have at the house--school, church, band, cheerleading, a certain teenager who thinks she's leader of the pack, a sudden infestation of ants, laundry, and hey! It's getting to be autumn! Here it is lunchtime, and it's only 87 degrees! And with autumn, there's FOOTBALL! Hate to say it, but my beloved Auburn Tigers stank up the joint last week against the Kansas State Miscreants. Yes, a win's a win, but one more such victory would utterly undo them. At least according to Coach Phyrrus.

Let's see...anything else?

Eh, probably, but I've got to go get a bite to eat.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:36 PM | Comments (28)

August 29, 2007

My, aren't YOU a hardy soul!

Coming in here, with the full knowledge that I've quit posting anything.

Well, anything except stuff like this--


Office pictures, again! This was from last Friday after I'd finally gotten a bit of free time to finally get all my kid artwork installed. (It's dark outside due to a thunderstorm rumbling by at the time.)

Anyway, here's one:

all moved in.JPG

And the other:

all moved in 2.JPG

As for the new job, I like it, I think. It's still a bit hard to get a handle on some things like procedures and junk. I have my own recollections of how an architect's office is supposed to run, and some of those still work, but some don't. And there's this whole thing of being really busy one minute, and then getting gunshy about something else that has to be done immediately, and then it never comes around, so you relax a bit, and then BAM! something else hits the door. It'll take some getting used to, that's for sure.

As for the goings-on at Casa de Possum, pretty much the same as it's always been, although with the added hoopla of trying to get a new fence built. The kids have been bugging me forever to get one so we can get a doggy, and we've finally managed to be able to afford something, so I've been trying to get folks lined up to survey the property lines, mark the utilities, and give us a somewhat reasonable price, and I've also got to get the silly thing approved by our neighborhood association, which could be a pain in the kiester.

Anyway, now I've got to go do something again. Thanks for dropping by!

(By the way, the sandwich of the day is smoked Cajun sausage on home-made cathead biscuit.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:36 AM | Comments (9)

August 21, 2007

Well, let's see.

I had myself a meeting this morning, and I've somehow wound up tethered to a two-way radio, and I still haven't managed to make any further progress on putting up all my homey photos and pictures, nor with degreasing the office furnishings. I don't really care much for other people's skin-leavings, but especially not if they're of the enduringly sticky kind. I've got to remember to bring in some 409 tomorrow.

As for what I'm doing, some differences include no more Monday staff meetings, and the wearing of a tie is optional, and not at all encouraged. I like the first one, but twenty years of tie-wearing is a bit more of a hard habit to break. I don't particularly like wearing a tie, but one of my Rules of Polite Society is that people who wear ties get to do bad things normal people wouldn't be able to get away with. Like ending a sentence with a preposition, or using "like" instead of "such as." It's unfair, yes, but it does have its advantages. Anyway, I'm wearing the tie for a while until I decide what I can and can't get away with. Or with what I can get away.

ANYway, soup of the day is Cajun 15 bean soup with bits of smoked sausage and ham.

That is all.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:29 PM | Comments (12)

August 20, 2007

The NEW Secret Possum Lair!

I finally got to use the computer at home, so now you can be impressed with the new digs. Or not.


First up, these two show things in their unkempt, unput-up state. Ignore the date/time stamp on these two--the camera had an aneurism this morning after I put in new batteries.

Some of the junk is mine, but most of what you see out of the boxes is the stuff that had to be moved out.

first_day_1.JPG

first_day_2.JPG

Now then, after a few hours of cleaning, we see a much cleaner view. But first, a look out the fascinating windows! Here's the roof and the parking deck across the street. Please, keep your gasps of admiration to an appropriately quiet level.

first_day_3.JPG

And here's the view of the park you've seen before, except from one floor up, and closer to the center. first_day_4.JPG

Now, here's my tidy desk area...

first_day_5.JPG

...and my less than tidy drafting table, that was completely full of tidiness by the close of business today. I am content with the progress that has been made.

first_day_6.JPG

Next? Artwork and photos! YAY!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:43 PM | Comments (10)

How disappointing.

Taking valuable time away from getting MORE paper thrown away that belonged to the office's previous occupant, I did manage to get some photos today of my new digs. Problem? They came and took away my old computer I brought with me on Friday, and replaced it with the one that was here. And it's acting up and won't accept file uploads of any sort without locking up. SO, you'll just have to wait a bit longer for spy photos of the new secret possum lair.

Otherwise, things are hunky-dory.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:50 PM | Comments (0)

August 16, 2007

Peekaboo!

Well, HELLO THERE!

See, I do still exist! Sorta.

Anyway, I didn't exist yesterday because I was at home all day with a recovering sick child, and I haven't existed so far today because I had to catch up with an early morning meeting and then a host of other crap that seems to happen when I'm not in the office.

But, I'm here now, and it's just about lunchtime, SO, to catch up, on Tuesday previous, Catherine got up complaining of a headache, and being the cruel, heartless ogre I am, I dosed her up with a couple of Children's Chewable Tylenol, which had the analgesic capacity of a marshmallow. She's a big kid, and could tolerate some serious dope in her system, but I figured she didn't need it.

Turns out, she did.

She went on to school, then to the office around lunchtime with a severe headache, they tried to call Mommy (who was in Tuscaloosa for the morning, unbeknownst to anyone), then Cat went back to class, got worse, went outside and threw up on the ramp to her classroom, went back to the office crying, they tried to call Mommy again (who was still in Tuscaloosa for the morning, unbeknownst to anyone), then finally decided to call me.

Me, a cruel, heartless ogre who was by then in a meeting and couldn't leave, who called Grandma to go get the sick child, and who I still didn't think could possibly be all that sick.

Went on with the rest of the day, got off from work, stopped at Head Start on the way home to get my John Edwards-quality coif adjusted, went home to meet up with Mommy, who had finally gotten back to work from Tuscaloosa sometime after lunch to find a host of phone messages about a sick child, and then called her husband who said everything had been taken care of and Grandmom had her and not to worry.

Walked in, and Catherine was crying the big round hot tears that signal something is actually wrong. Turns out after she got to Grandmom's she threw up several more times, had been feverish with chills, had an ultra severe headache (which for some reason did not prompt Grandmom to give her anything other than crackers and Sprite and a CHICKEN SANDWICH), and the kicker, it hurt when she moved her neck.

Which can be Not Good.

Called the doctor's office, got the after-hours service, described the symptoms, waited for them to call back. Dosed her up with a big cup of liquid Motrin and waited. Got a call back from the nurse, described the symptoms, asked Cat to move her head, cry. "Can she hold her head down?"

"IT HURRRRRRTS! ::sob::"

Hmm. The nurse said to bring her in right now, and NOT to the after-hours clinic over off of Alton Road, but the actual Children's Hospital emergency room. Because she might have a case of meningitis.

Nothing quite like that bracing bit of reality to turn your blood to icy goo, y'know? Mainly because you can't freak out and start running around the kitchen flailing your arms and screaming, because that sets a very bad example. You have to be calm and jocular and in charge of your bladder.

SO, off we went to the ER. I left Reba at home with the other three kids, because I'm evil and stupid, but also knew they needed to do their homework, and eat supper, and get in the bed, and we didn't need to waste time getting them packed up and taken to Grandmom's house, where they would only eat, and not do their homework, or bathe, or get ready for school the next day.

Logic is quite the two-edged sword, huh. Because every time I called to let Reba know what was going on, I got the exact same disaffected, flat, atonal, monosyllabic answers to every question, which is wifespeak for "I can't BELIEVE you couldn't wait long enough for ME to go with you because it's MY BABY who's sick and you left me HERE." Of course, since I was already full of that dank wet fear that parents get when they have a child who might have just contracted something dire and deadly, I wasn't really in the mood to press her to get her to actually come out and SAY that's why she seemed angry.

The fact is, if she was really sick, we had no time to spare, and one of us needed to get her to the hospital, right then. Deal with the matrimonial drama later. Which is the way of cruel, heartless ogres, you know.

Anyway, loaded sick crying achy-headed child in the van, made the mad dash to Children's, cursing the current "Take Back our Highways" campaign the State Troopers are running right now that caused me to have to drive exactly the speed limit lest I get detained and waste time explaining myself to a sunglasses-wearing man in a Smokey the Bear hat.

Uh-oh. She's asleep. "CAT? Are you okay!?"

""Mmhm. I'm okay, Daddy," she said, not opening her eyes. Which meant she was either okay, or delirious.

Pulled into the drive at the hospital, opened the door, left the key with the valet, and walked her inside. She seemed to be doing much better. Tired, and bleary-eyed, but not really complaining.

First stop, security. Empty pockets of everything, still made the alarm go off, and as is the case with these things, the guy let me come on through. Talked to the triage nurse at the end of the desk who looked like Robin Williams dipped in a vat of hair growth serum.

Look, I know it's wrong of me, but I prefer nurses who are round and soft and squishy and smell pretty and don't look like they've been covered with epoxy and rolled around on the floor of a barbershop. And yes, even if it's a guy.

ANYWAY, told him our tale of woe, told him with as much anxiousness as I dared exhibit that our doctor was supposed to have called ahead because they thought it might be meningitis, all of which he dutifully took down with the same level of concern as the parking valet.

"Here. Fill this out, and bring it back to me."

Went and sat down, quickly filled it out and marked the Number 4 Face of Pain on the sheet to let him know she hurt lots, and gave it back to him.

And waited.

For two hours. In this time, Catherine perked up, her fever let up, she watched TV and talked to me about everything under the sun, and said she was hungry. Methinks she's better.

9:00 p.m. I called to let Reba know we still hadn't been seen and hadn't even gotten registered yet (where they take your insurance info and give you an armband) and got the first flash of anger when she misunderstood what I meant by "registered." Yes, I came in and filled out the triage form; no, we still haven't gone into the little booth to give them our insurance card. Yes, she's better now, and ate a bag of chips and had a Diet Mountain Dew, but I don't have any idea how much longer it will be.

All of these were answered with variations of "M-hm." Time to hang up.

Waited some more.

Decided I felt somewhat naked since I was the only adult in the area without a tattoo. Patients came and went, even the big batch who came in after us. All I have to say is that I'm glad she didn't have anything severe, or she'd be dead by now.

Around 10 we finally got called to the triage desk, where they weighed her, took her temperature and blood pressure, gave her a wristband, and sent us back to sit down.

Waited.

Finally got called to the registration booth. Gave cards, filled out forms, went back out and sat down to wait.

The room was nearly empty by now. 10:45 we finally got past the door into the actual emergency department to be seen by a doctor. By this time, Catherine was back to her normal chirpy, chattery, indefatigable self, so she was quite excited by all the activity. They gave us a room and a blanket and a gown, she changed, and we set in to watch Dirty Jobs on Discovery Channel.

Doctor came in, saw a happy, healthy little girl, got a low down on the symptoms, noted that her neck and head seemed as mobile as an owl's, and we finally got the explanation of the hurtiness. Seems that she had no actual trouble earlier moving her head, it's just that when she did it, it made her head hurt worse. No meningitis. In fact, nothing left to find. They took a throat swab to check for strep, but he said he was almost certain it wasn't that, and could only guess that she'd gotten a virus of some sort that has since unvirused itself.

BUT, best to wait for the strep test before we left.

Called home around 11 to let everyone know she was okay, got a slightly less confrontational version of "Mm-hm," and then waited some more.

Wait.

Wait.

Catherine got comfortable and dozed off a couple of times.

Wait.

Ask how much longer the strep test will take to read.

"Several more minutes."

Wait.

We finally left at fifteen after midnight.

I had originally planned to stop for some food, but I was tireder than I was hungry, and so was she, so we went straight home, gave her another dose of Motrin to keep her from waking up with a headache during the night, and hit the pillow at nearly 1:00 a.m.

UP EARLY WEDNESDAY, got the kids up and dressed, took the middle two to school, came back home and sent Reba on to work, and set in to watch Youngest for the day.

Breakfast, email work to let them know I would be off, unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher, and collapsed on the bed again for an hour or two nap. Catherine plopped herself down on the bed and interrupted my beauty sleep several times to ask how to spell various words, and after she was done, I awoke to see that she'd made Reba and me an anniversary card. Today is our anniversary, you know.

I usually send flowers, but being at home put a crimp in being able to go to the florist over where I work, so I hatched the idea that we'd get Mommy some flowers and take them to her at work, along with Catherine's card. UP, get us dressed, went to the grocery store and picked up a vase of a dozen roses, a card from me, and a couple of sandwiches for us for lunch (which I was looking forward to, seeing as how I hadn't eaten since breakfast on Tuesday).

Stopped and got gas, and got a phone call. A very perturbed-sounding woman on the other end demanded to know where I was and what I was doing. I told her we were about to come see her at work. This seemed to finally undo whatever miffedness she'd had built up. We set out and got to her work and surprised her with the flowers and the card, and whatever had been bugging her finally seemed to have lifted. She showed Catherine around and introduced us to folks, who thought it quite charming that her husband would think enough of her to bring her flowers and a cute little girl.

Back home, answered work emails (explaining that I was OFF FROM WORK), got stuff ready for supper, tried to take another nap and failed, started supper, went and picked up middle two kids from Grandma's, finished cooking supper when we got home, ate, then sent Rebecca outside to play with Lightning, had to corral Lightning after he went down inside the storm drain in our neighbor's backyard which involved having to pull the iron lid off the thing, got back inside and found out Reba was going to have to work late, went to church, came home, made sure everyone had their homework done, answered ANOTHER work email around 9:30, and climbed into bed.

THIS MORNING, got up, showered, got the kids up, dressed, hopped onto bed and quietly sang "Happy Anniversary To You (and Me)" to Miss Reba to wake her up, got the kids their breakfast, got them loaded into the mighty Volvo, took them to school, got to work, turned around and drove over to the Birmingham News building for a meeting, stood outside in the early morning nasty wet heat for an hour, came back to work and attempted to swat away clouds of giant angry hornets, had another meeting on my going away stuff, and then decided to post this to let you all know that I am sorta on the sleepy side today.

Now I think I'll eat a bit and pack some things.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:05 PM | Comments (9)

August 14, 2007

WHEEEEEE!

Nothing like spending three hours explaining to someone various basic word-processing tasks such as cutting and pasting and indenting and printing!

"Okay, click out of that and open..."

"WAIT--[writing on steno pad] 'Close box by clicking on X' --Am I supposed to save that first?"

"No."

"Okay. [writing on steno pad] '...do not have to save first.'"

Look, I admit to being a technological igmo, but dagnabbit, at some point in there you've got to be able to have some sort of basic functioning knowledge of such things as this just to be able to move around in a modern society.

Especially if you're one of those people who like to run around and get into meetings and act like you know all about computers.

And then I remembered that the very nature of most bureaucracies is akin to the odd society where there is little reward for being clever, and the occasional incentive for being willfully ignorant.

So, I was happy again and came to eat my lunch! Homemade ham salad on a pita! Yumcious!

After lunch?

More instruction on the Rudiments of the Magic Talking Box.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:30 PM | Comments (3)

August 13, 2007

Turns out...

...the grapevine was right.

This is the last week. Next Monday, I'll be down one floor, over three offices, and a world away.

Went down just now to scope out the new digs. The office is smaller, but not in a bad way. What I have right now is a lot of wasted floor space that makes everyone jealous, but the new place has the stuff I need--a desk, a computer, file space, and a nice drafting table. And it's on a corner, so I still get a view of the park AND a view toward the parking deck.

SO, this week, gotta get my boss squared away on how to use a computer and where all the magic paper is kept and stuff like that, and I really suppose I need to start boxing things up.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:37 PM | Comments (5)

Thank goodness for the morning.

It's nice to get a little relief. I got up this morning and looked at my handy bedside clock/weather station and it was only 138 degrees outside.

GOOD MORNING! Yep, still here for a few more days. Or not. Nothing like surfing along on the waves of indefiniteness. As for the weekend, it was on the warmish side, I didn't get a haircut, I did do grocery shopping, and I think I have finally managed to trick one of the children into thinking vacuuming is fun! This could be life-changing. I have long told you how I hate using the vacuum cleaner, extending back to the time I was a child. But this weekend I was upstairs and sweating away and Catherine happened by and I asked if she'd like to play.

Sucker.

She wound up doing her entire room, including using the brush attachment on the picture frames, the hallway, the stairs, and most of our room.

Best part?

Rebecca was jealous she got to use the vacuum, and wanted to know if she could do all the vacuuming next weekend.

Oh, gee, I don't know YES YOU CAN!

I have no idea how this came about, but I'll not question why.

Not much else happened. It has been a quiet, more or less relaxing weekend, and I'll take every one of those I can get.

Now then, on to staff meeting.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:27 AM | Comments (2)

August 10, 2007

And another week goes rumbling down the trash chute.

Not sure what the weekend holds this time. Rebecca won't be doing the PetSmart thing since they're having it on Sunday this week (or, technically on the first day of next week), and I really don't want to disturb the lawn with any sort of mechanized agitation, seeing as how it's somehow green and not crunchy, yet not overly long. That really is unheard of, at least on my little shovelful of dirt, when the lawn's usually displaying some grassy version of feast or famine--either jungle thick, or doormat dry.

Maybe I'll get myself a haircut, instead. But not with the lawn mower.

As for other items, the kids seem to have done quite well with the first day of school yesterday, with all of them professing an undying love for all things educational. I am hoping--because I have a naive Charlie Brown-like innocence
--that Oldest will also use this final year of high school to figure out that not everyone hates her and wishes her harm, and that she'll have a good, productive year with no irrational outbursts. Of course, the school year is only two days old now. And Lucy is holding the football for me to kick.

Maybe this year...

ANYway, still haven't heard anything official on the job change that is supposedly coming in only a week now, but I assume someone's taking care of all the arrangements right now, even as we speak. Or as I type and you read.

Looks like it's gonna be a great year for kicking those footballs!

SO, all of you have a great weekend, and we'll play for a little while longer next week.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:12 PM | Comments (0)

Rain.

It's just one of those pop-up thunderstorms so I doubt there'll be a whole lot of water with it. At least not a lot spread out over time. Maybe it'll drop several tons of big gobby fat drops in about five minutes, which will then dissipate in a big cloud of steam.

Whatever--I'm sure glad to get it, no matter how it falls.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:58 PM | Comments (0)

Up-cleaning.

I mentioned the other day I'd gotten my desk cleaned off, then yesterday noted the occasion of having finished cleaning out the corner behind my chair and the window sill.

Before, a nasty burrow fit for a pack rat:

filthy burrow.JPG

After, much less fuel load:

clean burrow.JPG

Still lots of things left, but it's stuff to be packed, not discarded. The search and destroy mission did lead to one discovery, one too (unintentionally) hilarious not to share. I think I had intended to post this when it was first in the newspaper, but it got covered up and I forgot about it.

Until now.

bride and groom.JPG

So many comments come to mind...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:49 AM | Comments (15)

August 09, 2007

The final corner is clean.

Okay, not really clean-clean, just all the extraneous rolls of drawings thrown out. There's still plenty of books around and kid doodles on the wall and all that, but it's looking much less lived-in around here. Pictures tomorrow.

Maybe even some of the office!

And as promised...A PARAGRAPH DONE OUT OF SHEER MEANNESS AND DISRESPECT FOR READERSHIP OPINIONS!

A frequent reader who doesn't like the amount of automotive content on Possumblog (and who shall go unnamed) asks via e-mail:

[...] The problem is the headlight lens. Each are so dirty/foggy/ocluded [sp] that little light gets out. Do you know any thing to clean them or do I just buy new ones?

NEW!? Perish the thought!

Terry's Car Care Tip of the Day?

There are several different companies that make plastic polish that works very well, or you could do what I've done and use some toothpaste. Really. It works pretty well and it's cheap, and leaves your headlights feeling minty fresh. If the lenses have gone yellow, there's not much to do except change them out. If you think it could just be dirt on the lenses, you could try some sudsy ammonia before you use the toothpaste. If it's just grime, that usually gets them clean when nothing else will, and if they're still dingy and yellow, it would give you a clue that you actually do need to replace them instead of bothering with polish.

Our reader asked about the particular type of toothpaste to use, particularly if the ones with baking soda would be appropriate.

I think baking soda toothpaste would work, but I prefer something with a bit less grit to it, regular cheap Crest or Colgate works fine.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:32 PM | Comments (6)

Unofficially...

...was walking out yesterday evening when my future co-worker haled me down. "Have you heard anything?" I asked him, seeing as how our little operation works like a mushroom farm. "They're saying it'll be a week from Monday."

Still haven't actually heard from anyone in charge, but the grapevine is usually pretty accurate. So looks like I've got a week to go.

On the bright side, first day of school today, and I managed to get the younger three all dropped off at their respective schools and had time to stop by Publix for some stamps and soft drinks, stop by the post office to mail the letters I'd bought stamps for (yes, I know I could have gotten them at the post office, but the post office doesn't sell sodas, so why waste time?), went and paid the power bill, stopped by the restroom, and got settled in behind the desk at only a few minutes past 8. I credit there being no traffic to speak of this morning.

ANYway, I have minutes to type and a final corner of the office to clean out.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:31 AM | Comments (10)

August 08, 2007

Midday Mundane Maunderings!

Long stupid meeting this morning, and to make matters worse, after it was over I zipped over to McDonald's and they were out of breakfast burritos! My little biweekly ritual RUINED!

Anyway, flurry of paperwork upon my return, and in just a minute or so, I have to head back home so I can take Jonathan to the middle school so he can get his final schedule and see where his classes are going to be. School starts tomorrow, you know. And yes, this mad jaunt across town is just all SORTS of convenient for me. And to make it even more frustrating, he can't go ahead and take his pile of stuff, because they aren't assigning lockers until tomorrow, which, if you've been paying attention, is the first day of class. Why they couldn't do it during registration, I have no idea.

Anyway, run to do that, then run back here to do more work, and try to get some more clean-up done. And no, I still haven't heard any more than I did last week. I'll be moving, sometime, when they get the paperwork done, sometime. So the long slow goodbye continues.

BUT! At least it gives us an opportunity for one final Thursday Three tomorrow morning! SO, all of you get your reminiscing caps on, because our good Dr. Smith has already given me the questions, and they are all about your favorite marsupial-themed Alabama-based weblog, that also has a gray on gray on white color scheme and is composed in Garamond typeface and written by a real live moron!

So get ready and all that.

Anyway, now then, off to glamorous Truss Vegas, and I'll see you all on the morrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:47 PM | Comments (8)

August 07, 2007

And the afternoon?

Well, much of today was spent digging through the desktop accretion. Base strata had a date of 2001. That's a long time for something to sit on your desk, no? Yes.

But no more. Yet another great big recycle barrel full of combustibles, and I'm now down to the pristine layer of woodgrain plastic laminate that hasn't been seen in years, except for the tiny patches under my keyboard and telephone. And as Skillzy predicted, some nice stuff under there--old pictures of the kids (or rather, pictures of the kids when they were younger), more neat old drawings from back when I did neat old drawings (which were new at the time), a postcard from Prague from a very sweet girl with whom I had worked at The Bad Place, various thank-you notes, some newsletter-style conference reports.

Boy, I've been here a long time.

Tomorrow, I've got one of those fun early-morning biweekly meetings to attend, and hopefully it will be the last, and this will be the last set of minutes I have to type. Then again, this is a bureaucracy, so it could be several more weeks before everyone wakes up and the process lurches forward again. In the mean time, I still have cleaning to do. I think tomorrow will also be at least partially spent on the window sill matter and the rolled drawing file next to my desk. Time for another paper barrel!

ANYway, posting tomorrow will be slapdash and spotty at best. Or worst. I guess it depends on your point of view.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:29 PM | Comments (0)

As I was saying...

...Saturday got up way too early and got Rebecca over to PetSmart and then began the morning's hunting and gathering for school supplies. Had to do it this past weekend to take advantage of the sales tax holiday, which is good, because I wound up saving around fifty bucks or so. First stop, Sam's, to stock up on staple items (oddly enough, not including actual staples), then on to Wal-Mart for the meat of the selections--papers, notebooks, markers, colored pencils, folders, and wound up spending nearly three hours there. They're redoing the store layout, and so school supplies were spread over three different time zones, and I'd get one thing, then go wandering off for something else, then spent nearly twenty minutes looking for wide-ruled filler paper. And they were having some sort of back-to-school fashion show with a live band, and the live band was VERY live, and loud, and I was getting a headache, and then I got that bad feeling that one occasionally gets, but usually only at home, where you don't mind sitting on your own toilet, but that causes you to walk around Wal-Mart all clenched up, hoping the urge will pass long enough for you to finish shopping and get home, but at some point you realize you MUST call a time-out and find yourself a loo.

I had a basket full of junk, and didn't want to park it up front, and add to this that I was at the back of the store and didn't think I could MAKE it to the front of the store. SO, back to layaway, parked my cart by the counter and asked the lady behind the counter if I could leave it there. She looked at me blankly and said yes.

Off to the restroom across from the counter, and I looked carefully at the signs and opened up the door on the right. There were several girls standing there, changing into clothes. Danged fashion show kids--and they're making them change in the men's room! And then I looked at the signs again as I held the door open. W-O-M-E-N. And a little skirt-wearing icon.

"OH! I AM SO SORRY!"

What an idiot. And I'm talking about the architect. Men's on the right, women's on the left! REMEMBER THAT! Anyway, what was weird was that I thought I had read the sign before going in. Scampered across the vestibule to the men's room, checked the sign (M-E-N, straight stick figure) and went in, only to be met with a bunch of OTHER kids changing into their spiffy Wal-Mart duds. Thankfully, it was guys.

They left very quickly after I'd begun my necessary internal adjustments.

Finished, quickly gathered up my cart and thanked the lady for keeping an eye on it, she just looked at me blankly, as if I were speaking Urdu or something, and then I skulked off to go finish shopping.

Found everything except composition books. ::sigh::

Next stop, Books-a-Million over close to home to look for a book about forensics, and then the final stop at Target for the few food items I was supposed to get. For some reason, I parked at Target, which meant the bookstore was way over there. I thought about moving the car, but I had gotten such a good parking spot. So I walked to the bookstore, and it was very, very hot. Like the inside of a blast furnace on the Sun.

"Do you have the book Forensic Science of CSI by Katherine Ramsland?"

"Do what?"

::sigh::

I repeated it and the helpfully clueless staff person looked it up on the computer and directed me to the True Crime section with the admonition that it would be shelved alphabetically by author's name. If that's true, it would be the ONLY book shelved alphabetically by author's name.

I like Books-a-Million, if only because it is a home-grown company and they have as good deals as the bigger folks like Barnes and Noble, but dang it all, they've GOT to make it easier to find stuff in the store.

1) Put some computer terminals on the floor so customers can check for themselves if books are in stock. It's frustrating to stand there in a line to ask someone if they've got something, only to find out they don't. Or that the counter help is illiterate. Or unable to use a computer.

2) When you find out if there's a book in stock, have a little map of the store showing where it is. It would help if the books had an RFID chip so they'd know for sure if it's actually in the store.

3) Counter computers should be tied in to the cash register. There's no reason why there has to be a separate computer for the book database, why not just make them do double duty?

4) Shelve the books correctly--I know this is labor intensive, but if you aren't going to do any better, there's no use trying to do it at all.

Anyway, they showed the book in stock, and after a good ten minutes of searching a short section of books, it either was out of stock or so badly misplaced that looking further for it would have been futile. Grr.

On back to Target, found composition books and iced tea, went home, suffered the wrath of a wife who'd been left at home to fend for herself with the laundry.

Put up the supplies, took over the laundry, worked on supper, then later went back and got Rebecca from the pet store, supper, baths, bedtime.

Sunday, up early, church (and yes, I stayed awake this time), home, lunch, divided up the school supplies into the various respective backpacks, back for evening services, then dropped the kids off at the grandparents' house. We did this because Reba's doctor's visit was going to be at 5:30 a.m. yesterday, meaning we'd have to be out of the house by 5, meaning we'd have to get up at 4. I can barely get the kids woken up at 6, so this was going to be out of the question, so we let them be farmed out to Reba's parents. Which is getting to be less and less attractive, since Catherine always acts like a butt.

Anyway, after we'd dropped them off, Reba and I had a romantic meal together at Arby's, then went home and hit the hay so we could get up early.

MONDAY, boy, 4 o'clock in the a of m is early! So we slept until 4:30, which meant we left a bit late, but did manage to get to the hospital on time, AND got a parking space right by the door! Yay, earliness!

Checked in, went upstairs, got checked in again, went back to a room, got her personal effects, went back out to the waiting room, waited for a few minutes, and in what seemed an impossibly short amount of time, was called back to talk to the doctor about what he'd done.

I don't want to go into details about the procedure, since it involves Miss Reba's internal system of womanocological pipes and tubing and reservoirs and stuff. I will say that the doctor had no problems and said everything looked healthy up in there, and the procedure should help her feel a lot better in the coming months.

The doc was quite upbeat and chipper in that happy-go-lucky manner of someone who knows what he's doing, and went over the post-operative restrictions.

"Okay, Mr. Oglesby, she did just fine, but let me tell you the restrictions in case the anesthesia makes her a bit loopy--no lifting for a few days, I've left you a prescription if there's any pain or cramping," and with a raised eyebrow he said, "no douching and none of that 'gettin' freaky' stuff for at least 24 hours."

I took it all in with my serious face on, and in my most sincerely concerned voice asked him, "Okay, so I'm not supposed to douche...?"

I don't think he'd heard that one before. The look on his face when he thought I wasn't joking made it all worthwhile.

Went back and waited in the waiting room, then got called back to the recovery room, fed her some crackers and Sprite, and after a while she was awake enough to take home. Out the door by 8:45.

Home, got her to bed, went to the bank, went and got the kids, back to home, started ironing my shirts. Got that done while watching The Price is Right, while the kids went outside and cleaned up the cat's pen and his food and water bowls. After the Chinese laundry routine, decided to pick up the den and get it halfway cleaned up. Even got the vacuum cleaner out! Vacuumed, vacuumed, vacuumed, got a big canister of ick.

Pulled the canister off, and the bottom of it swung open, spilling ick all over the carpet I'd just vacuumed. "Why, confound it all!" I said in my mind, although I'll admit it probably was a bit more earthy than that. Went and emptied the thing in the garbage can and came back inside to see what was wrong.

Cheap Chinese plastic, that's what. The little orange clip had a spring inside to hold it closed. The spring was held by a little pocket molded into the clip, and sometime in there it broke free, allowing the spring to become unsprung, and not hold the clip down. Epoxied the spring back into the broken clip, and stuffed a paper towel under the lip of the clip so it would be SURE to stay closed, even if the glue failed. Nothing quite like expedient engineering.

Cleaned up my mess and vacuumed some more and got another big can full of ick, and finally decided I'd worried the carpet enough.

Made lunch, made a couple of batches of cookies, and about three p.m., suffered a complete shutdown of systems that required a nap. Which is why the kids decided to get loud. Got back up after an hour and a half of not sleeping any, got Catherine ready to go to cheerleading practice, went and got my medicine from the drugstore and picked up some stuff for supper. Got back and found that Oldest had been summoned to Grandma's house to pick up supper, and I should've been grateful, but I really wanted to fix supper. I'm that way, sometimes.

Decided to use the waiting time to set a little electric fan up outside for Lightning, who's been slowly baking for the past few days. He seemed to enjoy it to no end. Ate supper, dropped Cat at practice, went home, turned around and went BACK to the gym, got Cat, went and got gas in the Volvo, went home, told her to go bathe, and then sometime in there got all sleepy again and went to bed for good.

Today, everything's back to normal.

Ish.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:14 AM | Comments (14)

But I'm not dead yet!

Still plugging along, as you see, which means that sometime today (after I get it written and before I start throwing away more paper) you'll get your weekend update of all the goings on at Casa de Possum, including such heartwarming tales as walking into the women's bathroom at Wal-Mart, and dumping dirt all over the carpet in the den! Wheeeeee!

Anyway, let me go check in with the boss and then I'll be back directly.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:16 AM | Comments (7)

August 03, 2007

And the weekend.

And the usual round of laundry and scurrying hither and yon. OH, and I won't be in on Monday. I'll be tending to Miss Reba, who is going to the doctor's office early to have some minor work done on her innerds (nothing related to the recent upper bosomal region issues!) so I'll be with her, and then will see you again come Tuesday.

Have yourselves a great weekend!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:42 PM | Comments (0)

When you get to the bottom of the hole...

...quit digging. I think I've made enough headway for today. Just got finished a bit ago with the file cabinet tops, which if you recall, looked like this.

Okeedoke--here's the can with the undesirable stuff, and here's the end result. Why I didn't do this sooner is beyond me. It almost looks clean. Almost.

Now then, as for found treasure, it was a pretty productive dig. I apologize for the quality of these and the other photos, but the camera batteries are low, and the light's not good. I messed around with them on the computer, but they still aren't all that clear. The following pictures are bigger than the others, so you will have to expand the browser window and use the scrollbars to see all of the image.

ANYway, here's a proposal I did for a couple of buildings over on 18th Street. You can't really see the photo, but the buildings are in pretty bad shape. The owner never decided to do anything about them.

This was a drawing of a building over in Lakeview View that I did as a cover for a report I wrote. The sketch got in the sun and the right part sepia'd out some. Anyway, it's a lovely old Tudor style, late-'20s commercial block that's still standing and in use today. Looks very nice in person.

The next ones are a couple of houses by Wallace Rayfield over in Smithfield, and I believe this one was his own personal house. Rayfield's story is really interesting and he left a big mark on Birmingham--I urge you to go to the Bham Wiki page for a bit more information.

The next few are from several years back when we were doing some revitalization proposals over in Arlington-West End and in Ensley.

Here's a proposal for brightening up the State Fairgrounds, including (as you see) a cheerful yellow trolley. Sometime after I'd made a copy of this, some bright person who should have known better thought I'd left the wheels off the trolley and smudged in some great big black circles on the sides to approximate bus wheels. Thankfully, I kept the original. Anyway, it's supposed to be an actual rail car, not a trolley-like bus. Idjits.

Okay, the rest--here are some Ensley commercial blocks. Right now both of the blocks look pretty run down, and no, nothing has been done to fix them up. Here's the first, and the here's the second, which contains both a Gap and a Starbucks and no small amount of wishful thinking.

And finally, here's a West End commercial block (which I think was burnt out not too long after I drew this), and a nice little row of houses.

So, there you go, at least until I start cleaning off my desk and the other window sill.

In case you're wondering, the colors look lurid for a reason--most of the time you're trying to have something that will be shown in a meeting and you need for it to be able to be seen from the back of the room, or alternately, you need something that won't wash out when you make a copy of it. And another thing, the slapdash color is intended to be abstract enough to keep anyone from getting too distinct of an idea in their mind of a particular place, and then be disappointed or shocked when it doesn't turn out like that in real life. It's almost like a cartoon--enough to give the idea, but not enough for it to be something you'd be called down for later if it's not exactly like the picture.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:13 PM | Comments (2)

Lunch With My Friend Jeff™!

But before that, the start of the big dig. If you recall, this is the before shot of one corner of the office. This is the empty recycling barrel. This is the recycling barrel AFTER spending nearly an hour on discarding. And here's the shiny clean [sic] corner after I'd neatened it up! Only three more corners to go! And four non-corners.

As I went through stuff, just as Skillzy predicted, I did manage to find some interesting stuff I'd forgotten about.

Those of you who live in Birmingham have probably heard all the hoo-ha about the new Railroad Reservation Park. We were working on that ages ago--here's an early sketch in plan, and a couple of quick perspectives. Looks nothing like what's going to get built, but it's rare that anything does.

This is a quicky sketch I did for a local building owner who was trying to fix up his place, and in a similar vein, another sorta neat thing I uncovered were the following sketches we did back when Pam the Liberal was here. We held a couple of annual conferences on historic preservation as a means to stabilize deteriorating inner city neighborhoods. Great fun. These boards were intended to show people what some of the old dilapidated buildings could look like if they were spruced up and repaired. We wound up making close to 40 of these drawings. These are some of the ones I did, but I also had some extremely good help from our intern at the time, Cara Graham. She was a peach, and a workhorse of immense productivity, and I was sorry when she left.

Anyway, this is the old (and now demolished) Minor School which used to be over off of Pike Road in Ensley. It's now a parking lot for a car dealer.

This is a unique old mansion over in Norwood that I think is still standing, although still unrestored.

And finally, this is a tiny, mid-30s gas station over in the Smithfield part of town that I thought could make a neat little corner cafe. It's still there, and still looks just like it does in the photo. I.e., a mess.

ANYway, that's what I've gotten done so far. Next is the top of the filing cabinets.

AS FOR MFJ™, we talked about the usual stuff over a plate full of sandwiches over at Sam's Deli in Homewood. Sure was hot outside. They really need some fans or something. But it was the usual kvetching about stupid people, cars, work (although I did get to brag about my new job), kids, relatives, cars, swarthy men of Middle Eastern descent, Chicago, car repairs, and stuff like that. Did our magazine swap, and as usual, he left with a much greater load of treasure than I did, not that I'm complaining. Much. Okay I am. Anyway, great fun as usual.

AS FOR THE NOT GREAT FUN--when I got back in I noticed someone with an IP of 71.36.200.142 (Qwest Communications in Denver) had left a few comments using my name. Nothing bad or dirty or anything, but it's just poor etiquette. They've been deleted, not out of malice or anything like that, but just to say that I'd rather you just pick another alias if you don't want to use your own name. Thanks.

Now then, more trash duty.


Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:42 PM | Comments (2)

Breaking Camp

Well, let's see what I've gotten accomplished so far.

Not much. Got all my personal stuff off the C:\ drive and sent it to myself via e-mail. Yes, I've already copied it once and transferred it to my home computer, but I can't stand the thought of having only one copy. So, all my docs went to the inbox, and all the photos went to Picasa. And there was an embarrassingly large amount of both. As I said, I am a pack rat of the first order.

Per Marc's request, I showed you some of the flotsam, jetsam, and ligan in the office yesterday that I'm either going to have to pack up or throw away, but here are some shots of the other side of the room--my bookcase, filled with books pointing the wrong way, Design markers, and a row of Sweet's catalogs to act as ballast.

bookcase.JPG

That chair is where you all sit when I'm talking to you. Unless you're hovering over my shoulder, which I really don't like. Unless you smell nice and have great big sof--never mind.

Next, the real nerve center of all that goes on, the battle bridge:

filthy burrow.JPG

Those are reference books on the window sill, slathered with a crispy layer of useless paper that at one time I had believed needed to be kept, just in case. All that paper on the desk? Absolutely vital to my mission. Or not. Lots of rolled up drawings, some of them possibly even still of use. Or not.

And finally, a wide shot so you can see my display of Oglesby child artworks:

art gallery.JPG

I sure hope I'll have room to keep some of those up. Makes the day go by a lot faster. SO, anyway, today will be spent throwing away garbage.

And something else I need to do is give my boss something. I've never had a better one, and I wrote him a note to let him know of my thoughts. It's private, so I won't post it here, but I want him to know how much I think of him as a person and as a leader.

He's a thoroughly interesting man and has seen more than most. He's faced down Bull Connor's police dogs in his youth, then went on to take a guided tour of Southeast Asia with Uncle Sam's Misguided Children. He came back, became an architect, dabbled in real estate, went on to work on the state's largest office building, came to work here, and in among all that, married and had four beautiful daughters who've done nothing but excel in everything they've attempted. He is one of the most honest men I've ever met, and an exemplar of integrity and good leadership. I will miss working for him.

Now then. Time to get to work.


Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:36 AM | Comments (6)

Well, that was peculiar.

Went to the grocery store yesterday evening to get some stuff for supper, and as I was going down the aisle toward the checkout, there was a young guy coming the other way, pushing a dust mop and talking on his cell phone.

As we passed, I realized he was speaking Russian.

I'm sorry, but any way you slice that, it was just really, really odd.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:53 AM | Comments (3)

July 31, 2007

YAY!

Teeth-cleaning time!

See you all tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:06 PM | Comments (4)

This should be entertaining.

The Guy Who Always Burns Toast is outside my office right now, slathering some sort of combustible onto his bread before putting it in the toaster oven. Obviously, I didn't even get far enough along in this post to speculate "and I bet he walks away and leaves it" before he did just that.

UPDATE: I crept toward the doorway, cognizant of the danger of getting caught, but determined to keep another senseless toasting incident from happening again. I peered from around the door frame--in, out, down toward the outer office. Bobbed back inside my office, then scoped out the short hall to the right. Clear.

The toaster timer tick-tick-ticked. I could already get a whiff of bread. Cheap. White. I casually stood, then made my move.

Sidled up to the unit--the tick-tick-ticking insistent as only a toaster timer can be. Mocking me. He'd set it to three minutes. What sort of madman was this? The smell of the bread was heady, nearly overpowering. Funny about bread. It smells so good when it's getting warm, and then it all suddenly turns to the stench of fusing carbohydrates, the molecules screaming in agony.

No time for sentiment. Had to keep my mind on the task at hand.

Another quick glance for interlopers. The timer had already ticked down a minute. I reached out and grasped the knob. It was warm, smooth. Hard. Plastic hard. White.

I snatched it counterclockwise, just as they'd taught us back in TSS. Toaster Setting School So long ago. The tick-tick-ticking of the timer suddenly accelerated t-tt--t-t--tick! before settling back into the one tick per second rhythm it had started with. I looked--I'd taken off a whole minute from the timer. Maybe even a minute-ten. Maybe a minute-twelve. No way to know for sure.

But this toast wasn't going to burn. Not today. Not on my watch.

I heard a noise down the short hall. A cough? Paper shuffling? Hard to tell. Time to extract. I turned and made the short leap back to the safety of my office, settled myself in my chair, and awaited the inevitable.

I placed my hands on the keyboard, acting like I was working. Acting like I'd not been in the heat. But even I'm not that good an actor. Nerves. Had I turned it far enough? The knob? Was a minute going to be enough? Even a minute-twelve? What if I had to go back? Would that smell, that awful blackened smell, would I start smelling it again? The doubts about my training, about why I even cared about stupid toast, they began to creep into my mind again. I remembered TSS--the kid that got his finger hung on the edge of a wide two-slot and made a vicious blistered whelp that lasted nearly two days. He was part of my team. I'm the one that had to get that burnt onion bagel out. I'm the one who had to put Neosporin on his finger. And a bandage.

Ding!

The flat, metal-on-metal striker-actuated bell signalled to The Guy Who Always Burns Toast that his bread was done. As if he were even around to hear it. As if he'd wait for it, standing nearby. But he doesn't. Won't.

The smell was good. Pleasant even. No smoke this time. No char. No carbon. No screams.

As usual, The Guy Who Always Burns Toast was slow getting back to the scene. He rumbled in, talking low to himself the way the insane do, mumbling about the toaster oven, breathing hard, wondering why there was no smoke, or fire, but not enough to actually question what happened. In his mind, what there is of it, it was probably nothing more than the result of that cheap, defective toaster oven.

He walked away, back to his own side of the floor, to his own office, where he would devour his prey in private.

He'll be back again. He always comes back.

I'll be here.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:52 AM | Comments (7)

July 30, 2007

Maybe I've got narcolepsy.

I mean, my boss has it, and so maybe I caught it from him or something. Or it could just be what I ate for lunch. Or that I didn't get any sort of restful sleep last night.

But it sure is weird to be sitting here working, then momentarily zone out and have the vivid sense of having a conversation with someone who's standing in front of you flapping his hands.

Not that this is a unique thing in our office, either in reality or in near-conscious daydreamings, but it is similar to that weird semi-awakeness I sometimes struggle against during church, when I wander off mentally and begin having the most startlingly idiotic semi-lucid thoughts. Wouldn't be so bad if I could do any of this with my eyes open, but it seems I just can't keep them open.

At least I've not started snoring.

That I know of.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:13 PM | Comments (12)

AACKKK!

Stinkin' work. Be back after while.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:49 AM | Comments (3)

Made it through another one!

And not much else to show for it. But that's okay by me.

A weekend of normality for once--no one had anything special to do, nowhere special to go, no one special to see, so I actually got some work done without being completely exhausted.

Highlights?

Well, we went to see Catherine and all of her cheerleader friends rehearse the stuff they've learned in clinic this past week, and that was pretty cute. Cat and her group are old enough to know what's going on and able to keep up with the tempo and remember the words, but the little kindergarten-aged kids are...well--not. But doggone it, they sure are cute.

Saturday, no PetSmart for Rebecca, so she got to stay home and clean her room, and Boy didn't have any pressing social engagements, so he got to help me cut grass. And for once he was excited about it. Seems he got a bright idea to do a design in the front yard. Hey--he's cutting it, I'm not about to tell him not to, as long as he gets it ALL cut and doesn't miss anything.

Thankfully, his idea was to cut a spiral, which is something I've done before just to break the monotony. He was disappointed though, because he started from the outside perimeter, which is more or less rectangular, which meant the spiral was likewise more or less rectangular. Next week, I'm hoping he tries something in the crop-circle genre.

Got cleaned up after I'd mowed the backyard (front to back lines only), sat in the gazebo a while and cooled off afterwards, got a shower, did some grocery shopping, came home and ironed some shirts, made some stuff for lunch at church yesterday.

Sunday, fifth Sunday so we had lunch and the evening service was moved up to 1:00, which I always like because you get the rest of the afternoon to go home and sleep. Which I never get to do. Went home and finished the laundry, and watched Elf, which I still think is an awfully sweet movie, had some supper sometime later on in the evening, watched Miss Marple on PBS, and went on to bed.

And now?

STAFF MEETING!

Yay.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:26 AM | Comments (4)

July 27, 2007

That wasn't bad at all.

Actually only took about thirty minutes or so, which was a relief. Of course, these things are more fun to me as a people-watching exercise than anything else. I will say this--it says a lot about the devotion you have toward your teenager's school when you have a husky tattoo on your back. However, I would like to say that if you're of the short, squatty sort of female build, wearing a low-backed halter top held up with tiny strings probably isn't the best way to frame that puppy. Second, and this isn't just for Ms. Husky Pride, but for anyone with a back tattoo, it's worth remembering that the human body is (relatively) biaxially symmetrical, and that means that either A) things such as permanent artwork look better centered up on the backbone, or B) things such as permanent artwork look better when it's obvious they are deliberately off-center. When your husky tattoo is very large (to go with your large, sweat-moistened back) it would probably be better if it weren't slightly, but noticeably, off-center to the right, because when it's just barely off it makes it look like the guy didn't take his time, or was still feeling the effects of all those bong hits. I will give it a solid B+ as a realistic depiction. I was almost tempted to see if that furry texture was real or merely the work of a very clever inksman. I thought better of it, though. No use being that familiar.

ANYway, that's done, and it's almost time to head home, and begin the weekend. All of you have a fun time and I'll see you here again on Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:04 PM | Comments (0)

Now then.

Off to do school registration duty again. All both of you be patient for a couple of hours!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:53 PM | Comments (0)

July 26, 2007

There are few things more disconcerting...

...than getting a call from your wife saying the doctor's office wants her to come back in Monday so they can redo her mammogram because there was an area they couldn't make a definite determination about.

It could be nothing, and odds are, it's not.

But that knowledge doesn't seem to stop a person's heart from pounding on the inside of his chest like a jackhammer.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:48 PM | Comments (9)

July 25, 2007

Whew.

What a morning. Or as I like to say, "What!? A morning?" Which isn't that funny when you see it written instead of hearing it spoken, but then few things are. Sorta like Yakima, or uvula.

ANYWAY, it's been a long and tedious morning and my head already hurts and I would like nothing better than to have been able to stay at home in the bed and slept all day long. Next best thing? I suppose to post what it sounds like while I'm sleeping all day long.








hhhhuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh








AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE--AH AHH AHGGHHHHHHHHH!











no














m











::frrrrrtTTTTTTTTTTTTTT-PLLLLLBBB::


Yeah, I should have stayed home.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:29 AM | Comments (2)

July 24, 2007

Right when I was about to post something good...

...it's time to go. Gotta go get Tiny Terror enrolled for the next school year, and then take her to her practice, and then come back to the house and eat supper, and then go back and get her, and then come back home, and then fiddlefart around doing things I have no business doing, and then go to bed, and then dream weird things, and then get up tomorrow and go to my twice-a-week off-campus bureaucratfest, and then come back here and play with lots of paper, and then maybe post something on here. If I remember to.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:41 PM | Comments (0)

And now, the next thing.

Cheerleading.

Last night was Catherine's first night of cheerleading clinic. She's decided she wants to cheer for our local youth football squad, just like her sisters before her, and has been looking forward to this for months now. Got her to the gym at the old elementary school, and it was like someone had kicked over a fire ant hill. What looked like several million little girls in red, all scrambling everywhere at once. The various team moms and sponsors and wranglers and the cheerleaders from the high school got them into smaller piles, and we were finally able to find Cat's group and get her situated. I gave her a quick kiss and made my exit, although I probably could have stayed, but it was too hot, too loud, too frenzied, and there were too many firm young high school cheerleaders with long tan legs.

Came back at 8:00, and the chaos and pandemonium had only partially abated. How do they ever get anything done!? But, they seemed to have learned something, and they went through a couple of little routines before dismissing, and aside from not being able to jump very high, Cat did quite well, and was full of the manic glee she does so well when she's doing something she enjoys.

Tonight, same thing again.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:11 AM | Comments (0)

July 23, 2007

Oh, and for you Harry Potter fans...

I've never read more than a few pages of any of the books, and have no real desire to! I'm sorry to have misled any of you with my earlier postings of spoilers from the last book, but as I suspected when I wrote them, I now have confirmation that no characters from The Andy Griffith Show actually appear in this, or any of the other books.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:34 AM | Comments (4)

Okay, you asked for it!

Or at least didn't violently object.

SO, here's the wrap-up, one so weak and thin and worthless that I would be embarrassed to publish it were it not so much more robust and hearty than all the other crap I've ever posted.

KITTY!

Time again for the cat's annual checkup. Given his behavior last year, in which he sliced open the vet tech's arms like some sort of crazed vivisectionist, we were much more cautious this year and didn't let him out of his carrier to roam around the exam room and get all agitated.

Got to the office, and there was some doofus guy there with two morbidly obese, yet intensely hyperactive golden retrievers who were all over the place panting and wheezing and whining and slobbering. I turned the door of the cat carrier around toward the wall to keep Lightning from getting too freaked out. Not that he was--he seemed calm for the most part.

Got to a room, sat for a moment and then the young lady came in to start the exam. After a lengthy warning about how last year he'd sliced open the vet tech's arms like some sort of crazed vivisectionist, she cautiously drew him out and petted him and he was as docile as possible under the circumstances. She took him out to another room to get a fecal sample, and brought him right back a minute or two later. Aside from his wide-eyed humiliation, he had remained calm. She placed him on the scale and he sat nice and still--10 pounds, 2 ounces.

The doctor came in and introduced himself to us (it was Middle Girl and I making the trip) and after a lengthy warning about how last year he'd sliced open the vet tech's arms like some sort of crazed vivisectionist, he started feeling of Lightning's head and ears and body and stuff, then gave him two quick needle stabs. Aside from a slight mrAWL!, there was no more drama. Thank goodness.

Took Rebecca on up to PetSmart for her day of animal shelter volunteerism (she's been doing this for several weeks now and had enjoyed it--I think), then dropped by the bank to get monies to pay the vet, then went back toward town.

Up until then, Lightning had been very quiet, but about halfway back, he started a near continous cat-yammering. Not sure why. I kept telling him we'd be home soon enough, but it's like he doesn't understand English or something.

Drove on, listening to the catcophany, parked at the vet, ran in and paid, and came right back out to a silent kitty.

"Hmm, that's odd, Cat. I..."

I wonder.

"I hope you weren't having to go to the litter box!"

He didn't say anything, but when I got in and closed the door, he let me know in his own odiferous way that he had indeed decided to use the carrier as a makeshift toilet. Rolled all the windows down and headed up the hill to the house.

Got home, let him loose, and retrieved the towel we'd put in there at the very last minute before we'd left home. Didn't seem like much of anything, until I figured out he'd buried everything inside the towel. ::sigh::

Time for kitty cleanup. Washed out his carrier, washed down his pen, emptied his litter box, gave him clean food and water, and then spent the next half-hour trying to coax him back out of various neighbor's fenced-in back yards so I could get on with my next task...

YARD WORK!

Finally decided it was time to cut back the wisteria, since it was about to strangle anything within 20 feet of the plants, including the giant sweet gum it stands closest to. Stuff is scary--there were two big tendrils of the junk growing across the ground toward the neighbor's fence, and long dangly arms reaching out nearly 10 feet to grab onto Rebecca's sycamore tree. It grows up and out and down and across worse than anything I've ever seen, and that includes kudzu.

Pulled and yanked and cut and ripped and finally got most of the long stuff pulled free, and it's still wooly and snaky-looking enough to be almost decorative. Also pulled down some poison oak and poison ivy, which is almost as pernicious, and with the added drama of, well, poison. That done (and again, interspersed with trying to get the cat to come close enough to catch) also got some produce out of the garden--three gigantically round, but oddly short cucumbers. They look almost like baseballs. Also got four green beans, and a pepper and a tomato. We seem to have discovered the secret for cucumbers--nothing else has come close in productivity. Except for maybe Jonathan's pear tree, which has managed to endure both a late freeze AND a drought this year. Not as many this year, but what grew look very fine and plump.

AND NOW, the main event! Mowing the pasture. My next-door neighbor with the barking dog had gotten out early and cut his, and neglected to set his wheels up higher, leaving big piles of grass and scalped places everywhere. Well, not me, not this time. I set mine up a couple of inches, not really enough to cut it as close as it needs, but enough to make it nice and even and still green. Even with that, it still took twice as long to cut the front as it usually does. There were patches that were close to a foot high.

Amazing what a little water can do.

And that was it for the outdoor work. I had really, REALLY wanted to try to work on the Volvo's still-cockeyed rear bumper, but I was too hot and tired to lie on hot concrete and play with that. For Larry "Free Mercedes" Anderson's benefit, the insurance stuff is still up in the air. If I accept their money, I'm responsible for reporting it to the state and go through that whole salvage title thing. I just can't do that. It's too much hassle, and even if there's really no way the state could ever track me down and enforce its own silly law if I decided NOT to report it, I'd still have it on my conscience. We really need the money, but I'd rather not be on the wrong side of the law. So, looks like unless they're willing to work with me on some way to pay me LESS than they think it's worth, I'm going to have to wind up just dropping the claim and being out the money. ::sigh::

They say having a clear conscience like that makes it easier to sleep, but don't believe 'em. Either that, or I've got something else making me have a guilty conscience

Two different nights, two different sets of bizarro dreams, no details of which I wish to recite here, aside from the fact that in both I hanging around with a bunch of college kids (even though in the dream I was the age I am now) and most shockingly bizarre of all, I seemed to attract an inordinate amount of attention from the co-eds, despite my exceedingly advanced years.

I blame global warming, or possibly those cucumbers, which are definitely not the burpless kind.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:32 AM | Comments (4)

Well, well, well.

So you came back for more, eh?

Whaddya know.

ANYway, now that your here, what more do you want? A rousing tale of lawn maintenance? A right ripping yarn about taking the cat to the vet? Recitations of deeply disturbing dreams? Violent gardening imagery?

"ALL" you say!?

Okeedoke. Gimme a few minutes (which will obviously be interrupted by staff meeting) and I'll see what I can make up.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:13 AM | Comments (7)

July 20, 2007

Hey! Another Surprise Visit!

And just as short and meaningless as the other two!

Including the extraneous used of exclamation points!

Why, it's almost more than my tiny bureaucrat brain can handle!

Anyway, just in case I'm not able to get another parole before the day's over, all of you have a fun weekend. Me? I'll be cutting grass, and taking Lightning, The World's Most Expensive Free Former Kitten to the doctor for his annual checkup and butt-needling. Let me throw in another exclamation point for that one. "!"

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:12 PM | Comments (0)

Surprise!

I got an hour reprieve!

Time for lunch, and then afterwards, more mindless sitting and thumb-twiddling while I sit around reading the newpaper and waiting for the phones to ring!

Efficiency!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:01 AM | Comments (0)

July 17, 2007

And finally...

...I was gonna go home this afternoon and cut grass, because it's now 83 feet high from all the nice rain we've had the past couple of weeks.

But it's raining again.

Drat--I might just have to go home and not do anything.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:45 PM | Comments (5)

July 16, 2007

Well, yes, you did mess up.

Called IPD, got the guy I ordered from last Friday.

"Let me see...uhhmmm, sir, yes, I'm afraid I'm the one to blame for that. Usually we fill in any special instructions to the warehouse, and I didn't put Saturday delivery on there. I apologize for that, and I'll refund the extra charge to you right now."

Which is good customer service. Not truly great customer service--which would have entailed the company trying to find some way of making up for the added inconvenience that their mess-up caused me--but, still, good. And I suppose good enough to not make me swear them off forever.

But next time I'm going to be more careful.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:09 AM | Comments (4)

July 13, 2007

Okay, so there's something to this Friday the 13th stuff.

The plan yesterday was to scoot home and get the car jacked up and the driveshaft pulled and the bearing off and maybe get the new one put back on, or maybe get it done this morning.

See, I was real smart like and looked on the weather radar and saw some rain headed this way out of the west. The weather forecast said it would be here sometime around mid-day today, and I didn't want to have to wait until Saturday to get it finished.

AND EVEN BETTER--the parts had arrived right on time and were waiting on me when I got home!

Got my work clothes on, ran outside, and began earnestly and vigorously jacking up the car. In the front, a set of giant ramps my Dad made from locomotive parts (well, almost--1/8 inch solid steel plate and 3/16 x 2 1/2 x 2 1/2 angle iron) but since they're so high, I had to jack the front up a bit, then slide them under the tires. Of course, the jack won't go high enough to get the ramps all the way under the tires, so I had to drive the rest of the way up. Which is nerve-wracking, because if you drive off the end, it's A Bad Thing.

But, this time, no problem. Put a wedge behind each of the tires and hammered it in, and set about to raise up the rear end. After much calisthenics, I managed to get the rear axle up high enough to set the iron jack stands my Dad had made, also made from locomotive parts. (The ramps and stands could hold up a dump truck.)

That done, time to get that shaft loose. I skritched underneath with my crappy creeper, and saw for the first time just how bad the center bearing support had worn out. Basically, nothing but rubber crumbs. Marked the driveshaft so I'd put it back right, unbolted the four bolts from the differential flange, and dropped the shaft gently across my Adam's apple, managing not to completely throttle myself. Although I did wind up with a lovely smear of dirty grease as a necklace.

Pulled the shaft gingerly out of the end of the other driveshaft, laid it inside the garage. Pulled loose the bearing support, dropped it down, and at that point began to feel a bad feeling. That hunk of rubber looked awfully biggish. And the new one I'd just gotten seemed awfully smallish in comparison.

Walked into the kitchen covered in black grease and got the new part--sure enough, my driveshaft is of the 2 inch variety, rather than the 1 3/4 inch variety. My new parts? Useless. One tiny little quarter of an inch sure does make a BIG difference.

Kicked myself for not taking the advice of the parts guy out in Portland--"Order both, and then send back the one you don't need." Pish-posh, said I. No need for that.

Because I am a moron.

::sigh::

Well, the quickest thing was to do what I was going to do before I ordered the wrong parts--go to NAPA this morning and get the bigger bearing and bearing support. Also, decided to go to the Volvo dealer to pick up a little rubber bellows that goes around the joint where the shafts connect. This was missing completely and keeps dirt and water out of the connection.

ANYway, I went to the shop down at the foot of the hill this morning, and got the bearing. They didn't have the big rubber donut there, but it was available at the main distribution center in Birmingham. Got in the car, and raced over to the seedy industrial part of town where stray bullets sprinkle down from the sky like cherry blossoms. Got there, finally was able to make the guy understand what I needed, and he said it would be just a minute while they pulled it from the warehouse.

Waited.

Waited.

Was accosted by a talkative fellow who works out at the airport and had come in for a starter. Heard all about the fence he had built, the hassle with the neighbors, the NEW fence he had to start building, the above-ground pool he made in the backyard, the fact that it's 8 inches too low on one side, his plans for fixing it, his wife's craft room he had to stop working on to work on the fence and the pool--THIRTY SOLID MINUTES of him talking a blue streak, with me wanly nodding in assent and offering the occasional "Hmm" or "Well" or "I tell you what." The parts guy kept calling back to see what the holdup was, and finally became so exasperated that he went to pull the part himself.

Fence Guy kept right on talking, got his starter, paid, kept talking, and talked his way right out the door.

Parts Guy came back with a rubber donut. Same size as the one that doesn't fit. "No, this one's not the right one."

"Well, we had two back there like this, which is they couldn't find the one I'd called back for, and so they didn't know what to do, but I brought this one out just in case it was the right one. We can order it for you. Be here next week sometime."

Oh well.

I'd only wasted an hour.

Maybe the Volvo dealer has one! I tried to call from there, but couldn't get them. Dang.

ON TO VESTAVIA!!

Got there, walked in, had to make the guy understand what I wanted, finally got the part number. "Uhh, no sir, we don't have that in stock, but we can order it. Be here on Monday." They didn't have the little rubber bellows in stock, either.

::sigh::

Well fart. I need to work on this TODAY (or tomorrow). The only way I could possibly make this work is for the folks in Portland to next-day the parts to me.

I am a moron.

Headed home, saw a flock of four wild turkeys standing alongside the Interstate around Liberty Park, wondered where their car was, got back to Grandma's house to pick up the kids (who'd been over there while I chased parts) and wound up back at NAPA to return the bearing I'd bought first thing this morning.

Got home, and the rain started. Looked outside and saw Sarah the Bunny eating birdseed off the ground. Called the place in Portland, got a return authorization, ordered the other set of parts, paid extra for the next day shipping, and kicked myself for being a moron. Repacked my too-little parts, went to the UPS store in an increasingly heavy rain and sent them back.

Made lunch, got supper started, and began to reconsider my previous decision to not be superstitious about silly things like Friday the 13th. The only bright spot? Even with paying for three different shipping fees, my parts from Portland are still going to be cheaper if I'd bought the stuff here. But I dare not make too big a deal out of that. Never know what sort of bad juju that might unleash.

ANYway, see you all on Monday!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:32 PM | Comments (2)

July 12, 2007

Friday the 13th

It frightens me so much that I intend to stay home tomorrow and work on my car!

No, really. Well, not the part about being frightened--the part about staying home and working on the car. I'm taking my annual personal day, and gonna blow it crawling underneath the bottom of a greasy lump of Swedish iron to change out my driveshaft bearing.

No, I don't know why they built it with a two-piece driveshaft like some sort of dump truck or something. No, I don't know why they can't make something that'll last longer than 240,000 miles. No, I don't know if I've actually ordered the right sized bearing or not. No, I'm not sure the kids would ever even know about it if the car falls off the jackstands and crushes me like a big fat possum. No, I've never done this type of repair before.

But despite all that, and despite any lingering triskaidekaphobia I might harbor, it's still nice to play hooky for a day.

SO, all of you have fun tomorrow, and I will try to do the same, and then Lord willing and the car don't fall on me, we'll all get together again on Monday next and chat about things some more.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:37 PM | Comments (2)

Okay, that was weird.

And for some reason, I just now decided to notice.

Anyway, I went to my meeting this morning and pulled into a parallel spot on the street, right behind a guy in a Crown Vic with Cobb County, Georgia plates. He was out of his car on the sidewalk, and when I pulled up he raised his hand, almost like he was warning me about something. I didn't think too much about it, since he was bespectacled and wearing a tie and carrying a nice notebook and driving an old man car, so I put the car in park and was about to get out when he came back and said, "I just put money in that meter, and this one's not working--could you back up?"

I didn't think anything about it, and since there was one more space behind me, I just backed up and parked there, and then he backed up from the space he'd been in to the one he wanted me to move out of. We both got out and he thanked me as I put a quarter in the meter, but it just now occurred to me exactly how peculiar the whole thing was.

Why would you pull into a parking space, put money in the meter, then get back in and pull forward one space? And once you got THAT space, why would you worry about a parking meter that's on the fritz? If it's not working, you don't have to plug it.

People are strange.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:17 PM | Comments (4)

Aside from starting to sweat...

...that wasn't so bad. And if you're predisposed to producing a large volume of sweat, and you're going to have to have an outdoor meeting, it's a whole lot better to be out there in the morning than in the afternoon. So, you know, it all worked out well enough.

NOW THEN--SOMETHING INTERESTING BETTER HAPPEN QUICKLY!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:27 AM | Comments (0)

Okay, well, this isn't an auspicious start.

I had my hopes all built up for an interesting day, but it looks like the first few hours are going to be completely work-related. Got to go look at some stuff a few blocks away, and despite the fact that it deals with something I like (old buildings) it's still a meeting, with people (and you know how THEY are), and it's one of those where I'm subbing for my boss, and my only briefing beforehand was that I needed to show up.

Let's just hope something comes out of it worth blogging about!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:03 AM | Comments (0)

July 11, 2007

Maybe tomorrow will be more interesting.

By then, all of the huge host of people who visit Possumblog from the other side of the International Date Line (and those odd people who stay up late reading Possumblog) will have left their suggestions for the finale of your bedtime story!

Which seems a bit off, seeing as how those of you on this side of the line will have to wait until tomorrow to see how it ends, and you're probably gonna be up all night worrying about Hoppy and stuff, and then you'll probably get up and come wake me up and tell me you're thirsty, and I'll tell you to go back to bed, and then you'll pout, and then trip over the stuff in the floor, and then start crying, and then I'll have to sing to you, and just to annoy you I'll have to sing like Slim Whitman, and then you'll be even more upset.

Oh well--such is life.

ANYway, see you all tomorrow!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:56 PM | Comments (2)

Good morning!

Yes, you can once again get your fresh hot moronic offerings again! Problem is, it's been an awful uninteresting morning, so there's not actually very much to talk about.

That is, unless YOU have something YOU want to talk about!

What's on your mind this morning?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:32 AM | Comments (8)

July 10, 2007

I blame the chicken stir-fry.

Or possibly global warming. But last night I dreamed I had grown great huge Ambrose Burnside-grade sideburns.

I'm not sure why I would have a dream like that, although I did watch several episodes of the Ken Burns/PBS Civil War series over the weekend, and I was reminded once more that guys back then had some awfully strange ideas about what constituted tonsorial attractiveness.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:27 AM | Comments (3)

July 09, 2007

Well, THAT was brief!

I have to go take Boy for an orthodontistical visit this afternoon, so all of you have fun and enjoy all your cake and ice cream and pony rides until I get back tomorrow!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:51 PM | Comments (0)

Oh, did I mention...

...that today's my birthday?

Well, it is!

Best present so far was yesterday evening, when Rebecca said I didn't look 45. "You look more like you're maybe 38."

I'll take it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:08 PM | Comments (22)

Rain.

It started Friday afternoon, and continued sporadically through the night, and then all day Saturday. A good slow rain that didn't come equipped with flash floods or tornadoes or lightning, and I have to tell you, it sure was nice.

Although you've all come to expect a 3,000 word exposition of the weekend past, this time there's really nothing to report. Although, I did finally identify the bird that's been hitting the feeder lately as an Eastern (formerly knowns as the rufous-sided) towhee.

It's good when that's the most exciting thing that happens.

Now then--time for staff meeting.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:22 AM | Comments (2)

July 06, 2007

What an odd week this has been.

That midweek off-day was part of it, as was the flurry of busiwork when I got back to work on Monday, as was, or has been, well, just everything this week. Thankfully, if nothing else I CAN use this discombobulation as a handy excuse for poor quality and volume of blogging output. Now if only I could find a way to use it for the other six years' worth of junk...

ANYway, the weekend is almost here, and hopefully it will allow me time to fully come to my senses.

Then again, maybe that's not the best idea in the world, either.

In any case, all of you have a great weekend, and I'll see you all bright and early on Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:03 PM | Comments (0)

::sigh::

No, I DON'T want to "sit in with you" on your meeting! I don't CARE if you think it helps to have someone else in there to "help you remember" things! Here's a tip--get a legal pad out of the supply cabinet. A hour spent listening to crap-spouting is not my idea of a morning well-spent.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:58 AM | Comments (5)

July 05, 2007

MISSIVES AWAY!

Now then, FINALLY some time free of the grip of mindless institutional papershuffling and buttonpushing for some good old-fashioned mindless individual buttonpapering and shufflepushing! Such a relief!

Went over to the inlaws' yesterday, and as usual, Reba's mom fixed every possible traditional 4th of July food known to man--burgers, ribs, hot dogs, chilled boiled shrimp (yes, I think it's odd, too, but the kids can't seem to get enough of them, even after I mentioned how much they look like grubworms), baked beans, cole slaw, sliced tomatoes, banana pudding, apple pie, cantaloupe (and for the philosophy fans there was Kantaloupe, too! Sorry--indulge me that one--no one else at the house understands the weak joke), strawberries, grapes, potato salad, macaroni and cheese, and our contribution, a pot full of corn on the cob.

For some reason, I wasn't all that hungry. Just had a hot dog, some tomato, and a piece of corn. And then went and slept the rest of the afternoon in their basement while Catherine and Rebecca watched TV.

Went home, changed, went to church, got home, watched the Thunder on the Mountain fireworks show on the television, helped heat up all the leftovers from lunch, ate, went upstairs and read the kids some more of their book, sent them to bed, and proceeded to listen to the stupid dog next door bark. I think the neighbors are gone, because he usually doesn't bark this much. But he's been barking for three days straight, now.

WUOORF-WUOORF!

WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!


WUOORF-WUOORF!

Two barks, every three seconds. For hours on end.

I love animals, and I don't particularly dislike this one, even though he got loose last week and tore up Catherine's garden, but there are few things that rub me the wrong way worse than a barking dog that simply will not shut up, even after doing the exact same bark for hours on end. It makes me have very dark thoughts.

He finally quit around midnight. Because that's when the second round of bootleg neighborhood fireworks started going off. I'm not sure why midnight--I understand it on New Year's, but if they're going to do it at midnight for the 4th, why not have done it the previous midnight? But at least the constant thud and whistle shut the stupid dog up.

Until about three a.m., when he started up again.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:27 AM | Comments (4)

July 03, 2007

ANYway...

...all of you have a great holiday, and I'll see you around these parts again on Thursday.

declaration.jpg

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:00 PM | Comments (0)

How could I forget!?

My sister was in town over the weekend, and she and my mom took us all out to eat for lunch at the Chinese place over by the movie theater sort of for my birthday (which is the 9th of this month) and my sister's birthday (which was back in May) and for the 4th of July all rolled into one convenient package, and my mom and sister got me two shirts and two ties for my birthday!

To make me feel better about my recent accidental rearending, my sister recounted her recent incident in which she herself was the rearender, and her insurance was thus saddled with paying for the rearendee's damage and hers. The tab for her car (an '01 Infiniti I-30)?

Five grand. It was low speed, but it buckled the hood and messed up both headlamps and her front bumper and some other junk in there.

So, you know, I should feel pretty good about my own mishap, right?

Right!

a happy.jpg

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:12 PM | Comments (0)

Yet MORE Entertainment!

How can it get any better than THIS!?

I'm thinking of a number between -14 and 21.3--first person to guess it wins a FABULOUS PRIZE!!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:12 AM | Comments (17)

MORE ENTERTAINMENT!

That's right, my own solo electric guitar arrangement of a "Free Bird"/"Tuesday's Gone" medley!





Oh, wait.

I don't know how to play the guitar.

Sorry--never mind.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:08 AM | Comments (4)

Playing Catch-up, Day 2

The good thing is that there seems to be a lot of people on vacation, so that makes getting this mess done a lot easier, not having all that constant interruption from icky humans. The bad thing is there's a lot of mess. While I was out, I missed the second of our biweekly (or semi-monthly) regulatory meetings (the ones where I take minutes) and so I've been left with trying to decipher someone else's (actually, two other elses') notes, and it's not very easy, given their infirm grasp of the concepts associated with the tasks of listening and taking notes. And there was all the leftover junk no one did while I was gone. And there is my own incredible sense of apathy and/or ennui and/or lethargy.

NONE of which are entertaining! And by Jiminy, if there's something that Possumblog should be, it should be entertaining!

THEREFORE, I present to you a short excerpt from the thrilling book, The Life and Times of Wendell G. Fleen, Notary Public. It has all sorts of tender pathos and raging fury, much like what I go through on my daily job. From page 956:

[...] It was noon, which is lunchtime. I opened up my sandwich, which was made of sliced ham on bread. I ate it, and drank a cold cup of water I'd just gotten out of the cooler. Unbeknownst to me, a drop of water from that very cup dropped onto the Fridley/Sturtzen papers I was supposed to sign after lunch, and the drop spread nearly to the signature line before I noticed it. I quickly got a piece of blotting paper and pressed it onto the wet place on the paper, and saved it from certain ruin.

Then I finished my sandwich. [...]

SEE! Told you it was thrilling!

Anyway, now that you've been entertained for the morning, I'm going to get back to work for a while.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:27 AM | Comments (2)

July 02, 2007

Best new thing?

Well, for some reason Rebecca took a pen to Jonathan's hand and drew this:

a happy.jpg

"What's that?"

"I don't know--it just drew a smiley face on his hand, and then he wanted me to do something else to it so I made hair and arms and legs--and it makes me happy every time I see it!"

And doggone it if it doesn't make me react the same way!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:17 PM | Comments (0)

Things I didn't do.

Blog, use a computer, watch the news, read a newspaper, read a book, vacuum the floors, cut the grass, wash laundry.

Things I did do--watched several videos the kids brought with them, played cards, cooked, washed dishes, sweated, operated a paddle boat, learned my way around Fort Payne, went to the grocery store three times, heard a bobwhite, thought I'd lost my cell phone, drove around a lot, was impressed with the general tidiness of various small North Alabama towns, tried to keep the peace, stepped in multiple piles of animal manure of various types, sizes, and species.

Things I would have like to have done--gotten lost in the woods and forced a massive search and rescue operation to be carried out on my behalf, found several million dollars, not sweated as much, had more time to spend on vacation without worrying what I would face upon my return.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:47 PM | Comments (0)

Looks like I'm gonna have to get all Reader's Digest-y on you.

Let's hit the highlights:

Car: When I left Friday, I was headed home to fax a copy of my title to the insurance company, for what I assumed was proof of ownership. Reba freaked--"YOU'RE GIVING THEM YOUR CAR!?" No, I get to keep it, and they give me a partial settlement, and things are hunky dory. Until I kept hearing her concern in the back of my head, which caused me to do some Googling.

Bad.

Seems that in the State of Alabama, if you keep your car after it's been totaled, you're issued a salvage title. And you can't drive it, until you get a rebuilt title issued for the car. To do this?

If you decide to keep the car and rebuild it, you must obtain a rebuilder's license and rebuild/restore the vehicle to its prior condition. When you finish rebuilding it, you must have it inspected. This is to determine that no stolen parts were used to rebuild it and to ensure that your vehicle has been safely rebuilt. According to Alabama law, only a licensed rebuilder can apply for the inspection. The vehicle must be restored within Alabama only.To apply for a rebuilder's license, contact:

Alabama Department of Revenue
License Tax Section
P.O. Box 327550
Montgomery, AL 36132-7550

You will be provided with a license application and instructions that will explain the requirements and fees. State law requires that you post a $10,000 surety bond to become licensed. A surety bond is a contract guaranteeing that you will rebuild the vehicle.

Once you have met the rebuilder's license requirements, you must include the following documents with your application for a salvage vehicle inspection:

Application for Inspection of a Salvage Vehicle
Remittance Advice, Form INV 31-1
The original salvage title properly assigned to the owner/licensed rebuilder
Copy of rebuilder's license
$90 fee, payable by certified funds (application fee of $75 plus title fee of $15)


You'll also need the following Bill of Sale forms:

Notarized Bills of Sale for all major component parts. The forms must list the manufacturer's vehicle identification number of the vehicle from which the parts were removed.
Bills of Sale for all minor component parts. Notarization shall not be required unless the component part contains or should contain the manufacturer's vehicle identification number.

Mail the documentation to:

Department of Revenue
Automobile Inspection Unit
P.O. Box 327641
Montgomery, Alabama 36132-7641

When your vehicle has passed inspection, you will be issued a rebuilt license plate that will be permanently attached to the vehicle. You will be given a rebuilt title that allows you to drive legally on the highways.

IT'S JUST THAT EASY!!

Okay, that's not a good thing--I need the thing to drive, and I don't want to have to go through all that garbage to drive a car that is already drivable and fixed. Frantic call to my insurance agent (who had been on vacation) at his home to verify my understanding, he said yep, that's right. I felt a sinking feeling in my guts.

Thought I was going to be okay, though, because the agent in Mississippi said she wouldn't mail the check until she got my title copy. Of course, little did I know that it would be in the mail on SATURDAY!

But before that, I made the decision to go ahead and get my car and pay for it myself. I figured if the worst came, at least I wouldn't have to have it towed home or pay any storage fees for leaving it there at the dealer.

And getting it was an ordeal, as well. Tried to pay by check, but their processing service wouldn't clear it. I don't know why, because we both got paid Friday. So we had to go to the credit union ATM. Which would only let me get $500. So we needed more money. Like, our vacation money. And some of the money the kids had gotten as presents. 62,501 pennies is a lot, you know. Drove to ATM, got money, got my card flagged, went back home, got rest of money, drove back to dealership--all the time with two bewildered children in the backseat and a emotionally distraught wife in the front.

Paid $630. "Uh, do you have a penny--I don't want to have to give you back 99 cents in change." I could have smacked that woman right in her pugly face. But I didn't, because I am very nice. Went back out to the car and got a penny out of the floor. Paid, got my five bucks in change and my keys.

Home.

Over the past week, I've been leaving frantic voice mails on the agent's phone in Mississippi, telling her we simply had to work something different and that I wasn't going to cash the check right now. She called back today, but I still haven't actually talked to her. My agent called to offer some advice last week, which amounts to hoping they'll be willing to work on some other arrangement that won't require scrapping the car.

I weep.

Vacation: Well, obviously that wasn't a good start to things. Bright and early Monday we packed the van and headed to the bank to transfer some money from our rapidly dwindling nest egg to cover the car repair so when the check for the accomodation came in, it wouldn't bounce. THEN we headed out for our destination...

DeKalb County, Alabama! Nestled high atop Lookout Mountain, and home to DeSoto State Park, and Fort Payne, Sock Capital of the World!

We rented a little cabin at a place called Rooster's Rest, right on the outskirts of Fort Payne about three minutes from the state park. Absolutely wonderful place--the man and woman who own it are a youngish couple with a small farm and a couple of cabins on the property, and we stayed in the newer one that will sleep at least six, and pretty comfortably, too.

I can't say enough good things about the place--the owners, Jim and Donna Crowe--were perfect hosts and the cabin was perfect and the kids had a grand time because of the bed loft. The pasture fence comes almost right up to the front steps, and they have a couple of horses and so the kids (but most especially Catherine) were beside themselves. Also, there was a neighboring pasture that had a few head of cattle on it, and the feed trough was near the end of the driveway, and that attracted cows, which in turn also attracted Catherine. I think she petted and hugged every large farm animal for a half-mile radius. Also got to ride her around in the paddle boat and chase after the duck and the geese. She seemed overjoyed at that, too.

Anyway, although I don't usually make a habit of commercial endorsement, if you ever are in that area of our state, be sure to at least give them a call or e-mail and stay with them.

Activities: On the trip up on Monday, we made the trek to one of the other top tourist attractions in North Alabama, Unclaimed Baggage in Scottsboro. Yep, the place where your lost airline luggage winds up. I'd heard about this place forever, and wasn't quite sure what to expect. I'll say this, Scottsboro itself is a might on the ragged side, but the Unclaimed Baggage store itself is really pretty nice. It's not big, but it's clean, and relatively neat, and full of stuff. Clothes, especially. Of ever conceivable type and style. But more interesting to the kids, there were electronics.

Boy found a game for his Nintendo DS for $15, which regularly sells for over $30. Catherine found a nearly new Pixter for $15, which retails for $100, or around $60 on Amazon. And Rebecca. Poor thing. She'd just gotten herself a new iPod Nano a month ago, and then found a 30GB Video iPod. For $130. And the problem? She had enough cash to get it. She thought and thought for nearly an hour, trying to figure out what to do. She wanted a video one before, but didn't have $270 or whatever it cost. And if she got it, she'd have two, and only needs one. And what if it didn't work? (They will take it back for store credit, but there would still be the issue of driving to Scottsboro again.) Finally, she couldn't resist and had to get it. A black one, it didn't have a USB cord or earphones, but still it seemed like a good deal. It looked like it functioned right, but we wouldn't know until we got home that it was perfectly fine, and already loaded with the most current software. That's pretty hard to beat. She's still hiding it from Oldest, though, because she knows she'll be even more jealous than she was when she got the Nano. So, anyway, whoever you are who lost a video iPod on your last trip on an airliner, thanks!

Went from there on to the cabin, got unloaded, relaxed a bit, then went to eat at a restaurant since we weren't up on all the local grocery stores, and we also didn't want to have to cook anything.

Up Tuesday, went swimming at DeSoto. 3/4 of the kids got sunburnt, Rebecca didn't get in the pool. Went to the grocery store that afternoon and got food for the week. Began a Phase 10 card game that lasted until Thursday night.

Wednesday went touring--drove to Mentone to see the Wild Animal Park. Which I'm sorry to say was disheartening. All sorts of exotic animals (two tigers, a lion, two mountain lions/cougars, three bears, an ostrich, an emu, multitudes of monkeys, two ring-tailed lemurs, various camelids--including two camels--along with various domestic animals) that had all been rescued from people who couldn't care for them, now being cared for by people who seemed overwhelmed by the task at hand. Most of the animals looked well-fed, but they were in small enclosures that were pretty untidy, and the facilities themself looked like they were either in the middle of being torn down or rebuilt, and not very well in either case. The people who ran the place were nice and seemed kind and knowledgeable and well-intentioned, but it still made me uncomfortable.

Next stop, the Depot Museum in downtown Fort Payne, a nice little old Richardsonian Romaneque train depot from the late 1800s. Lots of content, but a bit lacking in focus. And again, missing that little something that can't be found simply by having enthusiastic volunteers, namely, upkeep. There's a line between just a pile of old junk and something worth seeing. Just because it was beloved by someone's Unc Zeb or Aunt Til doesn't mean that everyone will find it equally enchanting. And just because something is old doesn't mean it can't be kept clean and free of dust and other signs of indifference. I'm sounding mean, but by the time we got there, I was already a bit put off by other things. Anyway, skip the diorama trailer if you can help it. Oh, and for the record, "Stationary Air Hose" is not the same thing as "Stationery" and "Air Hose."

And the final stop, the Alabama Fan Club and Museum, devoted to the most famous of Fort Payne's citizens.

This was more a stop for Reba than me, since she was somewhat of a fan in their early days. It was--interesting--I guess, but once more, there were some tell-tale signs that there's not quite as much of a fan base as there used to be. Grass growing in the cracks in the faded parking lot tends to send that signal, as does the variety of water-spotted ceiling tiles in the small theater that has a looped video presentation of the band's career. They retired from performing in 2003, but the overall condition of the place made it seem like it had been much longer ago.

Back to the cabin, change clothes, head to church. Yes, even on vacation, we have to keep up with these things, lest we be beset with evil. Such as having a potential junk car in the driveway when we returned home. Nice little place right downtown.

Thursday, horseback riding! Not that I wanted to go--I was hoping for one day where we could stay in and not go spending the rest of our money. But alas, it was not to be. I had seen where the Cloudmont Ski Resort in Mentone also had horseback riding, so I called and they said it was raining there. Well, that's nice that someone was getting rain, but I had a child who was pitching a perfect little snotty fit to go ride and we needed to go. So we said we'd try it at 2:00 p.m., since I was sure the rain would stop. Good thing I'd been up on my prayers, because it did.

Got up and we started the short drive back to Mentone, and came in the front drive of Cloudmont. Drove, road narrowed. Drove, road became gravel. Drove, road became winding and narrow and gravel. Passed a girl's camp, and after another set of bumps and ruts, found ourself at the rustic office.

"Uhm, hey--we were supposed to go horseback riding? 'Oglesby'? At two?"

"Oh, well, you're looking for the ranch--just go back up here to the first dirt road on the right and follow that on around the golf course and then over the covered bridge."

Simple enough.

Got off the gravel road onto the dirt road, watched the golfers going at it, hit some ruts, drove. Drove. Road became a logging trail, approximately five feet wide. Found covered bridge, which was missing many floorboards. I didn't mention this. Made turn, crossed bridge and did not fall onto rocks below. Turned at end of bridge onto what was billed as the Old Military Road. It was a series of rocks, crevasses, humps, twists, turns, ruts, and washouts, all on a path that was only 7 inches wide and obviously laid out by a drunken Army engineer riding a unicycle while being attacked from all sides by wolves, bears, Indians, and car insurance agents. After a MILE of this, we finally found ourselves perched atop Lookout Mountain at the Shady Grove Dude Ranch.

Went to the office, and no one was in. And it didn't quite look like anyone had been in since about 1989. There were a couple of people caring for some horses across the pasture, so we walked over there, and found that these were the caretakers/ranchhands--a mother and her teenaged son. They saddled up two horses and a pony, I helped Rebecca and Catherine get up on their saddles, and then they were off on an hour-long adventure with the boy leading the way.

Miss Reba, Jonathan, and I stayed behind at the bunkhouse porch, listening to distant thunder and too-close mosquitos. Saw a couple of wild turkeys scoot across the trail on further up the way. Sure was a lot of nothing to do.

An hour passed, and they came ambling back down the gravel road, past a large dumpster. I'd seen this earlier, and wondered how a garbage truck could ever get into this place. Unless there was some easier back road.

The girls dismounted and we headed on out. The back way. Which, it turns out, was actually the FRONT way--a nice wide unpaved, but unrutted, road--about an eighth of a mile back out to the main drag. Gosh, if only we'd known. Went the wrong way at the gate, then got turned around right and went back to the crossroads where we'd first come by an hour earlier, which featured a huge array of decoratively rustic hand-painted signs pointing to various locations. Including one small one that mentioned something about a dude ranch. ::sigh::

Friday we left for home, but not before stopping to let Reba do some antique shopping in Fort Payne. She'd been very mopey about not getting to go see more trinkets and tchotchkis and bricabrac and junk, and obviously this was my fault because I am a bad person, so we stopped and parked and got out into the sauna that is your typical small Southern town in summer. Walked a bit, found a shop, went in, was eyed by a small proprietor man who exuded the quite miffed air of someone who'd been passed over for the lead in the local production of the Truman Capote Story. Lots of dirty, dusty junk. We stayed there forever, then left. By this time, Reba was less than thrilled with the prospect of further such shopping, so we got back in the van and headed home.

And there you go.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:34 PM | Comments (11)

Of COURSE I'm here!

What, you think just because I walked in this morning to a hornet's nest covered in elephant manure being dragged around by rabid bobcats riding on rattlesnakes with laser beams mounted on their heads that I don't have time to fill you in on all the pleasant and diverting details of my recent getaway to the quiet wilderness of DeKalb County!?

Well, I don't.

It's gonna have to wait, folks--I got too much to do at the moment and it all had to be done last week. BUT--be patient.

There WILL be some fresh meaty Possumblog SOMEtime in the very near future, assuming cleanup duty doesn't kill me.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:37 AM | Comments (4)

June 22, 2007

Chapter Five: The Reckoning

Well, I had a phone message from the appraiser yesterday, but it was late when I got it, and then when I got in touch with him this morning, he said he'd just called to introduce himself and that he'd looked at my humble hoopty and sent his information to the home office in Mississippi.

Who I just got off the phone with. Seems they're ready to just call it a total and be done with it. "But, but..." stammered I. Not that it helped. And not that I actually didn't expect that.

I suppose I'm satisfied with the offer --$761. As I noted yesterday, the total loss threshold in Alabama is 75% of fair retail value, and by my reckoning based on NADA that would have been somewhere around $1,300, being as charitable as possible. The values ranged from $775 for something in slightly worse condition than mine all the way to an astounding $1,800 for a museum piece. And also the price I paid for it. The value they gave me? $1,015.

Now I know noted negotiation professor Dr. Jim Smith is probably wincing that I didn't haggle about this more, seeing as how he wrote me yesterday not to be a pushover, and to get as much as I can out of them for this horror that has been visited upon me. And they pretty much came back very close to what I told Jim would be the worst case scenario--that being, offering even less money than it cost to fix it.

All his valuable negotiation skills were trumped by the fact that I really have no inclination to drag this out any longer. I've actually got someone with insurance, and the amount will cover the major part of the damage that was done, and there's still enough left over to salve my wounded pride, and I'll still have my car and be able to once again go in harm's way with it.

No, you do NOT have to take their first offer. You can present to them your own research about value, which can include what you paid for the car, and what you found that cars sell for on places such as eBay. You can request an independent mediator to decide on the value if you can't reach an agreement. You can fight as much and as long as you want.

But dang it all, I'm just glad I'm not going to be personally out $625.01. I had steeled myself for just that bit of savaging--that would have REALLY been the worst case, so I suppose it all works out.

Should have the check waiting on me next week sometime.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:12 PM | Comments (2)

June 21, 2007

Totally Chapter Four

Just had a very pleasant conversation with the insurance lady, who says that they'd gotten word from their appraiser that they might have to consider my vehicle as a total loss.

"For only $600 worth of damage!?" I asked, with a hint of quizzicality in my voice, but also having already pondered the possibility that the damage--when totalled all together with the bumper damage--could begin to press upwards toward the market value of the car.

"Well, the body shop there at the Volvo place gave us a $1,200 estimate just on fixing the bumper."

Obviously, they have a very high opinion of their work, which is fine, but still.

I explained my odd little view that there should be no reason to total a car that is running and servicable and only needs a small amount of bumper repair. She said the local adjuster/appraiser/agent had some more checking to do before she would know for sure, and would contact me sometime this afternoon or tomorrow with their conclusion.

It does seem strange, but it is the way things work. In Alabama, as in most states, unless your own insurance has replacement-value coverage and you try to recover some from them, if someone runs into you, their insurance company isn't expected to pay more than the car's worth to get it fixed. In Alabama, the total loss threshold is 75 percent of the fair retail value. Despite the moronic amount of attention I lavish on my humble lump of iron, it's still only worth what it's worth, and let's face it--it's not quite a Rolls-Royce.

So, now the trick is to keep the insurance folks involved and negotiate around the bumper damage and prevent them from issuing a declaration of total loss. Which should be quite fun, yes?

Sure.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:15 PM | Comments (6)

June 20, 2007

I wonder what sort of entertainment...

...Thursday will bring?

Hard to say, but given my recent vehicular gymnastics, this story is almost humorous.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:03 PM | Comments (0)

Chapter Three--Light at the End of the Tunnel

Sunshine? Or a train?

We shall see.

Got a call this morning from a nice lady with Safeway. Seems that there IS an insurance company involved! Exchanged pleasantries, and she got out the tape recorder. Basic information--name, rank, serial number. Oddly enough, she asked if the accident happened on June 10. Uh, well--no.

Went on to describe the events as they occurred, that I'd already authorized the Volvo shop to go ahead and fix the car, and that the bill for the engine work was $625.01, but that there was still the issue of the bumper damage that, although minor, still needed attention. Got through with factual matters, then in my closing remarks noted the various attempts I'd made to contact SOMEone to pay for this. Gave her the policy number I'd been given, and oddly enough, she says that IS the right number, and explained that maybe the Alabama office thought it was an Alabama policy. Which is odd, because I would have thought that all policy numbers were unique, just to keep down any confusion. And it had an "MS" in the middle, too. Peculiar.

Recounted my repeated polite calls to the driver for information, then the call from the driver's father telling me NOT to call his daughter ANY more, and that I really would like to have my car back as soon as possible.

Oddly enough, she still didn't have a copy of the accident report. Even though they are available online. And the other driver could have gotten one the same way I did, by going over to the police department. So I was very nice and faxed her a copy.

Now then.

Well.

Hmm.

I guess I wait and see what happens.

I wonder what that odd, high-pitched sound is? And that odd rumbling?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:44 AM | Comments (4)

Right up there with "Do these jeans make my butt look big?"

Was sitting there at the kitchen table this morning, quietly eating my whomp biscuit (thank you, Jerry Clower) and a glass of tea as my lovely bride sat with a bowl of Special K.

"What would you do if I got really skinny?"

Dang--just like when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor--I'm sitting there minding my own business and next thing you know I'm having to dodge torpedos! There's NO WAY to answer this well--if you say anything, it sounds like you're agreeing she DOES need to lose some weight, and even if she does, she doesn't WANT to think I think she's fat, and I don't WANT her to think I think she's fat, because when she thinks that, she gets all moody and doesn't want there to be any sort of nocturnal recreational activities, which makes me all agitated and jumpy.

"I, uh, well, I would probably tell you that you needed to eat something, or else you'd get sick, because you'd lost too much weight."

Yes, that was lame, but good grief, I was barely awake.

And, of course, since my parry was ineffectual, it only invited further discussion.

"No, I'm not talking about having anorexia--I'm just saying if I got really slim."

Drat.

"Well, I, uhh, you're--[get up and attempt to flee to refrigerator]--uhmm, how much do you think you would like to lose?"

I have GOT to start getting up earlier and getting woken up before having these conversations.

"...but Reba, I have to say, this one's awfully hard to answer and not get in trouble, sorta like asking 'do these pants make me look big.'"

She thought for a second, "No, I wasn't looking for a compliment..."

Aaaaa-HAA! I finally got confirmation of motivation behind The Question! I knew it all along, but girls, one of your own finally let it slip that you only ask that question when you want to be told you look nice! I KNEW IT!!

Now if I could only figure a way out of the fix I was already in.

"...I was just thinking that I'd like to get back to the size I was when I had Ashley."

I continued attempting to affect my extrication from this situation with questions about what size she thought she should be, and avoided tripping any of the wires crisscrossing the area, or running across one of the laser beams, and sidestepped the mines, and managed to change the subject right as I jumped out of the way of the crocodile tank, which was full of sharks, too.

I did this by changing the subject when Rebecca came in the kitchen.

Thank goodness for the cavalry.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:19 AM | Comments (10)

June 19, 2007

Movement

Well, now.

Apparently it pays to continue to leave phone messages. Just now got a call from the young lady's father. Who seemed quite perturbed that his daughter had been receiving all these telephone calls. Seems his daughter was also offended by the fact that almost as soon as the wreck happened, I was on my cell phone.

Hard to imagine I would have had such nerve, eh?

He said he was going to go talk to his insurance company, the name of which he would not give me. He said he'd take care of it. And not to call his daughter ANY more.

Well, fine. At least I did get an actual land-line number for him, which I was able to look up and find. Apparently it's his business line. Again, that's fine by me.

Says he'll call me back Thursday.

We'll see.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:17 PM | Comments (4)

Wow.

That was fast.

Martin just now called and said the car was ready. And on the even brighter side, it turned out to be $75 less than what he thought it was going to be. The dark side is that it's still $625.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:59 PM | Comments (0)

HEY!

I think I'll cancel all my insurance, and forget about ever renewing my driver's license ever again! Seems to be of no consequence, despite all that claptrap you hear about "laws" and stuff like that. Tsk--silly people!

Yep--as you can probably guess, I'm still in the process of being worked over as if I were some sort of golden-haired Grecian slave boy in a den of randy catamites.

I checked a State of Mississippi DMV website yesterday, and it seems the driver's license number on the accident report comes back as an invalid number. Sure, it could be a simple computer error, but given the fact that the person who hit me now refuses to answer her phone or return calls, and given the fact that I attempted to contact the ONLY family [listed in the phone book--Ed.] who carries her surname in Smithdale, Mississippi, and they disavowed any knowledge of anyone with her given name or any knowledge of a 1996 Chevrolet Silverado, and did so in a most peculiarly confrontation way, well, I just have a feeling that the driver's license thing is only a part of a wider-ranging pattern of misbehavior.

I have to say, this is most uncomfortable.

ANYway, I have actual paying work I have to get done this morning, so all of you keep yourselves entertained for a few minutes while I get that wrapped up.

[Edited 6-20-07 to remove license number since it could potentially be valid, and to note that the phone book doesn't necessarily reflect the ENTIRETY of the population of a particular town.]

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:28 AM | Comments (9)

June 18, 2007

The Intricate Dance With The Tortious Offender and Her Insurance Company, Chapter One

Ever have one of those nightmares where you're being chased by someone wielding a GIGANTIC ELECTRIC SCREWDRIVER?

All I know is that if Dante ever came back to life, he'd tear up the Divine Comedy and start writing about car insurance.

SO, let's see--I get hit, and my car won't run. Have to have it towed in. I expect that the police report will have the other driver's information such as a local address, phone number, and oh, I don't know, maybe their insurance policy number. Because before the other driver left, I asked the officer if the report would have all of her information on it. He said it would. Wait 72 business hours for report to be readied.

TODAY, go to PD and pick up report. Notice that there is no insurance number on there. Let out a little high-pitched imaginary scream.

Back to the phone. First find the girl's name and do some preliminary Googling. UAB student, pre-nursing. No local number. But she does have a MySpace page. I do know that she works at Brookwood Hospital. Call there first. Get the runaround from the charge nurse on the floor where she supposedly works.

"Will she be in today?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know what days she's scheduled to work?"

"NO. She might be here tomorrow."

Gosh--that gives me all kinds of confidence in the quality of care I'd receive at Brookwood!

Okay, I have her number in Mississippi, but before I chase that rabbit, I'll try some interaction with her insurance company, the mighty vaunted Safeway. Call, nice young man tells me he has no one by that name in his system. Tells me he has no one by that address listed in his system. I ask what I think is a darned good question--can they search by Vehicle Identification Number? You know, since they insure Vehicles, that all have Identification Numbers. "No sir, I'm sorry, but we can't search by VIN. You're going to have to get your insurance to pay for this."

[internal monologue] Well, you see, little weasel rat, I don't carry collision on my car, although I do have insurance, unlike your supposed client. In any event, there IS no one to go after except the person who hit me. [/internal monologue]

"Okay, well, let me see if I can find her and get the insurance policy number."

I have absolutely no hope of finding anyone at the number she gave me. Call, and darned if she doesn't answer! Maybe it's a cell phone number. Anyway, I introduce myself as nicely as possible, ask her for the insurance policy number, and she rattles it off after a second or two. I thank her profusely and happily call back her insurance company, the obdurate, yet obtuse Safeway.

Get another person this time, confidently give her the policy number. "Jamie Forehand?"

"Uhh, no." I gave her the name of the girl, and the vehicle, and guess what? That person was not listed on the insurance, and it was for a different vehicle. And it had been cancelled two years ago.

Which means either she showed the officer a valid insurance card at the scene, and mistakenly gave me the wrong number in her haste, OR she gave him and me the same number, and he neglected to notice the card was TWO YEARS OUT OF DATE. [Update 6-20-07--Just got off the phone with the actual insurance agent, and oddly enough, she shows that number as valid, and offered the explanation that the Alabama agent may have thought it was an Alabama policy, rather than a Mississippi policy. Which is odd--you'd think policy numbers would be unique. Oh well.]
I was offered some consolation by the claims person on the phone, who laughed in a smirky sort of way and said I might have to sue in small claims court.

Yep, it's a real laugh riot, ain't it.

Called back my rearender, apologized for the bother, and told her the number she'd given me showed up as having been cancelled two years ago. She said she must have gotten the wrong number, and said she'd have to look for it and call me back later. I gave her my number, which she said wasn't showing up on her caller ID. I'm glad I was able to help her screen her calls better! That's me--Mister Polite Helpful Man!

With Internal Rage Issues!

Who's Probably Going to Drop Dead With A Giant Bursted Aorta Caused By The Unresolved Stress Caused By Various Disaffected Losers Who Can't Seem To Lose Their Attraction To Him!

Called my agent just to get some advice on what all to expect in the coming days. He was on vacation. ::sigh::

Called the Volvo shop, told them to go ahead and start working up an estimate for me so I'll know just exactly how many times the person chasing me with the gigantic electric screwdriver is going to have to change batteries before they're done with me.

And thus ends Chapter One.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:28 AM | Comments (7)

Just like when the babysitter says...

...that your baby took his first steps while you were away at the movie.

Boy--at the tender age of 13--drove a truck with a stick shift this weekend, and I wasn't anywhere around. ::sniff:: My little boy's all growed up and I missed every last bit of it!! ::sniff::

I had dropped him off at the church building in the capable hands of Mr. Tom, a top-notch young man himself, and they got to work trimming the edges of the great big 5 acre lawn the building sits upon. The plan was for them to do that, then get some lunch and hang out. Boy got back to the house about 3:00, and the first thing he did was excitedly tell me about getting to drive Mr. Tom's truck around the yard hauling equipment to and fro.

Such a wound I have suffered! WOE IS ME!

Not really. Well, not much really. But I do wish I'd gotten to see him. Underage motor vehicle operation is such a rite of passage amongst men of my ilk, and then the fact that it was a manual transmission to boot, well, it does create just the tiniest pang. And to make it even worse, after it was over, Mr. Tom's wife let them come to their house and play video games in their stinking yardwork clothes. I think I must be jealous!

Anyway, at least I was able to stay home and do the laundry.

Reba and Rebecca went up to the pet store, and both of them had a great time. Ten full hours of it, as a matter of fact. I think Rebecca is going to enjoy doing this particular volunteer gig. She got to walk the doggies and let them soil the landscaping outside the doorway of the Kohl's store, and clean up giant puddles of piddle in the store, and play with them and even answer some questions for customers who came in when the actual paid staff were off chatting or hiding in the restroom. The biggest problem is going to be keeping her from bringing home every puppy she sees.

As for me, in between laundry loads, I did manage to get some nifty solar-powered spots installed inside the gazeb-- the Childrens' Large Fabric Playhouse so they don't have to have the Coleman lantern out there when they play cards and such. Worked out quite nicely--a light in each corner and two up in the top, and two collector cells mounted down low on the wood deck. There's not that many locations where they would have gone and still been able to get any sunshine.

And for Father's Day? Well, they still went and got me something--a nifty grill set, and a new pair of swim trunks and shirt for when we go on vacation, and best of all, hugs and kisses.

Now then--I have much to do this morning, staff meeting, and then off to the Homewood PD to pick up my accident report and SR-13, and then the intricate dance will begin with the offender's insurance company. I look forward to this slightly less than being given an vasectomy by an angry babboon using a rusty can lid.

Anyway, check back for updates.

AND SPEAKING OF UPDATES!

The winner of the NAME THAT JUVENILE PEREGRINE FALCON BAND CAPTION CONTEST POLL is none other than N'sync, singing "YO, We're Not as White as We Look," coming in at an astounding, incredible FIFTY out of 57 votes cast! We congratulate the winner, Skinnydan of Lawn Guyland, Noo Yoik, and hope he enjoys his prize of a year's supply of P.G.T. Beauregard's Fried Catfish Nuggets, generously provided by our sponsor Possumblog Kitchens.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:07 AM | Comments (6)

June 15, 2007

Time to close up shop for the day.

I still have junk to do, of course, but I think it's time to lock the door and start mopping up and adding up the receipts.

Good week--a piece of foil, and a button!

The weekend beckons--at least I don't have to cut grass, seeing as how it's no higher than it was last weekend. Rebecca gets to start her new summer volunteer position at a local pet shop helping the animal shelter folks who run pet adoptions there. She's very excited about it, although not quite sure what all she'll be doing. I reckon a lot of puppy piddle and poo pickup. She'd better get used to it. She's still saying she wants to go to vet school, so the more stuff like this she does, the better.

Boy will be doing yardwork elsewhere, I think. We have a group of men at church assigned to do grasscutting and stuff, and one of them asked Jonathan if he wanted to help cut the high stuff the tractor can't reach. Of course, Boy was eager to get out of the house and hang out doing stuff that people other than ME assigned to him, but I have a feeling the novelty will wear off quickly. Then again, he might fool me. Meaning I'll have to dig up our yard and move it across town to the church property if I want him to help me cut it.

Anyway, all of you have a good weekend and Lord willing I'll see you all again next week, AND we'll announce the winner of the Bird Band Namin' Contest--remember to vote!

OH, and to all you dads out there! Have a very happy Father's Day!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:52 PM | Comments (2)

RAIN!

We were about to eat supper last night, and as is the usual custom we had the window blinds drawn so I could look outside at the slowly baking to a crisp yard and the various wildlife that happens by, such as the chubby doves eating seeds off the ground and the chubby kid across the street who seems to think our yard is the bestest shortcut ever.

Anyway, I asked Jonathan to say the prayer for us, again as is the usual custom, but this time I asked him to put in something extra in addition to the thanks for the food and family and things--a special request for some rain. It had been raining all around us all afternoon, and I could feel the cool wind blowing in from the north and the west and could smell that SOMEone was getting a shower. And the thunder--just over the next ridge, it seemed, but never quite over the top of us.

So he said his sweet little prayer, and added in the part about some rain, and said his amens, and as we sat there, I noticed a flash, and then, raindrops.

Sweet precious rain.

I told Jonathan he must have done a good job on his praying.

And then the rain stopped.

Obviously, I had to upbraid him for that and told him to pray harder next time. (Yes, he knew I was joking with him.) I was glad to get what little we got, and glad others got some, too. In the past, City Stages has been a pretty reliable monsoon-generator, so maybe that'll come true again this year.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:20 AM | Comments (3)

Check...check...sibilance...sibilance...

Yeppers, once again, Father's Day weekend is coming up, and once again, I have a seat at the epicenter of the entire City Stages musical festival, a window right behind the main stage.

And, as has been the case for the past eleven years I've sat here, it's now time for the sound check.

In a break from the usual Groundhog Day-like predictability of this occurence, I not only get to hear the repetitive mike test, I have also just been aurally assaulted by a full blown speaker test using some sort of prerecorded "music." It sounds something like the mouth-breathing miscreant who drives slowly through our neighborhood every night with his stereo turned up, except instead of an annoying thumpathumpathump coming through the walls, there was a heart-stopping thrumming bass that could set off car alarms for a one mile radius.

Thankfully, it only lasted several minutes, OH, wait--it's started up again. Something different this time--something in the flannel shirt and disaffection genre. HEY! THERE'S that driving solo crashing guitar riff! Nice!

I guess that's what I get for working in such a hip location.


UPDATE: 12:06 p.m. A different sound check now, one I'm assuming is to set the levels for a rap act, since the entirely of the check consists of a guy saying hey. hey. hey. hey. hey. hey. hey. hey. hey. yo.

Frankly, I have to say it needs more cowbell.

UPDATE: 2:10 p.m. Now THAT'S a sound check! They've got some folks jamming out there right now with some drums and some Claptonianesque-sounding guitar work, and even just messing around, whoever it is sounds really good. Hmm--just looked out there and the guy playing lead looks like Kenny Stabler--the current grandpappy version. Maybe he's one of these guys.

UPDATE: 3:01. Okay, now I might have to go fling a chamberpot full of ordure out the window. There's a group out there now doing a check with some kind of weird, flat, four-part barbershop harmony version of the Steve Miller Band classic "Keep on Rockin' Me Baby." Absolutely dreadful. I hope it's not actually a group that's performing and is maybe just a group of bums who snuck up there and grabbed some instruments.

UPDATE: 4:42 p.m. Boy, I tell you what--it never fails. I looked outside a few minutes ago and the sky had gotten angry-looking, and just now I heard the sound of a few big fat raindrops hitting the window sill. There's a line of rain stretching out in a west-northwest line--I'm sure it'll blow over quickly, but City Stages seems to have held onto its title as a surefire rainmaker.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:58 AM | Comments (0)

June 14, 2007

Wow, it sure has been a busy day.

And it's almost over with! A trip to the orthodontist with Boy to get his tooth hitched to some sort of medieval torture device. His oral surgery went fine and he's done a good job of keeping his newly-exposed tooth bright and shiny with Q-Tip applied toothpaste. And even better, only eight more payments to go!

Remind me in my next life to have kids with straight teeth. Or be an orthodonist instead of an architect.

Anyway, see you all on the morrow, and I'll even think about trying to get a photo of Lighting for you to ponder!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:33 PM | Comments (0)

Father's Day for Terry

I told Reba not to let the kids get me anything too expensive this year, because I was wanting us to save money for getting my car repainted at the vocational school paint shop in September. Of course, this was before I got rear-ended and so whatever I was going to save up for might get exhausted just getting the car out of the shop it the other person's insurance doesn't pay but $12.79, BUT BE THAT AS IT MAY, every dad still wants a little something to remind him of just how hot and manly he is.

So, in that vein, I would like to put in a request for some of these:

chuck norris action jeans.jpg

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:16 AM | Comments (10)

June 13, 2007

And now, this afternoon...

...I've just been in a terribly depressed mood. That's what I get for looking around on the Internets and finding out more than I wanted to know about my tortfeasor's insurance carrier.

Nothing good is going to come of this little episode, and it will not be one of those things I will look back on in the future and chuckle about. Unless, you know, I start my own fly-by-night insurance company. Seems like a good gig, if you can get it.

Anyway, sorry to be so unentertaining.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:14 PM | Comments (0)

Worse?

Now I have to do all the paperwork I was supposed to do when I got into the office.

Talk about adding insult to injury!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:18 AM | Comments (0)

Well, now, ain't THAT a kick in the head.

Or an exceedingly firm shove in the back.

Had gotten through with my meeting, made a run to the store for nothing of consequence, was waiting to turn right into traffic and WHAM!

A girl in a Chevy pickup truck rammed into the back of me.

Luckily, she wasn't going that fast, but it was enough to send my rear bumper askew, and worse, to do something that made the engine start running like a washing machine full of bowling balls. Couldn't get the transmission into Park, either.

Crap.

Called the police, waited, a motorcycle cop showed up and took our information and wrote up his report (which won't be available until Monday), and then waited until the tow truck showed up. Got flat-towed over to Royal Volvo, waited for the service guy to get me written up, got a ride back here, and I just realized that I don't have anything like a piece of paper or form that says Royal has my car, and that is it MY car, and not to give it to some bum who walks in off the street (because bums LOVE 20 year old Volvos), AND I don't have my parking deck card, and I didn't realize the police report wouldn't be ready until Monday, so I didn't worry about getting the girl's name and phone number and insurance company because the cop said it would be on the report and I figured I could pick it up tomorrow.

AND all I can think about is what will happen if her insurance is some company that consists of a desk, an answering machine, and a Bahamian bank account.

But other than that, it was a very nice morning.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:07 AM | Comments (13)

June 12, 2007

Something I've never done before.

Until yesterday evening, that is.

I went outside to defy the local watering ban to ensure Catherine doesn't have a massive crop failure, and as I watched the tiny evil sprinkler give a bit of juice to her tomatoes and cucumbers and radishes, I sat there in our new quite comfortable chairs underneath our metal-framed fabric shadecloth, and didn't do a blessed thing.

Supper had been eaten, there was nothing to do but sit, and I did it with great abandon, listening to the occasional bird chirp and the pattering of water droplets on the dry ground, and catching the ever-so-frequent whiff of dog crap from my neighbor's house. Good grief--it's like living next to a hog farm. What do they feed that danged thing?

Aside from that, however, it was actually nice to be able to sit outside all contemplative like in a very nice square tenty thing. Maybe I will take up smoking cigars and drinking booze to add to the air of fleshly self-satisfaction. Would probably do well, too, at covering up the stench of Rover the Clydesdale.

Oh, and before any of you start griping that I was watering! in the middle of a drought! using a sprinkler!, let me remind you that I never water our grass, wash our cars, do an incomplete load of dishes or clothes, and never leave the faucet running when I brush my teeth. I figure I've saved enough over my lifetime to be able to douse my baby girl's little 8x8 vegetable patch whenever it needs it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:16 PM | Comments (5)

HEY! Things to talk about!

From the comments earlier, this smattering of conversationalism:

That's what you get for thinkin'!

Hmm? What?

How about your thoughts on Lilek's new endeavor, buzz.mn? It's funny(strange) to see him blogging rather than bleating. I still have not decided if I'll take the time to make a daily visit or two to his buzz.mn site. I suppose it will depend if he lets the Bleat slip. He says he won't but we all know how promises in the blogosphere go, particularly when it comes to pledges on maintaining a site.

Posted by: Marc V at June 12, 2007 11:38 AM

He said ominously. Hey, just wait--there may be even more people like that. One never can be too certain, you know.

ANYway, for those of you who don't know, go here first. I like it pretty much good okay fine. It's different, but in a goodish sort of not-the-sameness that suits his style and sense of urgency and desire to catalog everything and everyone and label it with a Sharpie and place it in a protective plastic sleeve and place them in a Tupperware stacking bin then stack it on a shelf with the perfectly scented sachet for the season. AND I LIKE THAT! I really do appreciate his seeming inability to NOT find something interesting and of worth in everything he comes across. I do fear that the novelty might wear off after the first twenty years or so, sort of like what happened to Possumblog around the '74-'75 season before we traded Villarosa and Mills to Tampa. Everyone had gotten used to relying on them to come up with new crap, and when they couldn't, well, the turnstiles stopped turning.

Thankfully, the '77-'78 season was a good turnaround and it's been rocking pretty well since then, but I credit this more to the "Every Night is Hat Night!" promotion, and making sure all of our grandstand vendors were very attractive women.

ANYway, I like it, although I still check our own homegrown al.com site much more often because it's local and we have a lot of crazy crap going on all the time.

Next up, this:

Sorry, I've been offline most of the AM, relocating all my office equipment from one side of a cubicle wall to the other side. That's right, I moved from facing north to facing south on the opposite side of a wall.

What a pain. There are still files to move and my phone is still plugged in on the wrong side but otherwise, I'm hooked up and back in business. The good news- I've still got a window. The bad news- my monitor now faces the corner where my boss comes out of his office...

Posted by: Nate at June 12, 2007 12:20 PM

No need to apologize, Nate, although I would suggest that your task might have been easier if you'd a wooden scooter carved from a tree trunk by a Southeast Asian hilltribesman.

We could talk about the TP my church is now buying. It seems to be “optical” quality. Meaning that while it is thin enough to read through it does seem to have some refractive properties.

Posted by: jim at June 12, 2007 12:22 PM

Maybe you'd be better off stealing some of that nice two-ply from the Marshalltown courthouse.

It would be nice and cushiony, and you'd have no reason to explore whether or not you can read through it!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:09 PM | Comments (4)

OOOOH!

I know what'll be exciting!!

Watching the telephone while the secretary goes to lunch!

UPDATE: That wasn't nearly as much fun as I thought it would be. Well, I mean, after I got through reading the newspaper and the office supply catalog and the dictionary it wasn't.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:39 AM | Comments (0)

I thought...

...maybe there would be a bit more to talk about this morning.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:58 AM | Comments (3)

Memories

If you live around here, you probably saw reports similar to this story all day yesterday on the television.

Back when I worked at The Bad Place, one of my bosses had a membership there. For some reason, I'd forgotten that we always had our office Christmas parties there, and once I was reminded of that, it also occurred to me that it was also the site of my first date with Miss Reba.

She almost told me no, because she was still trying to rebuild her life and raise a baby after her first husband died, and she wasn't sure she could bring herself to go out on a date. And I'd given her the excuse that it was on a Wednesday night, and she was, and is, pretty scrupulous about not missing the midweek services at church.

But, she went. After being urged--strenuously--to do so by her mother and dad. (Thanks, folks!) She wore a red dress and had her hair fixed all pretty, and we sat with the fun set of my coworkers, and everyone was in a (rare) good mood, and I got to be cute and charming and perform my stellar rendition of one of those cheap movie projectors they showed health films on when you were in grade school, and the meal was a passable, very nearly realistic version of something resembling food.

She had a good time, and I thanked her for going with me and gave her a kiss on the cheek at the door when I got her back to her house.

Talk about your life-changing experiences.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:05 AM | Comments (0)

June 11, 2007

One of the signs something might be wrong with you.

If over the past weekend you had a dream that contained Jim Nabors singing an off-key version of a local radio show's theme song, while he's playing on the floor with a frisky little puppy that breaks wind in his face.

I only WISH I was making that up.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:16 PM | Comments (4)

Wear Your Safety Glasses.

I've always been concerned about safety, at least in the abstract. Just like everyone else, though, in practice I've done stuff in ways that are unsafe, with the idea that since I was being extra-careful otherwise, I could get away with it, or that I could get away with not having to stop and go get some sort of safety equipment to put on.

Once more, I was reminded that Murphy's Law rules this world.

While I was cutting the grass, I'd given Jonathan the assignment of cleaning out Lighting's swank bachelor pad, then after that, the task of finishing breaking apart that old rotten rocking chair on the back porch. The washdown chore went fine, but then I saw him attempting to break the chair down. He was at first trying to do it by hand, which was comical but counterproductive, so I told him to go get a hammer and knock it down.

On a pass back around from the front to the back, I saw he'd gone and gotten the little heavy hand maul out of the garage. Not what I would have recommended, but it did have the benefit of mass. HOWEVER--he was still not quite understanding the best way to tear the chair apart. He was over there tap-tap-tapping with this big giant hammer, and barely making a dent in the chair.

Being "Big Me," I manfully strode over to him in a confident, manly, manful way and in my best Foghorn Leghorn voice demanded that he hand over the maul and let him be schooled by a manly man in how to destroy something quickly and efficiently. He'd gotten the seat part loose, and was about to try to tap each of the slats away from the two stretchers underneath.

[internal monologue] WHY, I SAY, BOY! It's OBVIOUS you just take this he'ah hamma' and whack those stretchers off with one big whack and all the slats will just fall apart! NO use to do 'em one by one, Boy! [/internal monologue]

"Let me show you, Son--just knock this one piece of wood off and all the slats will fall off."

I hammered the strip of wood off, and sure enough, they all came loose. Hammered the other strip off, and the slats were all completely free. Well, except for one. I leaned down to finish knocking it off, and just as it broke free, it rebounded up and the end of it caught me square in the eye.

Felt just like I'd been punched.

The only thing that saved me from a trip to the emergency room (and the possible loss of an eye) was the fact that I had my glasses on, and they do have shatterproof lenses. But I would have been better off to have a clear work area, and not been so eager to act quite so butch, and done a bit better job of being careful.

There's still a faint white mark diagonally across my left lens where the slat hit it.

Handy reminder, that.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:12 AM | Comments (4)

Leporidae Update!

I know you've all been craving this information, so I must report that upon our return from our shopping trip Saturday, we once again espied the little brown bunny rabbit I'd seen the other day.

Obviously, such a site as a little wild bunny causes children to lose their minds, so they piled out of the van and went bounding off to go look at the tiny wild bunny. For some reason, the bunny was not interested in being seen.

And the biggest news?

"Catherine--is that Kelly the Bunny?"

"No, Dad--that's Sarah."

Oh, I see. She's finally grown out of the 'name every animal or toy some variation of a hard-K-sound name' phase. Either that, or she ran out of variations on the theme.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:50 AM | Comments (0)

Boy, it's hot.

I tell you, there's something to this whole global warming thing. I remember that it wasn't even six months ago and it was freezing cold, and now it's blazing hot. Weird.

GOOD MORNING!

A very acceptable weekend--got the grass cut finally. Took a while--Catherine, of all people, wanted to help. I got her to go put on a pair of jeans and a regular pair of shoes, and let her cut about three or four passes and the allure--such as it is--quickly evaporated. Too hot, too dusty, too much interference from Dad who insists the lines be perfectly straight.

Further slowing things down was a clogged air filter. Puttering along and then it just wheezed to a stop. Took it over to the garage door and got my screwdriver and opened the cover and it was like opening a can of dirt. Tapped out as much as I could (because I didn't want to have to stop and go buy a new filter) and put it back on and was ready to go. Cut, mow, cut, mow, empty bag, cut mow cutmowcutmow.

And then---brrrrrrrrPOPBANG!

That was a very weird noise. Everything was fine and then it blowed up or something.

Stopped and looked, and discovered that the spark plug had been blown out of the cylinder head! Now I've never seen anything like that. I don't know if I had at some time in the past pulled the plug and didn't torque it back down tight or what, but apparently it's been running like that for a while, and finally managed to vibrate itself loose before being shot out the end of the engine. Good thing it was still connected by the plug wire or it would have shot across the street.

The rest of the cutting was uneventful. If dusty. Did I mention how dusty it was? And hot? Because it was.

After that, it was off to go look for something to go inside the Children's Large Fabric Playhouse. (No one appreciated my joke about Paddy O'Furniture.)

Went to K-Mart, went to Sam's, went to Wal-Mart. Finally found the one we thought would be just right. They were sold out of it. Went to the next closest Wal-Mart down the road in Roebuck. They had it, and it was on sale same as it was closer to home. The problem?

Absolutely the slowest induhviduals (thanks to Scott Adams) in the world assigned to go get it out of the stockroom and bring it to the curb. A smaller problem is that it came in two boxes, and one of the boxes was huge. The chairs weren't knocked down, but were already assembled, and so the box took up the entire back end of the van.

Whatever--we did manage to get it home and unloaded and put the table together and set out on the platform and it looks pretty darned good. Even if I didn't get the glider I wanted.

Best part?

Well, after church last night, the kids wanted to go out there and eat supper and play cards. I lit up the Coleman lantern, they got their food and cards, and spent an enjoyable hour or so out there. Sure, they had bugs and odd noises and not a lot of light to see what was going on, but they had a good time and managed not to kill each other. In fact, they enjoyed spending time together and didn't require electronic stimulation.

That's hard to beat.

ANYway, more later--I have to go sit in the Monday morning meeting and pretend to be awake.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:24 AM | Comments (12)

June 08, 2007

About that time, folks.

All of you go and have yourselves a wonderful weekend, and then come back here Monday and let's compare notes.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:10 PM | Comments (0)

I tell you, it's just one thing after another.

First, the rain, and just now the maintenance guy came by and replaced the ballast in the fixture above my drafting table, said luminaire having been dark for nearly a year, and installed new tubes in that one and in the OTHER fixture beside it that had only 2/3 of the tubes operating.

AND, Mike the Aging Hippie e-mailed me earlier with an unconfirmed rumor that The Bad Place (our former place of employment) is about to go tango-uniform at the end of the month.

Too much good news in one day?

Let's hope not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:30 PM | Comments (0)

I smelled it from five stories up.

The dank smell of rain on hot paving.

Not many smells are sweeter when you've been praying for rain in the middle of a drought. Not sure how much is going to fall or how long it will last, but it sure is nice to see.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:50 AM | Comments (1)

And you know what else?

I went outside to leave this morning and there was a little brown bunny rabbit sitting out by the tree limbs I'd put at the curb!

It was very cute and Peter Cottontaily-looking. I thought about going back in and getting the kids, but I figured it would run away before I got back out. I decided just to go get a closer look, because it was cute, but of course, it darted out and ran away as I got closer. Right toward the still-open garage door!

Dern.

Luckily, it swerved around the front of the car and ran into the shrubbery at the front of the house. Being stupid, I decided to see if I could see where it went, and heard it rustling over toward the opposite side of the house. I must have gotten ahead of it though, because just after I got beyond the front door, it dashed back the way it had come. Toward the still-open garage door.

Dern.

I never saw it again, so I closed up the door and came on to work, and I'm hoping it's not leaving little round pills all over the garage.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:26 AM | Comments (4)

So, I got here this morning...

...and got upstairs and was nearly overcome by the humidity on our floor. It's like the air conditioning wasn't working or something. I stopped by the restroom by the elevator bank and nearly busted my rear end, because the terrazzo floor was slick with condensation. It was like a sauna. The actual office is a bit better--still stuffy and damp feeling, but not quite as bad as the elevator lobby was, but then I noticed my computer was screwy. I had left it on, but for some reason the log in screen was up.

Hmm. I wonder what the deal must be--spies? Saboteurs?

No.

Squirrel.

Got this e-mail from our emergency coordinator dude a few minutes ago:

A squirrel got into the high-voltage system supplying City Hall this morning and caused an outage in our immediate area. Fortunately, Alabama Power has provided temporary power to the area, including City Hall. They will be switching over to the regular power sometime later this morning, which may result in a momentary shut-down of power, including the computer system.

Stupid tree rats.

On the plus side?

ROASTED SQUIRREL FOR BREAKFAST!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:12 AM | Comments (2)

June 05, 2007

Okay, it's not like I was TRYING to be all John Edwardsy.

It's just that there wasn't any shampoo in the shower this morning OTHER than the two (incredibly expensive) bottles of girly salon goo--one was just regular Healthy Sexy Hair Soymilk Shampoo, the other, Healthy Sexy Hair Chocolate Soymilk Shampoo.

It was either use one of those, or wash my hair with deodorant soap.

So, I used the chocolate. Smelled like I was showering in Ovaltine. And all I could think of was how silly all this stuff is. That is, until I read this: British women prefer chocolate to sex: poll . All makes sense now, I guess--the shampoo comes from Great [sic] Britain after all, and apparently the women there like their chocolate more than their men. Such as they are.

Still, I am haunted by the fact that this stuff is in MY house. Could this be some sort of not-so-subtle hint regarding my declining he-manly attractiveness!? And rather than just going ahead and lathering my head with a bar of Lever 2000, did I inadvertently make matters even worse by poncing it up with a dollop of chocolate shampoo!? Chocolate soy milk shampoo, that not only will make my hair shiny, but make me grow girly bits and desire to watch Music and Lyrics--again!

I've GOT to be sure to stop by the store on the way home and get a gallon bottle of Sam's Choice shampoo/dishwashing detergent.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:41 AM | Comments (13)

June 04, 2007

Oh, yeah. I forgot.

The Childrens' Large Fabric Playhouse will need furniture.

Of course, certain members of my household think it should be equipped with something large and pretty and furniturey and more costly than our indoor furniture.

Other members of the household believe there's nothing wrong with decorating out of the Briscoe Darling/Samford and Son catalog, seeing as how the doodads and furbelos in question will be used by our children, and probably by strangers who seem to have made a habit of getting to the street behind us by walking along our property line, and by various rabid woodland creatures.

A nice porch glider, some deep chairs, and a flat place to put your feet up sound okay by me, and I can't see why that would have to cost more more arms and legs than I have.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:21 PM | Comments (0)

Up early...

...Sunday, walking around like an arthritic crab. I've resolved from now on to only eat Rice Krispies for breakfast to muffle the sound of my joints snapping, crackling, and popping.

Got everyone up and dressed, and it was off to church.

I was still a bit fatigued, and during the Sunday School lesson I kept getting very close to nodding off, then would have one of those odd semi-lucid dreams where I'm on a ladder and the gutter just brushed past my outstretched fingertips as I was falling toward the ground. I did my best to mask my sudden twitches of reawakening by acting like I was shifting in my seat or fixing my sock.

Good sermon after that, and then it was on to home for lunch, consisting of all the food that was left over from the previous night, and then Mom took Rebecca for her special surprise, going to Wal-Mart to finally spend her Christmas money, as well as some time with just her and Mommy. (Well, Catherine had to go, too.) Rebecca's been saving since Christmas, although we were never quite sure what for.

So, off they went, leaving me to watch multiple re-runs of M*A*S*H* in place of the rained-out Dover race. You know, I remember thinking M*A*S*H* was funny. It was when it started, I guess, but boy, they were phoning it in by the time they got to BJ and Winchester. And not even using very good telephones. What absolute crap.

Dozed a bit, and then the girls got back. And Rebecca had managed to get herself a new blue 4G iPod Nano! Of course, she knew Oldest would be jealous (Oldest, who gets more money for Christmas, but refuses to save any of it) but she didn't care. So, we've take one more step into the 21st Century.

But before we could play with it, it was time to head back to church for evening worship and the kickoff of Vacation Bible School. It was my turn to lead singing, and of all the things I've managed to do over the years--forgetting words, mangling melodies, turning purple from coughing--I managed to do one new thing I've not EVER done before.

I squeaked.

TWICE!

It was the whole Peter Brady, "It's Time To Change," thing, except I didn't have any backup singers and I left my bell bottomed suit at the house. Luckily, it wasn't really that bad and I think I was probably the only one who heard the repeat of the onset of my puberty, and for once I actually did have the tune and tempo all lined up right, but still, where in the WORLD did that voice cracking come from!? I blame global warming.

Wrapped that up, and then we sequed right into VBS, which this year is about loving your neighbors, and not just the people next door, but maybe even those on the other side of THEM! Shocking, I know.

Home, 9:30, and everyone was tired, and sorta hungry, but it was too late for supper. TO BED WITH YOU ALL!

Except for Rebecca and me.

Because we had iPodding to do!

Got my church clothes off and settled in at the computer. Downloaded iTunes (simple), set up an iTunes store account (confusing, but ultimately achievable), and copied three songs from one of her CDs to her iTunes library (incredibly simple), got an updated set of software for the iPod (automatic, but time consuming), then figured out how to get the previously copied songs onto her iPod (not quite foolproof, but I figured out that it was because it was plugged in and recharging while the other stuff was going on, and it didn't sync properly. After we did it again, it worked like a charm.)

I'm telling you, I've never seen what the big deal was with these gizmos. But after spending a couple of hours messing around with it, I want one more than I can stand. They are SO FLIPPIN' COOL!

I wish I could save money for one...

SO, anyway, the tale of the tape: deck extension, CLFP, new floodlamps, saving the environment by driving all over the country, replay of puberty, and I become part of the iPod culture. What an odd weekend.

AND HOW COULD I FORGET THIS!?

You know that wedding I was supposedly all wanting to go to?

Well, I really think someone must have been hearing things, because Friday afternoon, Boy was scheduled for his oral surgery. I was supposed to take him, but since Miss Reba was off, she did the honors.

He came through just fine, although a dose of Tylenol 3 would bring anyone through just about anything in fine shape. Anyway, with his mouth distress, the nuptializing just had to be cast by the wayside. So, you know, things have a way of working out pretty well.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:11 PM | Comments (4)

You know...

...if the instructions say it can safely be assembled by no less than three people working cooperatively, it's probably a good bet they didn't just pull that number out of a hat.

Me?

I only need a ten year old girl!

Why?

Because I am a moron.

ANYway, after the deck had dried sufficiently and I had gotten the big box out of the garage, the moment of truth arrived, accompanied by Catherine, who wanted to get into that box with all of her being.

Laid it on the ground, cut loose the binding, and opened it up, whereupon she pounced on the bubble wrap and loose assemblage. "DO YOU NEED THIS, DADDY!?"

"Not yet, please put it back."

"DO YOU NEED THIS!?"

"NO, please put it down."

"WHAT'S THIS THING DO!?"

"STOP IT RIGHT NOW!"

Grr.

"Look, I know you want to help, but I need to figure this out and read the instructions and make sure all the parts are here and if you keep plundering through this stuff I'm not going to be able to put it together so could you PLEASE stop touching everything until I tell you to and PLEASE be quiet so I can read with this says and DON'T MESS WITH ANYTHING."

"I was just tryin' to help.'

Awww. Poor lil' girl, bless her heart.

But don't touch anything.

Actually, it's a pretty simple thing. Four corners made up of two pieces bolted together, four thin beams, four roof supports with four corner supports, some shelves, and a fabric roof and mosquito net. A few bolts, some clips, and all is well.

I got Catherine to be helpful and go get my socket set out of the garage, because I wasn't going to use that silly flat wrench included in the hardware--it'd take forEVER.

Read some more, then here came Cat with my tools, which she plopped down onto the deck and opened, spilling out ever single socket in the box.

::sigh::

Reason #2391903 why things take so long to get done at my house, and why I have prematurely gray hair. We picked up all the shiny things and put them back in their numbered locations, then bolted together the corner pieces.

Then, after that, I got to looking at that tree.

I stood up one of the corners, and figured once the roof was on, it was going to be somewhat close to the lower branches on the pine tree.

Hmm.

::sigh::

"Okay, Cat--help me move all this stuff off the deck."

In yet another exercise in slowing things down, I decided to cut those lower limbs off. Got out the pruning saw (the one I'd nearly cut my thumb off with many, many years ago) and started making a big mess. Those limbs looked so much smaller when they were way up in the air attached to a tree.

Four big limbs came crashing down, along with a couple of smaller ones, and they were dutifully stacked at the side of the house to await brush pickup day.

While I was wrestling with a long-leaf pine, the children were off playing with the newest toy in the yard, a Hula Hoop. Jonathan, being a boy, delighted in throwing it up high in the air. Jonathan, being my son, was surprised when it got caught in the top of the maple tree.

"DAAAAAAAAD!! JONATHAN GOT THE HULA HOOP STUCK IN THE TREE!!"

GrrrRRRR!

Well, that's okay--it's not like I'm not already nearly dead anyway from my unnatural exertions of the day, and not at all like I'm not yet certain if I'm going to get this CLFP assembled before nightfall. Let me take some more time to rescue a thin cheap plastic torus from its arboreal assailant.

Since I still had the pole lopper in my hand, I figured I'd see if it would reach. Extended it all the way out and found it was short by approximately a foot.

::sigh::

Ladder.

Went and got the big steel folding ladder, since I was going to need it later for the roof of the playhouse anyway, and to change out that light fixture. Unfolded it, and successfully rescued the Hula Hoop. AND the precursor--a plastic glow-in-the-dark necklace Jonathan had thrown in the exact same tree in nearly the exact same place back about six months ago.

NOW THEN, to assemble the gazebo.

Fastened the thin beams to the corners and stood it up. Now to get it square. Since I was now so discombobulated and heat-strokey, I couldn't readily add up the required numbers to make sure it was centered on the platform, so I got Cat to run get my dimension calculator from the house.

Punched in the numbers and determined I needed 2 1/4 inches on each of the long sides, and 3/4 inches on each of the short sides. Or vice-versa. I tried to explain what I was doing, but Catherine seemed confused. It could have been because I was babbling.

Centered it up, and tacked it down to the platform, hoping it won't blow too far away in the next tornado. Now time for the roof supports.

THIS is when you need three people to work on it.

Like wrestling a big metal four-legged spider. BUT, I did, after much straining and grunting and unsaid oaths manage to get all four corners neatly clicked into place. It's looking very nice, I must say.

Time for the fabric cover.

THIS is when you need three people to work on it.

Or more.

BUT, I did, after much straining and grunting and unsaid oaths and the introduction of the steel ladder manage to stretch the fabric over the framework. It was very, VERY difficult to do, especially without anyone holding the opposite end--like putting a too-tight sheet onto a mattress (or a too-tight fabric cover on a flimsy metal gazebo frame), one side would pop up when I tugged the opposite side down.

I did get it attached, though. And all the little hook-and-loop straps fastened.

Boy, was I tired.

Time for the mosquito netting. It fits under the skirt of the fabric cover, which means I probably should have put it on first. Sure would have been a lot easier.

Attached all the little plastic shower curtan rings to the loops, then spent the next half hour with my hands up above my head making my arms ache attaching each little ring to the metal beam that ran around the thing. And mightily tugging the fabric cover up and down to cover the top edge of the netting. AND stopping to dig up one of Reba's rose bushes that was at the corner of the platform, threatening to open great big holes in the netting.

FINISHED!

It looks just like the picture. Sorta.

Now then, since it was nearing sunset, it was time for the final project of the day, installing that light fixture on the corner.

Reba and the two older girls left to go pick up some Chinese food for supper, so I was left alone with the two younger kids, who by this late time had already gone inside and gotten their baths and washed their hair.

I was cleaning up my mess and saw Boy come outside--"Mom said I should keep an eye on you."

Mom was right--I'd spent all day on various CLFP-related tasks, and I was very tired and my shoulders and arms ached mightily from all that overhead fidgeting with tiny frustrating parts. I really didn't need to be climbing a ladder.

But I am a moron.

Got my fixture and my shiny new bulbs and put them in the old rocking chair on the patio and got the ladder moved over to its new spot.

Rest for a minute.

Looked at the old chair--it's far past time to throw it away. I'd bought it while I was down at Auburn and so it's set outside for twenty years now, and its rockers are rotted off and its wobbly. Time to give it a decent burial. I was absent-mindedly tilting it back and forth to finish breaking off the one final bit of rocker, when my package of brand new compact fluorescent bulbs ever so slowly tipped forward and floated to the ground below the chair. Only about a foot of drop. It landed gently on the metal ladder.

::tink::

GAHHHHHHH!!!!!

I hoped against hope I'd not broken the thing, but when I picked up the package (it was a two pack) I heard the tell-tale tinkle of broken glass inside.

SILENT BAD WORDS!

At least it didn't creat a toxic cloud of mercury. The interior swirly cone was still intact--it was only the exterior reflector and lens that broke. I thought long and hard about trying to figure out how to reuse it anyway, but even I'm not that big of a moron.

Well crap.

Got Boy to help me fold the ladder out straight, and then hoisted it up against the side of the house. Got my small electric screwdriver (the single cell one that wouldn't have worked on the deck screws) and put it in my pocket.

"Okay, now Jonathan, I want you to stand here and hold this ladder, okay? And before I get up there, let me ask you this--if I fall, what should you do?"

And now, back to the first post of the morning--"Catch you?"

"NO! You call 9-1-1! Buddy, you'd kill yourself trying to catch me--just run and call 9-1-1 as quick as you can and don't try to catch me!"

Up the ladder.

You know, one of the things I do not miss at all about working for an architecture firm is climbing ladders. I used to have to go do roof inspections, and there was nothing I hated more. And, of course, you have to just John Wayne-it up and not act like it bothers you, but I never did really get over having to do it. And still dislike heights, but when something has to be fixed, it has to be fixed, and by golly, I had about 30 minutes of daylight left, and I wasn't about to be defeated.

So, up the ladder. The springy steel ladder, shimmying and shaking and swaying and gyrating like a young Kate Pierson. I don't know if it was simply the nature of the construction of the ladder or fear making itself known through involuntary muscle twitches in my legs. In any event, I got all the way to the eave of the house, which is two stories high. Or about 240 inches, for those of you who use the metric system. I carefully reached over to the fixture and unscrewed on bulb, then let it drop to Jonathan below, who caught it like a champ. Unscrewed the next bulb, and let it drop away to be caught again. Now the fun part.

Got out my screwdriver and reached over to unscrew the two screws holding it to the plywood of the eave, trying to figure out if I DID happen to start falling, if I could hold onto the gutter or downspout enough to slow me down to less than terminal velocity. Probably not. Undid the screws, dropped one, pocketed the other, and pulled the wiring down. Uncoupled the wire nuts holding everything together, and then remembered that maybe it would have been good to have turned off the power. Especially since I was high atop a steel ladder.

Resolved to be extra EXTRA careful, I put the wire nuts back on the service wires and dropped the fixture to the ground.

Down the swaying ladder, on the ground, got the new fixture and hardware out, made a preliminary adjustment to the bulb holders to aim the light the right way, and back up the ladder.

"Remember--9-1-1."

"Right, Daddy!"

Got to the top and got the wires hooked back up without electrocuting myself, poked them back up into the attic and began the delicate process of screwing the fixture back onto the eave. Did it. Whew. Nothing dropped. Not even me.

Back down the ladder, and the issue of new bulbs.

Obviously, since the hard part was done, I couldn't very well wait about the bulbs--I needed them, and I needed them now. It was 7:45.

Told Jonathan to stay in the house, and I gathered up a tired, wetheaded Catherine to go look for a replacement.

Marvin's?

Closed at 7.

Winn-Dixie?

Every type of bulb, except compact fluorescent floodlamps.

Home Depot?

Got 'em and headed home.

Home, and saw that Reba and the girls had just gotten home with supper, but by now I was not the least bit hungry. Too hot, too tired, too sore.

Back up the ladder, clutching both bulbs and the ladder with equal ferocity. Screwed them in, back down the ladder.

Went to the light switch at the back door, and...











Yeah, I know--I was half-expecting them not to work, either, but both of them lit up and shone right where they needed to. And it was good.

Now then, that UNbroken bulb from the first pack. I had a burnt out bulb on the front corner of the house, so I folded the ladder back down in half, hauled it to the front corner (blessedly only 8 feet off the ground) and changed out the old bulb for the new, and reaimed the fixture to that it actually shone on the driveway instead of the wall of the house behind the holly bush.

Put away the ladder, and that, my friends, all twelve hours of it, was my Saturday.

I ate a little bowl of soup, went upstairs, showered, and hit the hay.

BUT THAT'S NOT ALL!

Yes, there's SUNDAY in the mix, too!

NEXT: Christmas shopping, and VBS!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:23 PM | Comments (6)

Phase II

Deck Lengthening.

CAUTION: Contains carpentry and carpentry-related text. May not be suitable for those who wish to remain awake.

Okay, so I gots myself this wooden platform. First step, taking up the end deck board to get at the stringer on the end in order to remove it.

Old screws have a tendency to rust, which makes rounding them off with a power screwdriver quite easy. And makes them a bit harder than they should be to get off.

Undid the majority of them then got a wrecking bar to pry up the two screws that were still imbedded in the wood, and to my surprise, the stringer wasn't simply nailed to the ends of the joists, but each joint had it's own little joist hanger screwed to the end, all of which were in turn screwed to the stringer. Very nicely done, whoever originally built it. AND it makes it that much easier to fix.

Unscrewed the stringer, unscrewed all the joist hangers and set them aside. Now then, to lengthen out those two end joists by two feet. Got my board, and my nail plate, and had absolutely NO SUCCESS. These plates (more properly, mending plates) are difficult to get started into the wood, and even tougher when you've got no way to support what you're trying to nail against. I beat and banged on the thing until I had it mangled quite well, and realized it was going to be another trip to the hardware store.

I figured out after much sweat that a simple flat plate would work a lot better.

Duh.

Off down to the Marvin's at the foot of the hill, grabbed two plates and was back home in no time, screwed the plates on to the short extensions, then onto the ends of the side joists, and then reconnected the stringer I'd taken off earlier to the ends of the extensions. Screws are very nice. If your batteries hold up.

Now then--I had a nice box (that I assumed was relatively square--I never did check it) and it was time to add in the interior joists. And answer questions from the children who came out to inspect what I was doing before they went next door to play with the baby. I was able to tell them that I was hot and sweaty before they lost interest and ran off.

ANYway, the platform sits very close to, or in some spots, on the ground, so it wasn't too bad getting the wood in place, but it did require some scratching with the end of the crowbar to level out some high spots. Once done with that, I reattached the joist hangers onto the 3 foot boards, slid them into place beside the existing joists, and snugged them up to the stringer, but not so tightly that they would push it out of position. Screwed in the hanger ends into the stringer, then went back and screwed the new joists to the old. The one foot of extra overlap length allowed enough room to position the boards and pull them up tightly under the old decking to insure it was relatively level and true. Three screws per joist, and I was done with the support work. (And obviously, if I was doing this on anything other than something that was already on the ground, I would have lagged those boards together with some actual meaty lag screws--as it was, the three thin screws I put in there will do fine for what it's holding up.)

Reba brought me a barbecue sandwich, which I ate, although I really wasn't in the type of condition that made barbecue appetizing. Sweat makes it taste sorta weird. And soggy. Anyway, it was better than passing out from hunger, so that's a plus.

Next, the decking!

Turned over the one original board I had taken loose to begin with, and set it on the outside and screwed it back down. This allows you to make an edge between which all the other boards can be arranged so that they have consistent gaps between each board. Of course, I didn't realize there would be quite so much crook in the boards.

Got them all four laid out between the existing and the end board, put one screw in the end of each where they were all spaced evenly, then went down to the OTHER end to align them. Well, there was no way it was going to be even spaces. A couple were so far out that I wound up having to undo them and turn them end for end to attempt to get them slightly more even.

Still, even with the attempts at matching the spaces, I still had to use the ol' iron persuader to warp the boards back sideways as I anchored them down.

That is, until my batteries ran completely out.

::sigh::

I'd gotten almost finished, and then there was nothing left. And none of the other batteries were charged up. Meaning that I had two options--use a regular screwdriver (HAHAHAAAAA!!) or go get some deck nails.

Back to the store.

Looked around to see if they had any batteries--they did, but it wasn't worth the price--and then got a box of ring shanks.

Home, finished nailing down the decking, pushing and pulling the crooked ones into place, and HEY! Pretty much okay!

I did cut a couple of pieces of blocking to hold the corners up off the ground a bit--again, since it's not supporting much weight, this is okay for what it's going to be holding. AND THEN!?

Clorox!

The old platform has been sitting uncovered under a pine tree for ten years now, so it needed to be cleaned. Got a bucket of bleach and some water and a push broom and found more muscles I should have been using more often. But at least I got to enjoy the refreshing scent of bleach. Once it was all done, it looked quite nice. Ish. The new boards are still a lot lighter. But I do NOT care.

Now--time for Phase III!

NEXT: CLFP

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:39 AM | Comments (2)

Okay, now then.

Sorry about the delay. Not only did we have a long staff meeting (with all of our long staffs) I had to make a run to the bank to stave off at least a couple of creditors. Temporarily.

Anyway, that took a lot of time due to the technological progress that has made everything go twice as slow as it used to. I used to could just go by the drive-through and be in and out in about thirty seconds. It takes five minutes now to do the same thing. BAH! Computers. Never will amount to anything.

AS I WAS RECOUNTING TO YOU, the weekend was very, VERY exciting, if you like it when I get all cramped up like a soda can in a trash compactor.

I decided it was Time.

Time to erect the Childrens' Large Fabric Playhouse. You might recall this as the fabric and aluminum-framed gazebo bought several weeks ago from Target. (vis., here, and here) However, in the interest of protecting myself from neighborhood busybodies who have nothing better to do than pick out improperly painted mailboxes, this will now and forever be named the Childrens' Large Fabric Playhouse, since it seems that--given the overwhelming amount of them--that the usual wood and pretty canvas swingset and playforts are exempt from the governing sections of our covenants. Probably not in the strictly legal sense, but in the reality on the ground, they're EVERYwhere in our neighborhood.

SO, this is a playhouse for the kids. Sure, it's not high up off the ground like some of them are, but we fear for their safety in something so high off the ground. And yes, it's not made of redwood and rainbow canvas, but we want our children to be all cultured and couthish and grown-uppy and all. And yes, it does have mosquito netting on the sides, but that's only because we'd rather then not succumb to some dread vermin-borne contagion of some sort.

So there.

OH, and no, it does NOT take the place of the Large Plastic Not A Storage Shed But A Playhouse. That will remain in place as something of a child annex, should they need a more private place that smells of gasoline.

SO, it was Time.

What did I need to do?

The wooden platform in the backyard is 10 feet long x 8 feet, 3 inches wide. Or vice-versa. The gazebo is a nominal 10x10, although actual dimensions are 9'-8 3/4" square. In either case, there needed to be a stretching of the wooden platform by 2 feet. Or .333 yards for those of you more familiar with the metric system.

Meaning carpentry.

Up early Saturday, had a fine breakfast of pancakes and bacon, then gathered up Middle Girl.

Why her?

Well, she's been wanting to volunteer this summer at our local PetSmart store for the St. Clair County Animal Shelter, who bring various puppies and kitties for adoption to the store on Saturdays. So, she needed to go fill out a form there, so I figured I'd knock that out of the way with my other trip. And it would give me someone who was actually interested in helping me tote things.

Got gas in the van, went to PetSmart, met a big group of very nice volunteers, including a very quiet little redhaired high school girl who sort of reminded me of Rebecca, let Bec fill out the application, got some information, and that was that. She's now signed up to volunteer, and I think if the volunteer coordinator had been there, she could have started. BUT, since she wasn't, the senior volunteer lady was a bit hesitant to hire on a new hand, so Rebecca will get to come in next weekend. And she's very, VERY excited about that. She loves puppies and kitties.

From there, it was time to go shopping, with a stop for some expensive air to fill up the rear tire. And I just now remembered I have a little air pump in the van I could have used. DRAT! I'll remember next time. Not.

To Lowe's--I'd made careful measurements the day before, so I knew I needed four 10ft x 6in x 5/4 pieces of decking (the cheap kind with big grain, even though it doesn't match), and a pressure treated 2x6 for the deck joists, cut into three 3ft lengths, and two 2ft lengths. That's thirteen feet, meaning that since they didn't have a 14 foot piece, I had to get a 16 footer.

And hardware. Screws for the decking, and some nail plates to lengthen the edge joist on the platform, since they had to be a straight splice instead of being sistered together.

Because I didn't have enough on my plate for the day, before I had the long board cut into pieces by the handy Lowe's kid who was running the saw, I stopped to get a new flood light for the corner of the house.

It's been broken forever, with one socket hanging on only by its wires. And both bulbs were burnt out. Since I was going to have to get up there anyway, I figured I might as well go ahead and change out the fixture to an unbroken one. And to cut down on the amount of times I'll ever have to get BACK up there, I got fluorescent flood lamps. Yes, I'm becoming quite the compact fluorescent fan, aren't I? They are more expensive, yes, but they do last a lot longer. If you don't BREAK ONE. More on that later.

Got my lumber sized, went and checked out, (and yes, all during this time Middle Girl was quite helpful at hoisting lumber), and it was time to head home.

Pulled around to the back yard, unloaded, and got ready for Phase II.

NEXT: Phase II.

Oh, and before I forget it--remember that story I posted last week about the kid that got fired from Wal-Mart because he made some lame inflammatory comment about his erstwhile employer? Well, apparently he now has plenty of time on his hands to do a little self-Googling to find out who all has written about him. And he felt compelled to show off his high level of self-esteem in the comments section of that post. He is truly an incredible young man. And really REALLY smart and enlightened and successful.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:50 AM | Comments (0)

"Catch you?"

"NO! You call 9-1-1!"

Just one of the amazing quotes you'll hear about in just a bit. I've got out lovely staff meeting in about six minutes from now, and then I have the task of actually typing up some tepid recollection of events of the weekend just passed.

And I have to limber up.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:25 AM | Comments (2)

June 01, 2007

Time to close up shop.

I sure wish I knew what I was supposed to be doing this weekend.

Darndest thing--I was told last evening that I had agreed to go to a wedding tonight. I have thought and thought, and I do not remember being asked if I wanted to go; and further, I find it unimaginable that even if I DID remember being asked that I would have ever answered in the affirmative.

I've REALLY got to have a camera installed on me so I can replay these lost episodes of my life.

ANYway, all of you have a great weekend and I'll see you back here sometime on Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:03 PM | Comments (0)

Interesting Friday Fact

If you live in the Birmingham metro area, you know who The Suzukiman is. For those of you who don't, here's a primer.

Interesting Friday Fact?

The guy lives in my neighborhood.

And oddly enough, doesn't drive a Suzuki, but rather a new bright red Corvette convertible.

For which I'll wager he didn't have to pay ZERO down, and $99 a month.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:35 PM | Comments (4)

WOW!

Fridays are sure slow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:55 AM | Comments (4)

May 30, 2007

We now return you to your regularly scheduled broadcast.

Our very own Rink Spaackleburg with...

dialing-4-dollars.jpg

DIALING FOR DOLLARS!

Rink's Movie Pick today is...

A BULLET FOR A PRETTY BOY--The gripping story of Pretty Boy Floyd, starring Fabian in the title role, costarring Jocelyn Lane, Astrid Warner, and Adam Roarke!

Today's program brought to you by Ed's Appliances & Electrical Subcontractors.


Photo actually is of (I believe) Hank Price, WAAY-31 in Huntsville, shamelessly stolen from here.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:03 PM | Comments (0)

On the plus side...

...my soup was REALLY good. And I got to use a clean spoon to eat it!

On the other plus side, Reba had to come back downtown to go over to the courthouse to do some kind of financial/legal/alchemic wizardry, and after she gets through, she was going to drop back by my office for a bit before she goes back to work.

She's wearing that blouse today. The white one with the Mandarin collar and only about five little twisted cord latchets holding it together. I think when she gets here, I'm going to close the door and

tech difficulties.jpg

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:27 PM | Comments (4)

That's what I get for being so trusting.

It wasn't a new teaspoon after all! It was a plastic spork someone had gotten out of a half-eaten taco salad in the garbage!

Next time?

I'm gonna make sure they show me the spoon first. AND the manure pile.

Hmph!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:41 PM | Comments (0)

Well, shucks.

I've just gotten a load of manure to shovel, so I'm going to have to work on that for a couple of hours.

Upside?

I've been given a shiny new teaspoon to use for a shovel!

YAY ME!

Be back in a bit.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:37 AM | Comments (0)

So very pitiful.

First of all, I allowed myself to be beaten at chess last night by Middle Girl. She'd been yammering about having a family game night, and I wanted to do SOMEthing that didn't involve yelling, so I made up my mind I'd beat up on little kids at the chessboard. I beat Cat, then took on Rebecca and had her soundly beaten until I lost my concentration and allowed one of her bishops to threaten me, and I didn't notice it until after I'd moved and THAT'S when I told her that she had me in check. So she took my king. Then she played and beat Catherine, and then I played Cat and won again. That game I lost, though, haunts me.

As does the fact that I ONCE AGAIN left my soup at home again today that I was going to have for lunch.

As does the fact that I had intended to put a stamp on the credit card bill before I left the house, but didn't.

As does the fact that I drove straight to the main post office downtown and blithely stuck the letter in the box, only remembering its stamplessness in the split-second after I'd dropped it in the slot and started to pull forward.

GAHHHHH!!!

I AM A MORON!!

Pulled around back into the parking lot--maybe they can open the box and let me put a stamp on it!

Walked briskly into the lobby and to the counter, which was staffed by two very thorough, very relaxed, very unconcerned postal employees. Slowly, methodically they worked with each customer. Of which there were six. Not counting me. And then the lady left and went somewhere.

And then the man left to go look for some mail the mentally distant disheveled talking-to-herself woman had asked about. Approximately ten minutes later, it was finally my turn. I explained I'd dropped my envelope in the box without a stamp and could anyone PLEASE open the box and let me retrieve it and put a stamp on it?

"Hmm. I'll have to ask the manager."

Five more minutes elapse. He comes back and says someone will come help me.

7:30.

Phone rings--it's Reba, who'd found my lunch in the refrigerator and offered to drop it off to me on her way to work. Yay. Told her where I was, but that I was sure I'd be to work by the time she got there.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Ten minutes pass. The counter line grows, then shrinks in several cycles as people decide it's quicker and easier to mail their packages with UPS. Or duct taped to a wooly mammoth.

"Did no one ever come get your letter?"

YES, but I just enjoy cooling my jets watching people shuffle through here like they're on the way to being dipped in acid!

Thank goodness the ol' internal monologue has yet to figure a way out of my head.

"Uhh, well, no--no one that I've seen."

"Hmm, well they said he'd be here. He must not have come."

Brilliant deduction, Watson!

"I'll ask the manager again."

At that moment she walked by and he asked what happened to the box opening guy. "He didn't come out?"

No.

They conferred and a new request was to be made.

FINALLY a nice guy came out and apologized for not getting there quicker, and I apologized for being stupid and not putting a stamp on my mail. We walked out and he opened the box and rolled out the cart, and thankfully it wasn't that full. I figured my bill should be probably in the top two inches.

I described the envelope--envelopey, white, with no stamp. And small. Ish.

He good-naturedly bent over the cart and began shuffling through several hundred envelopes, looking for what was basically a needle in a needlestack. Amazing how many envelopes look exactly alike. People do seem to like their Netflix. Invitation. Bills. Big scrawly handwritten addresses. He searched, and searched and THERE IT IS--no, wait, not it--while I looked on and repeatedly told him I was sorry to make him do all this. "No problem--people do it all the time, and I probably have to come out here twelve times a day to help them find it."

Somehow, I was not comforted.

He reached the bottom.

No envelope. "Do you think maybe you DID put a stamp on it and just thought you didn't?"

Well, by the time he got down to the canvas bottom, I was beginning to harbor that very thought--what if I'd proactively put a stamp on it the other day, and just didn't remember stamping it and only THOUGHT I still had to put a stamp on it and--NO. No. I know I didn't stamp it.

Back again through the stack of mail the other way. Flip, flip--stop to take some letters from people as they'd pull up to the box--flip, flip, flip--THAT'S IT--no, flip, flip.

Around about 8:00, we finally found it. Near the beginnig of the stack, it had gotten overlooked during the first sort. Proudly put on my 41 cent stamp, told the man I was eternally grateful, and shook his hand.

Got to work just in time for Reba to drop my lunch off.

And now I'm wondering how in the world I'm going to continue to be able to function with so very few operating brain cells.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:59 AM | Comments (3)

May 29, 2007

In retrospect...

...maybe I've just become too jaded to understand high drama when I see it.

I forgot that the kids were out riding their bikes yesterday. As usual, I made them wait until I could stand there and watch for cars, so I was standing there on the end of the driveway, thinking of nothing, watching the road for nonexistent cars, and Boy zipped by with Catherine a goodly distance back, but closing fast.

She always rides like a little cackling maniac.

She had just gotten even with our house when the chain of events began--a madly pedaling left foot slipped.

Handlebars became unstable.

Fighting to stay up.

Foot tries to regain the pedal.

Bike dips, catching pedal on the ground.

Bounce.

Little girl lands hard on the asphalt on her left leg and elbow, bike on top of her.

And slides.

It took about a tenth of the time to happen as it did for you just now to read that. In real time, it looked like one of those motorcycle racing wrecks--blazing along, then all of a sudden, mayhem. Except Tiny Terror didn't have on a set of racing leathers. Or, for that matter, a pair of blue jeans. Just a pair of shorts.

As usual, my heart jumped out of my chest and wallowed on the ground, but to keep her from freaking out, I had to remain calm and see how badly she'd boogered herself up. I helped her up and she was squawling and I could see she'd scraped a big red spot on her leg, and her elbow was dirty and quickly turning crimson. But she was ambulatory, and she'd not damaged anything vital. We rolled the bike on out of the street and I got Boy to come back to the house and put them away while I told her we'd go give her a nice cold bath and get her boo-boos fixed up.

By the time we'd gotten her upstairs and a chilly tub of water ready, she'd just about quit crying, and after about ten minutes of letting her soak and gently dab at her wounds with a cold bathcloth, she apparently felt well enough to get out, get dried off, and get on her jammies.

Her left thigh is one big scrape, but thankfully not a deep one. Her elbow is a bit more concentrated in the amount of damage, but I think it'll heal up pretty well. And I think she'll probably wear a pair of jeans from now on.

It didn't slow her down for long--after she got rested enough, she went and got on some more play clothes and spent the rest of the afternoon outside running and playing volleyball and getting filthy again.

And I finally got calmed down about bedtime last night.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:18 AM | Comments (4)

A little naughty!?

Oh you better believe it, friend! And not just a little.

I was all set to cut grass yesterday, but you know what?

I didn't!

That's right--I first decided to wait until later in the afternoon, and then wound up feigning a coma on the couch, and then just made the decision--shocking though it might be--to simply refuse to get the mower out.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:53 AM | Comments (0)

OH!

Hey! I just thought of something REALLY exciting! You might not believe this, but Krylon Semi-Flat Black spray paint is an exact match for the black paint on the center posts of my car!

There have been a couple of vertical streaks on the pillars where the paint has been rubbed down through the black paint over the past 21 years to the gray paint underneath, and it has made it look tired and nasty, and I finally decided to fix it, and it looks like new! Ish. Also touched up the windshield wiper arms!

As I said before--there wasn't a lot going on this weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:46 AM | Comments (14)

TUESDAY!

Those Monday holidays always mess me up.

Three days have passed, with little in the way of drama.

Would that they all could be like that. Of course, the lack of drama also makes for disinteresting blog posts. One can only hold an audience for so long with tales of laundry and cleaning the kitchen countertops. And being captured by a legion of scantily-clad Amazon warriors. And finding a million dollars on the doorstep. And winning the Indy 500. And being elected king of the Earth.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:13 AM | Comments (0)

May 25, 2007

You will be glad to know...

...that Middle Girl was quite taken with all of the greetings the readership left for her yesterday, and I did manage to coax her into saying hello. I can't guarantee there'll be any more than that, but she was tickled by the attention.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:18 AM | Comments (1)

May 24, 2007

"Schoooool's OUT! FOR! Summerrrrr!"

Yep, another year gone and the kids are once again in the able care of Reba's mom for the next two months.

Which probably explains why when I just checked the ol' Sitemeter, I see an AOL search for my name, and the person then subsequently spending over an hour reading all this silliness. Which means only one thing--

GOOD MORNING, MIDDLE GIRL!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:14 AM | Comments (15)

May 23, 2007

Well, good morning, everyone!

::crickets chirping::

Another day of fun out amongst the citizenry, and thankfully, not once did I have to duck into a phone booth to doff my eyeglasses and pull off my clothing to reveal...

MY UNDERWEAR!

I didn't have to--I just wanted to.

Very liberating, you know.

ANYway, I'm not sure what to talk about today, other than we've got smoke again from those inconsiderate people in Georgia and Florida. Which will probably mean that the folks who take their twelve cigarette breaks during the day will decide to stay inside.

In other news, this: Wimbledon to increase player challenges. "About time," say I to the All-England Club. I've long thought tennis would be so much better with tackling. And, of course, cheerleaders.

And from the Tiny Minds on Goat Hill, this: House refuses to praise Birmingham reporter for winning Pulitzer

MONTGOMERY, Ala. (AP) — The Alabama House balked at passing a resolution Tuesday that would have praised Birmingham News reporter Brett Blackledge, who won a Pulitzer Prize for investigative stories that exposed corruption in the state's two-year college system. [...]

I'm sure making this small gesture was impossible given the limited time available for finding new sources of graft.

Another headline of note: Miss. Power Co. new operations center to resist hurricane winds. I'm not sure why online news places think they have to truncate headlines so much--pixels and display being so much cheaper than ink and paper. But nonetheless, it does strike me that things would be better if we DID have a Miss Power Company. Maybe someone such as Anita from Billing and Accounts Payable, seen here in the evening gown competition--

louisvillegasvig.jpg

Yowzah.

Oh, sure--the other girls were awfully petty to complain about her talent entry since a Bic lighter doesn't have anything to do with electrical power, but she knew they were just jealous of her popsicle stick and macrame transmission tower diorama.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:31 AM | Comments (4)

May 22, 2007

Oh, yeah.

All of you be prepared to entertain yourselves tomorrow morning--I'll be out and about and around town in my guise of mild-manner civil servant!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:40 PM | Comments (0)

May 21, 2007

Let's see...

Friday, I can't remember. Seems like I picked up some car parts stuff at the store--wire, wire pliers (another pair), wheel cleaner, then on back to home with the kids, dropped them off, then went and took some food up to the church building for the Ladies Day we were having on Saturday (but that none of my ladies attended). Home, supper, bed.

Up early Saturday, but not too early, got Catherine to go help me do some stuff outside--fill the bird feeders, dump the litter box, wash out the cat pen, douse the frog fountain with bleach (quite an algae bloom going on there), then inside to fold up the towels, put the jeans in the dryer, and the dark clothes in the washer. The reason for the sudden flurry of activity? Doing my best to convince someone that I had been a good boy and should be allowed an hour to go explore the junkyard.

AND IT WORKED! I recited my list of Good Boy Things, and she relented. Her task for the day was supposed to be to clean out her closet, and she'd ominously mentioned that she needed help. Friends, helping Miss Reba clean out her closet is a task best suited for girl children--they can lift and tote as well as I can, and enjoy playing dress-up with the discards. And I knew the last thing I needed to be was stuck carrying boxes up and down the steps. Children are good for that task, too.

SO, bright and happy, I got my old bucket of used motor oil to go drop off at the auto parts store at the foot of the hill, got another gallon to go in the crankcase, and I was off to the playground.

Got there, strode in confidently, paid my buck, got my hand stamped, and quite nearly flew out the door to go play amongst the rust and wasps. Walked, walked, walked--hmm.

Dang.

I am a moron.

It happens EVERY time, so I should know better by now. The foreign junk is NEVER in the same place twice. How can they move it all like that!? One month it's over toward the far back, the next it's over to the side, then it's back to the back. The easy thing is to check the computer at the desk and see where it is, but stupid me always just goes to where it was the last time. And then waste valuable plundering time going to find where they REALLY are stashed. Just like this time--instead of being over on the front to the side, they were in the far back corner.

No matter. Finally found them and started wandering up and down the aisles to see what there was to see.

Junk, mainly.

Oddly enough, there weren't a lot of Saabs this time. I always look for them because they came with nice tools, and occasionally you can still some squirreled away under the tire well cover. None this time, though. Did find a BMW with a couple of rusty wrenches that I picked up--very good quality, and I don't mind a little rust as long as it will brush off.

Volvos, quite a few, although none with anything all that interesting. Did find a couple of ones with the old style hubcovers I prefer, but they were dented beyond fooling with. AH!! A high-mount brake light cover! These things sit in the back window and bake, and crack like egg shells. I got a new one not too long ago, but it's never bad to have a spare.

Did I mention what a beautiful day it was? Bright and sunny and cool with a nice breeze blowing--hard to top that when you're crawling around fetid junkers!

My allotted hour having ended, I went back to the office to check out, stopping briefly to tell the lost Mexican guy that I didn't know where the Ford F-150s were, but that there was a computer in the office he could use to find them. Although that takes some of the fun out of spending time wandering around lost.

Showed the guy my few pieces of junk, and he waved me on through, figuring I'd gotten no more than my dollar's worth. SCORE! This is turning out to be a very good day!

Toward home, stopped to get some eggs, then hopped outside to begin the second round of car-related playtime.

Oil change. Jacked up the driver's side a bit, slid the empty catch can underneath, gingerly undid the drain plug, scalded myself, and neatly dropped the plug right into the drain hole in the catch can, stopping it up sufficiently so that all four quarts of oil stayed right in the reservoir on top without draining into the can.

Grr.

Got Boy to come over and help me--he and Cat had decided to ride bikes on the driveway while I covered myself with petroleum products--and asked him to give me one of the rags on the fender up above me. I neglected to tell him that the plastic plug for the catch can and the new copper crush washer I'd gotten were both on the rag. He picked up the rag, and sure enough, I heard the tell-tale ::ping:: of the washer and ::plunk:: of the plug.

Grr. Oh well. At least I could get the oil off my hand. And at least I did find the plastic plug. The copper washer was firmly unfindable, though.

Got another washer, screwed the drain plug back in, changed the filter, filled up with new oil and leak stopper, gave it a crank, and cleaned up my mess.

Next item on the list--fixing that pesky leak in the taillights. Got a seam that allows water in, and this is a bad thing when you combine several ounces of water with a hot bulb and an electrical circuit. Did a bead of clear silicone sealant around both sides, hoping it will be enough to ward off future lighting irregularities. Maybe.

Next on the To-Do list, fixing my headlight on the driver's side. These are the fancy glass headlights I purchased back several years ago, and although of generally okay quality, the rear housing is a slick, somewhat softish plastic. The mounting studs, although grippily gnurled for tight holding power in the soft plastic, have a habit of simply pulling free.

Leaving the headlight to sadly avert its gaze downwards to the roadway, rather than up toward the large animal darting out in front of me.

So, some JB Weld epoxy putty for all of those holes, and tap the studs back into place. Hopefully this repair will last a bit longer. Or maybe the epoxy putty will just pull out of the soft plastic, too.

Next, the big happy chore, the installation of my sidemarker lights I'm so oddly proud of. As with every project I've started on this thing, this is one of those that promises to be done in 15 minutes, and takes 2 hours because I don't know exactly what I'm doing. And yes, after I got it done, now that I know, I figure 15 minutes is about right.

Problem is that although the Internet is a godsend and a boon for old car fixing, it still has its drawbacks--namely that the people who write some of these old car websites are barely literate, and further that they decide not to avail themselves of a digital camera to explain what they're talking about.

Basically, what I had was two little fender-mounted turn signal/running lights. Two wires. As basic an electrical thing as possible, but it required getting the wires from the fender, up through several unreachable and nearly impassable inner fender chambers, out into the open, and up to the front where the turn signal wires live. Every thing I read said a hole needed to be drilled. Somewhere. Or that there might be a rubber bung I could thread the wires through. Somewhere. "Simple," it was said.

"Not," say I.

I fished around with a piece of welding rod on the passenger side, before figuring out I had no idea where to drill a hole. I got my drill out and drilled in a likely spot, and by sheer luck, it turned out to be usable.

Now to get the wires though. Needed something to fish the wire through the maze inside the fender, and it needed to be more flexible than the welding rod I had, but stiff enough to be able to get from one hole to the other.

As luck would have it, for once my packrat-itis came in handy, as I had some baling wire, savior to mankind. Just flexible enough, just stiff enough, and it worked like a charm. Pulled the wires through, then routed them right alongside the other wires, then up to the front, and attached them onto the turn signal wires.

Moment of truth, flipped on the lights and the blinkers, and HOORAY! IT WORKS!

However, I failed to heed Han Solo's advice, "Don't get cocky, kid."

The OTHER side proved to be more frustrating. I had intended to drill right where I had on the passenger side, but there was a brake booster in the way. I scratched my head for thirty minutes trying to figure out how to get a hole where I needed it, then took a trip to the hardware store to see if they had a right angle attachment for the drill.

No.

Back home, frustrated and beginning to sweat, and I decided to drill from the outside of the fender. This worked quite well until the drill bit caught and yanked the collet of the drill into the previously undented sheet metal of the fender and bent the edge of the light mounting hole inward from the impact.

Grr. And how.

To make it worse?

I fished and fished with that bailing wire, trying my dead level best to work it from the outside of the fender back up inside to someplace where I could get it.

I was about to say a bad word. Or two.

I stood there stupidly for a very long time. Walked around. Felt around some more. Got the baling wire and ran it back through a small gap in a panel inside the fender and...

::sigh::

Felt the other end poke my finger that I had where the light was supposed to go.

Meaning?

Meaning I didn't HAVE to drill a hole--there was already a clear passage from the inside of the fender to the outside. Meaning I didn't have to mess up the paint around the outside mounting hole. Meaning I didn't have to drill a hole in the OTHER side, either. Meaning that if I'd known what I was doing, I could have been done in TEN minutes instead of two hours.

::sigh::

Fished the wires out, ran them to the turn signals, clipped them together, and as before, perfect little amber running light/turn signals. I feel so Europeany and sophisticated now!

Next, cleaned up again, and went on to the next task of the day--replacing the little plastic covers above the rear shoulder belts. Once again, these little pieces of trim plastic that cover the shoulder belt reels sit and bake in the rear window, and they looked horrible. And one was actually disintegrating right before my eyes. I'd gotten some new old ones a while back (black, not blue, so maybe it'll not fade quite so quickly), so I popped off the old and popped on the new. Perfect.

And now that it was nearly 6:00 in the afternoon, the final task, trying to get some of the grime off that set of alloy wheels I have out in the shed. I'd gotten some stuff that promised that brake dust would flee in fear, never to return. And tougher coatings of dust would require only a swipe with a brush.

Hah. And hah again.

I doused the wheels, and although they are somewhat cleaner and smell nice and fruity, they still have a tenacious bit of black grime down in the spokes and lug holes that is going to require sterner stuff to get loose.

Oh, well. A task for another time.

Being all finished up for the day, I went and plopped down in the front yard and watched the kids ride their bikes up and down the street for thirty minutes.

It was quite a good day, all things considered.

And Reba actually managed to clean out three paper boxes full of clothes from her closet!

And Sunday?

JUST AS GOOD!

We went and had a good lesson, then went and met my mom for her belated Mother's Day meal, and we ate at the nice Chinese place near her house, and the waiter did not get ANY SORT OF TIP because he was rude and brusque and disinterested, and then we went home and I took off my suit and actually TOOK A NAP!

Oh, sure--it wasn't the BEST nap in the world--I had to share the bedroom with Rebecca typing on a school paper, and everyone else was awake and making noise, and it was hot in the room, but still, a darned fine nap, nonetheless.

Got up a couple of hours later, got redressed, then took Boy and everyone else up to Kohl's so we could get him some clothes for his birthday. Tried on an endless array of things, all helpfully brought to us by Middle Girl--THANKS!--while Reba and the other two girls ran off to shop for themselves. You know, since we were buying stuff for Jonathan's birthday.

On to church for evening worship, then to home, then BACK up to Wal-Mart with Boy and me to get the rest of his birthday items, then back home for some supper, some more work on the computer for Rebecca's school project, and then to bed.

All in all, it's hard to have a much better weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:41 AM | Comments (7)

That one turned out pretty doggone good!

More later--staff meeting, you know.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:31 AM | Comments (0)

May 18, 2007

NEW! BOLD! EDGY!!

Okay, not really. It's been a long afternoon, and I'm tired, and I want to go home and get started on the weekend, which I hope will include some more playtime with the Volvo (yesterday's playtime documented here).

I think the grass can wait a week, and since it's been a few days since it rained and the weather is nice and unseasonably cool (global warming), I would really like to be able to head over to the junkyard tomorrow for a few hours of exploring.

We DO have to take Boy and see about getting him some birthday presents. He turned 13 on Monday, and even though we'd gotten his birthday cake and some cards and a few small books, we haven't really had a chance to actually have much of a party for him. And doggone it, 13 is an important birthday, and he shouldn't get short shrift. Maybe I'll try to sneak him into the junkyard with me.

Sunday, another belated celebration--since my mom's back from the beach, we're going to go pile in on her and celebrate Mother's Day a week late. I'm going to do my darndest not to take her to the Gilded Cowpen, but I have lost this battle before.

And as usual, there is a mountain of clothing to be laundered, and churching to be done, and vegetables to be tended, and birds to be fed, and a wife to be...well, just you never mind!

Anyway, see you all on Monday--have a great weekend and do something nice for someone you don't like. It'll make you feel good and puzzle the dickins out of them.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:04 PM | Comments (2)

Get ready for FUN!

Because I've got a training class to sit through this morning for our computerizecd permitting system, because we're adding a new function! WOO-HOO!

Not really.

I've been using this program for seven years now, which means I'm about to lose two hours listening to other people who don't know what they're doing ask questions, when I could just as easily skip all this crap and be told what to do with a two paragraph e-mail.

::sigh::

Oh, well.

Y'all have fun until I get back.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:57 AM | Comments (0)

May 17, 2007

Busted.

Again.

But anyway, before that, I went and got Boy from school, and as luck would have it, right as I got there, it began rainng buckets. Not complaining, because we did need the rain, but I would have been just as satisfied had it waited about thirty minutes later. Not that that would have mattered, either, because I was blocked in a parking space by every single car in Trussville.

Anyway, I was finally able to get out into the flow of traffic and find him in spite of wind, rain, moms in gigantic earthmover-sized vehicles, and a riotous press of middle schoolers.

Off to the oral surgeon, with a stop at Sonic so I could get some lunch, the order for which was incorrect. Oh well. I didn't get Boy anything since he was about to expose his gaping maw to a stranger, and no stranger likes to see bits of onions and lettuce in another stranger's gaping maw, but I did get him an orange cream slushy deal that he enjoyed up until it gave him a brain freeze.

Got to the mouth cutter, parked, walked into the swanky '90s style professional office building and on deeper inside to get to the office. It was very nice. Signed in, filled out forms, gave forms back to the spectacularly pregnant secretary, wondered why forms have to have the exact same information filled in three different times instead of just using a little check box that says "Same as before," read a Scientific American magazine, which was actually current, and waited for about an hour.

Finally got called back, and waited some more.

HEY! It's the doctor!

Looked just like Larry Tate!

He walked in, asked about the Renfroe account, then fixed himself a gigantic martini. (Not really.)

He looked at the x-rays, poked around a bit, and said that the reason Boy's bicuspid had been reluctant to appear was because of a cyst between the top of the tooth and the gum. Apparently the hydraulic pressure is enough to keep the tooth from dropping through the gum, and, in fact, can cause it to shoot clean out the top of Boy's head! (Not really.)

He explained all about what he was going to have to do to get rid of the offending fluid pocket, which will include a needle and a knife, but also can include nitrous oxide (which I'm certain I'll need), and then the care afterwards until we can get Jonathan back to his orthodontist for the installation of a big eyebolt and come-along so they can pull the tooth into place. Whole process will take about 15 minutes or so. Not too bad, although as I mentioned, I know I'll feel better after a couple of hits of nitrous.

The doctor went through the final page of the patient history with me, including the last listing of approximately 30 different conditions that could create problems during surgery--pneumonia pleuresy consumption grippe heart murmur mitral valve prolapse high blood pressure diabetes gangrene impertinence impudence gabba gabba hey rheumatic fever dangling participles--on and on, delivered with a rapid fire assuredness that can only come from years of rote repetition.

He finished up the arm-long list of memorized diseases and as deadpan as I could, I said, "Sorry, but could you repeat that?"

He did a classic Larry Tate double-take before realizing I was only joking, then saying he would be glad to repeat them, and faster, or in reverse. I got the sense that I was pressing my luck, so I told him Boy was clear of all the conditions and diseases listed.

Back out to the checkout, made an appointment for next week with Spectacularly Pregnant Secretary, and then it was on toward home. With a stop at Target for a watch battery for the black plastic Indiglo Timex that was mine that I let Jonathan wear. (He's taken very good care of it.)

On up the hill to the house, unloaded myself, read the mail, went outside to see what manic Mr. Kitty was doing. He was hungry, so I fed him, then went and took a tour of the garden. Amazing what a little rain will do. Everything has sprouted now, so it doesn't hurt it as much when aggravating furry varmints decide to lay themselves all over the rows.

Or so I thought.

I figured we had enough time for Lightning to play a bit outside before it was time to get ready for church, so I let him out and he began madly dashing up every tree in the yard, and sure enough, found the wet dirt in the garden particularly attractive.

Go, silly cat.

GO, ya stupid furball!

He'd leave, then sneak back in between the carrot rows.

I started to grab him up, but he had other ideas, which prompted a swat upon his furry haunch, which DID dislodge him from his dirt-ophilic rolling and rubbing.

He ran off over to the neighbor's yard, where I followed him, and then out the back door came the girls. Reba had gone to pick them up from Grandmom's and had just gotten home, so they had to run go see KITTY!!

And me, it turns out.

Rebecca came charging across the yard, "DADDY DADDY! I was looking up stuff on the Internet at Grandma's house, and I typed in your name, and this website came up, and it had Catherine's poem about jaguars on it, and I thought 'HEY! NEAT!' and then read it, and at first I thought YOU were just one of the other people on there, but then I realized when it said "posted by Terry Oglesby" that it meant YOU were the one who was writing the whole thing and it was SO FUNNY and I showed it to Catherine and then we looked at pictures from convention on there and one was of Jonathan and..."

"Shshhhh. Let's not be so loud about it--don't tell anyone it'll spoil the surprise."

It was bound to happen, I'm just surprised it took so long. Nothing on here I'm ashamed of, although it does get a bit personal sometimes, and once someone knows you blog, they always treat you a bit weirdly--'Are you gonna write about this?'

Well, maybe.

ANYway, "But I already told Mama--she said, 'Oh, really,' and that she wanted to see what it was you were writing about on there!"

"That's fine, Sugar, but still, it's not all that big of a deal."

Or so I claim. But I guess it is--there's this whole giant side of me that they've never known about, and over the past 5 1/2 years I've written a huge pile of thoughts and sentiments, many of which I've probably never even expressed to my family. I might never have expressed them out loud to them, but here they sit for all the rest of the world to read and comment and complain about. But the intent was never to hide so much as it was just to have some way of making sense of things. It's hard to get a word in edgewise around our house, although I'm sure the family would differ on that, and I'm sure they believe I have no problem in making myself heard. But that's just one thing--and usually it's when I'm being called upon to dispense justice and fear. Otherwise, no one really seems to care that much what I think about art, or love, or lawnmower repair, or world politics, especially in the long-winded, stream-of-consciousness style I use to ramble on here. I could get about three words into a sentence before being interrupted and losing whatever train of thought I had. I don't think that sort of controlled chaos is good or bad; it's just life, and I have it abundantly around my house, and no real complaint about it. But when you gotta say something, sometimes you have to pick your medium, and this one allows me a freedom that's hard to come by elsewhere.

And I have to say this--all of YOU folks have been terribly accommodating of me and my oddness, and for that I am eternally grateful. As I always have said, to me this space is akin to the office chair over there by the door--folks can wander by, sit a spell, talk about whatever I happen to find amusing at the moment (because it's all about me), and you can comment, or nod your head and smile politely and try to find a quick exit.

For those of you who are new to the place--such as, oh, maybe, my family members--I encourage you to look back through the archives, both here and over on the Blogspot site. There's a lot there--several million words (really)--so it'll take some time, but it might give you some idea about what goes through my mind when I'm doing that Jackie Gleason-esque slow burn, or why I didn't do something you thought I should, or why I forgot something I shouldn't have. By the time you've read it all and gotten caught up and digested it, I hope you'll figure out that this is a slightly more involved version of what I tell each of you every day--that I love you all. I might not have a lot of time to say much of anything else around the house, but you all know I DO make time to do that, but more importantly, I not only try to say it, but show it. Yes, I mess up--a lot. But it's like I always say, the only people who never fail are the ones who never do anything.

So, then--hey, y'all.

Back to the gardening, I went over and showed Miss Reba the stuff that was coming up, then got the kids to put up the cat, then it was time to head off for church. Where ONCE MORE the fascination of my online alter ego was of much intrigue to Rebecca, so I told her a bit more about the history of this place, and how it was really an offshoot of the writing I'd done when I kept up the website for our reenacting group, but that it took on a life of its own after the events of September 11.

I didn't get too detailed about it, but I told her it was a way to keep my thoughts organized during a very troubling time. She was much more interested in the craft of it, though--"And I was reading it, and I told Mama that you always called her "Miss Reba," and I was "Middle Girl" and Jonathan was "Boy," except when you called us by our names and Ashley was "Oldest" and Catherine was "Youngest," and..."

"Well, just don't make a big to-do about it, Bec--you're welcome to read it anytime you want to, but I really don't think Mom would care to read it since she's not on the computer all the time."

Which is true, which is another reason why I've never been that fearful of my hiding-in-plain-sightiness being discovered by my lovely bride. Miss Reba's got better things to do than read this silly mess.

Maybe.

Anyway, what was even more surprising is that apparently this wasn't the first time Rebecca had found Possumblog. She'd done family searches before, apparently, and had actually clicked on Possumblog, then decided after she got here that it was just a bunch of words and stuff and wasn't relevant to her search. How odd.

Anyway, I suppose she'll be checking in from time to time, so during church I wrote down the "new" URL (since she has been reliably carried to the OLD site most of the time) AND the URL for Revolvoblog, too. Never know--she might want to know how to install brake rotors. I'm not going to direct her to The Proboscis, mainly because we've all let it lapse for a couple of years. Poor thing.

After church, a stop at Chick-fil-A to get some supper for everyone, then a stop at the gas station, then on to home to watch Melinda get the shock of her life, then FINALLY some time to sprawl out on the bed and read my magazine while Miss Reba and Middle Girl took up their positions downstairs to work on the Apron for the Walker project.

Rebecca had colored some fabric pockets with pictures of various articles, so after cutting those out, the intent was to hem the edges and sew them on the apron.

First call, about midway through my magazine--"DAAAAAUHHHH DEEEEEEEEEE!"

::wait::

"DAAAAAAADEEEEEE EEEEEE EEEE!!! WE NEED HEH-ULLLLLLLP!!"

::sigh::

Downstairs, where I politely requested that Rebecca never ever scream up the stairs to get my attention ever again, and where I saw that the sewing machine was eating the fabric. "Hmm," said I.

I got Reba to let me sit down, and after much futzing about, finally got the top thread, the bobbin thread, and the cloth all cooperating nicely together and left it with them so I could go read the next article in my magazine that I got last weekend and still haven't managed to finish.

Several minutes passed, and Rebecca appeared at my elbow and whispered to me that I was needed again.

::sigh::

Machine was messing up again. Did the drill of removing the storage box, opening the bobbin chamber cover, removing the bobbin, removing the sharp round pointy thing retainer ring, removing the sharp round pointy thing, then reinstalling everything.

Still messed up.

*&((^%^&**

It was then that I figured out the thread had come undone from its looping trajectory through all the various hooks and loops and tensioners and bends and elbows, so after fixing THAT stuff, it finally began working right. Ish.

Anyway, I hemmed one pocket, then got wrangled into doing the rest of them. And after hemming, I got wrangled into sewing the blasted things onto the apron.

Sometime during this, there was a story on the TV about some guy who collected Barbie dolls, which Rebecca thought was kinda funny.

"HEY! Ain't nothing wrong with a man collecting Barbie dolls! Ain't like he's sewing aprons or anything!"

I was only faking irritation. Mostly. They stood off to the side of the table, and in a barely audible clenched-jaw whisper, Reba asked Rebecca, "Well, I wonder if he's going to write about THIS!"

Yes, m'dear--I certainly intend to! Even though I acted like I was ignoring what you said!

Surely you must know by now how I am!

Heh.

Got the apron finished, with only five or six more hate-inducing-thread-related incidents, and even though I completely screwed up one seam, I was able to cover it with another pocket, and in the end it was actually pretty cute looking.

And now she only has six or twelve more to make!

Finally got everyone bathed and in the bed sometime during Conan O'Brian.

For some reason, it was VERY difficult to get up this morning.

Go figure.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:08 PM | Comments (14)

AAHHHGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!

Sorry.

Just had a 1 1/2 hour meeting.

Time spent on actual, usable information?

About ten minutes, at the very most.

And people wonder why government is so inefficient. All you people who are clamoring for public-financed health care--I promise you, the last thing you need is a bureaucrat with no concept of time, spending YOUR money on OTHER people's ills.

And, no, I don't have my mailout done.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:42 AM | Comments (0)

It's also...

...Mailout Thursday, so I'll be back with you shortly--I have folding, spindling, and mutilating to do.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:51 AM | Comments (0)

May 16, 2007

I'm Off!

Of course, most of you already knew that, but I also have to leave early to go get Boy and take him to the dentist/oral surgeon/folding money eradicator.

See you all tomorrow, then!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:30 PM | Comments (4)

May 15, 2007

Ick.

Upper back cleavage.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:52 PM | Comments (2)

May 14, 2007

Mother's Day!

I got up early and got dressed, then got the kids up, then got the Mom up, then called my mom down on the coast. It was early, but she gets up early, so I knew I wouldn't disturb her. And I didn't--she seemed glad to hear from me, although I did have to remind her who I was. Not because she's lost her mind, it's just been so long since we'd talked. They were having fun, best as I could tell, so that's hard to beat for a Mother's Day present.

Got everyone loaded in the van, made the mad dash to the church building, pulled up with a minute to spare, Oldest yanked on the door handle, flounced herself out, and promptly dropped her Christmas-present-from-Grandma CD player to replace the other CD player she'd torn up, onto the pavement. Breaking it. She was very frustrated that there was no one she could blame for this mishap except herself. No one had touched her, pushed her, spoken to her, distracted her, or anything else. So she threw it back in the seat and stormed off into the building.

The other kids got out, I went and parked, walked in with Reba, then saw Jonathan and Rebecca's class having to go to the high school classroom. I know Rebecca would be overjoyed by that. Ashley makes a point of saying ridiculous, inflammatory, bizarre, and downright idiotic statements in class, and it embarrasses Rebecca to no end to have to be in there with her. Still haven't figured out if Oldest's various cries for attention are simply that, or if she actually believes even a fraction of the stuff she says, and just says it for the shock value. Not sure at all, but given how loosely she defines reality, I have to say she probably believes a majority of it.

::sigh:: At least the Democrats can feel good knowing they'll have at least one new voter.

Sat down in class, sneaked a few of Reba's jellybeans that the kids had given her (Catherine's biography on Friday noted that jellybeans were Mommy's favorite food), and tried to stay awake.

Worship service was good, with a good lesson about the value of mothers in the church, and then time for lunch.

Got in the van, and after becoming incensed that Jonathan would DARE get in on her side of the van, and steadfastly refusing to move to let him in, Oldest then immediately began a new rant about something that had been said in class over which she took great offense, even though no one was even talking to her. It took a great deal of concentration to ignore her. She craves getting to argue about stupid crap, and it can go on forever, mainly because she refuses to think even with the most remote sense of logic. The sky is blue? Therefore eveyone hates her, and she can PROVE it, because moo flip noogle shilno fbeeber. You could have a video of whatever transpired, and she'd still swear it wasn't like that. So, it's best to starve that fresh hell flame of oxygen.

By the time we got to Ruby Tuesday, the van was relatively quiet.

Went inside, had a nice lunch with remarkably few snide and hateful remarks from Oldest, then on back to home.

WHERE IT WAS TIME FOR Boy to finish his paper he was writing for today, and for Rebecca to work on her craft item she was doing as a class assignment. She has to make something, and then describe the process of how it's made. She'd decided to make a little fabric apron of sorts to attach to the walkers the residents use at the nursing home where Reba works. The idea is to have pockets with pictures of the items that go in the pockets, such as eyeglasses or playing cards or such, so that the resident always can tell where stuff is supposed to go.

Reba had gotten the fabric, and that had been the extent of what had been done. When we got home, no move was made to do anything and so I asked if maybe someone shouldn't start working on this, since it was due Thursday, and Boy has a band concert on Monday night, and there's some other kind of school thing on Tuesday night, and Wednesday night is church.

This was not a popular suggestion.

"Well, did YOU ever get the dimensions of a walker off the Internet!?"

You know, I had been told that this might be required sometime last week, but I (mistakenly) thought that since there is an abundance of walkers at the nursing home, and a yardstick, and a yardstick user, and pens and paper with which to write down the salient dimensions, that it would be rather useless for me to waste time looking it up on the computer.

I am such a silly stupid moron.

I put down my newspaper that I was trying to read, took a look at the leaderboard to see who was in front on the Darlington race I had been trying to watch, and went upstairs and found the dimensions of a typical folding metal walker.

For your benefit, they are these:

Width Inside Hand Grip = 17"

Width Inside Back Legs = 20"

Overall Width = 23"

Depth Opened at Base = 16.5"

And no, I don't have any idea what that would be in those silly French Celsius measurements.

Printed out the page from the catalog and brought that back downstairs and gave it to the production crew, who looked at it for about three seconds before deciding they didn't need it. They messed around with it some more before deciding they needed something else, so they took off and went to Michael's.

I read more of the paper, then dropped off into a stupor until they got back.

Newspapers--despite what you might think of them, they still make dandy sleeping aids.

Got ready for the evening excursion to church, which was an hour earlier than usual because we had a meeting about Vacation Bible School before the evening service. We were also having a meal afterwards. Both of these things caused Oldest no small amount of hardship, because let's face it--being forced to be around all those insufferably stupid people was JUST. SO. UN. FAIR.

Keeping that supply of fresh hells at maximum output, aren't we.

Off to the building, had our meeting, had our evening service, had our meal together, went home, decided it was a bad idea for Catherine to have dessert since it gave her renewed energy to pester Ashley, who responded in the predictable fashion of a two-year-old.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

Finally got home, they all piled out of the van, and found that the door to the kitchen had been locked on the way out. Not really a big deal, for sane people.

I gave Rebecca my set of keys, and she tried to get to the door to unlock it, and everyone was wedged between the Focus and the kitchen door, and Rebecca couldn't get to the door, but Oldest, who was the only one who COULD move wouldn't, because Catherine and Jonathan were trying to GET her to move, even though if she WOULD have moved everyone could have gotten in the door and the conflict would be over, so finally I had to request--ever so gently and mildly (really) for her to just take one step back so the door could be unlocked.

Well, my mindless disrespectful effrontery caused her to fly into a snitful rage, so she whirled around, grabbed the car door handle, and very nearly threw herself into the car seat before slamming the door behind her.

I know I've said she's like a two-year-old, but in fairness, she's more like a two-year-old with a driver's license.

Anyway, since she was out of the way, the door could be opened, and it was, and everyone went inside, excepting, of course, the One Who Must Not Ever Be Chastised, who remained locked in the car.

Kids upstairs to get their pajamas on, and myself back out to the garage with my car keys, because since I am evil and hateful and worthless, I had to get Oldest out of the car so I could go put gas in it since she was nearly out.

Yes, I'm almost certain she was grateful that I did that small thing for her!

Went and got gas, came back, helped Boy e-mail his teacher his assignment, asked (silly me) if Rebecca was going to work any more on her thing, since it needed to be worked on, was told by Miss Reba that I had said not to worry about it and for us just to go home and go to bed and work on it Monday or Tuesday (which never came out of MY mouth), got them both to go downstairs and work on that while I fulfilled another one of Oldest's requests, namely the scanning of some of her photos onto a CD for school.

Yes, I'm sure she was grateful for that, as well.

In the middle of that, had to stop and go get the bobbin thread to come up through the sole plate of the sewing machine, because my wife had become frustrated by her inability to capture the elusive thread. I tried not to seem overly gloatful when I got the thread up and swished it to the side with the scissors.

Back upstairs, finished the scanning and cropping and reformatting and copying, complimented Miss Reba on the progress she'd made in sewing the apron together, handing in my assigned work to Oldest, and got in the bed.

It was a very long weekend. And I'm very glad it's done.

Now then, this evening, I only have to rush home and make sure Boy gets dressed and gets to his concert on time. I figure I'll make it on time, as long as nothing out of the ordinary happens.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:47 PM | Comments (4)

Saturday Afternoon!

Next task, get something for Mom for Mother's Day. Gathered up Bec and Cat and drove over to Wally World to see about some cards and some small token of appreciation, AND to look for some gifts for Boy's birthday, which is today.

Found cards, found a couple of books, and then came home.

Next--time to get the lawnmower out. All the rain has been very good for the grass, less so for those of us who do the cutting. Did the front, then got Boy to come do the backyard while I laid down more weed-killer and fertilizer with the drop spreader. After that, time to work on the garden plot some, consisting of fixing the rows and hills and moving some of the too-close stuff further apart. After THAT, it was getting toward dark, and I was by now very, VERY tired.

Supper?

"I though maybe we could grille out some steaks and some chicken."

Marvelous.

"Okay."

Went outside to the grille, opened the lid, and....hmm.

What fresh hell is this?

The grate on top seemed to have contracted a bad case of cancerous oxidation, and was just about ready to give up the ghost. I briefly scrubbed it with the wire brush, then just picked it up and dropped it on the concrete to break off all the scale. Once the scale was broken off, it was in even worse shape than I thought it would be.

Meaning?

Only one thing--I was going to have to go to the store again.

I went in and explained the situation, and after noting that it would take a while to get another grate, and that since the steaks and chicken were still frozen solid as rocks, it would be best to go ahead and feed the children supper, because by the looks of things, it would be 9:30 before we got the grilling done.

This went over not at all well.

Whatever.

Got my billfold and went over to Lowe's and picked up a grate (the crappy kind that slides in and out), a lighter, a grease catcher cup, and a new cover, the old one having been blown away in some past gale. Stopped and got gas in Reba's van.

Home, where I found the rocks in the grille were nice and hot. Slapped on the new set of wires, installed my grease cup, and clanged the still-solid steaks on there to thaw-cook.

They simmered, then the chicken got put on, and it simmered, and I sat there in my broken-down rocking chair, looking up at the heat-lightning in the sky, trying to figure out how I was going to replace the two burnt out floodlamps on the eave above the patio. As predicted, the meat finally was finished around 9:30.

Boy, I was tired and hungry! I was too tired to eat, though, so I got a couple of the little cheese mini-quiches out of the Ziplock bag in the door of the fridge, wrapped up the meat in foil and stuck it in the fridge. It sure looked good, but I was past wanting to eat it.

Upstairs, where the children were trying to finish watching the rest of Kindergarten Cop, got my dirty grass/sweat/fertilizer/ weedkiller/charbroiled steak smelling clothes off, took a shower, and went to bed.

And then...

UP EARLY SUNDAY!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:49 PM | Comments (0)

Saturday

Up at 6:00. Tried to get up, couldn't. Finally rolled out of bed at 6:30, went and told Boy to get up and get dressed, went and took my shower.

Now, the night before, I had asked him what he was going to wear. "Regular clothes."

"What kind of regular clothes, Son?"

"I don't know--what I wear all the time."

"Okay--I'll tell you what to wear--this shirt [pointing to a very nice white oxford cloth longsleeve shirt], and a pair of khakis."

Pouting.

"Look, Son, it says on your form "Dress nicely." That means you're NOT going to get to wear a tee-shirt and shorts and those nasty rubber shoes of yours!"

Pouting more. Anyway, that was Friday night, and the conversation moved on to making sure he had his music, and his drumsticks. Which he did. Thank goodness.

Back to Saturday, now.

I finished up my shower, shaved, brushed teeth. Went to see if Boy was dress.

No.

"JONATHAN! Get up and get dressed NOW!"

He was resistant, and it wasn't because of the early hour. He was STILL pouting about what I was making him wear.

Grr.

"Put on THIS shirt and THIS pair of pants, and THESE socks, now!"

Angry mad pouting and lip quivering.

I went back and started getting my clothes on--since I wasn't performing, I got to wear jeans and a tee-shirt. [sticks out tongue and waggles butt to everyone] And in the middle of all this, Oldest gets back home from the lock-in, so she has to flounce in and announce that she only got five minutes of sleep. "Gee. I guess you're tired, then, huh?"

And then, what fresh hell is this?

Here comes Boy slouching into the room, "::sniff::I don't want to wear this!::sniff::" He falls onto the bed, large tear drops falling out of his head. "I don't LIKE it--it LOOKS weird! ::sniff::"

"Go get the rest of your clothes on NOW, because we have to leave."

He stomped off with his face twisted up in a knot. Reba suggested he could wear one of his polo shirts, which would have been fine with me, so after I got the rest of my stuff ready, I went to his room where he still sat, angry-faced and slobbering, and I told him to put on his yellow and white striped shirt instead. Which wasn't nearly so bad as the hated white oxford cloth shirt, but bad enough. Since I was making him wear his church shoes and dress socks and khakis.

THUS BEDRESSED, it was downstairs at 7:30 and into the car, where he was a damp sullen pile of pout. Out the driveway, and off down the hill.

"Would you like some breakfast from Sonic?"

"NO."

"No what?"

"No, sir!"

Well, okeedokey then.

Made the turn onto Main Street. Drove toward the Interstate.

"Would you like something from Arby's"

"No, sir."

Okeedokey, then.

I pulled into the drive-through and got the sausage breakfast wrap combo with potato cakes and a Diet Pepsi [watching my girlish figure, you know], paid for it, and got back out onto the highway.

It smelled absolutely divine.

"You sure you don't want a bite of this? It's awfully good."

"No, sir."

"Fine--suit yourself."

And so I ate ever last bite of it, loudly enjoying every taste and every aroma. "But I got to dress how I wanted to last year when Grandmama took me and picked me up!"

Oh, good grief. "I don't remember any of that last year, Son, and since Grandmama took you, she probably didn't know how you were supposed to dress, but your director's note said dress nice, so you are, so get over it!"

Pulled up to the school exactly 45 minutes later, right on time at 8:30. Found his band director, which is when I found out that he actually had a DUET with another kid!

Good thing he'd decided to get some clothes on and come, because the last thing we needed to do was mess up someone ELSE'S chance, all for the sake of some silly objection to clothes!

Got his music and grading sheet and snare drum, and went inside to go to the practice room. Amazingly enough, there were boys all over the place with white shirts, khaki pants, and dress shoes on. Some even had on ties. This seemed to cause a change in Boy, and by the time we'd walked around to the cafeteria where everyone was, he seemed to be back to his old self. He went in and said hello to a couple of kids he knew, set up his snare, and began practicing away. I told him I was going to go see where his room was, since there'd been a change in the judges, and when I got back, he was still tapping away, and excitedly asked me to listen to him.

Which I was happy to do. He messed up a couple of times, but I told him not to worry about it and if it happened while he was being judged to just play right on through it.

Got him a bottle of water, and then I sat and began reading the Popular Hotrodding magazine I'd brought to pass the time.

"Dad, Matthew ought to be here by now."

I looked at the clock, and it was about ten minutes to 9:00, so they had about 25 minutes before it was time to play.

Waited, and it got to be straight up 9:00, and I asked him if he'd seen him around anywhere yet. No. Hmm.

"Why don't you go ask your band director if he knows where he is."

I kept on reading, and off he went.

Read, read, read, and Hmmm.

It's nearly time for them to play, and he's not back yet.

I decided to walk on out and see what the holdup was. As I was going out, I passed the director coming in--"Oh, uhh, have you seen Jonathan? I thought he had come to look for you."

Outside waiting for this kid to show up.

I walked on out, and Jonathan was standing there on the sidewalk--"Son, what's the deal?"

"Well, Jacob's mom just called him, and his dad answered, and his dad had just come in from a trip, and his dad said they didn't know anything about it, because Matthew hadn't told them."

::blink::blink::

All together now! "WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS!?"

"Son, is he going to come on?! Because if he is, it's going to be another hour before they get here."

"I don't know."

Dang.

SO, took him back inside to the cafeteria, then went to ask his director what to do.

Basically, find out if the kid was actually going to try to make it--if so, wait and play when he gets there. No penalty for playing at the wrong time. If he wasn't, Jonathan could play it as a solo. Again, no penalty for that.

I went back to the cafeteria to tell Boy, then it was off again outside to find out again from the lady who'd called exactly what had been said and if they were going to come. Walked back outside, and the director had gotten out there and was once more keeping track of things. One of the kids and his mom were there, looking for a piece of sheet music. I recognized him as the kid Jonathan had been talking to at the table, and I remember he'd left his music there. I told them it was at the table where they'd left it, they thanked me and left.

I told the director it had been Jacob's mom that had called, and that Jonathan wasn't sure or not if the other kid was going to show, and asked if he could call and find out for sure. "Uh, well, that was Jacob and his mom that just went back inside to get their music."

Oh, right. I'm a big idiot. And don't know anyone, either.

"I can call for you, but you'll need to get the number from her because I don't have it."

RIGHT!

Back inside the building to hunt down Jacob and Jacob's Mom. Found them coming out of the cafeteria with their music, so I walked back down the way I'd just come with them, introducing myself along the way. "Well, you know we just live right down the street from y'all--and I'm going to be one of your daughter's cheerleading sponsors!"

Uh, no--remember--I'm highly antisocial, and so I don't know anyone who lives anywhere around me.

Anyway, I said all the socially-acceptable greetings and then got down to business--was this other kid going to show up or not?

No.

Grr.

Thanked her, and went back and told Boy to saddle up and mark his sheet as a solo, and let's go find a judge. He was eager to start and in a much better mood. Out the door, found a percussion judge, and Boy went in and performed "Washington." It leaves something to be desired, I would assume, without the tom part of the duet, but nonetheless, he rattled away his part and came out a few minutes later, satisfied he'd done a pretty good job.

Went outside to turn in his drum and await the results. The last time he'd done this (the one I couldn't remember about that his grandmother had taken him to) he and the other boys had gotten a II, which is worse than a I, which I am told means "Superior." If you get a I, you get a medal. Boy was really, REALLY hoping to get a medal.

First set of results came in, and his wasn't among the listed performers.

Wait some more.

Second set of results came in, and Jonathan got all As with one B. And he got a I.

He was very, VERY proud of that, and I was too. "Now then--let's go get you something to eat, okay?"

"OKAY!"

No more pouting about clothes! Hooray.

Back to Trussville, stopped at McDonald's so he could get brunch. Or McBrunch. I was still full from breakfast, so I just ordered a tall Diet Coke to keep my caffeine level topped off.

As we stood there in line, a woman came in with a lost look on her face, and it took me a moment to figure out who she was talking to and what she was saying. I get wrapped up in myself like that sometimes.

"Does anyone have any jumper cables? Anyone? Does anyone have any jumper cables?"

Hey, wait a minute. I've got jumper cables.

"Ma'am, I've got some jumper cables."

"Jumper cables?"

"Yes, ma'am--I have some jumper cables."

"You do?"

Dang it all, yes I DO!

"Yes, ma'am."

I told her to wait just a moment and let me get my son sat down with his food, and I'd be right with her. Luckily, his food was ready, so I walked on out with the lady, who explained that her elderly mother was in the car and she didn't know what to do and it was hot and she was worried and she already had the hood up and did I think the cables would reach. Luckily, she was parked right next to me.

"Let me take a look and see how long they are first, ma'am."

Got out the cables, opened my hood, dropped them on the ground, and, no.

Not long enough.

"Are they long enough?"

"No, ma'am, but I'm just going to pull over on the other side of your car and then we'll get it cranked."

I pulled around and opened the hood again.

"Now--before you start--the man who put this battery in put these little felt things on? And he said that he really should have put the green one on one side and the red one on the other? But he got them mixed up, so be really careful!"

"It's okay, ma'am--the color of the felt is just there to help you remember which terminal is which. The color of the felt doesn't matter as long as the cables are hooked to the right terminal."

"Okay, but be careful because he said he put them on the wrong way."

"Yes, ma'am."

I hooked up the cables, and she said she wouldn't do anything until I told her. "You know, I used to have a Volvo, too! One of those that was square in he back. I think it was made in 1992. Or 1996. Is this one like that?"

"I'm not sure what model you had, ma'am--this one's an eighty-si..."

"OH, I think it was like this one. Just tell me what you want me to do!"

By now I had it all hooked up, so I asked her to crank it, which it did right off.

"This has happened before, and the last time they told me it wasn't the battery and they replaced the switch in it!"

"I don't think it was the switch."

"ME, NEITHER!"

I unhooked the cables and put them back in the trunk, and the lady asked how much she owed me, and she seemed genuinely surprised when I said nothing. Who would charge someone to jumpstart their car when you have cables and it's parked right next to your car!?

No one. Certainly not me. I waved her away, reparked, and walked inside again.

Boy sat where I'd left him, his sandwich not touched.

"What's the matter?"

He'd ordered grilled chicken, they'd given him fried.

I went back to the counter, where one of the kind and helpful staff [/sarcasm] took the offending sandwich away from me (in contravention of the health department rules for fast food establishments) and proceeded to berate the woman who'd taken my original order. After about ten minutes of back and forth about how it happened that an order at McDonald's could actually have been gotten wrong, the older redhaired lady finally had all she could stand and said with much exasperation to the rest of the jaybirds in the back, "I'm SORRY! I got his order wrong--" Left unsaid, I'm sure, were several choice words about how many times they'd messed up on something. Judging by their slovenly habits and rudeness, I'm guessing several hundred times a day. The cashier game me a new sandwich and apologized again for getting it wrong. "No problem," and I smiled and thanked her, loudly enough for the rest of the cackling hens to hear.

Sounded like her day had been one string of fresh hells one after another.

Boy ate up, and then it was to home again with us, where he made a triumphal, Superior grade entrance.

NEXT: Saturday, Part II!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:14 AM | Comments (2)

The rundown.

Uninteresting details to follow--bail if you wish.

Friday afternoon: Going home, and it FINALLY looks like we might get a bit of rain. Big thunderclouds parked out to the east, one giant one with a sheet of opaque underneath that looked like the color and texture of blue jean dryer lint. We need rain. Got to Trussville, and sure enough, it's raining great big drops, and then buckets.

And then hail.

Dang. The Volvo already HAS hail damage from time spent in the previous owner's care, and I don't want any more. And, of course, there was no place to pull off and get under some cover. Luckily, it was relatively small pieces. Unluckily, there was a LOT of it. I don't think it did anything to the car, though.

Home, found Oldest "doing laundry," (in quotes because she has no clue about how to do laundry efficiently, but I'm not about to show her the right way since she "knows everything"), then find out that Oldest has decided she's not going to the choir lock-in at school because Mom had just called and said part of Chalkville Road was flooded. "Uh, well, you know it's going to drain off. I don't think it'll be flooded by the time you..."

"No! I think I'll just stay here because I don't want to tear up the car or anything!"

As if. She obviously just was looking for an excuse not to go. Whatever.

Reba got home with the kids, managed not to get too wet getting in the house, and I went upstairs to order some pizza. As I'm sitting there, Jonathan brings in a piece of paper. Seems he'd forgotten that they had a solo and ensemble district band competition. At 9:15 a.m. on Saturday. And he had to be there 45 minutes ahead of time. 8:30 a.m. And it was being held at Thompson Middle School in Alabaster. Which is almost an hour away. Meaning we'd have to leave at 7:30 a.m. Meaning we'd have to get up around 6:30 a.m.

On the plus side, he did remember to tell us.

On the negative side, he'd had the sheet for many days now, and it seemed to have slipped his mind. Imagine that.

Pizza arrives, supper starts, Catherine reads her book that she made for Mom for the Mother's Day biographical interview program her class did for all the moms which was sweet beyond compare, meaning that Oldest had to begin her usual smirking snotty derision of it since Catherine was getting attention, which caused Rebecca to tell her to stop it and let Catherine talk, which obviously meant that Oldest was now the victim of everyone being mean to her, and thus began a quickly escalating firefight, until I told everyone just to climb down off it and pipe down. Which, of course, was sufficient to cause Oldest to decide that she WOULD go to the lock-in at school, no matter if it was raining or flooding or anything else, because the idea of being under the thumb of such an oppressive, overbearing father figure was simply too much to bear. Didn't matter that everyone was told to clam up, because to admit that would mean a diminuation of her victimization.

Again, whatever.

She got up and flounced upstairs muttering all the way about how she gets mistreated.

Sometime later, she comes downstairs completely redressed carrying an armload of junk, goes and stuffs it in the car, and off she goes--with my friendly advice to be careful driving since it's still raining outside.

The door from the kitchen to the garage closes, I go into the laundry room to try to sort out the jumbled mass of mismatched clothes she'd previously washed, and the telephone rings.

What fresh hell is this?

I answered. "DAD!? I THINK I HIT THE VOLVO!"

Zeus on a scooter. She had only just gone out the door. The Volvo was parked at the very end of the driveway, allowing enough room for a Kenworth to maneuver. And how do you think you hit something--either you did or you didn't. And why call me on the phone? YOU'RE STANDING OUTSIDE THE *&^%# HOUSE!

"I'll be out in a second." I tried my very best to be as unaffected as possible.

I walked out, got the umbrella, and she was standing there with the car still running. Best I can tell, she just backed straight back and only at the very last second swerved, hitting the front passenger side bumper of the Volvo with the rear driver side bumper of the Focus. I got the flashlight out of her car and looked--the plastic bumper had a few white spiderweb stress cracks in the blue paint, while the sturdy Scandinavian rubber coated bumper of the Volvo looked to have come out on the good end. And, obviously, Ashley wasn't hurt. Not even her pride, because I don't think she ever acknowledged that she had, in fact, actually backed into the car. Reality not being one of those things she's comfortable with.

I quietly told her it was okay and to be careful, which she acknowledged with a huff and off she went.

Rebecca had heard the collision upstairs in her room. She had on her headphones and was listening to music. She said the impact sounded like when the garbage truck drops one of the garbage cans on the driveway. So, I suppose we're quite fortunate that there was no more damage than there was.

The house finally was peaceful, so the girls came to our room and started watching Kindergarten Cop with Mom while I ran down the hill to the grocery store to pick up some paper towels and Sharpie markers, all the while saying to myself, "IT'S NOT A TOOMAH!!"

Home, girls watching television, phone rings.

What fresh hell is this?

Crying, with the background sound of boisterous teenagers. "::sniff:: Can I talk to MOM!?::snort::"

Gladly.

I got the girls to go on to bed since it was past 10:30 and I was going to have to get up early.

And the phone call?

Well, she's been on the outs with #6, mainly because he's a guy and an immature one at that. Much like I'd been saying all along, if anyone were ever to chance to actually listen to me. Even though it's been two months since #6 has called her, and even though the last time they did talk he "yelled" at her and told her he couldn't talk to her, she still had it in her mind that they were boyfriend/girlfriend. Seems the clouds of reality had never darkened her thinking, even though it would be obvious even to a planarian that things were officially over between them. Her agony of late was that she had since become enamored with Potential Beau#7, yet couldn't quite bring herself to "dump" #6.

SO, she decided it would be a good idea to use the choir lock-in event as a suitable venue to call #6 and break up with him. Big captive audience for her to talk to about it, after all. Even though she's just about managed to alienate all of them with her constant melodramatics. So, the call was made, and boofrickinhoo, "HE DUMPED ME!!"

Reba asked her why this was such a big deal, since Oldest didn't want to date him anymore anyway. "BUT I WANTED TO DUMP HIM!!"

Again, I'd say she was about two months behind the curve on that one.

Mom told her to forget about it and quit crying and get some sleep. Obviously, Oldest wasn't about to do any of that.

But at least there were no more phone calls Friday evening.

AND THEN, to bed.

NEXT: The exciting Saturday fun!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:41 AM | Comments (2)

For some reason...

...all weekend long, I have been quoting Dorothy Parker in my mind, specifically, "What fresh hell is this."

One thing after another, and to cap it off, it's time for staff meeting. Which, believe it or not, is actually a RELIEF compared to the turmoilery of the weekend past.

Anyway, more details later.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:30 AM | Comments (9)

May 11, 2007

I tell you what we need!

We need to have a weekend right about now, so I can go home and cut grass and things like that!

I'm hoping this weekend won't be quite so busy, but I've been fooled on that score before.

In any event, all of you have a great weekend and Lord willing I'll see you again come Monday and we can sit around and talk some more.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:21 PM | Comments (0)

May 09, 2007

Gardening.

Before the ice cream man came by yesterday, it was time to go and inspect the vegetable patch and give it some water.

Stuff's doing surprisingly well, considering how often it gets trampled across by furry varmints. Looks like we'll have beets, radishes, cucumbers, eggplant, and beans pretty soon. The corn hasn't sprouted yet, but it could be that new shy variety everyone's going on about.

Also, there are some new additions--two bell pepper plants, three tomato plants, and six watermelon plants. We got these the other day from Lowe's and put them out in leftover flower pots. Big ones, so hopefully there's enough dirt in there to support life. And hopefully the wire cages around them will deter furry varmints.

We could use some rain.

On the flower end of things, the running roses in the flower bed outside the kitchen could use a squirt or two of Agent Orange, because they've pretty much taken over. Sure are pretty, though.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:55 PM | Comments (0)

Now then.

That was a very short meeting--only an hour. It's just that the paperwork that went flying afterward was like Krakatoa erupting. So that explains my long delayed return to the warm confines of Possumblog.

And now that I'm here?

I dunno--I got nuthin'.

Although I do have some bragging to do--had two events to go to last night that were happening concurrently, one was Rebecca's soccer banquet and the other was the PTA meeting at the elementary school and Catherine (and the rest of her choirmates) had a performance. Since Reba hasn't gotten to see Rebecca play much this year, I thought she should be the one to take her to the banquet (a good idea, except Oldest went, too, and spent the entire time trying to be noticed--as if she could be ignored) and I would go with Cat to her concert (with Boy in tow, because Catherine nearly cried when he said he wanted to go to the soccer banquet).

First, at the banquet, Bec got a nice framed certificate for not missing a practice--only two girls got one. It nearly made me cry, because it had a quote from Vince Lombardi on it.

Individual commitment to a group effort -
that is what makes a team work,
a company work,
a society work,
a civilization work.

(Whatever you might think of how great soccer is, it has a dearth of coaches whose words are worth repeating.)

So she was quite happy about that, and everyone had a good time, and a pretty good dinner. And no boys. Which crushed Oldest, because she thought there were going to be some there so she could preen in front of them.

Heh!

Ahem, sorry.

Over on the other side of the village, the choir kids did a tremendous job singing and playing their recorders. You'd think a mass recorder ensemble made up of 4th and 5th graders would be about as appealing the sound of cats being fed into a wood chipper, but they really were good, and they played along with some interesting peppy background music the director had on the PA system. Catherine? Dear sweet Catherine.

Before it was time to go the concert, the ice cream man made an exceedingly rare run down our street, and since I actually had some money for once, I decided to get her and Jonathan (well, okay, and me, too) some ice cream.

Apparently hers was filled with sugar, chocolate, and a giant dose of amphetamines. She absolutely would NOT be still and carried on a running conversation with everyone around her, while alternately blowing her recorder, and dancing around her assigned area as though she were having a visitation from St. Vitus himself. Bad thing is, she really can play that danged recorder and can sing like a little angel WHEN SHE SETTLES DOWN. As it was, I'm just thankful she was on the very back row, on the far right hand side.

I'm thinking that's not an accident.

IN OTHER NEWS, we finally got the results of Boy's band trip this past weekend to the "Trills and Thrills" middle school band competition in Marietta. They received unanimous "superior" ratings, which I think is good. Best information until now was from Boy, who said they'd gotten "some sort of plaque thing for participating."

AND FINALLY, Rebecca was honored again this morning (which Mom was able to attend, thank goodness) at an award program for being on the all-A honor roll the entire year, AND a special recognition from the yearbook staff, which was unexpected, given that she has not had a good time in there this year after having such high hopes and having to jump through hoops at the end of last year to make sure she got on the staff. Still, she worked hard, even though she didn't want to, and so it was nice to get a little recognition for that.

Thus ends this session of bragging on my kids.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:47 AM | Comments (4)

May 08, 2007

I left a key under the mat.

That way you can still get in tomorrow, even though I won't be here.

Of course, it would probably make more sense if I actually had a lock on the door that worked, but whatever.

ANYway, the usual bi-weekly (or semi-monthly) off-campus meeting comes around again tomorrow morning, so I will be at that for a while before being able to entertain you as I have in the past with shadow puppets, pantomimes, and sing-alongs. I hope you will be able to manage without me, but if you can't, you can find someone who possibly even exceeds the entertainment value herein by exploring around the blogrolls.

I will warn you, however, that none of them have naked prehensile tails or walnut-sized brains. So, you know, reader beware and all.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:19 PM | Comments (2)

May 07, 2007

And Sunday?

Well, everyone was still tired and grouchy!

Imagine that.

(Jim Smith, noted college professor, says I need one of these.)

Went to church, Reba got degrouched when everyone made a fuss over her cute hair, headed home, which engroucherated Oldest, who wanted nothing more than to eat out. Which was out of the question, seeing as how we'd spent the equivalent of the GDP of Senegal the past couple of days. Best just to go home and eat the food we had.

Yeah, I know--I'm a heartless bastard.

On to home, and had just got stuff put away when the telephone rang. Yalping and screeching and hooting and clamor in the background, which I figured meant it was Boy, checking in finally.

"HELLO? JONATHAN!?"

The next few minutes were spent shouting into the phone like I was Andy trying to talk to someone in Mt. Pilot.

They were at Six Flags. He was bored. They had gotten a plaque for participating in the band competition. He was okay. He was being good. He talked to Mom for a while. He was bored. He was okay. He was being good.

I think someone was homesick.

Hung up, ate lunch (yes, even Oldest decided it was fit for her gullet!), went upstairs and found that Boy had already tried to call home twice that morning. Poor fellow.

Oldest had an event to attend, so she took off for that, with only the slightest idea of where she was going, while the rest of us took off for Riverchase to go to the Target on 280. Why? Well, the handy rain check I had said that this store might have some of the gazebos in stock. We figured we'd go ahead and get it and then fix the wood platform, rather than the smart way. Why? Because I'm a moron.

Missed the turn, doubled back, missed the turn again, finally got there, admired the flocks of Canada geese (and their horse-sized piles of goose poop) that had taken over the parking lot. Went to the service desk and asked the girl if they could have someone bring me out one of the gazebos.

No.

I'm sick to death about hearing how customer-friendly Target is, you know it? I have never been impressed, and they invariably treat me like a horse-sized pile of goose crap whenever I go to customer service. How goldanged hard would it be to call to the back to a) check and make sure they still had some in stock, and b) have one of their mouth-breathing gits put one on a float and bring it to the front?

Pretty danged impossible, I suppose.

"Ahhhm, you'll, like, have to go back there? and go get it yourself? Mkay?"

Bee-eye-tee-cee-haitch.

Grabbed a nearby cart, and went back to where the gazebos were, and of COURSE, they aren't out on a shelf, because they're the size of a Buick even boxed up. Called on the red courtesy phone, got an associate who had to go to the register, type in the stock number, see if there were any in stock, then go back and get me one out of the stockroom.

Idiots.

As I waited at the electronics counter, Rebecca and I watched the long haired slack-jawed kid behind the cash register take a great deal of interest in adding rubber bands to a giant rubber band ball. Several customers came and went, but fortunately, none of them disturbed him in his important task. Heaven forbid he would have had to look up and ask them if they needed some help.

The girl came back with my gazebo, rang it up, and I was on my way, hating every single second I'd had to spend in there. Wouldn't be nearly so bad except Target has that veneer of snooty designer superiority that somehow is supposed to make up for the indifference and disdain of the "help."

Home, unloaded, got another call from Boy, who, it turns out, had spent nearly fifty dollars on garbage, and had wound up having to borrow money from his chaperone. YET ANOTHER LECTURE to come when this one gets home.

Back to church, and right as we were standing up to sing the last song, I felt my phone vibrating. Danged rat was calling AGAIN!

I walked out and found an empty room and he was calling to say they'd just left the rest stop at the state line. And as with each time before, I found myself shouting into the phone to try to get him to listen to me. Especially when he said that he didn't think he was supposed to pay his chaperone back for the money she'd given him. Long loud conversation ensued about not abusing people's good will and that yes, we WOULD be paying her back, even if she'd said he didn't have to. ::sigh::

We left the older two girls at the building for the young folks to have supper and a devotional and we headed home to await the triumphal return of Boy. Which actually wasn't long after we got home. I'd just gotten off my church clothes when the phone rang for the umpty-jillionth time, with the same insane asylum roar in the background, and he was about ten minutes away from school.

Got in the car, putted over to the school, pulled in just as the buses were parking, parked, got out, walked across the quad and waited. Found him, got his garment bag, gave him the five to go give his chaperone, who'd apparently alreadly left, so we came on home. He was worn slap out.

BUT--he did learn a valuable lesson. He'd gotten a Spiderman glove at Six Flags, and after getting it, wasn't really that pleased with it. "How'd you get that, son?"

"Someone guessed my age--and they said I was fifteen."

"So you won the Spiderman glove, huh? And exactly how much did it cost you for this person to lose his guess?"

"Five dollars."

"So, even though he got it wrong, he still has your five dollars, and you got a crappy toy out of the deal?"

"Yes, sir."

My mother calls these little incidents "learning experiences." I intend to make sure my children will be as sick of hearing it as I was growing up.

"Well, then, son--I guess that was a pretty good learning experience for you, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

Darned right.

And next time--if there is one--he knows there's going to be NO money for garbage. I've got a gazebo to pay for, after all.

Home, dropped him off, he looked quizzically at Mommy, who had hair when he left for Georgia, then I was back to the church building to get the girls, then back home, and I was just about to tell Reba the Ostrich Joke, but she got sidetracked and I wound up going to bed without telling her.

Anyway, that was my weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:54 PM | Comments (2)

"I Roll." Sidewaysish, a bit.

SO, up, dressed again, went downstairs and ate the cold breakfast that had been prepared at dawn and was still sitting out on the stove. Apparently, rather than simply come upstairs and tell everyone breakfast was ready so early, the fixer of said breakfast believed it best to make everything, not tell anyone to come eat it, then cook up for herself a delicious stew-in-you-own-juice, pout-on-a-plate! With an extra helping of martyrdom!

It was all very tasty.

Now then, to go get the Volvo refixed. As mentioned numerous times previously, the trip to the alignment shop last weekend resulted in new tie rod ends, a free rotate and balance, and a disconcerting drift leftward when driving upon the Interstate. Not bad, but noticeable. And not only that, the steering wheel was cocked ever so slightly to the right. Which is independent of the alignment, but still related, and just as disconcerting.

Down the hill, explained this to the shop owner, who was wistfully thoughtful as he tried to figure out what it could be without looking. We then took a ride, making the loop down Highway 11, up onto I-459, then to I-59, then back off at Chalkville Road. Of course, it didn't drift when I was in there, which meant that they'd lined it up without any weight in the driver's seat. Some cars are sensitive to weight bias, and as much as he tried to talk around it with talk of worn springs and such, best practice for a proper alignment--no matter how insensitive the car might be to it--still requires that you put a few 50 pound bags of sand in the driver's seat when it's on the rack just to make sure. And the steering wheel really was off a bit, which he couldn't so easily cover.

So, back to the shop, and I sat and watched the Documentary Channel and read dealership brochures.

And waited on Reba--I didn't know how long it was going to take, and her hair appointment was at 11:30, and as is her wont, she procrastinated until very late before leaving, and I'd asked her to drop Catherine and Rebecca with me so she wouldn't have to tote them with her and Oldest, otherwise open warfare would have erupted, and so when she pulled into the parking lot at 11:27, she was not in the best of moods. I didn't tell her that they'd just finished up with the car.

Got the girls, and took the car for a spin. Drove just right! Happiness all around! Made a stop at Target for light bulbs, three-ring binders, and a towel rack. Because they've just about torn the other one off the wall. I thought a nice row of hooks would look nice. If it was long enough to cover the gaping holes in the wall. Back to home, did laundry, installed light bulbs--INCLUDING THREE COMPACT FLUORESCENTS!!--and fixed the towel rack without having to install the new row of hooks. Meaning I'd have to return to Target to return them. Silly me. Did more laundry, and waited to take Catherine to a birthday party. She's gotten to be quite the social butterfly. Or something.

Time got near, got her fixed up, and went back out to take her over to the new Red Robin restaurant (which has a television mounted in the floor, which would weird me out if I was a girl with a skirt on, because you'd always be suspicious that there's a camera under there along with the television), found Cat's friends and a mom who I think was with them, and left her there with eight dollars in case she needed to buy her lunch. Never can tell nowadays if food is included with the party invite.

Back home, laundered more, then it would up nearly two hours later and it was time to go back and get Youngest. Walked out and saw Reba and Ashley pulling into the driveway with their new hairs. Very cute, as I've mentioned. It's been a long, LONG time since Reba's hair was that short. Up to just below her ears, like it was in high school. Ashley's was a bit longer, just above her shoulders, and it suited her nicely. And it's a lot shorter than the time she got it cut when she was younger, the cut that she swears to this day I forced upon her and MADE her cut her hair that short. As I told Reba, I hope since this bob is even shorter, she'll finally shut up about it. (Although I'm sure she'll still swear her new hair is much, MUCH longer than it was then.)

Whatever.

Off with Middle Girl to go get Cat. The party was still going on, or at least the gift opening was, so I waited a little while before gently guiding Catherine away after much thank yous and such. But not before finding out she'd spent all eight of her dollars playing games. In addition to some quarters that the birthday girl's mom had given the kids.

She managed to "win" three of those rubber balloon things with the flashing lights inside. One of which she gave away.

::sigh::

Had to have a long talk about NOT BLOWING ALL MY MONEY ON STUPID CRAP!

Because if we spend it on stupid toys, we won't have it to spend on stupid gazebos.

We'd stopped at the Target on the way back home to take back the hooks and the fluorescent tube I'd bought that was too short, and stumbled upon the display of gazebos.

Rebecca noted that on Friday night when they were out shopping that Mom had seen them and noted they were on sale. Sure enough, they were all a third off. Pretty good deal. We've been looking at them for a while, with the idea we'd set one on the wood platform that's out in the back of the backyard. Just haven't ever gotten around to it, though.

But now? Well, hmmm. Let me think.

10 x 10. That should fit--I thought the platform was around that size. Call home. Get Reba to get a yardstick and go measure. 10 x 8. DRAT!

I then did some more cogitating and went and got a tape measure off the shelf to do some impromptu measuring of things to figure out what I could do, and called home several more times for confirmation of the way everything was laid out. Basically, the only thing that's going to work is to add about two feet onto the short side of the platform. Because I am a moron.

But, at least I had a small reprieve--they were out of the gazebos, so I got a rain check that I figured would buy me some time until I figured out how to fix the wood platform.

Home, and then as soon as I'd gotten there, Reba took off again with Rebecca to go do more money-spending.

Wow--how I WISH I was our creditors!

They came back in after a while, and eventually everyone got in the bed and went to sleep.

At least I think they did.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:12 AM | Comments (2)

So, I tried to get to bed early.

Because I really wanted to get some sleep. For some reason, Reba and the girls had gone out shopping Friday evening, and I got Boy to go on to bed at 9, and I did the same. Obviously, when the girls got in, they trompled all over the house and talking in their high-pitched squealy girl voices, so I did the best I could with the pillow-over-my-head trick. This worked until sometime around 11, when Reba finally went to bed, and Oldest was still awake, and still had her television turned up loud enough to where I could hear it in our room, with a pillow over my head.

Got up, told her to turn it down and go to bed.

Went back to bed, angry, of course.

Dropped off for a while, then heard chatter.

GRRRR.

Looked at the clock--1:26 a.m.

Sat up in bed, and the hallway was ablaze with light, and Boy was coming down the hallway to the bathroom. Went in and found that Oldest--who complains all the time about being tired during the day because for some reason she is so oblivious to common sense that she insists on staying up late--was still up. I barked at her to turn off her lights, and go to bed, then told Jonathan to get the *&^%* in bed and go to sleep.

Some time later, I roused and the light in Oldest room was STILL ON, so once more I angried myself into a tizzy and shouted at her to turn the stinking light off, went back to bed, and woke up at 3:00 when the alarm went off. I opened my eyes and saw the silhouette of Boy standing in the doorway like some sort of axe murderer. He was already dressed.

Got up, got on some jeans and a shirt and I think I put on a cap, but maybe I didn't. Went downstairs and made him some breakfast hot pockets and made sure for the final time he had all of his stuff. Shuffled out to the Volvo, got in, got him in, putted over to the middle school. We were the second arrival. Waited for just a bit and then other folks started arriving, so I let him out, told him to be good and listen to his chaperones, to be good, and not be bad, and to remember he represented the school, but more importantly, he had my last name and he'd better not screw it up, and to be good, and not get lost, and to be good. He agreed in general.

Off back to the house, off with my jeans, and possibly the ball cap if I had one on, climbed back into bed, and dropped off. Fitfully, but still, asleep enough. Until 4:11 a.m., when the telephone beside my head chirped to life. It was Boy. At least I thought it was, it was nearly impossible to hear him with the cacophony in the background.

"What's mywheroueoruu?"

"WHAT?"

"Dad--werhessdrehe sethe sherewoe??"

"WHAT?"

"WHAT'S MY CELL PHONE NUMBER!?" His chaperone wanted to know what it was just in case, which is a good idea.

But aside from that--Grr. Dang it all. All you have to do is go to the menu and you can find it, but I'd never shown him that so there's no reason to get too mad at him. I couldn't remember it, though, so I was going to have to get my own phone out and see what the number was of the phone he had.

"WHAT IS IT, DAD?"

"Would you just WAIT a dadgummed minute, son!?"

"OKAY."

I fumbled for my cellphone, found it, got up and went to the bathroom so I could turn it on and see what it said, "DAD, DO YOU HAVE IT YET?"

"I will TELL you when I've GOT IT, OKAY!?"

Turned it on, flipped through the menus, told him the number.

He got it wrong.

Once more.

Still wrong.

ONE MORE TIME.

Finally got it, and I hung up and tried once more to get to sleep. Sometime around daybreak I felt the bed heave and Reba get up, then the tell-tale beating and banging of cookware and stuff downstairs to start the day. I pulled the pillow back over my head again.

Finally got up around 9. Twelve potential hours of sleep, reduced to a total of about three.

And people wondered why I was so grouchy all weekend!

Next: REALIGNMENT!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:58 AM | Comments (0)

Good morning!

Or, a reasonable facsimile thereof.

Well, a long weekend, and for the most part it went smoothly. Boy left and returned from his band trip with nothing too bad happening, other than me not getting any sleep, the Volvo now is a reliable centrist, Reba and Ashley both got hair cuts, and both look cute as cute things, laundry got done, and for some reason, I went and got one of those nice metal-framed gazebo tents from Target. (Mainly because it was on sale. I'm SPAVING!)

Anyway, more about all that in just a bit. The Monday morning staff meeting beckons.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:21 AM | Comments (6)

May 04, 2007

And that's that.

The weekend has come stomping up the street like Godzilla, and there appears no way to run away from it. Obviously, the only thing left to do is turn, put my hand beside my head, and scream, being careful that the sound does not synchronize with my mouth movements.

Let's see--in the wee early hours of Saturday morning (3:00 a.m., to be exact) I must arise and get dressed and take Boy over to the middle school because they're going on a band trip to Georgia. So not only do I not get any sleep to start the weekend, I'll be tossing and turning out of worry until he gets back. Of course, he'll be fine, but I tremble at the potential for mischief in such things as band trips, with associated side trip to Six Flags over Georgia. So there's that.

And then after I've gotten home and gotten back in the bed but not been able to rest, I'll have to get up and take the Volvo back down to the shop so they can look at it again. Seems they turned it into a liberal whilst aligning it, so that it drifts to the left unless given constant, strict, correction.

Then, Reba will go later on that day and get her hair done, and this will only cost a portion of what it takes to keep John Edwards properly groomed. However, seeing as how I live in That Other America, it turns out to be a big chunk of change. But Mama must be kept happy.

There's laundry to be done, of course. And I wager there'll be other things that will conspire to keep me from taking a nap.

But hey, you know what?

I got it pretty good.

Y'all have a good weekend, and I'll see you come Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:16 PM | Comments (0)

A Nation of Pushalongs and Queuejumpers!?

I would have thought it of anyone except the British. What has happened to that place!?

I am just now returned from my noonday hunting and gathering, after having stopped by the Wall Street Deli in the AmSouthRegionsHarbertPlaza. It was late-lunchish, and it is a Friday, so there weren't that many patrons milling about, but after getting my foam dinner plate and proceeding to the salad bar, I sensed someone to my right.

Now I'm not a particularly slow gatherer of salad objects, but after looking up and seeing a average woman of average height and weight and hair length and age anxiously gathering up lettuces and onions and tomatoes, well, frankly I felt pressured. Rushed, almost. And she was standing so danged close to me. I need elbow room, you know? I don't want anyone interfering with my spoon and tong action. And you get that creepy sense that she's paying more attention to what I'm putting on my plate than what she's putting on hers.

What's yer deal, there, toots!?

I wanted so much to make sure my selection of garbanzos and ham cubes was done properly, and that they were each arranged as artfully and efficiently as possible within the nest of greens I'd created, yet I felt her breathing down my side. I'd put down an implement and she'd reach over and grab it right back up.

I was going as fast as any decent person could be expected, and yet I couldn't shake her until I rounded the corner and stopped for some jalapenos. She raced around me to the other longer side of the bar, and I breathed a sigh of relief to be rid of this tailgater, even though I was still shocked at her presumption that it was acceptable to pass without even signalling!

She'd moved on to the sunflower seeds and croutons and prepared pasta salads as I eased on around the corner to the dressings. I got the dipper and placed a suitable amount of bleu cheese liquid on my salad, and then looked up to see that SHE'D GONE BACK AROUND AGAIN! That's right--she was back round to the other side getting some more tomatoes! I was about to GET LAPPED!

The one good thing is that since she was making the circuit again, I was able to sprint to the cashier and get paid for before she further disturbed me.

It was then that she revealed herself.

I heard the distinctive dialect of England, asking of the staff, "Where is the hot wartah for the tea?" I could hardly believe it--all that time I was very nearly being bump-drafted by one of the Queen's subjects! This is not the England to which I am accustomed! A place where protocols are followed decently and quietly! But here she was, rambling about the place as if she were, were--a pushy YANKEE!

Simply intolerable.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:28 PM | Comments (4)

May 02, 2007

Gardening.

Okay, does anyone want a cat?

Stupid thing.

Catherine let him out yesterday after we got home, and the first thing he did was go straight over to the neatly rowed garden plot and walk all over it, knocking my nice little rows askew. And then he continued to return every so often to roll in between the rows and knock the tops off the hills, and he's so smitten with the damp dirt that he can't even be chased out by the normal things such as hissing, poking with a rake, or being punted like a football.

ANYway, we got corn, carrots, radishes, beets, peas, cabbage, and Brussel sprouts planted, in spite of the feline interference.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:06 AM | Comments (9)

May 01, 2007

Gardening.

Yesterday, Catherine and I made eight mounds and planted cucumber, canteloupe, eggplant, and bush beans. We (I) then laid out six rows for the rest of the seeds, but didn't get those planted because it was getting close to dark. This portion of the exercise was made more difficult by the presence of a fat striped cat who decided the middle of the bed was a good place to plop down and stretch.

This afternoon we'll get the rest of the seeds down. And we might have to forego planting tomato and pepper seeds and get some actual plants instead. She and Mom don't seem to quite understand how long it takes for stuff like that to grow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:57 AM | Comments (0)

Now then, it's Tuesday.

So, that means...

Well, I have no idea.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:21 AM | Comments (3)

April 30, 2007

And then...

Well, Sunday was going to be a lot more restful. Yesterday was the fifth Sunday in the month, and every time that happens, we have a meal together and then right afterward have the evening service, so we’re through for the day by 2:00, which meant I could go home and get into my comfy clothes and not do a blessed thing the rest of the afternoon except doze, read the paper, watch the race, and break wind.

BUT FIRST--food. I got up when the clock went off and after several minutes spent trying to wake up, got myself out of bed and went downstairs to start the lasagna baking, then came back upstairs to perform my morning ablutions and primping and facial hair removal and such things, got everyone else woken up, made a big salad (“making” in this instance consisting of pouring salad out of a bag into a big plastic bowl), ironed a skirt for Rebecca after telling her I wouldn’t because it was almost time to go and telling her to wear something else in her closet but she couldn’t because she didn’t have any brown shoes so I felt like the heel of a brown shoe, then actually got us to the building with three minutes to spare. Good class, good sermon, good meal, and another good sermon, and despite my fatigue, I actually stayed awake during the majority of all of them.

On toward home afterward, with a stop for gasoline and newspaper. Home, did some minor cleanup downstairs on the stove, told Catherine to start cleaning some more until she found her recorder, had a private conversation with Mom that we might have to just break down and buy another one so she’d be able to perform next Tuesday, and Cat kept whining that she couldn’t help it that she couldn’t find it, and we ONCE MORE went through the list of places she said she’d looked. Kitchen, yes. Bedroom, yes. Dining room, yes. Den, yes. I was going down the list as I followed her around, walked into the den, straight over to the blue recliner by the couch, and look, a red plastic Yamaha recorder, right there on the cushion. Nearly two weeks, and it had been right there all along. “Hey, Catherine, look. A recorder.”

Everyone was very happy.

I ran upstairs to get out of my suit.

And then came the sweet talk.

I am such a sucker for sweet talk and close wifely contact.

::hits self in head::

“What did you want to do this afternoon?”

“Uhh, well, I wanted to sit on the couch and read the paper and watch the race and break wind and sleep and then go back through those in reverse order.”

“Well, you know, I got those seeds for Catherine,” which was true--one of the things she’d done over the weekend is go to the store and buy up thirteen packs of seeds with the promise to Catherine of helping her plant a little garden, “and I thought maybe we could go get some potting soil and some pots and put those out.”

“You know--those pots we have downstairs would be fine, you really don’t need to get more.”

“I know. And they probably won’t do all that well anyway--we really just need to pull up all that stuff in the planter outside the kitchen and do it there.”

I am a moron.

“Well, no--that’s be the wrong thing--they wouldn’t get enough sun, and it would just be a mess there--if you were going to do that, you ought to make a little bed out in the yard somewhere…”

Dang.

“OOH! Maybe get some of those crossties or something and make a little raised bed and fill it with dirt!”

Dang.

“Uh, well, yeah, I guess so.

“You want to go with us to the hardware store?”

Dang.

::sigh::

Off with my comfy soft shorts and tee shirt, on with my work clothes, waving goodbye to the TV and the big stack of newsprint and consoling myself that I didn’t want to watch the race anyway.

Went outside to see where to put this thing, mapped out an area by the arbor, and wondered why soft squishy woman parts have to have such an effect on me. Dropped the rear seat in the van, then took three of the kids with us--Middle Girl, who was also getting to go to the shoe store for brown shoes, then Cat, because it was her garden, then Boy, who was supposed to be providing muscle support. Took off in van and Volvo (since the seats in the van would have been over-occupied had we taken only one vehicle, and people would think we were ignorant immigrants) to Lowe’s.

Eight landscape timbers, a roll of landscape cloth, 20 cubic feet of dirt and a hundred bucks later, it was time to head back to the house and get it all unloaded. And I was fighting the clock, because I wanted to get it finished before dark. Oh, and I forgot spikes.

Dang.

Off to Marvin’s down at the foot of the hill for spikes.

Back, and time to lay it out. Rolled out three strips of landscape cloth and pegged it down, then hopped around and hoisted the timbers into place and began beating the bejabbers out the spikes with my little hand maul and after much exhausting beating and stooping and swinging and toting bail and lifting barge, I had a square enclosure more or less spiked together. Then time to start filling it with dirt. Those bags are heavy.

Sliced and emptied all ten of them, trying not to bury Lightning, who thought all the fresh soft soil looked like his version of heaven--an eight by eight litter box--and could not be stopped from pawing and wallowing in it.

Got out the rakes and began leveling it off, and trying to go back and fix the unleveling that Catherine was intent on doing right behind me.

Looks good--needs some of that big pile of compost we’ve had cooking for nine years now. Had to go get the wheelbarrow, which was under a bunch of heavy stuff. Shoveled compost. Spread compost. Reraked soil and compost mixture. FINALLY finished up the bed, right as the good light was gone, around 7:00 or so.

Golly, I was tired.

Sat down on the stone bench and wondered anew why I encourage myself to do such silly projects, and after recovering sufficiently to be able to move, went in and got a shower, ate a little bit, and went back upstairs to read the paper. And wouldn’t you know it--not a thing in there worth reading.

ANYway, this morning I am, as we say, all stove up. Not so much from the amount of work--just the amount of work compressed into about four hours of intense exercise. That nice flat area underneath the drafting table over there sure does look like an inviting place for a nap, let me tell you.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:04 PM | Comments (5)

Well.

Friday? I don't remember. I think there was something that went on, but details escape me. Obviously, there was some laundering that went on, Oldest went to a birthday party, and we continued to look for Catherine's recorder.

Actually, that silence around the house has been a blessing, but she does need it for her concert next week. Although she could probably do as well screeching and squawking. Oh, that's just mean--actually, she CAN play songs on it--from the simple of Hot Cross Buns and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, all the way up to Amazing Grace and Ode To Joy. But it takes a lot of concentration for it to come out as Amazing Grace and not Unbelievable Awkwardness.

Anyway, some time last week she was happily squeaking her way around the house at top volume, and then seemingly almost as suddenly, she couldn't find her recorder. Not on the table, not on the dining room table, not on the stairs, not in the den, not outside--it had simply vanished. Our guess? That is was buried under the avalanche of closet contents that she had, for some reason, taken out of her closet and piled in the center of her room. The task for the weekend? Put all the stuff back up and find her recorder.

SO, that was just about all she did on Saturday. She'd move some stuff, then I'd have to come inspect and tell her the next set of things to put away. She'd do a layer of books, then I'd suggest garbage. She'd get that up, then I'd tell her stuffed animals. These would get picked up, then we'd get on to the next strata of hard toys. On and on, layer by layer, all day long. As involved as any archaeology dig.

While she did that, Reba fixed breakfast, and I took the Volvo down the hill to the shop. Again, some issue with alignment was bothering me, so I told them to do that and rotate the tires, and I made extra special sure to tell them how to get the hubcaps off. They're the old type with a little black center cap that holds on a larger stainless cap on the wheel. If you don't pop off the center cap, you'll wind up bending the bigger cap. And these things are getting much too scarce to bend.

Went and got some breakfast at Hardee's across the street, sat and ate, then came back.

"Mr. Oglesby, could I show you something on your Volvo?"

That's the sound of money leaving my billfold.

Worn out tie rod end, and the bearings were a bit looseish. ::sigh:: I kinda was figuring in the dark recesses of my mind that the tie rod end might be shot, because there has been a disturbing bit of shudder in the steering wheel when I'd have to stop suddenly from high speed, so it wasn't a complete shock. But it still made me very sad. Because it cost a lot of money. And because I had them go ahead and change the other side, too. ::sigh::

But I have to say this, they are a nice bunch of guys. They got one of the guys to take me home, and in addition to being a nice service, it was exciting as a bumper car ride. Our neighborhood was having the annual neighborhood yard sale, so unknowing strangers were clogging the streets with their ignorance of local driving customs, and add to this my own visitor (who seems to have indulged in a variety of controlled substances in the long distant past) blithely driving along as if there were no cars anywhere, and it was quite a jump start to the morning.

Home, kissed the ground, went in and got on my yard clothes and went to work. Made several passes, and then remembered I have a son who needs to get out more, stopped, went in and yelled up to him to come on and get to work, which he did (grudgingly) and off we went again with the mowing.

He did a pretty good job. He did a very fast job when I told him he could go to his friend's birthday party if he'd get the rest of the backyard done by 11:30. He took off and even managed to get most of the grass cut in a recognizable pattern.

I'd been not wanting to let him go, because his friend never could quite say what movie they were going to see, and where it would be, and things like that, and added to the problem was a lack of phone number on the invitation which could be used for contacting the kid's parents, and the lack of a listed phone number, period. I like having a few more answers about such stuff.

But, he worked hard, and he really was looking forward to going, so the deal was struck and he managed to get all done in time. Time to get a bath, get dressed, and time to go to Target to get a gift and a card (and household supplied for us) and to get all the way to Hoover to meet these folks. Why they had to drive all the way to Hoover to enjoy a movie and pizza is beyond my ability to understand. Luckily, I did not learn until later that the event planning (or lack thereof) was no more haphazard than the transportation being provided. Turns out there were 16 boys invited to the party, and they got hauled all over town in two vehicles, the legal capacity of both amounting to only 12 occupants.

::sigh::

Now, I realize back in my day, no one thought a minute about loading up wads of kids in a station wagon or pickup truck and hauling them around, but this is bad news waiting to happen nowadays. I've tried to chalk it up to simple ignorance on the part of the parents, who are relatively recent immigrants from Southwest Asia, but they ain't THAT recent--they do understand "y'all," after all. Thankfully, nothing happened untoward and they had a good time. (Although I don't think I would have taken them to see Ghost Rider, either.)

Anyway, we made it to Hoover right on time, and after I got home, I called and the car was ready to go. Got Oldest to drive me down the hill, which was almost as entertaining as the ride up the hill from the shop, in that it's as if the accelerator pedal in the car is like an on-off switch.

Got to the shop, kissed the ground, sent her on back home, and paid my bill. Which thankfully was only about half the price of a new washer and dryer! YAY!

But, I still have this to say--they run a nice joint there--they actually washed and vacuumed my car out, and put shiny goop on the bumpers and tires! It looked better than when I took it to the carwash a few weeks back, so I figure that was pretty good.

Back up the hill, although I took the long way around, so I could make sure it was driving right. Felt good, no quivering stops or clunking, so that was nice. I drove up the bumpy back road that goes by the landfill, and turned down the radio so I could listen for bad sounds.

And then I heard one--a faint ::pingclang::

GAHHAAARRRGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

There is only ONE thing that makes that sound--aside from a Garand rifle expending a spent clip--that was the sound of one of my precious ol' skool stainless steel hubcaps hitting the pavement.

I pulled over immediately at the back gate of the landfill and got out to go searching. One would think that given I knew the general area where it came off that I would be able to find a relatively large shiny disc.

That's what one gets for thinking.

Sure, there was tall grass and a big ditch, but I thought sure that I would be able to just walk down the shoulder and find it.

No dice.

After lying down in the middle of the road and kicking my heels and crying like a two-year old, I got back in the car and went on to the house, sad that I'd not been more explicit in the instructions on how to put the hubcaps ON the car.

Luckily, when I got those four out of the junkyard, I had the presence of mind to get three more as spares. Downside? I was having to dip into my reserves, and the other three weren't quite as pristine and dent-free as the one I lost.

::sigh::

ANYway, after I did that, I walked in and found out the charity that had twice renegged on their commitment to come pick up our old washer and dryer (which meant that it had been on the driveway for over a week, no doubt upsetting all the people in the neighborhood with nothing better to do than look at my driveway) had called and said they'd be by Saturday afternoon to pick up the appliances.

Only thing was, when I got home Friday, they were already gone.

Yep--someone stole the junk off my driveway.

I am torn--do I report theft of junk, or thank God that there are some thieves out there with more initiative than a charity that had already begged off twice from coming and getting the things?

Obviously, I chose the latter.

Went back and inspected Catherine's big dig--still no signs of a red plastic Yamaha recorder, but it was heartening to see THE FLOOR! Gave her her next batch of cleaning assignments, went and did some more stuff (although I can't remember what), then went and picked up Jonathan from his expedition, which despite my parental disapproval he counted as great high adventure, had some supper, got the kids bathed and bedded, and took the Giant Snore to refresh myself for Sunday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:52 AM | Comments (0)

Never lift heavy things.

That is my new motto in life. Well, either that, or never marry a woman who makes you lift heavy things.

It makes one awfully tired, let me tell you.

BUT, let me tell you later--we've got staff meeting right now, so I must go and claim my chair before someone else gets it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:29 AM | Comments (0)

April 27, 2007

Let's go home, shall we?

I need a long, long nap.

But I don't think I'll get one.

It appears the lawn (or rather, the weeds) have recovered from the freeze a few weeks back, aided and abetted by our recent rainfall, and have sprung back up with a rapacious green vengeance, meaning I must once more don my yardboy garb to go forth and do them (and the atmosphere, and the ice caps, and the polar bears, and the hippies) injury. (Sounds more action-packed than simply saying "gotta cut mah grass.")

I also really need to find a place to get the front end of the Volvo aligned. Right now it's maligned. Heh--I CRACK ME UP! Anyway, I'm grinding the outside shoulder off the driver's side tire, and that's not good, because it would lead to having to purchase a single new tire, and I'm trying to hold out to replace all four at once with some new 15 inchers on my well-hidden cache of 15 inch alloy wheels. Having to buy a single 14 inch tire would just ruin EVERYthing. So it needs linin' up.

The kids have something at church Saturday evening, and of course, there is the normal churching up that belongs to Sunday, and there is the matter of laundry that must be addressed.

All in good time, I suppose.

ANYway, all of you have a great weekend and come back around sometime Monday and let's see how things turned out!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:03 PM | Comments (0)

Continuing fallout from getting up early.

Or maybe I should blame global warming. Or Halliburton.

IN ANY EVENT, after getting off yesterday, I hurried home to pick up my new dryer accessory from Lowe's. Got there, walked in, was studiously ignored.

Waited.

Waited.

Waited.

Finally someone decided to help me, and I told her what I was there for and she tapped on the computer and looked at my driver's license and tapped some more and printed out a form. "Wait a minute."

Might as well.

Waited.

Waited.

FINALLY, a crinkled little white-haired Filipino guy came out with something he had gone to get for someone else, picked up my pickup sheet, and then disappeared again.

Waited.

Looked at the Generac display.

Waited.

Looked at the compact fluorescent bulb display.

Waited.

FINALLY, he reappeared with a gigantic cardboard box that appeared to have been run over by a truck.

"OGLESBY!?"

I gathered up my box, fearful of the carnage that must be inside given the condition of the exterior. And wondering why the box was so gigantic. And why the thing inside was so rattly.

I signed the pickup sheet and he disappeared and I took the box over to a quiet place to check it before I got out the door, in case the rack looked like the box. Opened it up with my evil pocketknife and way down in the depths was a nice plastic rack. Completely naked. Not even half a minute spent trying to cushion it with wadded up newspaper, much less any effort spent near a hopper full of styrofoam packing peanuts. Why would anyone send a pretty heavy, yet still breakable, piece of plastic loose inside of a big box like that?

Idiots.

ANYway, it looked like it was all in one piece, so I went on out to the car and went and got the kids from Grandma's and headed home.

Where I was met with the unmistakable stench of burnt food substances.

::sigh::

Oldest, who pretends to diet by not eating lunch as school, then comes home and fixes a full meal, had apparently decided to heat up some of the previous night's chicken and dumplings. And turned the stove on high, and forgot to stir.

I say "apparently," because I didn't have the necessary mental function to deal with what I knew would be a torrent of angry denials that such a thing EVER HAPPENED if I asked her what happened. So, I just grabbed the first upside down saucepan I happened to come across in the sink. Bingo. Big black ring of char in the bottom. Heaven forbid anyone who made such a mess would clean it up.

Ran some water in the pan, went and opened the kitchen window to let out some of the stink, and decided to unpack my new dryer rack and make sure it fit the dryer.

Pulled it back out of the box along with the brace that attaches to the front.

::sigh::

The brace slips on the front of the rack via a couple of tiny plastic pegs that fit into a couple of tiny corresponding holes in the brace. And, as you can probably guess, one of those tiny pegs was broken off.

::sigh::

I looked down in the bottom of the giant box and shook it and looked again. No little broken peg. Well, I'll be danged if I'm gonna take it back. It still works even with one peg in one hole, and if I needed to, I could just epoxy the whole shebang together. The more important thing--does it fit?

Yes. Thank heavens. So now we can dry sneakers and delicates. Big call for that, you know.

ANYway, after tearing the box down and FINDING the errant peg stuck under a flap, and then getting out the epoxy and applying it to the broken plastic peg and sticking it on the rack, I finally had a chance to sit down and read the little newspaper that gets thrown on the lawn every Thursday and await the arrival of Reba, who was having to work late at work again.

No sooner had I turned to page 2 when the phone rang. She'd already called about an hour before to say she was on the way home, so I was guessing she was calling to say she'd gotten stopped by her boss on the way out. Which happens a lot, because she seems to not be willing to keep walking out the door when this happens.

ANYway, I picked up the phone and it was indeed Miss Reba, "Do me a favor--call the police, I'm down here at the BP station and some guy just hit me down here by the Presbyterian church and then he left and..."

"Whoa--YOU call 911 right now, and I'll be there in just a second."

It's the station down at the foot of the hill, so I gathered up the three younger kids and told them we had to go see Mom, shouted up the stairs that we had to go see Mom and would be back in a bit, all the while trying to simultaneously calm them down so they wouldn't freak out, and fighting that peculiar feeling in the center of my chest that you get when you'd like to freak out and go circling the house screaming and waving your hands in the air.

Got in the car, headed down the hill, pulled in the service station and found her on the other side by the curb. Parked, noticed the audience already in place over on the adjacent parcel of property in the form of the chubby chain-smoking clerk from the likka stow. Hi.

She had just hung up from the police, and after giving her a quick hug and comprehensive medical exam to make sure she was okay and her bosom did not need any adjustment, I took a look at the damage. Thankfully, it wasn't too bad--a big smear of dark green paint on the side of the driver's side back bumper.

The story?

Well, she did leave work late, again, and had made it all the way to Trussville, and was just past the light at Target and a carload of goobers pulled over into her. She started to pull off, and the baseball-cap wearing driver motioned for her to drive on down a bit to pull off to the shoulder. They finally wound up at the BP station, and when she'd parked, he pulled in, then drove right back out of the lot, ran the red light at Mary Taylor road, and headed east toward the center of town.

Yep, a hit and run.

Let me just say--if you and your buddies were in a little beat-up dark greenish colored older model Japanese sedan and you hit a lady in a silver Honda van yesterday afternoon around 6:30 near the Presbyterian church in Trussville, you might better get yourself some legal representation. And be forewarned--I will be looking for you.

Corporal Lovell showed up and took the full report and description of the vehicle and its occupants, and I called the insurance company, and I was just glad she wasn't hurt and the van wasn't too badly damaged.

Just a few tips that I can tell you, but that I was chary about telling Reba for fear of launching one of those bouts of offended pouting. If you're in an accident, pull to the side of the road as soon as possible. Don't get too far away from the scene unless it's absolutely necessary. Start right then taking account of the surroundings and the person who hit you. Call 911 right away--do not call your husband and tell him to call for you--YOU call. If you're suspicious of the other person, stay in your vehicle until the police arrive.

Anyway.

On back to the house, got the kids working on their homework while we worked on supper, showed Reba the new plastic dryer rack and noted that the peg had broken off but I'd epoxied it back on. I put the brace on the end of the rack and promptly snapped off my newly epoxied peg.

::sigh::

"Well, it still works no matter what." And it does.

Sat down to eat, got the story about the burnt dumplings.

Reba asking, "Was that dumplings you burned?"

Oldest answering, looking confused, lost, uncomprehending, "Burn? Huh? I didn't burn anything."

Me--"Ashley, the house smells like it's been on fire, and the saucepan that you left over there in the sink has burnt stuff in the bottom. The dumplings you heated up stuck to the bottom of it and burned. That's why the house smells like this."

Her--"Huh?"

Reba--"What did you have the stove set to?"

Oldest, "Seven?"

Reba, "Well, you have to stand there and keep it stirred or it'll stick and burn."

Oldest, "I WAS STIRRING IT!!"

::sigh::

The usual. No matter what it is--just like when she hit the concrete curb and tore up the tire, just like when she hit the mailbox and knocked off the mirror. The only thing she couldn't do this time was blame one of her teachers or one of her siblings or one of the kids from church. And at least she finally did--very quietly--say something that almost resembled "sorry." I think this was after we found the SECOND saucepan that ALSO had been burnt. Apparently (again, used advisedly since I had no heart in mounting a full investigation) she'd started off with one pan, burned her food, then transferred it to another to complete the scorching process. No wonder the house stank.

SO, in conclusion, it is never a good idea to get up at 4:00 a.m.

ON the bright side, Rebecca had a good time at the Renaissance Festival, although she didn't get to eat her lunch because it was raining all day and there was no place to sit down. I need to have a talk with her about improvisational dining--never let the lack of seating or utensils stand in the way of eating.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:32 AM | Comments (6)

April 26, 2007

With the giddy thrill...

...experienced by Navin Johnson when the new phone books came in, I am happy to report that my new inside-the-dryer plastic dryer rack has arrived at Lowe's! No more thumping sneakers, no more having to hear about how wrinkled someone's prized sweater has become because it was left in the dryer for a week!

Now if only I could just get those charity people to come get the washer and dryer that have been sitting on the driveway for the past five days.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:29 PM | Comments (0)

Do you know just how hard it is...

...for me to wake up at 4:00 a.m.? I usually get up at 5:30 a.m. 4 is exactly 90 minutes earlier.

Oh, sure--I know some of you who work third shift are just then finishing up lunch, and morning broadcast media superstars all are climbing into their limos right about then, but for me, it's a tad on the earlyish side. And it was raining. And I didn't get in the sack until 11 last night.

Now, there are probably some times I wouldn't mind getting woken up at 4:00 a.m. But even then, those times would be highly limited, and really would only be in conjunction with the promise of indulging in the physical blessings of holy matrimony.

But getting up at 4:00 so I could get Middle Girl to school before 5:00 so she could get on a big charter bus to travel to Fairburn, Georgia for the Georgia Renaissance Festival is not one of those times I enjoyed getting up.

Yes, yes--I know--it's for The Child(ren)tm, and it will help her (them) have a better understanding of the cultural significance of the European Renaissance as it effected south Georgia, and for her (them) to see how authentic Renaissance funnel cakes and deep fried turkey legs were made in Olden Tymes, but still, I really, REALLY would have liked having that extra hour and a half of sleep this morning.

Did I mention it was raining?

Nothing like the sleep you get when it's raining.

That is, if you don't have to wake up.

ANYway, she got there on time, and then the buses rolled in, and I assume she's off to see jousting and falconry and mead-fueled debauchery and the curious manner in which ancient peoples gathered for such festivities, with arrays of colorful horsedrawn RVs.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:56 AM | Comments (6)

April 24, 2007

Poise.

Well, let's run the list:

1) Not our home field, and what field there was, was as hard as concrete, had an uphill/downhill slope toward one end, and had more bumps and heaves and rocks and hillocks and hummocks and windrows and moguls than a cow pasture. And the game lasted until dusk, and there were no lights.

2) Playing a varsity team that had beaten them earlier in the year.

3) Playing 40 minute halves instead of the usual 35.

4) Referees. I'm not sure what the problem is, but every game we've played have been plagued with officials who seem oblivious to the laws of the game. I understand that referees can miss things and can make mistakes. But there's a difference between missing something and ignorance. One of the stripes last evening apparently became a ref by going to a sporting goods store and buying a whistle.

Now then, all that to say the girls won their last game of the season 3-0. They still had some problems keeping their heads up and understanding strategy, but they kept working hard and shaking off the repeated uncalled fouls and weird ball bounces and all the other distractions and wound up on a good note for the year.

Rebecca was tickled to have won, and she now feels vindicated in her pre-game predictions of victory. I told her first of all to remember (again) that they got beaten the last time they played this team so there was no reason to be too cocky. But then I also reminded her of what her coach said last week about something called "poise." I don't think she knew what that word meant--until last night. Anyone can win when luck's on your side, but you've done something when luck's not on your side and you still manage to win. That's something to get warm fuzzies about.

They've come a long way since October.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:13 AM | Comments (3)

April 23, 2007

Uh-oh.

SOMEone has done figured me out.

I suppose it was bound to happen, but I had hoped for a bit longer before my misbehavior was so apparent.

When we were at Shoney's eating supper last night, Rebecca had gone to get something else from the buffet and Jonathan had gone to the restroom, leaving just Reba, Catherine, and me at the table.

Reba took a sip from her glass and immediately clenched her hand and tapped on her sternum. "MMmmouch. Mm. Ow. Got a bubble from that Sprite...and it feels stuck...right here!"

As is my usual helpful nature in such cases, I immediately offered to render assistance to my distressed bride--"Would you like for me to rub it?"

She shook her head no, because she is a spoilsport of the first order, and then suddenly, Catherine's eyes lit up and she loudly said, "EWWWWWwwww! DADDeeeeee!! I just now figured out what you were telling Mommy!"

::sigh::

Now all the children know daddy is a dirty old man.

How will they ever cope?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:35 PM | Comments (4)

And tonight?

The final game of the year. Rebecca promises they're going to win, since they're so much better than the other team.

"But Rebecca, if y'all are so much better, how is it that they beat you when you last played them?"

She never has a good answer for this.

She better hope they win, or I'm gonna tease her about it until next year.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:48 PM | Comments (0)

And the Lord's Day?

Well, yet another exercise in schedule coordination.

Boy was supposed to be coming back in at 3:00, and we'd committed to taking Ashley down to Faulkner University because they were having an overnight meet-n-greet event for high school juniors. It started at 5:00 p.m., which meant we needed to leave Trussville no later than 3:30.

Yes, this is what's known as "cutting it a little too close for comfort."

We had Reba's mom and dad to act as something of a backup in case Jonathan was late getting back, but THEY had a homecoming where they go to church, and weren't sure they were going to be back in time. If not, one of us was going to have to wait for Jonathan and the rest of the folks would have to go to Montgomery. (And as it turned out, they didn't get to leave from across the county until 3:00, so they would have never made it in time anyway.)

And no, allowing Oldest to just drive herself down and back is a ludicrous, insane idea, and you should know that by now.

And there was also a bridal shower at church, and a thing for the elementary kids, but both of these just had to go unattended by us--some things just don't fit on the dry-erase marker board calendar.

Off to church, then, and then back to the house for some lunch, did some last minute checking to see how long the drive-time is to Mungummy, yep, hour and a half, and got a call from Boy around noon, and then one at 2:30 heralding his return from the wilds of Camp Jackson.

He was filthy, stinky, and had brought back food. NO! NO bring backs! They had a tray of meat left, and some eggs, and some butter and milk. And a stack of disposable dinnerware, which I told them to go take inside and put with their chuckbox so they won't have to buy it the next time. "But we've already put the chuckboxes up."

::sigh::

I'm just glad it wasn't Boy who said that, or I woulda cuffed him with a dope slap on the back of the head.

"Just go put in in the hut, and you can put it in your box tomorrow evening."

Unload, unload, unload. It's getting uncomfortably close to 3:00, and everyone is still a model of disorganization and redundant effort. You'd figure about the second or third time that you've loaded and unloaded the same things, you'd have it a bit more scienced out. Or not.

Anyway, what with all the wandering around and wasted effort, it finally got to where it was interfering with my critical path, so I made an emergency request of the senior troop leader for Boy to be dismissed, which was then relayed up the chain of command to the Scoutmaster standing next to him, then back down to the senior troop leader and from thence to Lowly Scout that he could leave.

TO THE POSSUMOBILE!

Which isn't really quite as fast as a superhero's car should be.

I'm just saying...

Puttered up the hill to the house at a more than legal clip, phoned ahead to Reba to have the shower started and some clothes ready for him, came to a screeching halt at the door to the Possum Burrow, had him go charging upstairs while I unpacked the cold(ish) stuff he'd brought back.

Milk--check
Tray of meat--check, although sorta runny.
Butter--check
Eggs--ch--WHY YOU LITTLE @%!^@&%$!

They'd put broken eggshells back into the carton. Must have looked just like a trash bag or something. So the inside of the carton is full of goo now.

Whatever.

Boy came back down the stairs at full tilt, Oldest flounced out to the van with her bag and pillow, Catherine came back inside, Rebecca went outside, Oldest came inside, Boy went upstairs, Catherine went outside, Rebecca came inside and went upstairs, Oldest flounced out, Reba went out, I went out, Boy came out wearing his jeans and a nice polo shirt, AND a pair of ugly Crocs. "Son, go put on your loafers--you don't need to wear those to church tonight!" (We were going to go to church there on campus down in Montgomery, and I wanted not to leave too bad of an impression of us). Inside he went, then came back wearing his church shoes, which aren't loafers, but black lace up oxfords. The combination of black dress shoes, white socks, and every so slightly too short jeans was not an admirable one. He looked like Cliff Claven gone casual.

Back inside to get the Crocs back on. He came out, Rebecca came out, and we left the house at 3:30.

And immediately, conflict arose over what would be watched on the DVD player.

"If anyone says one more thing, it gets unplugged and no one watches anything."

"CATHERINE! STOP WHY YOU..."

Of course, it had to be Oldest, because of the four kids, she's the only one immature enough to blame other people for forcing her to scream and cause everyone to be unhappy, rather than just shut up and watch a movie not of her choosing.

"Pass it up here."

The rest of the trip passed silently.

Made it to the appointed spot at exactly 5:00 p.m., got checked in, waited a bit, and talked with the nice young lady who was overseeing registration. Waited, went to the restroom, got some water, and finally it was time to head across the way to the church building. That's some big place. And it was way yonder full of people. Oddly enough, we were sitting in a section with very few people who would sing. It bothered Rebecca a lot, along with the two girls sitting in front of her who talked the entire time and passed notes and fidgeted with their hair.

Me?

Well, I was having my own personal crisis with unwanted perspiration, sitting, as I was, directly underneath one of those global-warming-producing 200 watt spotlamps. They're great for keeping food warm at McDonald's, and turning a chubby man into a sweaty pile of meat in a wool suit. However, they aren't that conducive to thoughts of a higher nature.

After church, got waylaid by a kind white-haired gentleman who was greeting visitors, and got very excited he'd found someone from our way, since they had a member in a nursing home with family in Leeds, and they'd been looking for a way to get a church in the area to contact them, and so in one of those works-in-mysterious-ways type of deals, we showed up at the right time and place to be able to help out. Nice fellow. He asked what I did for a living, what brought us to town, that sort of thing. I asked him what he did, and it turned out he works for the college.

"Oh! What do you teach?"

"Oh, well, no--they won't let me teach--they made me the senior vice president instead."

I offered him my solemn condolences.

Found out we know a lot of the same folks, and by the time I had to go find Reba, you'd have thought we'd been buddies for ages. I like folks like that. Met up with the rest of the brood and Reba and the girls walked on over to the coffeeshop where the juniors were meeting, and Boy and I went to get the luggage. I thought at first we were going to have to lug that mess, but I saw there was ample parking right in the front door of the place where we needed to unload, so we rolled around and hopped out and took her things inside, tried not to further embarrass her with our presence, and headed on back toward home.

With a stop at Shoney's for supper, which lasted WAY too long. We didn't get back until 10:25. And golly, what a shocker, Rebecca STILL HAD HOMEWORK TO DO!

Grr.

I think she finally finished it.

ANYway, that what all happened this weekend. And then some.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:28 PM | Comments (0)

Well, first of all...

...Middle Girl's team won their game against Gadsden on Friday 4-0, and so they were happy about that. And I made it all the way there in an hour, which is pretty good, considering most of that time was spent just getting out of Birmingham at 5:00. But it was a bad, BAD, feeling when I followed the directions to the high school, and was about to pull in the main gate, and I noticed the main gate was locked. And there were no cars around anywhere. Like a ghost town, or one of those Twilight Zone episode where everyone's disappeared.

Everything goes through your mind--Is this the right school? Did it get called off? Has there been an emergency? Should I maybe drive on around the backside of the school and maybe then run across peoples?

Yes, drive on around, silly man.

Hmm. No one there, either. Drive some more. WAIT! Hey, they've got a soccer stadium tucked back there!

Whew.

And I mean that.

Some acknowledgement of that fact to visitors might be kinda nice, but I won't gripe too much since my blood pressure and racing mind did return to normal rather quickly after parking.

Afterwards, stopped and got some food, and then on back to the house and got started getting Boy to get his camping stuff together while simultaneously trying to get some laundry done and figure out what would happen on Saturday.

We had to make sure Rebecca got to her tournament, and that Boy got to the assembly point, and that Reba got up and went to some thing the women were doing at church (about which I know better than to ask for too much information, because then I'd know, and I don't want to know, ignorance being bliss in spades when it comes to this kind of thing) and there was still that issue of making sure all the laundry got did.

I felt like we pretty much had it taken care of when we went to bed Friday night.

UP EARLY SATURDAY, at the usual time of 5:30, because I thought (rather, Boy thought) he was supposed to be at the Scout hut (a misnomer if there ever was one, in that it's a converted duplex house) at 6:30. Up, went through the checklist:

Tent: check
Tarp: check
Gear bag: check
Canteen: check
Camp chair: check
Food box: check
Cold food into cooler: check

Ready to go?

No. Realized as I was loading up someone was going to be awfully uncomfortable without a sleeping bag. Went and got that and loaded it up. Got him in the car, and away we went, with plenty of time to stop at Sonic for him to get some breakfast.

To the Scout hut.

No one.

"I think maybe that they said 7:30, Dad."

Probably so.

Well, an hour early, then. I figured that I'd run to the grocery store and get some cash for later on in the day so I could contribute to the coach's gift and get into the park, and then back to the Scout hut.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

FINALLY got some folks showing up around 7:20 or so, so we got out and began the delicate unloading process. And then I got all riled up.

Not enough sleep? Mr. Coffee Diet Coke Nerves got me by the scruff of the neck?

Who knows.

But folks, you'd do well to teach your children if they're gonna sass their elders, they'd better expect some blowback. Especially if one of those old farts happens to be working on a sleep deficit stretching back to 1991.

Anyway, Jonathan had been given the task of buying food and implements of eatitude, which meant I had to go get stuff. For some reason, the kids think of all this stuff they want to eat as if they're going to a restaurant, so the supper menu consisted of shish kebobs, baked potatoes, brownies (from a mix--no just buying a box of brownies, nosireebob) and corn (mercifully not cut from the cob with a stone axe, but the regular old canned variety, because there's nothing like consistency in your inconsistency), and then for breakfast they wanted eggs and bacon and sausage and French toast and orange juice and all that kind of thing. And then they had to replenish their supply of paper towels and plates and forks and junk. SO the tab for all that came up to a bit over 78 bucks. Meat will do that.

Divied up five ways (since there were five members of Boy's patrol going) came close to $16, but I just rounded it down to $15.

Back to Saturday, and the unloading, and the young man who came up and asked how much it was going to cost, and when Jonathan told him $15 each, he started whining--"Gaah, why's it so MUCH!?"

"Gentlemen," I intoned in my best Hugh Beaumont timbre, "let me tell you, if you want to eat all that meat--steak for supper and sausage and bacon for breakfast, it's gonna cost you money."

At that point, I was still avuncular enough.

"But when we last did it, it only cost us twelve dollars and..."

Okay, now you're pissing me off, Junior.

"Boys--look, you want this food, this is how much it cost--next time don't put down such expensive stuff."

Give the little pissant this much--he was persistent.

"Let me give you a tip..."

Okay, enough of this crap--I might do many things, but allowing myself to be lectured to by a pimple-faced thirteen year old ain't one of them.

I told him to keep his tips to himself in my quietly psychotic grouchy crazyman voice, then absented myself to go ask the Scoutmaster what time they'd be back Sunday, then told Boy goodbye and to go ask what he needed to do to help out, and off I went.

Anyway, I stewed about this little exchange all weekend--I really didn't get all weird and crazy about it like it might sound, but still, it was offputting as all get-out to have to deal civilly with it. We've tried to get this across to our kids that you have some respect for people who are older than you or have some authority, but even with that, Oldest can be as snooty and rude as anyone you'll come across. Sometimes it just doesn't sink in. I blame global warming.

Back to home, where it was time to get Rebecca up and dressed and ready for her day of sports. And found that Reba was bedfast--she'd felt bad the previous day, and by Saturday morning she was awful. I washed some more clothes, kissed her goodbye, told her I'd see her later, and was met coming down the stairs by Catherine, who was hungry for breakfast. I fixed her something forgettable, kissed her and told her to watch out for Mommy. In retrospect, it was probably not the best idea to leave the house with only a ten year old awake and ambulatory.

Oh, well.

Off to Mountain Brook, but with a stop at the grocery store AGAIN to pick up some drinks for my little cooler and some Slim Jims to snack on and to use as smelly and delicious way to keep people from invading my personal space.

Got there in time to see the boys win their first game, then found a nice shady spot on the bleachers.

Well, the girls played really well, but they still managed to let themselves get skunked 4-0 that first game. At least we got to sit in the shade.

We all took a break for lunch, which consisted of the team taking over the Dairy Queen on Overton Road. One thing can be said for them--they ARE a team. One of the other teams was there when we arrived, and were sitting in several quiet groups eating and chatting, and then five minutes later the place was utter pandemonium. They do have a good time together, even if they haven't managed to win as many games as their attitude would have you believe. If they can manage to keep that attitude and work just a bit harder on skills, they have the makings of a multi-year state champ squad. They're a scrappy bunch.

After lunch, I made a break for it with Rebecca to go see if we could find some sunscreen and a hat for me. Silly forgetful Dad forgot that the giant glowing yellow ball in the sky would be out all day, and left appropriate protective gear at home. First stop, The Pig (i.e., Piggly Wiggly, or as I have come to call it, Hoggly Woggly) over at River Run, which didn't have sunscreen OR hats, but luckily had a restroom, because Rebecca was about to pop. She stayed in there for ten minutes while I cooled my jets at the lobster tank.

Poor lobsters.

After the restroom break, we looked all through the store and were accosted by YET ANOTHER SHRIEKING GROUP OF OUR SOCCER PLAYERS. Not sure why they had come in the store, but they were loud, proud, and rowdy, yet somehow still very ladylike. I'm not sure how they managed that. Especially with the de-pantsing incident and accompanying thong exposure.

Glad I wasn't there for that.

ANYway, since the store didn't have what I needed, we made a mad dash down to the Publix in Cahaba Heights (i.e., New Merkle) where I did find some sunblock, but still, no hat. Dern.

On back to the stadium and this time out onto the football field, which was devoid of shade trees around the bleachers. This time was against Gadsden, the team they played the night before, and the result was about the same, although this time Gadsden did score a point, and we only scored three. But our girls played exceptionally well this game, with lots of good passing and aggressive (but sportsmanlike) defense.

Apparently, that took a lot out of them.

Since we had a long break before the next game, I decided we'd go on back to the house for a bit and check on everyone. Catherine was nursing a cat scratch on her knee.

I did not find out until later that--when I was trying to get into her room and couldn't because of the giant sack of toys behind the door--that she'd put the toys there to keep the cat from coming into her room. Because the cat had been brought into the house. To shed everywhere and scratch her knee.

As I mentioned earlier, leaving a 10 year old as the only person up and moving before leaving was a very bad idea.

Did some more laundry, called back the charity place that had promised to come pick up the washer and dryer on Friday, then first thing Saturday, then NEXT Friday that they needed to come on and get it and not wait until next Friday. "Monday okay?" Well, no--Friday was okay, but Monday's better than NEXT Friday.

Rested for five minutes, then got Rebecca dressed again and out the door for her final game.

The girls were overconfident, and it nearly cost them. They played Pell City, who only had ten players. Full complement is eleven. No substitutes, and playing a man down. Folks--those PC girls played themselves a whale of a game. We did win it, but the two points we got were terribly difficult to obtain, and the other girls played very effectively, and were on our side of the field a lot more than we were on theirs. Call that one a gift of fortune.

After all was said and done, our girls managed to snag themselves a second place trophy! And the boys came in first!

Those were some happy kids.

On back to the house, and after several more rounds of folding and washing, it was time for bed.

And boy, was I ever glad.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:41 AM | Comments (4)

Silly ol' staff meetings!

We've started having them at our former regularly scheduled time of 8:30 again, which is great for making sure everyone is present and all that, but it's heck on trying to do a morning update.

ANYway, a long and not unenjoyable weekend just past, and you'll get to hear all about it in just a while, after I remember what happened.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:06 AM | Comments (0)

April 20, 2007

There's still plenty of time left in the day...

...but it's still closing time for Possumblog.

Lot's to do this weekend--Middle Girl has a game in Gadsden tonight, so when I leave here I'm going there, then Boy has a campout tomorrow and Sunday, and he's going to have to go it alone this time, because Middle Girl has her final set of games in a tournament all day Saturday. As usual, there is laundry. Thankfully, yardwork takes a vacation because what didn't get bitten by the freeze earlier in the month has dried up from the drought. I think there's something else supposed to happed this weekend, too, but my head hurts too much to remember what it is.

I sure hope I wrote it down on the calendar.

We got a bigger one, you know.

Or maybe you don't. But the little dry erase one on the fridge was too cluttered up with scrawly drawings of flowers and giant lizards and dry erase smears that no longer would erase, so I got a new, gigantic, dry erase calendar that I glued to the door going into the garage. I'm not certain, but I think it will soon be covered with scrawly drawings of flowers and giant lizards, except they'll be SUPER giant lizards. But at least it's clean for now. And that's really enough in life, isn't it--to have a nice clean dry erase calendar? You betcha.

ANYway, all of you have a good weekend, and we'll see you again come Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:22 PM | Comments (0)

April 16, 2007

And finally...

...Sunday was full of the usual Sundayness--up early, get the kids up and fed and dressed (mostly), on to church, had a good worship service, home for lunch, then began working on more stuff for Boy's Skelopoly game.

Made up a whole series of mortgage deed cards for such places as Fibula Avenue and Scapula Street, complete with values and rental prices and junk, including the prices should you land on one that has clinics or hospitals. (In lieu of houses and hotels.) Also found the rules online and copied them, making the necessary changes in wording to match his game, and then went to print out some stuff from his teacher. Ran out of ink. Black and color. ::sigh::

Back to church for evening worship, which this time included a bunch of kids from all over the area since we were hosting this month's areawide youth devotional, which also meant getting there an hour early, AND meant getting to eat supper in our new fellowship hall. This is the first time we've had guests in it, and it seemed to fit the need quite well. Stayed for the devotional afterwards, or rather, Reba and 3/4 of the kids did--I took Rebecca with me to the store to get some printer cartridges.

Home, begin printing out all the rest of the stuff while Boy clipped out the things to be placed on the board, and by the time bedtime rolled around, he had it completely finished and it looked pretty darned neat. I sure hope we get a good grade on it.

NOW THEN--As was the case last week, this week is also full of stupid ol' work to do, so now I'm gonna do that.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:49 AM | Comments (2)

Every other day of the week...

...I can't get anyone to wake up.

Saturday?

No one will stay asleep.

::sigh:: As has become increasingly common, I gathered up as much pillowing material as possible and put it over my ears in an attempt to get some peace until I was ready to get up. This was effective for most noises, although not quite enough for when all the smoke alarms went off in the house when the sausage began burning. Also, hearing protection is useless when someone comes into the bedroom and begins bumping the side of the bed and dropping things onto the floor at irregular intervals, almost as if this person were deliberately trying to begrudge me one day's interlude from my usual habit of arising at 5:30.

Could finally stand it no more and got up out of the bed and got dressed, ready to start the day and finish the laundry and help Boy finish his science project and DO TAXES.

But breakfast first, which included some very done sausages and some very done hash browns. I learnt that the children had been involved in the preparation which might explain some of the smoke and noise. Some. Not all.

Got the kids to go out and clean the cat's domicile, which they did, although they were much more interested in helping our elderly neighbor lady clean her yard and tend to her puppy.

Upstairs to do taxes, which immediately caused a flurry of activity at my elbow as everyone decided then would be the perfect time to ask me questions of an unimportant nature.

Luckily, I'm using H&R Block software again this year, and had already done a little work earlier in the year to get all of our W-2 numbers put in, so even with the interruptions, it wasn't so bad. In the past the biggest hurdles were making sure the numbers got put where they belonged and the addition and subtraction were right, stuff that the computer is able to do in a flash. I got it all wrapped up by around noon, including sending it away to the revenooers.

Somewhere in there, Reba and the girls had gone shopping, so the questions died down and it was just Boy and I doing clothes and working on his project.

Which just so happened to be a study of the skeletal system in the form of the game of Skelopoly!

I had suggested Boneopoly, but he'd already cut out the board and written on it. My task was to help him print up the Community Chest and Chance cards (or in his case, Skeletal System and Surgery cards) and I was reminded that there is a game out there called Make-your-own-Opoly that has a CD that you can use to make all the cards and junk. And I vaguely recalled seeing them at the bookstore.

SO, a quest was engaged, in which Boy and I sallied forth to see if we could find the item locally. Went to two teacher supply stores, a bookstore, a toy store, and Wal-Mart.

No luck.

Back home with a pack of business card blanks from WallyWorld. I wound up making stacks of cards using little black and white clip art images and Word, and the only bad thing was the printer I have won't print all the way down the page. So some have a white edge. No big deal, though--a heck of a lot faster than writing them by hand, which is what Jonathan thought he was going to do. Also downloaded sheets of money from the Monopoly website--the only bad thing is that they still say Monopoly, but whatever. Boy made game pieces out of white clay--little skull, a femur, a pelvis--stuff like that. I have to say he's much better at sculpting than drawing. Or at least drawing neatly. But we still managed to get a goodly portion of it knocked out, and the clothes got completely done. A good day, although there was still the issue of property cards and mounting all this junk onto the ubiquitous tri-fold display board. Luckily, he only waited until the last hour, instead of the last minute, to start this project.

The girls finally got home, everyone got themselves bathed, and we hit the sack. Some of us harder than others.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:17 AM | Comments (0)

Okeedoke

So, Friday Middle Girl had to put in an appearance to cheer on the varsity soccer team, so I took off early and dropped her off at the park, then went and got some gas and a car wash (the car wash was required in order to make it rain--it never fails), and then stopped at the car parts place to buy some gasoline treatment. I put a can of this stuff in the car every few thousand miles to keep it clean inside, although I have no way of knowing if it actually works, seeing as how the inside of the engine is very dark and confined.

But, I will tell you this right now.

Do not buy a small bag of cheese curls at the gas station, then go to the parts store and buy gasoline additive, then open the additive and have to stick your finger into the neck of the bottle to pull out the little soft metal seal, then put the additive in your tank, then get in the car and start driving, then get some cheese curls out of the bag and eat them, then decide to lick the happy orange cheese powder off of your finger, especially if it's the same finger you used to pull the little soft metal seal out of the bottle of gasoline additive, BECAUSE you will surprise yourself with just exactly how effective this stuff must be, if it does to carbon deposits and varnish even a portion of what it does to the lining of your mouth.

Let me tell you--the stuff has quite a whang to it.

The instant I took a big slurp off my index digit, I felt very good about having abused myself all these years by going on and on about what a big moron I am. Because I am a big moron.

Anyway, in accordance with the product directions (assuming I still had them and hadn't thrown them away at the car parts store) I proceeded to dilute the material with several large swigs of Diet Coke. Nothing like the combined effects of phenylalanine and petroleum distillates, sweetened middle petroleum distillates, polyether amine, solvent naphtha, and naphthalene to put a smile on your face.*

Back to the soccer park, stood over by the bleachers on the player side of the field with Rebecca and her friends, then afterwards (we won, by the way, 7-0) it was off to the house, which was empty. Reba had gone and gotten the kids from her mom's house, then came and got Oldest, and they all went to the craft store to buy junk for Jonathan's science project and then on to the grocery store for groceries.

SO, Bec and I got the laundry together, and I got to christen the new laundry machinery with full loads of clothes.

They both work very well--everything smells much better. I think the old one wasn't getting stuff clean enough.

ANYway, everyone finally got home and we unloaded stuff and had some pizza and cleaned up, and announced to everyone that I was not in the mood to be woken up early on Saturday.

As if.

*Not really--this crap's harmfully fatal if swallowed in sufficient amount, so don't go mixing your own cocktails with it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:46 AM | Comments (3)

MONDAY!

At least I'm in a better mood. At least I think I am. Then again, maybe not. We'll see.

ANYway, it's time for staff meeting right now, so the entire wrap-up of the past weekend's festivities will be along later. If I'm still in a better mood.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:28 AM | Comments (0)

April 13, 2007

And now?

I don't know, other than I have to finish my taxes. Yes, another year spent at the last minute doing something I should have done months ago. At least I am using the computer to do it again this year and already have some of it done, so it should be easy enough. If people will just leave me alone. That's been the big hold-up already--I get dragged every which way, and never have time to do the stuff that no one else cares about, but that still must get done. And no, I don't need a vacation, if by "vacation" you mean the same sort of trip we take every year where I wind up all addled and cash-poor. Running away and joining the circus under an assumed identity? Now that might be a good vacation.

Anyway, taxes this weekend, and laundry in our new machinery, and other stuff that I can't remember right now because I don't have any working neurons.

SO, see you Monday!!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:38 PM | Comments (1)

Random Idiotic Observation of the Day!

Cork tastes TERRIBLE!

UPDATE: There is no such thing as Diet Cork!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:23 AM | Comments (3)

April 12, 2007

One small ray of sunshine!

I now have voice mail. And not just any voice mail, either--this thing will send an e-mail to me with a .wav file attached of the message that I can listen to! I feel so very, very 21st Century!

Thank you, Phone Guy!

Now then, back to the salt mine.

Oh, and I found out it's not really salt--best as I can tell, it's a giant septic tank.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:54 PM | Comments (5)

April 10, 2007

I've figured out that...

...it ain't The Man keeping me down, it's just my own inability to jump-start my brain to make it do something other than imitate the churning slushy frozen slurry inside of one of those Slurpee machines at the 7-11. Yesterday was full of flying poo that didn't stop flying until I went to bed. And even THEN I couldn't get relief--let me tell you, dreaming about being an unexploded ordnance defuser isn't the least bit restful. It wouldn't have been quite so bad except I was being assisted by people who couldn't read very well. They kept calling out a series of code words that I was supposed to be putting into this little box that had a series of sliding levers, and then they realized somewhere in the process that they were reading the wrong things. And then I was back in high school, although not my own high school, but a giant, dilapidated place full of sullen slackers. Luckily, there were no bombs to defuse.

Anyway, today and tomorrow are both going to be full of the same crazy workjunk yesterday was. In order to have SOME sort of content around here so that people will not completely abandon me, we are going to have the first ever Possumblog Open Comment Thread! Whatever suits your fancy, I don't care, just keep the language clean. Maybe you're a long-time lurker--time to come out of the shadows and say hello! Maybe you've got a question and you want someone OTHER than Dr. Possum to answer it--ask it here! Maybe your brain looks like the goo inside of a Slurpee machine reservoir--what better way to show everyone! Maybe you've become addicted to exclamation marks--say it here!

Anyway, y'all have at it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:50 AM | Comments (30)

April 09, 2007

The Man be keeping me down.

I'm standing out in the middle of a raging [vulgar barnyard reference] storm around here today, and I just can't get five minutes together to post anything like the usual long rambling cavalcade of stupidity I usually post.

This, then, is the brief version:

I didn't have a good time on our trip, but then again, it's never been fun, so, you know, it was about the same as usual.

Oh, and we went and bought a washer and dryer yesterday.

There you are. Apologies for the lack of happy peppy fun.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:43 AM | Comments (16)

Yet another one of those.

We made our jaunt over to Atlanta for that convention we go to every year, and as usual, I am tired and full of nice soft fluffy familial put-outedness. More later after I wake up.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:28 AM | Comments (2)

April 05, 2007

Well, it's gonna be a short week.

We're off tomorrow for Good Friday, and so I want to wish all of you a blessed holiday weekend, and I'll see you again on Monday. And let me tell you, I bet I have some REALLY interesting stuff to tell you!

Or not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:42 PM | Comments (0)

April 03, 2007

::sigh::

1-2.

One of the things I neglected to remember is that we are one of the few schools with enough players to have an actual junior varsity team made up mostly of 8th and 9th graders. Which has meant that the majority of games the girls have played have been against regular varsity squads. Including the one last night. I figured a small parochial school would be easier to tackle, but when you only have so many students, they all get to play from seniors on down. I also figured a church-based school would be a bit more--oh, I don't know--sportsmanlike. But they had several girls who would have been a bit more at home playing professional ice hockey.

HOWEVER, our girls did show a renewed spine in the second half, and I think proved to themselves that they CAN actually score points and move the ball and not be shoved around. It might be frustrating for them now, but I have a feeling in a couple of years they're going to be hard to beat when they get to the varsity level. Or at least I hope so.

ANYWAY, another one of those Chinese fire drill sorts of evenings, with having to pick up the kids, drop Rebecca at the park, come back and pick up the laundry and dry cleaning, go home and let Boy change into his uniform, fix some suppery sort of food, get Boy (and the camp stove he was assigned to clean that I wound up cleaning for him) to the Scout meeting, go BACK to the soccer field to watch the game, go back and pick up Boy, go home, get everyone to go wash off their grime, and work on some more scrapbook stuff for Reba.

And, as is now my habit, collapsed in the bed around midnight.

Oh, and by the way--I have figured out that our washing machine is in the process of giving up the ghost. According to the Mighty Internets, it seems to be a problem with the motor/clutch assembly. The Samurai Appliance Repair Man says that GEs are quite crappy. I was happy with ours, until now. And until I found out that the motor/clutch assembly is $168.85. I could still be under warranty, though, so maybe all is not lost. SOMEtime in here, I'm going to have to figure all this out. Hopefully before the next load of laundry needs to be washed.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:46 AM | Comments (11)

April 02, 2007

As I was saying,

Well, Friday afternoon I had to make the slog down scenic Highway 280 to the Sportsfirst fields on the other side of Double Oak Mountain--left downtown at a bit after 4:00, didn't get there until 5:30. An hour and a half of traffic crawling along for around 15 miles. That's FUN!

Got there, got settled in, and watched a terrible game. The girls were even more hesitant than they were against Thompson the night before--and I'm sure part of it was just the fatigue of playing two games one day after another. Which wasn't going to help them out a lot, since they had about a 45 minute break at the end of the first game on Friday before they had to take on another team. The other team also had to play two games, but they had the early one, and so had nearly two hours to rest before they got ahold of us. To make it even more brutal on the second game, the team was called for quite a few fouls due to rough play. I don't mind a bit of contact when contesting for the ball, but there's good solid physical play, and then there's simply gratuitous unsportsmanlike behavior. Needless to say, we got the short end of the stick the second game, too.

Headed home with a stop at Wendy's for a snack, did other things once we got there, although what I don't remember, then collapsed in the bed, because Saturday morning she had to be there at 7:00, which meant we had to leave the house no later than about 6:15 or so to make sure we got there on time, which meant getting up around 5:30 to make sure she had everything together and got to eat some breakfast. Oh, and we were also taking Jonathan and Catherine with us, because Ashley had a tour at UAB she was taking and it required a parent to go, so Reba did that, but it meant that the other two kids couldn't stay with her.

Saturday, alarm, grumble, wake up the three younger kids, get dressed, make sure they got dressed, and hit the door right on schedule. Stopped and got some breakfast, headed back toward 280. Lot less traffic on the road at 6:45 on a Saturday morning. Not empty, mind you--just a lot less than 48% over capacity.

Got there, paid, parked, went and sat and waited and took Cat to the restroom and listened to her complain about being tiredsleepycoldbored. Got her to hush momentarily by telling her to throw rocks in the creek. There was something in the undergrowth that made an awful lot of rustling. Never did see what it was, but for the sake of interest, I told Catherine it was probably a rabbit or a tiger or something like that.

Game started, and we seemed to play somewhat better than the previous three games. The girls seemed to butch up a bit and not get pushed around so much (Rebecca said the other team [from Hoover] were as rough as the first team from Huntsville, but at least they were polite about it) and we did a bit better at pursuit and stealing. Final on that one was 0-2, which was unsatisfying for both teams. We'd lost all three games, and if Hoover had scored 3 points, they would have gotten to advance to the semis as a wild-card team.

Well, at least there's a chance for redemption. Yep--they've got one tonight, too, against Parkway Christian. Since it's a small school, and since they've been through the grinder with a slew of bigger, older, faster, and meaner teams for the past three weeks, they OUGHT to be able to whup up on 'em. I hope. They really need a win right about now.

We'll see, I suppose.

ANYway, gathered up the children and headed back toward home. Got there, got Bec's junk into the hamper, put a load of clothes in the dryer, one in the washer (which now appears to be going on the fritz), and took us all up to the haircut place so Boy and I could get our locks shorn. I tried not to fall asleep in the chair, but it was difficult.

That done, back home, got on my work clothes, and headed outside to tackle the jungle in the front and back yard. Since it hadn't started raining yet, it was quite dusty and polleny. And tiring. The yard was way too high, and so I could only get a couple of passes made before having to go dump the bag. Also there were several interruptions by a little girl on a bicycle who'd come careening through where I was cutting, cackling like a hen sitting on a joy buzzer. Adding to the noise were the huge assortment of pine cones and sweet gum burrs that littered the ground and sounded like gunshots pinging off the inside of the mower deck.

BUT, the yard looks very nice now. Or at least it's neat. After I wrestled with the mower for an hour and a half, I decided it'd be good to put down some weedkiller/fertilizer, so I got to walk around behind yet another contraption for a while. At least this one didn't make any noise. AND it had that wonderful pungent aroma of toxic petrochemicals!

Reba finally got home, I came in and showered, then had to go shopping for for Rebecca, since the seams on the sides of her soccer cleats had opened up and were about to come apart. ::sigh::

Didn't take nearly as long as it did the first time back at the start of the season, although she DOES have some peculiarities about aesthetics and accoutrements and junk. She IS a girl, after all.

Back home, did more stuff for Catherine for her scrapbook project she's working on, did more laundry, sometime after dark collapsed in the bed.

Seems to be a running theme, huh?

Up early Sunday, church, eat lunch, home, Reba and the two older girls went to a bridal shower, the other two kids and I stayed home and...


did laundry. Also did more stuff for Cat's scrapbook. And watched the Martinsville race. And then loaded the three of us up and headed back to church since the other half of the family hadn't managed to make it home.

Church, home, eat leftover shower food, helped Catherine paint a picture, collapsed in the bed.

There are about a billion other things in there, but I can't remember any of them because they all fell out of my brain.

Go figure.

AND NOW?

Well, I'm here, and I've got a ton of work to do.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:55 AM | Comments (4)

Rain.

It wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough to knock down some of that pollen (though not quite enough to rinse it all off the car), enough to make the trees green up nicely (though not quite enough to make my grass green--except for the weeds), and enough to cool things back down to springtime temperatures. I guess my favorite part of all that was the greenery. I think I've said it before--New England may have us beat in the fall color department, but we've got fifty-hundred-eleven different shades of green out there, and when you mix it with the redbuds and dogwoods and forsythia and azaleas and tulips and irises and lilies, it's pretty overwhelming. And overwhelmingly pretty, for that matter.

Anyway, we had us a weekend, and I'm tired and sore. Tired from hauling Middle Girl to her soccer tournament all weekend, and sore from hauling out the Murray and the drop spreader for the first cutting of the season.

More in a bit. I've got to take a minute and remember what all happened.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:26 AM | Comments (0)

March 30, 2007

Oh, enough of this silliness.

I got a ton of junk to get done this afternoon before I go, so I'll go ahead and wish you all a good weekend. Come back Monday and we'll see what happened!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:52 PM | Comments (0)

::sigh::

0-3.

I feel sorry for the girls--they just haven't managed to put it all together this season, and last night was pitiful. They looked half-dead. Rebecca said it was too hot, but it's still not like the surface of the sun like it is when it's summertime. Still, even if it WAS too hot, and they WERE half-dead, the other team from Thompson apparently thrive in such conditions. The score remained tied 0-0 until the first half, but only due to their inability to modulate the power of their shots on goal. One girl sailed a kick over the net, over the football goalpost behind the net, and over the roof of the field house outside the fence across the end zone. She was just outside the box when she let go with it.

After the second half started, they began throttling back on the power and getting their shots dialed in, and more importantly, they did not let up with their aggressiveness. Our girls were a counterpoint of passivity and we only had about three or four shots on goal the entire game. Hard to win like that.

BUT, more chances for redemption tonight--they've got some kind of soccer tournament tonight and tomorrow, and will be playing two games tonight. If they aren't tired from playing Wednesday and last night, they will be tonight.

Be interesting to see how this turns out.

One bright spot? I get to make fun of the twentyish woman in the concession stand who needed a calculator to figure out the change for a $20 from a tab of $1.50.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:40 AM | Comments (4)

March 29, 2007

And now?

Another soccer game tonight, this one down in Shelby County which should be a nice fun ride down I-65 at 5:00 in the afternoon. Add to this the excitement of a tournament this weekend with a double-header tomorrow night, and then another game (at least) on Saturday, and I have feeling someone is going to be AWFULLY tired.

And it might even be someone other than ME!

Yeah, I know, go figure.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:19 PM | Comments (0)

That's just wonderful.

Over the course of the time that Jonathan has had braces, he's had to have several baby teeth pulled in order to make room for the braces or his other teeth, and now we're going to have to take him in to an oral surgeon so that one of the permanent teeth that was under one of the baby teeth can be "exposed," hitched to a mule, and dragged down into position.

There is much to be said for learning to smile in such a way as to hide your ugly lumpen misshapen teeth. Then again, were that to happen, it would be terribly difficult for the orthodontist to be able to afford his lake house.

::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:03 PM | Comments (4)

And now?

Well, since I missed Boy's afternoon orthodontist appointment a couple of weeks ago, I am punished by having to leave NOW and go get him and take him over to the office.

Back in a bit.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:05 AM | Comments (0)

And the moon's not even full yet.

People are something.

Anyway, last night was soccer night and also my night to take up money at the gate. I thought I had signed up for the concession stand, but no matter. Actually, the gate is better, because you get to close up at halftime and go watch the game, while the concession stand folks have to stay in there. And it was hot last night in there.

So, I got there and took over the money box from the varsity boy's mom who was there, and pretty soon my junior varsity girl's mom counterpart showed up. She thought she was supposed to be in the concession stand, too. (I think the lady who keeps track of this stuff got the folks swapped around wrong.)

Stood around, chatted, bothered people coming in the gate. We sell family passes for the home games, and there's always some folks who leave theirs at home or in the car or whatever, so I make sure to tease them mercilessly. It is my nature, you know. Waited some more. The game kicked off. Couldn't see squat, because the gate's on one corner of the field, but best as I could tell, our girls were doing MUCH better this time than the last time they played Mountain Brook.

Took more money, made change successfully, had an old grandpappy come in and say very loudly that he was paying for himself and the next pretty girl who walked through the gate, which just happened to be his wife of many many decades. Lot's of jabber from this one--seemed to be on a first name basis with Mr. Jack Daniels or Mr. Johnny Walker. Or maybe he was just that sort of blabberjabber gladhander type. Whatever. Tried to explain to a visitor lady how to get out to the main highway, which is hard because I don't know any of the names of any of the streets in town, and I drive with little understanding of things like "north" and "east" or even right or left. I just sorta drive on autopilot, then when I wake up, I'm where I'm supposed to be. I think I told her the right way, though. If not, I do apologize, ma'am.

HALFTIME, and the score was still 0-0! Locked up the till and headed around the field to the concession stand to drop it off, got myself a canned Diet Coke, and started to settle in to watch the second half.

But.

The aluminum bleachers, normally a shiny aluminum color, were covered in a uniform sheet of bright yellow powder. I had on black pants.

::sigh::

Around back toward the parking lot to go get the little folding stadium seat I keep in the trunk.

As I got closer to the gate I had left only a few minutes earlier, something seemed to be...I don't know--wrong. There were a couple of small clusters of people, and they were each looking toward the parking lot. And there was a group of people out there. Got closer, and there were two clusters of people--men--and they were moving backwards and forwards in the aisle where you drive. And they were shouting.

Oh, sweet mother--a kerfuffle. This can't be good.

And as it turns out, it wasn't.

AND THUS WE BEGIN A VERY STUPID SAD TALE OF STUPID SAD PEOPLE. With all sorts of preachy, holier-than-thou advice from me. Bail now if you wish. The game wound up being a 2-0 loss, but on the whole a good one, and the following didn't seem to have been noticed by the girls.

ANYWAY--

--so I walk to the gate and see a couple of our dads holding back a 30-ish, stylishly bald, buff, and goateed doofus who was doing the full WWE finger-pointing screaming cussing act, about ready to render a swift ass-kicking to someone.

Who?

The old grandpappy guy.

Who himself was being restrained by a gigantic wheezing fat guy who was visiting with one of the dads at that time holding back the other loudmouth. Pappy was yammering on and on, Doofus was busily running through the Lexicon of Bodily Function Curses at top volume, Wheezer was simultaneously trying to lift Pappy off the ground and tell him to get in his car and LEAVE and hoping not to have a coronary.

I don't know the full story, but best as I can tell, Pappy and G-Maw had come to see their sweet baby granddaughter play soccer. Granddaughter apparently being the product of the coupling of their sweet lovely daughter with Doofus. And for whatever reason, Daughter and Doofus went their separate ways, and now Doofus has a New Girlfriend. This must have displeased Pappy, because for some reason, when Doofus and his Doxie passed by them in the park, Pappy felt compelled to remark that she was a female dog. Doofus, feeling heartily disrespected, began loudly demanding apologies and respect, and that fire from heaven be rained down on poor staggering Pappy. Pappy, being three sheets to the wind, denied saying anything, said he shouldn't have said it, and said he meant it, and on and on.

And so we have a big bunch of morons screaming at each other in the parking lot. And I've got to get my folding stadium seat. I had my cell phone out and was one digit away from the final 1 to calling the law, and in retrospect, I should have done just that. The noise ebbed--slightly. I left them, still tense and angry, but at least not shouting cuss words.

Thankfully, it all settled down and nothing happened, although that could be because apparently someone DID decide it might be good to have some peace officers there, because after the game there were two cruisers in the parking lot.

In all, badly handled all around, and now we begin our dressing down of those involved.

1. Pappy--Put down that bottle. If you can't manage that, at least put it down long enough to go see your grandchild play ball. It's making you do and say things you shouldn't, and you might not care, but I can guarantee you your granddaughter does. Second, I don't know the situation, but no matter what, you don't get to call your ex-son-in-law's girlfriend a bitch. At least not in public. In private it's between you and God, but out there with polite society, you drag everyone else into your little hatefest and it's not pretty. Third, you're an OLD MAN--what in the world do you think you're doing out trying to pick a fight with some stupid lummox!? Sit down, shut up, and get over yourself. You are an embarrassment to your family when you act like an old drunk.

2. Doofus--Put down the attitude. You stand there--in a soccer park full of kids--and scream every cuss word in the book at an old man and tell him you were disrespected? Look, jack--men who have to scream that they want to be respected aren't worthy of respect. What would have been hurt if you'd just let that old drunk fool mouth off? Nothing. If you were half a man, it wouldn't even have hurt your pride. You would have just shook your head and walked on. But NOOOO! You have to act like a damned animal--in public--with your daughter somewhere around, and act like you ARE somebody? Please. Again, I don't know your family situation, but if this is the best you can do as a husband and father, your daughter's better off without you. How do you even look at yourself?

3. Wheezer--Mister, I know you thought you were doing something, but any bystander who gets in the middle of something like this is courting trouble. ESPECIALLY when you're pushing 400 pounds, and you are physically manhandling an old drunk, and practically throwing him toward his car. Think for a second--what if he'd fallen and hit his head on a bumper? And died? Yes, I'm sure the old fart was trying to create problems and for some reason wouldn't QUIT trying to get his ass kicked, but you need to understand that doesn't give you the right to commit assault and battery. You want him to leave? Call the cops.

4. Other Bystanders, Including Me--this went on WAY too long. The first time it seemed necessary to intervene between these two idiots, someone should have been on the blower to the police. NONE of you know if either one of these jackasses had a pistol or knife, and stepping into that without some backup is potentially a recipe for disaster. I had my phone out, and I should have gone ahead and called, and my only excuse is that one of the dads doing Doofus Restraint Duty said to hold on. Good thing someone did finally call.

Anyway, people are something.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:04 AM | Comments (0)

March 28, 2007

Oh, SURELY...

...there'll be more than just one piddlin' post today!! Yes, there will, and don't call me Shirley!

Hah. I crack me up.

ANYway, it's been a long and fruitless day, but it's about to get better because it's about to be quitting time, and tonight Rebecca has a game, and I get to be the money taker-upper at the gate. See? That's all exciting-like!

So, yes, there WILL be more than one post today. Tomorrow will be even better--if you judge "even better" as "there being more than two posts."

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:48 PM | Comments (0)

Here we go!

"Go" not being really a great word to use, since it does convey a sense of action and forward motion, when in fact I'm only pressing keys. Maybe "Pressing On" would have been better. Oh, well.

ANYwho, long morning as these things usually are, and my head is all spidery inside and I'd like to be on the beach.

Stuff to talk about? Oh, I'm sure there's bound to be something, I just don't know what.

Suggestions?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:14 PM | Comments (6)

March 27, 2007

Fun Time!

Well, tomorrow it will be fun time, in the form of the regularly scheduled outage of Possumblogging that comes around every two weeks. SO, you'll all have to find ways to occupy yourselves for a while until I get back to a computer. I would suggest shadow puppetry, charades, taffy-pulling, and a rousing round of whist (although not necessarily in that order).

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:24 PM | Comments (0)

March 26, 2007

Anyway...

Not much in the way of a yee-haw fun weekend. We actually had two funerals we were supposed to go to, but didn't manage to get to either one due to all the other junk we had to get done. This makes me wonder how good the turnout will be for my funeral, and if attendance will be slack due to all the stuff people have to get done. Won't be so bad, I guess, as long as it's not REALLY menial stuff like sorting bobby pins or something.

ANYway, Friday night the scrapbooking thing got called off, so the girls stayed home and we began the usual job of bulldozing loads of clothes into the laundry room. After we were all good and tired and I was near collapse near to 11:00 p.m., I got the word from Miss Reba that NOW was the time chosen by Oldest to open her birthday presents.

Why? I have no idea. Why couldn't Reba just tell her to wait? I have no idea.

So I sat on the couch with my head lolling back and forth as she tore into her various gifts. I think she likes them, although I doubt it will last very long. Never does.

To bed, and then I recall that the first part of Saturday was spent cleaning up outside. Got Boy to help me clean the kitty kage and sweep the porch, and we redid the interior of the cathouse so that the perches are in different places. Lightning seemed very confused by the change, which is probably good. Keeps him thinking.

Got dressed and took some boxes of old clothes to the thrift store, did some other junk, and started getting the kids ready for supper. Grandmom and Granddad had said they'd take us out to eat for Oldest's birthday, and not only that, Oldest's other grandparents were going to join us, and not only THAT, but #6 had promised promised PROMISED he'd be there.

Leading, inevitably, to a big melodramatic scene when he didn't show up. Someone seems not to be getting the hint when promises (which in actuality aren't "promises," but rather "good intentions to possibly do something unless something intervenes, and something always intervenes") are continually laid aside. I think the kid probably has a hard time telling people no, and if there's ANYone who doesn't like hearing no, it's Oldest. Of course, rather than do the mature thing and tell him to stop calling, she decides it's best to stomp around making divots in the house and being mean to us, while simultaneously calling his cell phone and house--repeatedly--hoping to get him to pick up. Again--hints of a growing-apartness are when the person you are stalking won't return your calls. And said person is actively screening said phone calls to keep from having to talk to you.

::sigh::

Denial, river, Egypt, etc.

From a dad's point of view, it's hard to see your kid being led along like this, and hurts worse when any advice is met with a fiendish little hissy fit. But, dad must still be dad, so I'll give all of YOU girls some advice. Take it or leave it.

#1, Life's too short, and there's too many good guys out there to be stuck trying to fix or change the guy you're currently obsessed with if all he does is make and break promises. Second, if he was dating someone when he started making eyes at you, don't be surprised to find out he's decided to start making eyes at someone else while he's dating you. (Yeah, funny how that works.) Third, be a girl--let him call you, and if he doesn't call enough for you, quit taking his calls. Don't be so danged needy. (See #1) Fourth, guys want one thing, and it ain't to sit there and talk with you about how dreamy Orlando Bloom is and what color you should paint your toenails. Even nice, God-fearing guys only want one thing. Even nice old decrepit Bible-toting married farts only want one thing.

We want that one thing all the time.

24 hours a day, 365 days a year.

Want it while washing the car, while doing taxes, while shopping at Wal-Mart, while unconscious.

One thing.

All.

The.

Time.

So when your dad says "guys only want one thing," listen to him and don't think he's just being a jerk. And moms, when your husband tells your daughter that guys only want one thing, PLEASE remember to back when you were dating your husband, and DON'T lightly laugh and act like your husband is just being overprotective. He's not. If you run across a guy who seems like he DOESN'T want that one thing all the time, he's a) gay, in which case he still wants it, just not from YOU, or b) he's lying, in hopes that you'll think he's the kind sensitive type so he can do more than THINK about that one thing, or c) he's dead.

And thus ends this advice session. Advice for guys later.

After supper and histrionics, we went and dropped Rebecca and Jonathan off at church for a teen get-together they were having and then headed home to more laundry. Went back later that night to get the kids again, and had to make a stop at Walgreens to see if they had any orthodontic rubber bands, Boy having run out.

No, they didn't.

Home, bed.

SUNDAY! Up, shower, dress, get kids and wife up and dressed, to church, stayed awake(ish), got Catherine situated with a ride over to a friend's house for their in-between age lunch get-together, went home, ate the rest of the leftovers from the night before, and then went BACK to go get Cat from her luncheon/devotional thing. It was all the way down in Chelsea (not in England, but Shelby County) and despite the barrier presented by Double Oak Mountain, the old Volvo managed to keep all the oil in the engine and not spew it all over the road, which was quite a relief.

Boy, things sure have changed in Shelby County. Even when I was working over on 280 in the early '90s, there really wasn't anything except for Lloyd's restaurant past 119. And Chelsea was even further out than B. F. Egypt! But now it's just all one continuous strip-shopping-center smear from the Colonnade all the way to what was one the boondocks. Got to the house, waited while they finished up lunch, then headed back toward Trussville.

"You know, Catherine, not too long ago, all this was nothing but trees through here. That wasn't there. THAT wasn't there." She was unimpressed. And, well, I mean, sure--it had always been there since SHE was alive. We drove on, back past Lloyd's, past the giant Wal-Mart development. "None of this was here?"

"No, Sugar, just trees."

"Not Hooters?"

"Uhh, well, no, not that either."

"They call it Hooters because they have an owl on their sign."

"YES! They have an owl, and owls hoot, so that's why it's Hooters! Exactly why. Although it's kinda odd that they sell chicken wings and not owl wings, but, oh well."

"Yes, Dad."

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"You've been alive a LONG time, haven't you?"

"Oh, yes, you better believe it."

"Like back when CAVEMEN were around!?"

"Yes, I had my own cave."

"So you ARE a caveman!"

She was obviously being silly at my expense, so the next few minutes of the trip, I merely grunted when she'd ask me stuff.

Home, sat for a while and folded clothes, then it was time to head back to church for a couple of meetings. And more teen angst!

YAY!

We were having our last meeting before heading off to the church-related convention we go to every year over in Atlanta, and someone had invited #6 to come along. Now we're very conservative when it comes to Bible things, but there are some of our co-religionists (such as #6 and his family) who are even MORE conservative, and don't take kindly to things like church buildings equipped with refrigerators or congregations getting together to do things like Bible Bowl, so I knew all along #6 would not want to go to this, nor would his parent allow it. But somehow, SOMEone thinks he promised to go. And that he promised to come to the meeting, because it was the last meeting and if you didn't go, you wouldn't get to go to the convention.

So, yet another scene. I tell you, it's like living in your own version of a Tennessee Williams play.

Had our meeting, had our evening worship, had ourselves supper from Arby's, went ourselves home, got the kids in bed, finished folding clothes, and collapsed in bed.

As I said, not one of the Greatest Weekends.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:56 AM | Comments (15)

Nothing better on a Monday morning than...

...Monday morning staff meeting!

Blech.

At least I'll be able to get a nap. See you in a little while with all the stunningly inconsequential details of the weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:26 AM | Comments (0)

March 23, 2007

Now that was weird.

I was just about to type up a 5,000 word exposition about the meaning of life, and this popped up--

error.jpg

Oh, well.

I guess I'll go ahead and click "Yes" and see what the weekend holds. It's gonna be busy, I know that--tonight Reba and the girls are doing scrapbooking, and then tomorrow we have a funeral to attend, and then we're supposed to meet Reba's mom and dad for supper tomorrow evening, and #6 has been invited to attend as well, and then afterwards Rebecca wants to go to a game night at the church building, and then Sunday something else besides church is supposed to happen but I don't remember what, and as usual, there is laundry to be done and weeds to be stared at through the window.

Hmm. Maybe I should push "No" instead...

ANYway, all of you have a great weekend and I'll see you Monday. I hope.

(Graphic courtesy of Atomsmasher.org.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:05 PM | Comments (3)

March 21, 2007

Y'know, to any normal person...

a word such as "paperwork" almost sounds pleasant. It sounds somewhat as though the work is of a floaty, flimsy quality--what one of the swells in The Great Gatsby might engage in betwixt swilling booze and making idle chitchat. Or maybe it's something like decoupage, which is a French word from the 1970s meaning "gluey paper mess applied to ugly bottles which are then inexplicably turned into lamps." Still, not really a bad thing, if you have a surplus of ugly bottles and a dearth of table lamps.

As a kid, you'd watch TV shows about adults doing adult things, and they always said they were "buried in paperwork." To a kid, this sounds sorta like being buried in leaves. You imagine pipe-and-fedora equipped office workers with rakes, gathering up vast piles of paper, then suddenly jumping into them with glee. And with SECRETARIES! (And we know what THAT sounds like! Especially if those "secretaries" have been taking dictation!)

So, you know, you grow up having certain expectations, and then you find out that paperwork has a lot in common with another fun-sounding thing, waterboarding.

Anyway, I've been shuffling vast piles of paper today with nary a twitch of even the slightest breeze of mirth, which explains the lack of Possumblogging today. And now I have to go answer the phone at the front desk.

Blah.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:29 PM | Comments (4)

March 20, 2007

Stupid computers.

The unexplained three-hour absence COULD have been explained had the computers been working before I had to leave to go pick up Catherine and take her to the ear-nose-throat guy to have her hearing rechecked, because I would have been able to post a quick note and be done with it.

BUT NOOOOOOOO!

Oh well.

She's fine, by the way. When she went back a couple of weeks back for her checkup from when she had the ear infections in February, the nurse couldn't get a good reading on the little handheld pressure scanner doohicky that measures if there's still any fluid on the ear, so we had to go back to the ENT to have it checked. Which we did. Then came back here, because I still had work to do. And this.

ANYway, there will be much more fun tomorrow. Maybe. And probably stupid computer problems.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:27 PM | Comments (0)

March 19, 2007

Oooph.

Well, the weekend has come and gone, and I feel like I've been hung up in a sack from a tree limb and beaten with an axe handle!

Remind me to ask Boy more questions about such sojourns before I set out again.

ANYway, Friday evening was spent loading the van in--our kitchen stuff (which we have started always taking even if we're not going need it) consisting of a box of supplies, then an Alice pack with the stove and three small bottles of propane; food; the small pack with my lantern and heater--then the rest of the junk, two folding camp chairs; my backpack (and my new mummy bag fits right in the sleeping bag carrier on the bottom--not that it matters now, about which, more later); Boy's bag; big tent; little tent; tarps; then in the middle, a shovel, a small pair of loppers, and a two gallon jug of water.

Didn't get finished loading until nearly midnight, because somehow, I lost or misplaced my big tarp, and had to make a late WalMart run. Let me tell you, there are some WEIRD people at Wally World as the clock approaches midnight.

Up early the next morning, dressed, got Boy up, kissed Reba (who barely stirred) and out the door we went. Stopped and got breakfast then rolled around the corner to the Scout hut, where we proceeded to mill around being cold.

Because it was cold. Cold and windy. The two things I hate above all other things except maybe cold-windy-rainy. Finally managed to get various tables and chairs and chuckboxes and water jugs and other supplies loaded up, and away we went.

Pleasant enough drive, although slow, since the guy with the trailer was hauling it with an ancient wheezing Dodge pickup that could barely go faster than 60. Downhill. With a tailwind.

Me? Well, I resisted the urge to sleep the entire way, since I was the putative driver. I cannot say I was entirely successful, but I didn't run off onto the shoulder any, so I consider that highly successful. After getting off the Interstate at Heflin, the scenery helped keep me awake. Sorta scrubby farmland, and all that such things entail here in the South, with lots of roadside attractions such as the guy selling Army surplus tents out of his front yard, and a variety of farms with cast-off cars and trucks scattered about the grounds, along with the various house trailers where they have bait and tanning beds. But at least the roads were good. Around here the rural areas are pounded by coal trucks, and so a country drive can be less than pleasant, but over there in East Alabama there are much fewer such conveyances, and to make it even better, the Cleburne County road department does a fine job of maintenance. So not bad at all.

Finally got to the camp and was pleasantly surprised, although I shouldn't have been if I'd read the website better. And then I remembered what I'd forgotten--my camera. What a dolt. Drove on around to the campsite, which was on a rise near the dam at sparkly pretty 80 acre Lake Cross. Lots of pretty, pretty water.

I GOTTA PEE!

Luckily, there were some nice latrines right over there and--

They were locked. And inoperable due to the recent cold weather. So I peed behind them. Whew.

But, if they're locked, won't we have to...

Yep, sure will.

Good thing I'd brought a shovel.

Although I must say that the idea of exposing my tender nether regions to the cold blowing wind proved to be more efficacious than a box full of Imodium with a Kaopectate chaser in rendering my system locked up tighter than the latrines were. Good thing we were only gone for a day, though.

Unload, set up the kitchens, set up tents, eat lunch.

I'd brought some cheese and crackers and smoked sausage and sweet tea, which I thought was pretty darned good. Especially that cheese part.

After that and the boys had changed into work clothes around 1:00 p.m., it was time for their service project. Again, I had only an inkling of what was supposed to be going on, but as it turns out, the plans by the Scout hierarchy were for a nice hiking trail all around the five mile perimeter of the lake. They'd already gone through and marked a trail, and had cleared what turned out to be about 3/4 of a mile of it. Our part was to clear more.

Which is actual work.

And for some reason, I kept wanting to whistle "Colonel Bogey's March."

Anyway, thank goodness one of the dads (there were seven men and ten or so boys) brought along his mule and wagon, in the form of a 250 Kawasaki four-wheeler and utility trailer. We loaded all the chain saws and gas and tools and junk onto the trailer and set off with the intent of clearing a five mile path. I'm not sure why anyone would think we could get five miles done.

The terrain was relatively open, but there were a lot of rocks just under the leaf litter, and a lot of them were small and loose, which mean a lot of twisty feet. And although the group before us had cut a lot of stuff, they'd also left a good bit of smaller things in the way, so we wound up cleaning up those parts, too. The mule did fine, although there were several tight hollows and gulleys that I didn't think the driver was going to make it through, but he appeared to have done this more than once in the past. We had a couple of times where we had to lift the trailer up and around things, but overall, it was a godsend to have it with us.

As for the work itself, slow and hard. Made slower and harder by the fact that the boys required near constant attention to get them on task--one minute they'd be off looking at the water, the next they'd be looking at the sky, the next they'd be hacking and sawing at dead trees off the trail. We probably cleared as much outside the trail as on it.

But we made good progress, despite the lack of assistance from the boys. But not nearly as much as we thought. It got to be about four o'clock and we decided to stop for the day and turn around, and everyone was making estimates of how far we'd gone. "Surely we've gone nearly the whole way!" "Maybe we've made it 3 or 4 miles."

Somehow, I figured that although we'd done pretty well, it wasn't nearly so far as we thought. Got the mule turned around and the boys were well on their way back to camp ahead of us. Go figure. The driver set the odometer and when we got back to the place where we'd started cutting--1.8 miles. There was a bit of disappointment that we'd not gotten as far as we thought, but still, we wouldn't have gotten that much if we'd had to carry all the saws and tools, so we said okay. All the way back was right at 2 1/2 miles.

And let me tell you this--there was one chubby man out there who was quite tired when he got back to camp.

Went and changed socks and then it was time to start supper. One thing about it--although that heavy camping is a bit cumbersome, you do tend to eat well. We had a Mexican chicken casserole of sorts cooked in the cast iron Dutch oven, and it was quite good. Although all I could think about was going to bed.

Cleanup, then campfire time, which was spent waiting on the boys to clean up after themselves. Supper and cleanup was supposed to be over by around 8:30 or so, but by 10 p.m., they had only just finished cleanup, so no camp songs or skits or stuff. I'd spent the last two hours sitting there dozing and moving away from the smoke and trying by best to stay warm, WISHING I could be unsociable and go to bed, but wanting to wait and be nice and sit around and do the traditional stuff.

Next time I'm just going to be unsociable.

To the tent, where I got off my work clothes and changed my Spiderman Underoos for the Batman ones, got on my sweatpants and socks and shirt and got my brand new sleeping bag out.

Never again.

I'd never used a mummy bag before, and it was an immense struggle just to get IN it, much less trying to zip it up. I wrestled and fought with that fool thing for what seemed like hours, getting myself fully worked up and woken back up, and firing up a nice bout of reflux from the spicy Mexican casserole. And then when I did get arranged, I couldn't get to sleep for my mind replaying over and over again the odd little plink-blip-beep-plink sound my phone makes as it goes in and out of service areas. It was off, but I couldn't get that sound out of my head. And back to the sleeping bag--I wrestled with it more, and couldn't get anywhere near comfortable because I have to be able to toss and turn and roll and move my arms and legs and I felt like I was being suffocated. I finally just had to unzip it and put it over me like a blanket and sleep right on the air mattress (with DID work like it was supposed to, although a cloth covering would have been a nice addition) and managed to get a few hours of sleep. Of sorts. Even unzipped, the danged thing kept moving the wrong way and I'd have to wake up and move it around and then I'd freeze my butt and then I'd move and freeze my stomach and then I'd move and freeze my arms. All night long. Except for the one time I had to go pee, and it seemed warmer outside than it did in my tent.

Up at 6:30 and cast a rueful glance at the sleeping bag, swearing to it once I got it home it was going back to Wal-Mart. Then I remembered that Catherine needed one for her sleepovers and junk--what better thing for her than something that completely immobilizes her as if she were in a straightjacket!

Undid the lantern and hooked up the heater. FINALLY some heat. I suppose I could have left it on all night, but the spare bottles were still in the van and I didn't want to have to go get one. Put on clothes, shaved, brushed teeth, applied my Refreshing Shower in a Spray Can (i.e., deodorant), brushed my hair, and blearily opened the tent flap to see that everyone else had apparently gotten up much earlier than I had, because they were all standing around the fire and drinking coffee.

I grunted greetings to them all and once more began the slow dance around the fire to avoid the smoke. You know, usually you can get upwind and life is good, but this weekend for whatever reason the wind came from all directions, making it impossible to hunker down by the fire in one spot.

Breakfast of fried egg sandwiches for the men--and other things for the boys. I don't know what all they had. But as it was the night before, it took them until lunchtime to get cleaned up, meaning we lost time for the devotional. I got my stuff packed and ready to go, and we got most of the kitchen broken down and loaded, and the boys were still playing and wadding up giant piles of pine straw and not doing anything.

A break for lunch, and again the boys were at a loss of how to cook their food since they'd just put everything away. Luckily, Jonathan had his mess kit in his bag and so they used that to boil water for their ramen noodles. Why they didn't just get the noodles in a cup is anyone's guess. Sure would have made cleanup easier.

Got the last of the gear loaded in the trailer, doused the fire, and the boys did the final policing of the camp. Then had to do it again because they didn't do it right the first time.

The trip home was quiet, since Jonathan decided to go to sleep. I didn't make that decision, but napped anyway several times. It seemed much slower going back for some reason, but I think mainly because I was working on a total of about eight non-sequential hours of sleep out of the three days and I was tired, and my lower intestinal tract was beginning to lobby for a break.

After an hour of weaving and cramping, we were finally back close to a restroom of known cleanliness, so as the caravan went on, I made a stop at the Food World in Moody.

Thus refreshed, it was about twenty more minutes back to the Scout hut, where I was relieved to see most of the hard unloading work had been done by the others.

A brief meeting after they'd gotten things stowed away, which mostly dealt with the lack of leadership the troop leaders had shown in keeping everyone working together as a team, and then it was to home. More unloading. Unpacked everything and put it away as I recounted the story to Reba, who herself had several hair-raising tales of her own of her weekend spent with the girls.

Despite the intense fatigue and grogginess, after hearing her story, I was glad I'd gone.

Got a shower, got on my church clothes, and managed to stay awake through several interesting lesson points, back to home, and time for supper.

Mexican chicken casserole.

So, anyway, it was a very full weekend, and I'm sore today, and would like to take a nap, please.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:42 AM | Comments (6)

March 16, 2007

And so...

...the mighty whirling turbine that powers Possumblog is now in the process of being shut down for the weekend, so we ask you all to come again next week when it's restarted, and have yourselves a good time between now and then.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:25 PM | Comments (2)

Oh, a'camping we will go...

Well, time for another one. Camping out with the Scouts again this weekend, and I was under the impression that I might be able to miss this one. I was quickly disabused of this notion by Boy, who noted that he'd already told his Scoutmaster I was going.

I guess I'm going, then.

This time it's over to Camp Sequoyah, which from the write-up on the website sounds more like a resort than a campground.

As usual, I have little information about what he's supposed to bring or do or anything, and it does no good to ask since he usually just shrugs his shoulders or says "someone" is "supposed to call him" with more "information."

Which obviously never happens.

Anyway, best I can tell they're supposed to be clearing underbrush and/or overgrowth from trails. I hope to sit in a chair and read. I'm also hoping it gets a shade warmer than it is now, too. The early part of this week was absolutely wonderful, but with the cold-front-induced rain we had yesterday, things have turned off chilly again, and as you all know, I don't like being cold. Or being in the wind. Or being eaten by wildlife.

Additions to the camping kit have been sparse since last trip. I went ahead and got Jonathan his own tent. They can't sleep in the same tent with an adult, even if it's their own parent (thanks, pedophiles!) and he didn't like having to share a tent with one of the other campers the last time, so we got him one of these. Reasonably priced and about the right size, although something of a Rubik's Cube to put together. Also got him a new sleeping bag, since the one he has looks more like a little girl sleepover-type bag than a real manly man wilderness bag. I wish now I'd gotten one like it because it comes with its own compression sack and it's rated down to 0 degrees Fahrenheit. Which means it would be warm, which is what I want to be. Which is why I got myself one of these, in the 2 1/2 inch thickness. I've been carrying a big inflatable queen size air mattress, but it's something of a pain in the butt and is a little too big and wallowy. The one good thing is that it gets you up off the floor so you're not as cold. Which is what I want to be--not as cold.

Anyway, once I get home tonight it's time to pack up the gear and make ready for a couple of days of lounging about in the woods and not doing laundry.

OH--one good thing about the cold weather? Not nearly so many chiggers.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:00 PM | Comments (9)

Yes, I'm here, and wasn't late this morning.

I'm just still hung over from last night's gadding about--first had to find Catherine, who'd wandered off into the woods at Grandma's house--in the rain--because she wanted to go for a walk. Found her rather quickly by bellowing at the top of my lungs. Then home, then got Boy to take down his tent that we've just gotten and had it set up in the garage in order to seal the seams on it, then after Reba was home it was off to the thrift store to pick up a chair for Rebecca to decorate for art class, then back to the bookstore to pick up The Glass Menagerie for Oldest (which I am almost certain we already have) and then three books on soccer for Bec so she could do a report, then on to Target for cat food, manila envelopes (we already had a stack of those, too), and spray paint to touch up the chair I'd gotten at the thrift store, but Target doesn't SELL paint (!?) so then it was back up the shopping center to Michael's, who does sell paint and picked up a can of that.

On back to home, set up the chair in the garage on top of an old sheet and proceeded to slather spray paint all over the chair. I'd recommend against the Krylon latex spray paint. Slow to dry, susceptible to getting fisheyes (odd humidity-caused pits in the paint film) and is drippy, without being that great at coverage. I thought I was doing myself a favor because it doesn't stink (a lot) but next time I'm just getting some fast dry enamel and be done with it.

And that only takes us up to 9:00 p.m. I didn't get in bed until midnight. And so I'm tired. Thus the lack of posts this morning.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:55 AM | Comments (2)

March 15, 2007

That ol' Pop Culture Madness strikes again.

You recall the al.com/Birmingham News poll I linked to on Monday. You don't!? Well, here it is--we're all a'voting on who represents us (i.e., Alabama) the best. Or something. I'm still not quite clear on the concept. But that's probably just me.

In any event, Round Two has started, so you can go here and vote, if you enjoy this sort of thing.

My picks for Round Two--

Courteney Cox (1)

Sela Ward (5)

Kate Jackson (3)

Jim Nabors (2)

Hank Williams (1)

Emmylou Harris (4)

Nat "King" Cole (3)

Alabama (2)

Harper Lee (1)

Kathryn Tucker Windham (13)

Fannie Flagg (6)

Truman Capote (2)

John Badham (1)

Michael Biehn (5)

Tallulah Bankhead (3)

Louise Fletcher (2)

First round picks that did not make it to Round Two:

Rush Propst (13)

Amber Benson (11)

Alan Hunter (9)

W.C. Handy (12)

Eddie Kendricks/Temptations (6)

Jimmy Buffett (7)

Tammy Wynette (9)

Homer Hickam (14)

William Bradford Huie (7)

Rick Bragg (8)

Johnny Mack Brown (4)

And I'm still saying it'll be a Capote v Alabama matchup at the end, with Alabama coming out on top simply because they can actually be reached for comment.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:15 PM | Comments (0)

Why, yes! I am late!

Just a reminder to you all--the most important piece of emergency equipment you can have in your car is a cell phone.

Got the kids rousted and fed and in the car this morning with time to spare, cranked up the ol' lump o' iron, put it in Reverse, and had to wait while Boy jumped back out to run inside and get his assignment for art class.

As we waited, I caught a whiff of a most peculiar odor that I at first thought was something like burning friction material, coming in through the vents. Hmm. That's probably not good. I quickly put the car in Park, thinking (hoping against hope) that it wasn't the reverse clutches or something inside the transmission. Got out and lifted the hood, and nothing was out of place. No smoke, everything perking along as if nothing was wrong.

Well, that's weird.

Boy came back and off we went, first to the middle school, dropped him and his big sister, then it was on to the elementary school with Cat. The car didn't miss a beat, and it began to mightily bother me about that smell. It smelled expensive, but maybe it was nothing since the car wasn't a pile of cinders.

Dropped her off at school, then stopped at the Publix to get a box of sodas for the office. Paid, got back some cash so I could pick up Reba's repaired shoe and Boy's Scout cap, walked back outside and got in the car, hit the switch, and...





Nothing.

The radio and fan and all the dashboard lights were going, but there wasn't a whir from the starter or even a click from the solenoid.

Ahh.

So that's what the smell was.

I figured it had to be something in the starter circuit, and more than likely was the fusible link, a big, high amp fuse in the starter cable that can burn up and do the exact thing it was doing now.

But what to do about it!? I HAD TO GET TO WORK!

Lucky for that handy cell phone.

Could I get Reba on the phone? No, she was already too far from Trussville to turn around and come back for me. Let's see--7:20. Maybe I could get Oldest, especially since she refuses to turn her phone off. I could get her to come get me, then I could take her to school and take the car on with me to work, then get Grandma to pick her up, and...

"Your call is being answered by an automated voice message system. Your party is not available...."

The one time when it would have been a good thing to have the phone on, and it was off.

::sigh::

Okay, I'm going to be late for work.

First order of business, look at my insurance card and call the number to make sure I still have emergency road service coverage. (I.e., the second most important piece of emergency equipment you should have.) Yep, but then had to call a different number for that. Called, got a woman from somewhere very far away, told her all my personal information, told her where I was, "Publix supermarket in Trussville!" "Public market in Russellville?"

Finally got all that figured out, then it was a question of where to take the car. There is a new shop right down the road about half a mile from where I sat, but I had no idea what the name of it was. So I told her that.

Alas, she needed a name. I finally figured I'd have it taken to the shop that worked on the Focus, so I gave her that name. Did I have an address?

Well, no.

I thought about getting out--IN THE RAIN, which was now beginning to fall--and going inside the store for a Yellow Pages, but the heck with that. She finally decided to put in her computer that I was going to have it towed to a shop on Gadsden Highway.

"Gasten Highway?"

"No, Gadsden. Gee-aye-dee [pause] Zee-dee-ee-en."

"G-A-Z-E-D-E-N?"

We finally got it figured out.

Hung up and waited. Got a call back that the tow truck would be there in 45 minutes.

::sigh:: That means around 8:30. Oh, well.

Waited. Watched various professional women and housewives go to and from Publix. The rain picked up. Then slacked off.

About 8:20, the phone buzzed again and it was the tow truck guy. Had to explain where I was, since he had no clue. You figure tow truck guys are like cabbies and know every place in town, but apparently not.

Got there right at 8:30, and soon thereafter my phone buzzed again with a robot asking if the tow truck guy had gotten there, and if so to press 1. I did as instructed.

The rain picked up again and he kept right on working, while I pretended to be a big sissy dork and hid under an umbrella. I felt even worse when I saw a couple of women walking out of Publix without umbrellas, so I thought maybe I was only thinking it was raining hard enough for a cover. I moved the bumbershoot to the side, and was severely misted by at least three raindroplets. Too wet for MY tastes. What with being a big sissy dork and all.

Clambered up in the cab after he'd gotten everything secure, made the short hop to the car place. AHhhhh. "Hey, it's called Panos Automotive Service!" I said proudly.

Walked in and gave them a rundown of my problem and told them what my diagnosis was so they'd have something to ignore, the counter guy said it might take many hours, I said I'd have to wait no matter what, then I went in the restroom and peed.

All that rain, you know.

They got it backed off the flatbed into the first bay, and I read the variety of magazines they had. This was the first time I'd ever used this place, and from what I could tell, they seemed to know what they were doing. It's usually covered up with cars, and it seemed reasonably tidy, and while I was sitting there reading the doormat and uniform delivery guy came by delivering door mats and uniforms. You figure any shop that goes to that much trouble is pretty stable.

Or at least I sure hoped so.

Along about 9:30, I heard the tell-tale clickwhirPUTT-putterputterputter WHOOOOSH of the car cranking up in the shop. SUCCESS! I wonder what was wrong...

Turns out I wasn't quite on the target--it was a defective neutral safety switch that had shorted, then burnt out the wire leading to the starter. Same type of symptom as a bad fuse, but harder to fix.

Or was it?

I have now much more fondness for this place, because the mechanic (who allowed that he had a couple of Volvos, too) said he could just bypass the switch. Now this isn't the preferred fix, and most shops are so scared of litigation that they swear such a thing was not only inadvisable, but simply beyond the ken of mere mortals to accomplish.

The alternative was to order up a switch and replace it.

Which was going to be more money, and I knew it, but I had them ask anyway.

50 bucks for the part, 50 bucks for labor, plus the labor they'd already done on the car to figure out what was wrong with it. Call it close to $200 with tax. Which really isn't bad, but was still more than I wanted to spend.

Which meant that the tab to get me back on the road came to $80. I just have to be really REALLY careful to make sure the car is in Park to start it.

Out of the door before 10:00 a.m. and on the road.

Since I was late, I went ahead and drove over to the shoe shop and picked up the shoe, now fully strapped, along with Boy's cap, now also fully strapped. Tab for that? $10.

So, now--$90 lighter, I am back to work and ready to find out what all I missed.

What all did I miss?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:32 AM | Comments (2)

March 14, 2007

It's good to know a guy.

Early this morning I was neck deep in some stupid paperwork when one of the guys in communications dropped by. We go to church together and he was up here doing some phone work and thought he'd stop by and chat for a minute. Which we did. Normal stuff. Then he said he needed to get back to work, installing voice mail on one of the phone of one of the other folks up here.

::ding::

I have been wanting voice mail for the entire twelve years I've been here. I'm out in the field a pretty fair amount, and it's rather ridiculous for the secretary to have to take a message when it would be far simpler for someone just to leave a voice message. Not to mention the times when the phone simply doesn't get answered.

For many years, though, the powers that be simply forbade such high-falutin' finaglery, until the folks in charge realized it was convenient and began getting it for themselves while not letting we peons in on the secret. After a while, the technology began to trickle down to a few people on down the ladder who managed to get it, but only after jumping through flaming hoops while being shot at by poison-dart flingling atlatl artists.

Early on I figured I could just get my own answering machine and hook it to my phone (sort of like the way in which I stole my own autodialer speakerphone out of the conference room and replaced it with my crappy phone) and no one would care that much, but I just didn't want to have to spend my own money for it, especially when there's nothing to using our system except adding another phone number onto the system list.

Anyway, back to the conversation--it sure seemed to me that the guy on our floor getting his phone switched onto the system is no more needing of the service than I am, so how'd he manage to swing that?

"Wow, THAT'S nice!" I said, with no small amount of jealousy in my tone. "I wish I had voice mail on MY phone--what sort of form do you have to fill out to get that!?"

The rest of the conversation will have to be redacted to protect all the vast conspiracy that's involved, but suffice it to say, I won't be missing any more phone calls.

Sweet.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:35 AM | Comments (9)

Now then.

A busy morning, which followed a busy Tuesday evening, but only after being interrupted by a very busy sleep, which was filled to overflowing with weirdness. I'm going to have to start sleeping with earplugs and a sleep mask just to cut down on the oddities induced by ambient light and noise in the house that persists EVEN AFTER I'VE GONE TO BED.

You know the kid's game "Don't Wake Daddy"? In my house they've apparently decided to do this in real time, with the twist of renaming the game, "Don't Let Daddy Have a Single Restful Night the Rest of What Is Destined to Turn Out to be A Very Short Life." I ask so little, and require so little--why must they begrudge me of my sleep!?

Anyway, I'm here now and there's stuff to do.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:53 AM | Comments (0)

March 12, 2007

Sunday!

As predicted, the time change was not met with the rousing, rollicking, tumble-out-of-bediness that usually happens in our house on Sunday mornings.

I simply must get myself an electric cattle prod.

Anyway, made some breakfast, got the van loaded, and eventually got underway after much pain and agony inside my head from the continual battle raging between Calm Self-Control and the berzerkers who practice Efficient Time-Management.

Got to church, feeling not at all full of God's love and compassion, seeing as how it takes twenty minutes to get there, and we left about 17 minutes before the designated meeting time. Wouldn't be that bad except Reba is teaching this quarter and really should be there about ten minutes before class starts. Which would require us to leave MUCH earlier than we did.

Oh well.

Good class, good sermon, and then back home for some good lunch. Then, time to go do more stuff--Ashley had a meeting that required one of us to be with her, so Reba took her to that, while I was tasked with taking Rebecca to go find some shoes. She'd gotten herself a new brown outfit, and wanted a pair of brown shoes to go with it. But not just any brown shoes--brown shoes to match the black pair she already has.

And nothing else would do.

Off to Rack Room, where they had a pair of brown shoes just like her black ones. Except way too small.

On to the shoe place in the upper shopping center, where they had all kinds of shoes, but none like her black ones, and none she liked in her size.

On to JCPenney, where they had all kinds of shoes, and even more of them, but none like her black ones, and none she liked in her size.

On to, where else, WAL-MART, where they had all kinds of shoes, and even more of them than any other place, but none like her black ones, and none she liked in her size.

Got the kids and myself something to drink and went home.

Got everyone loaded back up later and went back to church for the evening service, led singing and only coughed during one song which I'm sure everyone enjoyed, then headed home for the final time. Supper, then read the paper, then crashed into the mattess like a truckload of wet concrete.

Thank goodness I can now get a nice nap.

OH, and by the way, Jim Smith is on spring break, but it sick. I would like to let him know that I tried Diet Grapico, that it tastes very good, and I recommend it to him as a healthy elixir for what ails him.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:05 PM | Comments (2)

Saturday!

Urgh.

Got up at 6:00 and woke Reba up so she could go get ready to go, and managed to sleep a bit longer in that fitful, half-awake way when you try to wake up but you're dreaming you're eyes won't open and you're in an office with people working and you tell them you're sleepy and they tell you to open your eyes but you can't and it feels like they've got sand and glue in them so even though you try you can't until WHOA! It's time to wake up!

I remembered that Saturday that I slept so late after everyone had left to go do their own things, and it put me behind in all my important chores, so I went ahead and forced myself to get up around 7:00 and get the day going. Got the kids up to start getting dressed, started up some laundry, and got to work on the first car project, namely figuring out why the Focus smells like gas.

Went outside, jacked it up, looked all around for leakiness, and could only see the parts where it had previously leaked. Drove it and got it filled up and came back, jacked it up again, and was gratified to see that the filler tube I thought I hadn't tightened enough was indeed nice and leak free. The only problem is that the gasoline odor was back, and with no visible leakage, that could mean only a couple of things, neither of them good.

One, I had either left a hose loose on the top of the tank when I had previously dropped it to change the fuel pump, or Two, I hadn't tightened the hateful blue plastic retainer ring sufficiently to keep the juice inside.

As I said, either thing would require me to once more drop that tank down and mess with it. I think what's happening is the latter, since it only happens when it's full of gas, then dissipates when the tank level drops. It's probably seeping out around the retainer ring, since I was too lazy to put in a new rubber gasket.

Solution?

Well, don't fill it all the way up sounds good to me.

By this time the Reba and the three older kids were ready to leave for the building, so after I bid them adieu, I settled in for a long day spent with just Tiny Terror and myself.

You know what? I don't think I gave her any breakfast. As I was trying to recall all this, I think we skipped that part of the morning completely. Maybe Mom fed her before she left.

Oops.

Oh well, what's a little food when there are parts to buy! Called the other parts place down the hill (more of a parts supply place than a mainline mass market retailer) to make sure they had a set of plug wires for the old brick, which they did. Got Cat dressed (more or less) and made her quit whining by promising her that if she would be good and help me, I'd take her to Sonic for lunch and then we'd have a picnic on the old footbridge over the Cahaba. (Not a current picture, but still a good one.) THIS she understood!

Off down to the foot of the hill, walked in and saw that the genial old fellow (who smelt of stale coffee, Marlboros, and grease) already had my set out there waiting on the counter. THAT'S SERVICE, my friends!

WHOA!

SEVENTY TWO BUCKS!?

Admittedly, they were top of the line, and had the nice metal shields on the plug ends, and all that, but that's still awfully steep. Then I saw the list price--$132. I figure I must be getting a real deal.

Paid, and went back home ready to get started.

As I mentioned, I don't know how long ago this was done, but I know I haven't done it. (I could look at the voluminous records kept by the previous squirrelly owner, but I didn't want to.) Anyway, it's been idling rough for a year now, and although the mileage is relatively good at around 21 mpg, I keep thinking it could do better. New ignition parts might be the trick.

First thing was to replace the rotor button and cap, which turned out to be more trouble than I gave it credit for being. Seems the rotor takes a bit of persuasion to fully seat itself, but I didn't know this until I cranked it and the whole distributor cap was wildly oscillating like a Tilt-a-Whirl. After a few smears of silicone on the underside of the rotor and then a polite tap with a screwdriver handle, it was where it was supposed to be.

BUT, before all that, there were the plugs to install. I was a bit fearful of what I might find--carbon, or worse, oil. Happily, they were each and every one a nice shade of toasted bread, with only one having a bit of tan-colored scaley stuff on the ground electrode. The center electrodes, though--oh, my. They were all nearly burnt down to the insulator. No WONDER the thing has been running rough and hard to start in the cold!

In with the new set (actually, these are done one at a time to keep junk from blowing into the cylinders) and after a bit of a brain cloud with the screw-on tips (which weren't needed with the type of wires I had) that caused me to have to REMOVE all the little screw-on tips, the wires were all snapped on, and the engine cranked to life. Again, there was the slight mishap with the bobbling distributor cap, but after that was squared away, things worked just like they should.

And I have to say, Catherine was a great help through the whole process. She even got to wear her own pair of blue nitrile gloves to keep her hands clean, which she thought was super keen. She would fetch tools for me and throw boxes away, and was kind enough to go get my shop manual so I could remember the proper firing order, (1-3-4-2, by the way), and asked what this was, and that was, and what those were, and generally hung around far longer than I ever thought she would. Of course, she's still a kid, so as her attention wandered, she went and bothered the cat for a while.

SO, time for a test drive, and LUNCH.

Cleaned up, gathered her up and off we went. Now I might be full of wishful thinking, but ol' Järn felt like a brand new car--well, almost. But a lot more peppy and without the shakiness at idle he'd had before. So, that turned out just fine.

Stopped at Sonic--

cat passenger.JPG

--got us a couple of sandwiches and some drinks, and off to the park. Where a lot of other folks seem to have had the exact same idea we'd had. But it's a big park, so we weren't crowded at all.

Sat on the bridge and ate our foods (and judging by this photo, hers must have contained Valium)--

mmmm--food.JPG

--and looked at all the attractions--several folks had their puppies out for a romp, so this was almost more interesting to her than her meal, although in fairness to her, I was equally distracted by the couple of folks who'd brought out their Alfa Romeo roadsters (both red) and were parked on the green plain upriver from us and were taking photos of them. One was a particularly nice little boattail model that looked much better than it seemed to run.

Anyway, she hurried and finished her food and ran over to insert herself into someone else's family--

river cat.JPG

and I finished up my sammich and just relaxed. One thing I noticed on the steel girders of the bridge is something I had previously overlooked--the name of the foundry town molded into the steel--

lack of want-to.JPG

I like stuff like that.

Also like playing with rocks, and one of the things she's been wanting to do since the last time were were there was go skip-rocking, the less-well-known designation for the pasttime of rock-skipping. So we walked across and down onto the bed and began looking for likely candidates.

skip rocking.JPG

She finally got enough practice to where she could reliably skip them at least twice, which did her no end of good. It was getting time to go, though, since I had one more car-related task to get done. Of course, she begged and pleaded and wheedled, but I managed to distract her with the promise of a rousing bout of Pooh Sticks.

Oddly enough, she didn't remember what this was. I guess it's been a while since we read Winnie the Pooh. We gathered up a batch of sticks and went back onto the bridge, and with great fanfare dropped them over the side and ran to the other to see whose would come out first. She won most of the times, which also make her feel super terrific happy fun!

Which is good, because we spent the NEXT hour waiting at the Express Oil Change for them to do a radiator flush. Another task that's been on hold since I bought the car, even despite the dire warnings of the previous owner that it was time to have it done. And it is important. I'd just not gotten around to it. And despite knowing how to do it myself, I wanted someone else to do it, simply because it's messy and tiresome and I didn't want to fool with it.

I also didn't realize it was going to take an hour, though.

Anyway, they fixed me up and I was ready to go again after unloading more cash. ::sigh::

Home, met Reba leaving. She'd intended to come back from church and drop off the kids and go shopping for some pants for herself, but apparently decided the martyrdom of taking the other three kids with her to go shopping was a worthy way to go. I asked her if she didn't want to leave them with me, and she just shook her head no and drove on off.

Eh, whatever.

I had things to do--namely, more laundry.

Did that some more as Cat played on the computer, then went and began changing all the clocks in the house. No use waiting until 2 a.m., am I right?!

Then I took a shower and collapsed on the couch for a while. Reba and the kids finally showed back up sometime around 7:00. They'd found all kinds of things to spend money on. Some of which were even necessary! Rebecca was especially pleased to find some cute tops to wear. Since she's been playing soccer, she has lost close to twenty pounds, and looks much better in her clothes now. And feels better, too, which explains the fun she was having doing a fashion show for me.

Supper then, baths for everyone, then to bed.

Sunday was much less busy...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:31 AM | Comments (0)

So...

...took Cat for her ear checkup, and the good news is that her ears are clear, but I still have to take her to an ENT for a hearing check since she didn't pass the one they give in the office with the little hand-held doohickey. ::sigh::

Off back toward home, picked up the dry cleaning, picked up two more kids from Grandmom's house, and went to the house to meet up with Reba and Oldest. Who were intent on not letting me get my car parts or make my trip to Wal-Mart without first taking everyone out to eat.

At Pizza Hut.

Now, I like pizza, and don't really mind Pizza Hut's version thereof, but I cannot STAND to eat at the actual restaurant. It's decorated in that horrible pseudo-Italianate/rec room decor from the bad part of the 1970s, and the whole place feels like it has a sticky film over it. Mainly because it does have a sticky film all over it. And not a clean sticky film, either. And it's always full of kids whose parents don't care about eating in a place that's like one giant glue trap. To make it worse? It's just as slow as ordering it and having it delivered. At least at home you can eat in your own dirt rather than half of town's dirt.

Obviously, it doesn't matter what I think, though.

But we still had to go to Wally World and I still had car junk to buy, so we decided to take two vehicles, and after our dinner was choked down, I'd go on and get the groceries (for the thing at church on Saturday) and get my parts.

Waited, refereed yet another foul disagreement between the two most immature members of the family, ate a bowl of salad and a tiny bit of pizza as my innards churned from the combination of anger, filth and noise, and then it was time to pack up and leave. Thank goodness.

Rebecca and Jonathan decided to go to Wal-Mart with me and the other girls went back home to get a jump on the laundry. Up to the top of the hill, parked, and decided to do a quick swing through the parts department to see if I could get what I was looking for--spark plugs for the Volvo. I don't know how long it had been since it was tuned up, and decided that as part of my fun for Saturday would be to work on it and see if I could get it running a bit smoother. ANYway, I got over to the plug display, and to my utter dismay, found that there was no handy chart to let me know what sort of plug I was supposed to get. This is important, after all.

Well, dang.

Went on and got the provender for Reba--she was going up to the church building on Saturday to help fix food for everyone for the areawide Bible Bowl, which is usually (and more conveniently) held on a Sunday. Whatever. Got some lettuce, tomatoes, mayo, and cookies, and tried to finish calming Jonathan down. See, part of that upset at the restaurant was due to the fact that he inadvertantly let slip the name of a little girl he's got a crush on. A fact not shared with Oldest and with Cat due to the fact that neither one is mature enough to be nice to him about it, but will no doubt make every possible effort to embarrass him with the information. SO, he was mad at himself for letting it slip to them, and mad at them for immediately acting just like we all knew they would. Ashley seemed nearly beside herself, and you could tell she's just dying to ruin things for him by telling the girl. But after a few laps around Wal-Mart and some fatherly and sisterly advice from Rebecca (who is more mature than a lot of adults), he was back to his usual pleasant demeanor.

Left there and made a stop at the Advance Auto Parts place at the foot of the hill, and since things had gone so well so far, it should be no surprise that Lisa the Parts Guy wasn't there, and so I had to get my valuables from some ancient guy who smelled like stale coffee and Winstons. Set of four plugs, a distributor cap, and a rotor button--22 bucks. And they didn't have a set of plug wires. ::sigh::

On to home, got them to all get cleaned up and in the bed, did a bit of laundry, and then collapsed in the bed myself.

And then, there was....

SATURDAY!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:07 AM | Comments (2)

All that concern...

...about the time change for Daylight Savings, and not a peep about what it does to the stupid time stamp on blogs! ::grumble::

GOOD MORNING!

A weekend that was actually productive, for once! More about it in just a bit after I get some diet soda inside of me and get woken up.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:10 AM | Comments (2)

March 09, 2007

Annnnnnd, that’s a wrap.

I have to head out early today to go pick up Cat and take her to the doctor for a checkup on the double ear infection she had a couple of weeks back. She seems better, and she’s not acting like a back-end like she usually does when she’s sick, so hopefully she’s over it.

Anyway, the weekend calls, so all of you have good one and Lord willing I’ll see you back here bright and early (earlier, what with the clocks springing forward and all) on Monday and we’ll see what all went on.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:59 PM | Comments (0)

Fortune Cookie Wisdom of the Day!

Jeff and I met up at the swanky Wan's Chinese in Cahaba Heights, and I must say I was highly disappointed. No buffet for one thing, and the place was nice and tidy with clean plates and silverware and glasses. Thankfully, the hot and sour soup was tasty, and the kung pao chicken had the odd texture and scorched flavor of something other than chicken, or else it wouldn't have been anywhere NEAR the stereotype I so crave in my Asian cuisine.

As usual, the luncheon talk dwelt on our usual mix of xenophobic bigotry, work, cars, stupid people, local media personalities (including the personable, cute, and inimitable Wendy Garner, and the savaging of one former TV climatologist who thinks much more highly of himself than he ought but who shall remain nameless since I can't spell in Polish), Internet filth (i.e., Possumblog), cars, and imaginary restaurants.

All in all, quite a nice lunch, especially since I got two whole magazines out of the deal.

Now then, what you've ALL been waiting on!

First up, this:

An interesting sports opportunity is in your near future.

I sure hope that dream of having my own cheerleading squad is about to come true!

Next, something even BETTER:

A short stranger will soon enter your life with blessings to share.

I really appreciate the wisdom in these things, but I DO so wish they'd at least give me a name to go on. I've already intensely questioned several short people here in the building whom I've never met before about the blessings they're supposed to share with me, and apparently NONE of them were the right one.

TODAY'S LUCKY NUMBERS:

8 12 22 29 31 45

and

21 31 32 33 40 44

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:55 PM | Comments (4)

Missed it by that much.

Well, the girls are doing very well at being gracious in defeat. Last night's game was particularly disappointing because for 3/4 of the match, they played extremely well and kept the score at 0-0. They passed, they stole, they were calm and controlled and the other team--again, a more experienced varsity squad--were looking very much overmatched. Our problem? Not being able to finish, the same thing that plagued Rebecca's old club squad. We had a bunch of shots on goal, but so many of them were weak or off target that it was simple for the other team to bat them away. The other problem? In the last seven minutes or so, the other team figured out how to score three goals, only one of which was a clean, well-done goal. The other two were cheap ones, including one in which one of our players bounced it in while trying to head it out of the goal.

After it was over, they were still upbeat, though, and could tell that they played a much better brand of ball. Now if they could just put up some points.

Rebecca played the last half, and did quite well in a midfield position she'd not practiced at. Had a couple of very good stops, and convinced a few of the other team's players not to get in front of her when she's kicking. A ball in the face is bad--one off of her toe is like getting hit with a medicine ball. She also exhibited some nice defensive skills against a girl we go to church with. The other girl has some exceptional foot skills, but sometimes would get caught up in her own world of fancy footwork. In a scene reminiscent of the one in Raiders of the Lost Ark where Indiana Jones was facing off against the two sword-twirling tribesmen, our young friend was dribbling down the field and got held up by Rebecca. In a tremendous show of agility, she bounced and pranced and twisted around the ball as Rebecca seemed to watch with bemused detachment. And just as Indy reached into his holster and dispatched his two assailants, Rebecca finally got tired of the show just took the ball away and walloped it down the field to her teammate. Hehee.

But, still, they would have had even more fun if they'd won.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:27 AM | Comments (0)

March 08, 2007

Game Night

Middle Girl's team has a rematch tonight against the varsity team from Moody they played (and got beaten by) a few weeks back, and there's been an awful lot of tough talk during practice about going out and getting some revenge.

Of course, I reminded her that the most important thing is to exhibit good sportsmanship.

And the easiest way to be a good sport?

By making sure you win. Convincingly.

Lot easier to be gracious that way.

See y'all tomorrow!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:58 PM | Comments (0)

Fun Facts About…

…My Friend Jeff™!

Okay, folks, I have tried. I have begged, pleaded, wheedled, whined, and implored Jeff to drop in and say hello to everyone, so I've had to finally fall back on the last of my persuasive tactics, that being threatening. I told him if he didn’t introduce himself, I’d do it for him.

This is what he gets for his stubbornness.

1. I found this hard to believe, but I’ve known Jeff for 18 years. He came to The Bad Place not long after the office had moved out to the Highway 280 area.

2. Jeff has lived all over the country, including Minnesota (where he worked at an actual Target store), Colorado, Louisiana, and Alabama.

3. Jeff graduated from LSU and is a registered architect.

4. What few people know, however, is that he managed to achieve both of these things while still being functionally illiterate. Jeff can only count to 39, and will occasionally substitute the “th” sound for “f” sounds in words. Thus, words such as finger will sometimes be pronounced as thinger.

5. Jeff shares my enthusiasm for interesting automobiles, and collects model cars. In addition to decorative thimbles, spoons, and Princess Di tea towels.

6. Jeff was one of my groomsmen when I got married, and I was one of his groomsmen when he got married. There is no truth to the rumor that he asked me to marry him.

7. Jeff’s casualwear of choice is a polo shirt tucked neatly into plaid madras shorts, and deck shoes. This could be the reason for the aforementioned rumor.

8. Jeff’s father, Jim, is a long-time employee of 3M, and has often blamed his exposure to industrial solvents for Jeff’s various conditions. Jeff’s mother is named Babs.

9. Jeff invented the name Pigmonkeygirl long before Manbearpig was born.

10. Jeff once witnessed the late Earl Hale--famed draftsman, Camel smoker, and Old Spice wearer--sneeze a load of nose contents all the way to the floor, then draw it back up into his head.

11. Jeff is one of the charter members of the Skilled European Driver Club.

12. Jeff once was secretly tape recorded saying uncharitable things about a man who is a psychopath. The recorder was hidden by none other than the insane man, proving the point that sometimes paranoid people have a darned good reason for thinking everyone talks about them behind their backs.

13. Jeff’s number one exercise activity is…


…bike riding.

my friend jeff.jpg

More to come later.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:08 PM | Comments (12)

The Giant Catch-Up Post

Okay, since I’ve been out and haven’t had the opportunity to do much in the way of posting of late, now is the time to catch up on what all’s gone on lately, including taking a look at all the old news that everyone has already beaten to death and giving it a shiny fresh coat of vapid commentary!

Whee.

The bad thing? I wrote all this crap down inside Movable Type, and then when I went to post it, it all got eaten up. No, I didn’t compose it in Word first--what do you think I use, Blogger!?

Well, this time I probably would have been better off if I had. But the whole Mu.nu/MT thing is usually so reliable, though!

Anyway, I had to redo the whole post which, as you know, takes all the devil-may-care spontaneity out of the process and means that the first post was much, MUCH better than this one.

Anyway, here goes--

1. Old New Blogger v. New New Blogger. I recently had to update Revolvoblog to the New New Blogger format, and I have to say, the things that made Old New Blogger better than Old OLD Blogger--the much greater ease of use, the more intuitive interface, the greater stability--all of these have been once more done away with in New New Blogger, thus giving us back the craptacular pile of poo we started with. And with the added benefit of absolutely no tech support! Thanks, Google!

2. Hillary the Negress. I always thought Bill Clinton got extra points from the liberal establishment for having an interracial marriage, since he was black and Hillary was white, but after hearing and seeing her recent bouncy, sassy, you-go-girl appearance in Selma, I guess she was just 'passing' all these years. Still, she and Bill have ascended higher than any other colored couple, except maybe Steadman and Oprah. Anyway, several commentators have expressed deep reservation about Hillary’s hymn-reciting performance, saying the put-on dialect smacked of cold, callow, self-absorbed, shameless political pandering.

Apparently, these same commentators have been living under a rock for the past twenty years and have never heard of Hillary.

3. Walter Reed. Without a doubt, it is a shame that the physical plant of this and probably many other military hospitals has been allowed to deteriorate to this extent. Some have mockingly noted that this is what government run healthcare would look like.

This is not a new sentiment.

My dear sister, bless her heart, who actually voted for Mr. Clinton the first time, is a rheumatologist who has worked rotations in VA hospitals in Augusta, GA, Birmingham, Mobile, and St. Louis. In 1993 when Mrs. Clinton was still Mrs. Rodham Clinton and began her crusade to bring healthcare under the auspices of the federal government, my sister said right then that all one had to do was visit a VA hospital to know what kind of disaster such a plan would cause.

My sister truly loves her work, and enjoys working on the veterans in her care--her problem wasn’t the work, either then or now. It was the level of mind-numbingly stupid bureaucratic hurdles that were attached to each case she saw.

That’s the nature of the thing--there is no profit incentive in anything run by the government, and no reason to be more efficient. Priorities and responsiveness are tied to the political expedient of the moment, and if necessary, the folks in charge simply ask for a few billion dollars more to make sure the paperwork flows right, and we foot the bill. I firmly believe there are few things government does that cannot be done better and more efficiently by the private sector. And treating sick people is one of those things.

All that to say that this problem is not new, nor is it due to the unfeeling heartlessness of the Bush Administration or evil Republicans.

Or even evil Democrats.

Can veteran’s healthcare be done better?

Well, duh, of course it can.

Will it be done better?

Sadly, probably only slightly, and then only slowly, simply because that’s the way bureaucracies roll. After all the hearings and righteous browbeatings administered by our Congressional representatives, we’ll be asked to pay a higher price to ensure our poor soldiers have the best care possible, most of which will get sucked up by a different set of bureaucrats whose job it is to monitor things and report things and use reams of paper. Soldiers will still have less time to see a doctor because the doctor will be chest deep in red tape although exactly 23.6% of all rooms will have been renovated in FY2008.5 and will have 78.32% less mold and mildew, and patient satisfaction with level of care will have skyrocketed from 2.3% to 3.2%, and the politicians will get to crow about the great sacrifices they’ve had to make to ensure that the evil Republicans didn’t skimp on funding and that the increase in funding from one year to the next is never allowed to be even a percentage point lower, and then they’ll all go have themselves flown to a resort for a $10,000 per plate fundraiser.

See? It’s all good!

In addition to that level of silliness, there’s also the fact that there is a military bureaucracy involved on top of the usual hospital bureaucracy and the government bureaucracy. The military’s primary responsibility, like it or not, is going out and creating intense property damage with loud boomy things, with concern for the comfort and care of individual members of the organization taking a slightly lower priority. That’s why you hear stories of little martinets who want everyone to report for morning roll call even if the patient is bedridden, and the guys who want everyone in Class A’s even if the soldier can barely move. Yes, it’s silly, too, but it’s been this way in every army in every time period. That’s not an excuse, because it’s inexcusable, but merely the fact that people are people, and sometimes find themselves in positions of authority with little brainpower to back it up.

In the end, it’s always going to be a problem getting the best care when there’s something involved in the process called politics.

4. American Idol, 24, Heroes. I’ve lost all track of what’s going on with my shows. I think the best idea is to put them all together, call it America’s 24 Idol Heroes, give each person a Glock, a microphone, a magical power, and let them all fight it out. The winner is automatically named as Anna Nicole’s babydaddy.

5. Quaker Oats “Quakes” rice snack chips, ranch dressing flavor. Dadgummitall, these things are GOOD!

6. Ann Coulter. Her brand of right-wing political satire is unappealing to me, although every once in a while she does say something that makes some sense. The Left is usually apoplectic about her and try to put her words into every conservative’s mouth, which is not only kinda gross but not even the real thing to be worried about.

Until the day comes when popular culture embraces her and documentaries filmed from her point of view are given Oscars, and she’s given Nobel Peace Prizes, and she’s given her own political talking head show on a cable news channel, and she’s lauded for her brave speaking-truth-to-power abilities, and seen as a valued advisor to press and Presidents, I simply can’t be that concerned about her.

I’d pay more attention to her, but the fact is that much of what she says is so over the top offensive that regular people just don’t want to be around it.

This is in opposition to those on the Left, who have embraced the exact same rhetorical style--full of anger and hate and venom and spite and mockery for those who would disagree--to the point that it is now the default position of one of the two mainstream political parties in this country. It is just this sort of jibber jabber (except slanted leftward) that does indeed get awarded Oscars and Nobels and bully TV pulpits. Mainstream liberals like to excuse their own verbal excesses (which, again, have become the prevailing method of interaction amongst the progressivey sorts) by pointing at Coulter. Well, fine.

Liberals are no better than Ann Coulter.

Also, she needs to eat more.

7. Blogging. Eh, just a fad.

8. Car Maintenance. Since I’ve been off, I’ve finally had time to get both the oil and the transmission fluid and filter changed in the Volvo, and I feel so much better about myself! Which, of course, kicks that ol’ “I Am A Moron” feeling into overdrive, to the point that my eye was caught by this barge berthed at the consignment lot down at the foot of the hill from my house. And even better, the actual price is about a thousand bucks less than the price on the website! Yep, that’s what I really need to drive around in.

9. I can’t remember what else I was going to say.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:53 PM | Comments (2)

March 06, 2007

Jury Duty, Day 2

I'M FREE!!

Got there bright and early so I could snag that coveted front row seat and thought I was spread out enough that no one would bother me. Little did I know that the row would also become home to an old guy of the hyperfidgety sort. My father-in-law is like this--always tapping his foot or playing with his pocket change or moving or various other things that keep his hummingbird-like metabolic rate going. He eats more than any man I've ever known, yet still stays pretty slim. ANYway, I had a guy like that, and in addition to the aforementioned slightly fidgetiness, he also had an industrial-sized desire to suddenly rear back in his chair (which are nice theater-style seats--all bolted together) which would cause the entire row to rock violently back and forth. Then he'd push back and start tapping his heel on the ground. Then he'd go to the john then come back and nearly fall into the chair and once more come dangerously close to pulling the whole assembly out of the floor anchors.

Look, I'm a big, heavy guy, but I pride myself on having a certain graceful, Gleason-esque floatiness about me that doesn't require me to nearly break everything I touch or sit on. And when I sit still, I sit still. Why does it seem everyone else is intent on beating me to death like they're wrecking balls tethered to a cable!?

::sigh::

At least he didn't stink.

Anyway, bunches of people got called back, and soon the room only had about twenty people left. Turns out that all the juries had been seated or the cases settled, so we got to go home at noon! WOO-HOO!

So, now to get some personal stuff done that I never get to do during the week. I think I'm going to go get the transmission serviced in the Volvo, and maybe do other things--you never know, I might even blog!

All of you have a good afternoon, please be sure to take a shower and/or bath tonight and/or tomorrow morning, and take a couple of muscle relaxers, and I'll see you tomorrow!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:19 PM | Comments (0)

March 05, 2007

Jury Duty, Day 1

This year I came prepared with a sackful of reading material--a stack of car magazines and a book about the SS Mayaguez (By the way, for those who believe Gerald Ford to be the Last Great Republican President, it would be best for you to not read this book. He comes off badly--basically, the lumbering dolt he was portrayed as by liberals back when he was just another Republican and not a stick to beat up on George Bush with.)

The only problem is that I didn't get there quite early enough to get a front row seat, and had to settle for an aisle. Which, of course, meant I had to move in to the empty middle seats when they ran out of places for people to sit. So for a while there I was squinched up betwixt two big ol' women, with no knee room in front of me.

That loosened up a good bit, though, after a bunch of folks got taken away for juries and I saw several seats open up on the front. After the break, I came back and got one, but had to endure some OTHER big ol' woman's outdoor-grade expensive perfume. And her constant elbowing of me. She'd met up with three of her expensive friends and so she turned her back to me to carry on her conversation (loud, mannered, full of references to the lake house and her husband's patients) while simultaneously swinging her arms back toward me.

Thankfully, she and her friends got called in the next round.

Waited, read.

Lunch, where I decided to run over to the library to see if I could post a few things. Made my way through a filthy phalanx of Rainbow People or Phish phans on the sidewalk in front of the library. Big clot of them, all about 19, full of heady ideas and lice and bold talk for people who make no contribution to society.

It wouldn't be quite so bad, except for those of us old enough to have been hippies when they were first on the scene (man) who would greatly appreciate the younger generation coming up with something NEW for once, instead of glomming onto a greasy and unproductive nostalgia lifestyle.

Whatever, dude.

Came in, found a computer that was empty, and set about to log on but found that either the Mu.nu server was down or it was being filtered. So, no dice. And then, AGAIN WITH THE SMELLY PEOPLE!

Some youngish guy in a bad Hawaiian print shirt came in and started peeling the lining out of my nostrils with his horrifunktacular body odor. And why is it that the Bohemian sorts of people who disdain regular contact with soap and water decide a good alternative is to douse themselves with--yes, you guessed it--patchouli.

I realize smells can't kill you, but doggone it, if something smells bad, it ain't good. Long time ago, they thought bad air COULD kill you, thus the name for the dread disease of malaria. Now we know through science that it's instead caused by foul demons and not bad air, but I still think there's something to be said for avoiding bad odors. Is there ANYthing in nature that smells bad and is good? Rotting meat? Bad. Sulphurous vents around volcanos? Bad. Burning rubber? Bad. Hippies? Bad. I can't think of anything that smells good and is bad for you, although I do hear that the last thing guys in the gas chamber smell is almonds. Which, I suppose is a good way to go. And there was this girl I knew at Auburn who always wore "Lauren" perfume, and to this day whenever I smell that particular heady and perfect perfume I become weepy and morose and start drinking heavily. Not really.

ANYway, here's the deal--you youngsters want to be freewheeling and bold and innovative with your tiny little young minds and be unique in all of world history and create a trend for future generations? BECOME CLEAN-SMELLING HIPPIES! I guarantee you'll be unique. And I'll like you better.

And please, PLEASE, if you're going to use the computer terminals at the library, don't be a stinky dirty hippie. BE A NEW HIPPIE and smell clean, so I won't start GAGGING and have to leave after spending only about ten minutes playing on the computer.

SO, after that, I had to go outside, back past the lousy hippies, and finally get some fresh air in my lungs. Although I still think I smell that hideous odor sticking to various nasal crevices.

After lunch, back to the jury room, got myself a nice seat up front, and got called for a jury toward the end of the day. Didn't get back to the courtroom, though, so that'll be the first task tomorrow.

See you then!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:52 PM | Comments (7)

March 01, 2007

Soccer Night

Last evening was a big messy deal of trying to make sure Rebecca got a ride from school over to Mountain Brook (which she did, even though she had to make a last-minute substitution) and then getting us to church afterwards.

The game itself? Pretty good--the girls seemed to pass more and were a bit more aggressive, but they're still holding back too much, and it cost them to the tune of 3-0. Rebecca played more than she did in the last game, and did better this time when she decided to not let anyone get the ball from her. She's still too slow, but I think she'll get quicker as the season goes on.

At least they don't give up--they kept things active the whole game.

As for the wild dash to Leeds afterwards, we actually would have been on time had the coach not kept them so long afterwards for the pep talk, but as it was, we still managed to get there in time for class. Of course, that was only because I wouldn't let Rebecca change--she just wore her sweatsuit over her uniform and left her cleats and shin guards on. She still managed to look cute, although she was a bit ratty-haired and smelly.

I figure God understands.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:34 PM | Comments (0)

February 28, 2007

Yikes.

For something that didn't last very long, it sure did produce a lot of busywork.

SO MUCH SO, that I must beg for a volunteer to handle Thursday Three duties for tomorrow! And remember, no fair volunteering other people, unless you get their permission.

UPDATE: Seeing as how I have offered you no entertainment today, I decided it would be best if I went and stole this for your enjoyment: "Just picture a 30-something brunette woman in underwear roaring around the front yard brandishing a toddler size 12 shoe at a bounding, barking mutt, followed by a short brown blur of growling fur and teeth at 4:30 in the morning..."

Needless to say, I imagine such things on a regular basis.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:07 PM | Comments (8)

February 27, 2007

Now, stop that right now!

I have to take off early to go get Oldest from school and hopefully get her vehicle back from the shop so her life won't be irretrievably ruined by having to actually be driven to school and back by her parents. Oh, who am I kidding--the poor thing has ME as a parent, so OBVIOUSLY her life is a shambles. A RUIN! A SHAMBLING RUIN OF DESPAIR!

Whatever.

Anyway, got to go for the day, and them tomorrow will be another late start due to our bimonthly offsite convention of bureaucrats (or should I say "bureaucratics"?), so all of you play nicely and I'll see you all sometime later.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:19 PM | Comments (3)

February 26, 2007

Sunday?

Yep, had one of those, too!

It included more clothes laundering. And again, with no end in sight. (For the record, there is still a huge basket of clothes that needs to be dried, and a stack of sheets and blankets to be replaced on beds.)

Church, then a trip to the other side of the county for lunch, then back to church for the kids to take a Bible Bowl test, and while the girls did that, Boy and I went to Wal-mart to look around and kill time, which we successfully did, then back to church where we had our monthly Q&A session. I always like these--folks will write down their Bible questions and put them in a box and our preacher selects a bunch to research and talk about. The first one he picked was his own, and was about the controversy that began over the weekend about James Cameron finding Jesus buried on the Titanic.

He gave a nice succinct wrapup of the story along with the reasons that argue against the assertion. The whole thing reminds me of the Weekend Update skit on Saturday Night Live when Fr. Guido Sarducci claimed to have purchased the actual receipt from the Last Supper. Turned out it was actually a brunch. 'You see here? Everyone order the same thing except this one guy, he had a soft-boiled egg and tea. BUT--they split the bill, so the guy who just had the egg had to pay a lot more. The moral is, in groups, always order the most expensive thing.' It also reminds me a bit of the French knights who said they already had their own Holy Grail.

Although our preacher didn't come close to saying that Cameron was an empty-headed animal food-trough wiper, nor imply that his mother was a hamster, nor that his father smelt of elderberries, it admittedly would have been quite fun if he had. And relatively accurate.

Anyway, on to home, where we got supper started, and I decided I'd go ahead and take Ashley's car on to the shop and drop it off. One of the benefits of a small town is being able to park your car at the shop and drop the keys through the mail slot with a note, and not worry too much about it. Got her to follow me down, and oddly enough (since it was a Sunday evening at 8:30) found the proprieter in the office doing some paperwork. Explained everything as best I could, left the key with him, and headed back home.

More laundry, supper, and to bed with us all.

I'm sleepy!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:25 PM | Comments (4)

SO, after a night spent...

...clinging to the tiniest sliver of mattress whilst wife and youngest child snuggled up on the remaining 9/10s of the bed, I was up early Saturday and ready to face the day ahead of me!

Not really.

I was up early, but only enough to get Reba woken up. The three oldest kids had a service project thing at church at 9:00 and she had agreed to take them. Which I thought would be nice because I could sleep later and then get up and do laundry and work on the car and Cat could go do whatever.

Such is what I get for thinking.

After a night spent unrestfully, and then several rude rousings gotten by having my eyes poked out by an errant finger belonging to my child, I was a bit late getting out of the sack. I wanted to get out, knew I should get out, but just couldn't get my legs and head to get me out. SO I got to sleep late and feel guilty about it.

BUT, up I got, finally, and got dressed and started getting the clothes together. And then I decided I'd get the sheets off the beds. And then I began to find huge varieties of clothing articles in various hidey places in the children's rooms. The task grew and grew and grew until I was full into a wholesale cleaning and renovation project, all the while someone kept asking for breakfast.

The net result? TWO AND ONE HALF HOURS LATER, I finally was able to get the first load of clothes started.

Then, the next chore. The Focus has started running weird again, and so I promised I'd take it out and see if I could figure out what was wrong with it, and go down to the parts place and get them to reset the Check Engine light. And get someone some fast-food breakfast since it was now lunchtime.

But first?

Have to clean out the car seats. Oldest is quite the slob. Books, papers, junk, scattered all over the interior, much like it is in her room. So Cat and I neatened it up a bit, THEN took it out for a drive.

Whoa. It was running rough right from the start, and it didn't get any better. And the Check Engine light wasn't on. So, not any good excuse for driving it down to the foot of the hill, when it was obvious something else needed to be done to it, and whatever it was, it was finally beyond my abilities to figure out what was wrong with it. I suspect there's still dirt in the tank, but I needed to take it to a real mechanic and let them fool with it.

Turned around and went back to the house.

"But Daddy, what about breakfast?"

Persistent little cuss, she is.

We parked and got in the Volvo and hopped back down the hill for a stop at Sonic. I'd intended for us to eat there, but as soon as we'd gotten our food, someone called me. "We're home--where are you?"

Avoiding work, that's where.

Packed up our food and went up to the house, got filled in on some of the juicy gossip that comes from having your wife spend three hours up at the church building on a Saturday, and then started my NEXT chore.

No, silly--nothing to do with changing the oil in the Volvo and doing stuff like that.

FILMING A COMMERCIAL!!

Rebecca had volunteered me to help her three-member group video a little skit for a product they had to come up with for their science class. They're studying simple machines and had to figure out a product using a screw that could be sold in stores. They hatched an idea for a pad of stationery held together with screws.

Whatever.

Anyway, they were supposed to make an ad for it, and so the group was to meet at the library. With me. And my camera. SO, off Rebecca and I go.

Sat outside on the bench and waited.

"You know, Rebecca, they probably wouldn't want you doing this in the library, since it requires us to make noise and stuff."

"Hmm. I don't know."

"What do you do in your commercial?"

"Well, we have a cell phone that rings and we answer it and then it rings again and then we write down the number and..."

I pointed to the door with the sticker that said "Cell Phones Not Allowed In Library."

"OH."

"Maybe we could use a room in the community center," I said.

Maybe so.

We waited some more and chatted. The other two girls showed up with their moms, and I explained filming in the library might be dicey and so I took the girls next door, asked the office lady if we could use a room, and she kindly offered us the big room with the stage. Cool!

Took about thirty minutes overall, and they had their stuff pretty well figured out. We did a little set dressing with a chair and table and potted plant that were on the stage, had a couple of run-throughs to figure out their lines and scenes and camera positions, and wound up with a really cute 30 second bit. Not a lot about how the humble inclined-plan-wrapped-around-a-cylinder played into the product or its advertisement, but it was still cute.

And best of all, I finally got to meet one of Rebecca's bestest friends.

She really likes her, mainly because the girl is nice, and nice to everyone, and likes school, and likes to study, and is smart as a whip. Her family immigrated from Venezuela last year, and she came into the 7th Grade not knowing more than a smattering of English. But due to the force of her own bubbly personality and intelligence, she seems to have adjusted better than any kid should have a right to, and now speaks perfectly idiomatic American (as well as standard English) with a fluency that is better than about 98% of the kids she goes to school with. Just a super sweet girl, and pretty as a peach, and full of mischief. She'll go very, very far. And I'm glad she enjoys being around Rebecca--I think it's helped her open up a bit this year from being so incredibly quiet. A lot of the kids bother Rebecca because they want her to talk, and it embarrasses her when they keep egging her on to talk. But her little dark-eyed friend just accepts her and jabbers away enough for both of them and makes Bec feel as much a part of her family as ours. (Because Rebecca is VERY outgoing at home and rarely shuts up for more than a second or two. Which none of her school friends believe.)

Anyway, it all was great fun, and I hope they get a good grade. (Or at least their director/cinematographer does.)

Next?

Cell phone shopping!

::sigh::

Rebecca has been needing a phone for these soccer practice afternoons--she usually borrows someone's to call, and it's getting embarrassing for her. Resisting the urge to dust off our old giant bag phone, I agreed to take her to the store and see what there was in the way of prepaid phones like the Tracfone I've been using.

And there is another tale--Oldest has been using hers as if she thinks minutes are free. Which, in fairness, to her they are, seeing as how all she does is complain about being out of minutes and they magically appear on her phone. The idea that she'd use it only for emergencies was delusional on the face of it, since she has no idea what that means (i.e. "only"), and to her, everything is an emergency.

AND ANOTHER THING, Reba likes to talk on her phone, which again was supposed to be for minimal usage. She is supposed to have 300 monthly minutes, which she can gab up in about two weeks or less. Those overage minutes are expensive, let me tell you.

SO BASICALLY, I've got gabby people who won't shut up their incessant yammering, and it's expensive, to boot. And here I was wanting to get another one a phone.

::sigh::

Maybe it's time to change plans.

So, I gathered up Rebecca and we went to the Verizon store (since that's what Reba's phone is) and I figured out that the deal where your family shares a pool of minutes (and call each other for free) was the only thing that made sense. But that wouldn't stop me from shopping.

Went on to the Cingular store (which would have the benefit of allowing Oldest to call #6 for free since that's what his family uses) and found that although the price was the same, the lady wasn't much interested in selling us phones, or service, or much of anything. I've heard of the soft sell, but this was downright apathy.

"Do you have x?"

"No, not really."

"Can I have brochure with y?"

"Mm. Yeah."

"How much are these?"

"Uhh, they aren't bad."

Thanks, Cingular! I figured that it was going to be more expensive (maybe I'm wrong) since we'd have to pay new activation fees for all the phones, and buy four phones instead of three (since I'd now decided I wanted to get in on the deal) and the girl wasn't interested in helping me find a cheap phone, and only wanted to sell me the $50-with-rebate jobs.

Walked out with the intention of going up to Wal-mart and see what they had.

"I need to go to the bathroom."

"Well, I suppose we could go to Target and..."

"But they don't have a lot of phone choices."

"I thought you had to pee!"

"Well, the other--but I don't want to go to Target."

::sigh::

Like her mother, she is.

Then I remembered that we had a brand new Circuit City up the road beside Target, so that seemed to satisfy both her need to look at phones AND make use of the privy.

We looked, and I did some more pseudo-mathematics in my head trying to figure out the least expensive alternative, and then remembered that while I was out, I needed to get a battery for Reba's phone because it will only hold a charge for about a day.

"Rebecca, let's do this--let's got get Mom's cell phone, go back to the Verizon store, and get a battery for it, and then sign up for that plan they showed me before."

"OKAY!"

Back to home, parked, opened the garage door, and...

No van.

::sigh::

I bet there's a load of clothes that hasn't been finished, too.

Walked in, found the place pretty much as I'd left it. Took clothes out of the dryer, put clothes in the dryer, put clothes in the washer. Found that Oldest was still home--"HEY! Where'd Mom go!?" I yelled up the stairs

"TARGET!" came the yell back down.

"When'd she leave!?"

"ABOUT 20 MINUTES AGO!"

::sigh::

So, if I'd just gone on to Target, I probably would have seen her.

Tried to call her on her cell phone, and obviously, couldn't get her.

"Come on, Bec."

Off again to Target, where by the sheerest of lucky chances managed to see her as she was leaving and got her to pull into the side parking lot where I could wrest her phone away from her and hear about the fratricidal combat that had prompted her to wrestle Cat and Boy into the van for a trip to the store where they COULDN'T GET ANYTHING!!

Such a horrible punishment!

Parted ways, went back to the Verizon store.

Showed them the phone.

"Uh--whew. Hmm. Well, let's see."

The younger guy was looking at it and trying to figure out from what Pre-Cambrian layer I'd retrieved the relic. He asked the older guy if they had any batteries for this fossil.

"Whew! Well, I might have an old battery out in my car that would fit it."

That was when I found out that it was so old that a new battery would cost as much as four cheap new phones that are only four weeks obsolete! No use buying an old used battery, and a new phone would have the benefit of being able to be located via GPS should one of us plunge off a cliff somewhere in Mongolia or Montgomery.

::sigh::

It's only money.

Started to work on the plan, and let them know I wasn't that fond of having to pay MORE fees for activation, so they worked a deal with me and after much wrangling and signing, we've got four new phones that have all the features the kids like--mainly, the ability to flip open. No camera, no nothing else, really. And no texting. Which, when Oldest found out about it, she was incensed. Good. The last thing I need is her getting caught texting someone so she can cheat on a test. Not that I would ever suspect her of such nefariousness.

At least now the calls back and forth to Miss Reba and me and Oldest and Miss Reba and Rebecca and Miss Reba and me and Oldest and Rebecca are free. Probably going to pay more per month, but at least there will be some actual utility to it.

Or not.

Anyway, that was Saturday. Along with more clothes folding and washing. But not the completion of same.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:20 PM | Comments (3)

Let's see...

Friday night was Family Movie Night, which by now guarantees that half of the family will see one movie (crappy shlocktacular improbable turn-of-events chick flick and/or dimwitted starlet is a princess/President's daughter/pop star in-search-of-her-real-self chick flick) while the other half goes and sees something suitable for the entire family (heartwarming live-action family dramedy and/or overly-CGI-animated heartwarming family comedyrama).

::sigh::

The three older girls went and saw the hooker-chasing Hugh Grant/highball-downing Drew Barrymore Music and Lyrics, which I had flatly refused to see, and I took the younger two with me to Bridge to Terabithia.

MOVIE REVIEW TIME!

Not having read the book (although a couple of the kids have) I didn't know anything about the story but I'd seen the trailer and it looked interesting-ish. And it was--the parts of the movie dealing with the young boy and his family (one boy, four girls, and a distant dad who was once a liquid metal shape-shifting android) was nicely done, as were the scenes at the small school they attend. The friendship with the new girl is also well-done and believable, and overall the simplicity of the story and the way it's presented on film is empathetic. The family is poor, but they aren't played as pitiful or cloying or victims. Even when the boy or his little sister or his friend actually are the victims of bullying by the various mean kids in school.

Again, not knowing the story, I kept wondering why the the discovery of the creek and rope swing by Leslie and Jess was accompanied by the creepy music and sense of dread--maybe the book was different, but a bit less heavy-handed foreshadowing would have been appropriate.

As for the world across the creek, it was well-done all the way up until the introduction of the CGI characters, which also seems to be a beef a lot of folks have. I think my main problem with them is that they weren't fully one thing or another--the various birds and squirrels and bugs that turn into other things would have been better had they turned into things that weren't so obviously cartoon derived. Or something. Hard to explain, but it seemed better when the monsters weren't wearing metal hats and such.

But maybe I'm overthinking it--the kids seemed not to notice at all.

Then to the sad part of the story. All three of us were sniffling--again, the story proceeds painfully, unflinchingly, matter-of-factly and it's difficult to watch. And deeply affecting. For younger kids, I think it might be too much. After the movie was over and we had all met back up and were going home, Catherine was telling Reba about the movie and she got sad and started crying again about it. As far as I know, she's not done that with any other movie she's seen. And she knows it's not real, and that no one really was hurt, but it was, I think, the unvarnished manner in which tragedy was presented that got her. And me, too, for that matter. (After getting to spend the night in Mom and Dad's bed Friday night, she was much better.)

The epilogue was touching, although I felt like a moron when I got that little epiphany of why the movie has the title it does--"hmm--he's gonna make a bridge with all that lumber. A bridge to--OHHHHH!!" The only disjointed part was again due to the intrusiveness of the special effects at the very end that didn't add anything to the story.

Overall, though, a nice movie worth going to see--if for nothing else than it's full of kids who aren't impossibly hip and glib and there aren't scenes of mass chaos caused by frogs being dropped on the supper table or dogs biting people in the crotch or coarse jokes about cleavage or farts. It's probably not quite as good as the book, but then, few movies usually are. I'd give it a solid 8 out of 10 curly possum tails.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:20 AM | Comments (4)

Well, hello there!

Another week, another round of rousing yarns from Paradise along the Pinchgut! And as usual, nothing I wanted to do got done! Yes, you DO sense a recurring theme.

Anyway, I have stuff to try to remember this morning, so check back in after a while and see if I was successful.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:22 AM | Comments (2)

February 23, 2007

What more is there to be done here!?

Vanishingly little. At least when it comes to blogging. The weekend has begun to call and so it's about time to hang up the "Closed" sign and run the day's receipt and take the scorched rutabagas out to the dumpster and make out the deposit slip and put the cash into the envelope and scream at Raul to not pour the mop water into the sink and set all the rat traps and turn off the lights and set the alarm and call it a week.

You know what I think I might do this weekend, if I become highly motivated? I might change the oil in the Volvo and put on the remote oil filter fittings and install the outside temperature gauge I've had in the garage for a year. In between loads of laundry, of course. And shaving my head.

ANYWAY, all of you have a great weekend and come back again on Monday and let's see what there is to see!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:04 PM | Comments (5)

A Late Night.

Rebecca's game didn't get started until nearly 8 last night, and it went on ENTIRELY too long. The got waxed 6-1 by a very fast, very aggressive team from Oak Mountain. And for some reason Rebecca didn't play nearly as well as she has in the past. I don't know if she was unfamiliar with her position or what, but she was flat-footed and disinterested-looking for the fifteen minutes or so she got to play. I asked if she was okay, and she seemed fine. Could have been that she had so much homework to get done last night after she got home. I went to bed at 11:30 and she was still up. And she woke up this morning in a foul mood, to boot.

My own mood wasn't much better last night--after we got home from the game, I found out that I needed to go back to Grandmom's house to get Rebecca's assignment book and homework that she'd left there earlier in the afternoon. Called, woke them up, went back out and Volvoed over to their house and got the stuff, came back home, and was met by Reba out on the driveway.

"What!?"

"Could you go to the store and get some toilet paper?"

::sigh::

And no, there's no such thing as saying no. Four girls in the house, my friends, means that toilet paper MUST BE IN ABUNDANT SUPPLY!

Back down the other side of the hill to the store, got 1800 square feet of paper. I've found the best conservation technique is to get the worst single-ply I can find. Sure, everyone loves soft, fluffy two-ply stuff, but that tends to promote abundant usage far in excess of that required to provide complete wipeage. Still, those 24 mega-rolls (equivalent to 96 regular rolls) should last us only about five hours.

Not really.

Anyway, it was a long night.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:13 AM | Comments (2)

February 22, 2007

Hey! It's Miss Reba!

She's so pretty.

Just had a nice visit from the missus, who was downtown getting her dosage of frustration topped off with a visit to the good lawyerly folks over at the bankruptcy court. (A work-related visit, thank goodness.)

Anyway, she came in unnannounced and very nearly caught me in my dirty, filthy blogging habit.

O, the shame should she find out!

She stayed and actually sat and chatted a while, which as I said, was very nice, even if she was all het up with dealing with the legal system. I like it when she's got fire in her eyes and she's doing that thing where she rears back with her hands on her hips and thrusts her chest out. Of course, then she has to act like she's mad when she notices I'm not making eye contact.

Just between us, I think she actually likes it, though.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:27 AM | Comments (0)

February 21, 2007

Random Thoughts of the Moment

1) Why is there a guy down on the sidewalk below blowing leaves and it's still soggy from the rain last night?

2) [Edited due to mature themes]

3) I need to clean my desk off.

4) Nah.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:21 AM | Comments (2)

February 20, 2007

Yay! I'm free! I'm free!

::crickets chirping::

Hey, guys!?

Anyone here?

Aw, shoot.

Serves me right for having a dumb ol' job to do.

::kicks rock::

::throws stick::

::spits off of bridge into creek::

::sits::

::mopes::

::flicks weird insect off into creek::

You know, if I had a lemonade stand, that would be neat.

If I had some lemons.

And sugar.

And there was anyone here.

And it wasn't cold.

::throws rock::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:58 PM | Comments (5)

More important than Jack Bauer!?

I suppose.

Middle Girl had a game last night, so once more nothing to report from CTU, although from what I hear elsewhere, I'm not really missing anything. AS FOR THE GAME, they were playing a varsity team, so it's probably not surprising they didn't win, but after a tentative first half, they turned it up in the second half and gave the Blue She-Devils [Ahem--"Lady Blue Devils" ed.] all they could want, falling by a score of only 4-1. They play them again in a couple of weeks, and now that they've gotten the nervousness out of their systems about playing up a level and some confidence in their own abilities, they've vowed they're going to win the next one.

Good bunch of girls. Next game, Thursday against a strong Oak Mountain Eagle squad. They're a junior varsity team, but they also have an older group of girls than ours (no 8th graders). Should be a good one.

NOW THEN--I have a ton (or maybe even a tonne) of work to do today, so let me get to that and I'll try to come back out and play again in a little while.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:40 AM | Comments (2)

February 19, 2007

I sure hope I know what I'm talking about.

There is a young man in our family--I won't use his name to protect his anonymity--and he has been for the past several months quite smitten with a young lady.

And he wants to give her a birthday card. And a great big Hershey bar. The problem is that he doesn't want to take credit for it, but rather allow some "Secret Admirer" to.

Now all along, I'm not supposed to have even known that he had this crush. For some reason, he was much more willing to tell Mom and Rebecca about it, which was fine, until this latest idea of his. He was worried that she might laugh at him if he used his name, and Reba wanted to tell him that if she did that, he probably was pursuing the wrong person to begin with. But she didn't want to tell him that. I don't know why.

ANYway, I felt it necessary to drop my pretense of not knowing in order to intervene with a little fatherly advice in the Foghorn Leghorn mode. "I SAY, BOY, LISSEN HEAH!" and all that. Also, in truth, mainly because I have it on very good authority (namely, devastating first-hand experience) that such a tactic as he was considering was a no-go.

I got him aside, and after getting past his initial embarassment that I knew his secret, I told him that in this instance it might be good to play it casually. She is, after all, a year and a quarter older, and seems to have HER flirtiness engaged by someone else at the moment. SO, best to play it more in a friendship manner at the start, just to get her attention, and then see where it goes. I explained, again by bringing up quite painful recollections, that if she thinks Secret Admirer is someone else, nothing is worse than seeing that look of disappointment that could come when she finds out the truth. Best just to go ahead and not have that hanging out there.

The second bit of advice was a bit harder to give--namely, try to act a bit less like SpongeBob and Patrick and every other slack-jawed goober on the cartoons. Hard to do for a twelve-year-old boy, full as they are of goofy immaturity, but a little of that goes a LONG way. Humor is a dangerous weapon, after all, and one best used by those trained in its dangers.

Anyway, now I've probably ruined his life for good.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:13 PM | Comments (6)

And the rest?

Well, let's see. Saturday?

I know I did laundry. Reba went and got her hair did. Oldest went and hung around with #6. I thought about cleaning off the back porch. I piled up on the couch and watched Stargate-Atlantis and Stargate SG-1, which is not a good thing to do if you're in a fatigued, barely-conscious state, and the buzzer on the clothes dryer keeps going off.

Basically, I was worthless. It was cold outside, I felt odd, and that's about it.

Sunday? More of the same, with the added fun of going to Penney's to shop for some clothes for Tiny Ten Year Old Terror. (Speaking of which, she told us all that she was now "a legal ten-year-old" I'm not sure what to make of that.) Anyway, at Penney's, I found myself in the comfy chairs in the customer service area, and so had no choice except to go to sleep.

There seemed so much more going on this weekend--surely I've forgotten something!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:24 AM | Comments (0)

Par-tay!

So, Friday afternoon, I stop by Dairy Queen on the way home to pick up an ice cream cake. That’ll be the last time--a new crew in place, one dedicated to ignoring customers and projecting an aura of filthiness and lack of concern. Paid for the cake and the cashier just left and walked away and then started yelling for someone to come write something on this guy’s cake. Some chick with a bejeweled nostril and a cell phone clamped to her ear with her shoulder came sulking out from the back and without missing a second of her conversation proceeded to squirt some gel across the cake approximating the text “Happy Birthday Catherine” and then managed to knock off part of the decoration around the edge as she put on the lid. To her credit, she did disappear then reappear carrying a large teat full of whipped cream, which she used to re-do the line of piping she’d damaged. It looked…well, not less worse, but not more better, either. ::sigh::

On to home, where I found that we’d already gotten the first party-goer, and Reba and the kids were in full power-cleaning mode. Which is actually more like a power-move-stuff-to-another-room mode. Luckily--sorta--Reba had the day off Friday because Cat had a doctor’s appointment to attend to. Double ear infection. Which probably explains a lot of her whininess lately, as well as her inability to hear anything. BUT, not so much of a sickness to ever cancel a sleepover!

Anyway, other little girls came and dropped their stuff and went out to play with Kitty in the garage. Poor little thing.

Pizzas into the oven, along with the totally unnecessary addition of pizza rolls in the microwave, and as those cooked, there was fun with a big microphone-shaped pińata, which happened to be full of candy and whistles and kazoos, all of which were soon employed to create a sugar-fueled screeching that would do a combo group of harpies, valkyries, and sirens proud. Also used up at least two of Lightning’s lives.

Supper, where we found that one of the girls didn’t like pizza, then some cake, where we found out she also doesn’t like chocolate, a bit of clean up, and then it was time for the prime attraction, American Idol. I was Simon, Reba was Paula, and Jonathan was Randy. The girls were the girls.

In between repeated bursts of snot-blowing giggling, they actually did sing. “Jesus Take the Wheel” apparently being the single most popular song ever written. They sang, I did my Simon schtick, they screamed when they got to go to Hollywood, and we left it with all of them making the final five, with the voting to continue next week. “BUT WE WON’T BE HERE NEXT WEEK!!”

Yes, I know.

Also had to satisfy the girls with a duet with Miss Reba. As is our usual, we sang a lovely rendition of Neil Sedaka’s “Breaking Up is Hard to Do.” (It actually does sound good--we sing well together, but for some reason don’t do it nearly enough.) Afterwards, I had to launch into my Elvis-like version of “(I Can’t Help) Falling In Love With You.” The children thought both performances were Grammy-worthy. Of course. Because I am just that good.

They got their PJs on, and put on a movie and we went on upstairs, and at some point in the evening, everyone eventually went to sleep. And next morning, MOMMY MADE US ALL SOME BREAKFAST!!

Yay!

They ate like they’d never seen food before, and by 9:30, they were all gone. All in all, not really nearly so irritating as I thought it would be, mainly because they were all sweet girls and not completely insane. And aside from some chips in the floor, and some balloon carcasses, they didn’t leave much of a mess, either.

Lightning even seems to be back to normal.

Mostly.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:53 AM | Comments (3)

Howdy!

Yes, another week, another heaping helping of Possumblog! Stay tuned for Tales from Paradise Along the Pinchgut, as soon as I can get them typed up, and as soon as I get through deleting all the comment spam.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:12 AM | Comments (0)

February 16, 2007

1997?

Why, it was only yesterday. Or so it seems. Then again, sometimes it seems like an entire lifetime ago.

Well, I don't suppose all that matters when there's cake and squealy girls involved.

It seems that yet another year has passed since the birth of the youngest member of my clan, and tonight she will be feted with a party comprised of four of her schoolmates, fueled with various high-calorie comestibles, and entertained with some sort of mock rendition of the American Idol television show, replete with decorations and microphones and loud bad singing, after which they will be allowed to bed down in the den floor and spend the rest of the evening chattering and keeping themselves sufficiently agitated so as to prevent sleep.

I look forward to this not at all.

As you know, I simply can't stand children, and the idea of having strange ones in the house fills me with no end of dread. Particularly seeing as how other parents take a dim view of having their children disciplined by being duct taped to a swing set, or roped to the garage door, or snugly secured inside of a garbage can. OH NOOOOO! People are just SOOOO sensitive about such things! "Don't use a bullhorn to shout at them!" they say, "Don't set them outside and spray them with the garden hose!" as if they're not waterproof or something. Why, back in my day, parents had absolutely no reason to hesitate to put ten or even twenty children in the trunk of the car if they were misbehaving! Break a lamp? Why, it was off to the lampblack factory with you! Speak when not spoken to? Well, you'll sleep in the cement mixer tonight, young man! But kids today? Sheesh. Of course, you can't blame them--it's their danged lawsuit-happy parents raising them up to think they should be able to go anywhere and do anything and be able to get away with it.

Hmph.

Anyway, I have to remember to stop on the way home and pick up an ice cream cake, along with some horse tranquilizers for myself. All of you have a wonderful weekend, and don't forget the meeting on Sunday

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:07 PM | Comments (5)

GOALLLLLLLLL!

Well, I got to the game yesterday at the start of the second half, and the score was 2-0 in favor of the Huskies. Good thing that our mascot is an Arctic sled dog acclimated to cold weather, because the temperature was hovering around freezing and the wind was blowing, and I nearly froze to death just standing there. Of course, the girls only had on their short sleeves and shorts, but again, they ARE Huskies, so they should have been just fine.

Rebecca played most of the game, and she and the rest of the girls managed to do pretty darned well, considering it was their first game together and the weather was a bit airish. I was impressed in the change from when they were playing club ball--everyone was spread out, people actually passed to each other rather than just launching the ball out into the ether, and they were agressive without being dirty. Good play all around, and after it was all over with, they had played the Gadsden Titans to a final score of 6-0.

She got a cup of hot chocolate as a reward.

Next up--the Moody Blue Devils on Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:32 AM | Comments (0)

February 15, 2007

It's on again.

After a layoff of a year and a half, Rebecca is once again going to take the field and play soccer tonight. She's seemed to enjoy this round of it (playing school ball versus club ball) much more, and the physical effect has been beneficial since she's managed to lose some weight in the process. And the nicest thing seems to be that despite having nearly forty girls comprising both the junior varsity and varsity teams, there seems to be very little conflict. That might not seem odd to you, but having dealt with her older sister's near constant turmoil with every single group she's ever been associated with, I just kinda figured there'd be at least a little of that with this group of girls.

Apparently, not so. Which is good. From everything I've been able to ask her about, they're nice to each other, and helpful, and there aren't any prima donnas, or slackers. I know there must be some friction somewhere, but they manage to work through it. Pretty darned remarkable, I must say.

She also likes the fact that she gets to be on the high school team even though she's still in middle school. She wears her various HTHS Soccer tee-shirts and jackets to school a LOT. Nothing wrong with having a little bit of swagger in your step, I suppose.

Anyway, I hope she does well tonight.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:42 PM | Comments (0)

February 14, 2007

LOVE!!

Or something like it!

Good morning, everyone, and happy Valentine's Day to each of you, and as is my custom, a big kiss to you all! (If you're a girl.)

I am now back from my meeting and am ready to resume entertaining you with various tales of a nonentertaining nature. BUT BEFORE THAT, there is also a tradition I engage in every year at this time. Longtime readers will recall that upon this day many years ago, I proposed to the woman you all know as Miss Reba, quite possibly the most beautiful woman ever to walk the face of the earth. I say "quite possibly" only because I have not seen every woman, and there is the possibility, however slight, that the Creator might have walloped another girl slightly harder with the pretty stick. I doubt it, though.

IN any event, when I first started this blog, I made note of my proposal with a special post to mark the day, and from then until now I still haven't thought of a better thing to say to her or about her, and so every year I have repeated the posting of that missive.

Those of you who've read it before can skip it, but for the new reader it is contained in the extended entry, modified from the original only to take note of the additional time that has passed and events that have occurred.


I never really remember meeting my wife. We more or less grew up going to church together, so I’ve sorta always known her. We went to different grade schools and high schools, and we never socialized outside of church, but we always were friends. She is two years older than me, and with my immense adolescent awkwardness and shyness, I never worked up the nerve to ask her out on a date. But she would always save me a seat in Sunday school. And I would always sit with her. Her name is Reba.

The first time I ever had one of those pubescent rush-of-hormone moments was because of her. One Sunday when we were waiting for class to start, she was standing at the door talking to her dad. She had on a sleeveless blue dress. Just a plain, A-line, to the knee, homemade, God-fearing polyester church dress. But I couldn’t look away from those soft, pale, naked arms. I can still feel my ears turning red, and trying to make sure my Bible was firmly placed across my lap to cover the embarrassing results of my wandering eyes and the machinations of my limbic system.

We grew up together, through junior high and high school, and my mom would pester me to ask her out. I always scoffed and said it would be like dating my sister. Reba went off to college at Jacksonville, and then I graduated a couple of years later and eventually went off to Auburn to study architecture. Whenever we would meet up again in those years, it was always at church. We would talk, although I can’t remember any of our conversations. She would always sit on the pew behind my mother and me. In my third year at Auburn, I got to spend a quarter studying in Europe, and my mom told me that she would ask about me every week. But, I was still in school, and semi-stalking another girl, and well, you know.

I finally made it out of Auburn with two degrees and a minor in business, after going to school for five straight years--twenty complete quarters, breaking only for a two week respite in my very first quarter there, due to my father’s death. I moved back home; bone-tired and lonesome.

I started my first job two weeks after I got back and started the next chunk of my life, which was centered on passing my licensing exam. Not much time for socializing, although some of my well-meaning coworkers would allow their wives to use me as a test case for their unmarried girlfriends. There had to be something better.

Since I was back home, I had started going back to our old church again with my mom. My wife-to-be had gotten a job at a local hospital, and wasn’t around a lot. But I had finally decided that I even though I was still awkward and shy, dadgummit, I was going to ask her out. Then I learned why she had not been around much.

Seems she had starting dating an acquaintance of mine, and he had asked her to marry him.

I went to their wedding, which was held right there at our old church. I have no remembrance of it at all; even watching the video of it I cannot remember anything of it. I guess I was trying hard to forget it. She and her husband left and went on their honeymoon. When they got back, they moved to the other side of the county and moved to another church. A few months later, she was pregnant.

I was at work one day when I got a call from my best friend in high school. “Rick died.” I couldn’t say anything except to keep saying ‘no.’ 29 years old. Married six months. Baby due in five months. Dropped dead of a heart attack.

The funeral, I do remember. There was a group of us who had all run around together in high school, and Rick had been one of the group. When I got there, all of the rest of the guys were just standing there, silent and somber. Reba sat back behind a curtain with her girlfriends on either side of her. She had a wad of tissue in her hands, which were crossed across her small pregnant belly. I didn’t really know what to say--what came out was something like, “This may sound stupid, but no matter how bad you think this is, it will get better.” I reminded her of her family, and the folks at church, and that I would help watch out for her, too.

Some time passed, and she started coming back to church at our old place. She grew and grew, and I made a point of finding her every Sunday she was there at church to talk to her. And to flirt. She tells me now that she thought I was crazy for telling her she looked good pregnant. Despite all that had gone on over the years, to me she was still that girl in the blue dress, leaned up against the door of the classroom. And whether I had ever wanted to admit it to myself or not, I was, and had always been, very deeply in love with her.

On March 27, 1990 her baby was born. From then on, I had to flirt with both of them. Which I did, rather shamelessly.

In December of that year, the moment finally arrived. It was time for my office Christmas party. A couple of weeks before time, I sidled up to Reba at the card rack at church and pretended to be looking for something. I asked her to the party. She said yes. We went, and had wonderful time. A week later, we had a second date, ostensibly to look for a kitchen table for me. After that, we have rarely been apart for longer than a day.

16 years ago today, I asked Reba to be my wife. Since then, we’ve been through a lot. Another wedding. Passing my registration exam. Three more kids. Two houses. Eleven vehicles. Moved to three different school systems. Five job changes between us. More college for both of us. More deaths in the family, and more births. A couple of wars. Three presidents. We even moved to a different church. 16 years, but it seems like only yesterday.

And to this day, I still have to be very careful when I see that she is wearing a sleeveless dress.

So Mrs. Oglesby, Happy Valentine’s Day. And thank you for saying yes.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:11 AM | Comments (0)

February 13, 2007

I am worthless.

You come here looking for a Jack Bauer Update, and all I can tell you is that we didn't even turn the television on until the late local news was on. Had stuff to do, then had to get the kids, then had to get Boy ready for Scouts, then had to take him to Scouts, then had to come home and help put up groceries, then had to help cook supper (mmmm--scallops!), then had to go get Boy from Scouts, then had to wash a load of stinky Boy gym clothes that he'd forgotten to bring home over the weekend, then had to help Boy and Middle Girl with their art project.

FINALLY, something I'm actually good at!

They've got to do a report on an artist and a sketch of one of their artworks, and the teacher made the mistake of giving them a huge list of artists to choose from. Instant paralysis. Too many choices, and an excuse to sit and whine about not being able to pick just one.

Whatever.

ANYway, we got down a bunch of my art books and thumbed through them, and found myself having to have a talk with Rebecca about The Use of Nekkidity in Art. Talk about yer loaded issue. Did the best I could, which of course wasn't really that great, but in general what I said was that God made us beautiful, and there is a way to express that artistically without being prurient.

That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

In any event, it was a evening in which teevee just couldn't get a grip on us, which isn't really that bad of a thing. Not that it helps you with your Jack Bauer Updates...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:33 AM | Comments (4)

February 12, 2007

What a short day!

Of course, it could just seem that way because I kept going to sleep on the floor.

ANYway, I have to leave a bit early today, so all of you be nice and I'll see you tomorrow, probably once more without the least bit of Jack Facts.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:54 PM | Comments (0)

And in other news...

Well, we got home after the "play" and I had just gotten my shirt untucked and unbuttoned when who shows up but Oldest, dragging #6 through the garage with her.

::sigh::

I turned and whispered to Reba that it's a good thing they weren't any later or I would have been standing there in my skivvies. I like the kid, but the last I heard he was going home. A little warning would have been nice.

Anyway, they came in and watched the rest of a movie they'd started last weekend and then he apologized and went home.

Bed, up the next morning and Reba and the kids went off to a meeting at the church building and I stayed behind and did laundry and felt weird. Still battling some sort of head congestion that comes and goes--but goes not very far--and all day Saturday I felt tired and useless. Aside from being able to do laundry.

They all came back and were in and out and all around the house all day making noise and disturbing my hibernation on the couch where I watched The Longest Day and Rooster Cogburn in between folding clothes and drifting off to slobbering slumberland. I finally got to feeling better toward evening and fixed us some steaks in the oven (my way, without smoke) and went to bed.

Sunday, perkier, but still preternaturally fatigued. Must have been all that rolling off the couch onto the floor on Saturday. Up, dress, go to church, home for lunch, leave everyone else there and take Rebecca and myself over to Hoover for a Bible Bowl tourney. Our teams have taken a beating this year--mainly because they don't study as they should. But they still have fun seeing everyone from other places, and they do actually learn a little.

Back home, load up and head back to church for evening worship, then to home again, and had for supper, of all things, tamales. It's been years and years since I had tamales--we used to have them pretty regularly when I was young. So it was something of a treat. Sorta. I seem to remember them being a bit better tasting. These were Hormel and they were a bit bland.

The kids loved 'em, though.

So, that was about it--honest to goodness, it was the most uninvolved, uninteresting weekend I've had in a long time. And let me tell you, it was something of a relief.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:43 AM | Comments (0)

Good Morning, World!

Yet another weekend by the wayside, yet another week of Possumblog dawning!

Yes, I know you're all overjoyed.

Or something.

Anyway, not much to cover, although I imagine it'll grow in scope and entertainment value in the retelling. Which will come along in a little bit. I have to remember it all first, and then type it, and there's the horror of Monday staff meeting to endure sometime in the coming minutes.

SO, off we go...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:09 AM | Comments (0)

February 09, 2007

Somehow, I thought there would be more to discuss today.

Not sure why, exactly, since Fridays are notoriously slow. Then again, so are the other days of the week around here. With the exception of Saturday and Sunday, when there is NOTHING going on here, aside from robot comment spam inserting itself into months-old posts.

But I thought with the hysteria over the potential for the possibility of the chance of a small probablility for the occasion of a severe weather event that it might get more exciting.

Nah.

It's rained a bit today, and it's coldish, but overall, it's pretty much like--oh, I don't know--WINTER. People lose their flippin' minds around here. Yes, it's good to know what the weather's going to do, but I'd rather not think that every breath of wind and spatter of chilly rain is the harbinger of widespread destruction.

But maybe that's just me.

Anyway--long weekend ahead with lots of laundry and thespianism and widespread destruction, but really, next weekend is going to be the REALLY big show. A certain child in the house will be turning 10, and has been allowed to invite four friends to the house for a sleepover and party. The theme? American Idol.

I can hardly wait!

Not really.

SO, all of you have a good weekend, and Lord willing we'll see you all on Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:31 PM | Comments (0)

And in other high culture news...

...tonight is the opening night of the play Oldest has been rehearsing for, the second one she's appeared in within the past three months. Remember my displeasure with the one she was in before? This one trumps it by a wide margin.

::sigh::

Well, give it to 'em for being ambitious--Taming of the Shrew.

I'm sure it will be a marvel.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:26 PM | Comments (2)

To take our mind off of that...

...MUSIC!!

Unfortunately, since I am so low-tech, I have nothing you can actually hear, so you must rely upon my telling of the story of Boy's band concert last night.

Apologies all around.

As for the concert, it was very good.

I actually got to hear him play something, too! Which is pretty rare, since he's a percussionist and they stand in the back and chat and pick their noses. (Not really. They aren't allowed to talk on stage.)

ANYway, they had three songs to play, none of which I remember, and none of which I could transcribe for you since there was no printed program, but he got to play the snare, the bass drum, and the tambourine. And obviously, after I found this out afterwards as we stood on the sidewalk outside the entrance, I had to launch into a slightly too-loud version of "Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man" while he pretended to be someone else's son.

Since Reba hadn't been able to get to the concert (due to a combination of having to pick up Rebecca from soccer and taking her home so she could shower and wash all the soccer germs off of her) Boy and I headed on home right after his part of the concert was done, so we didn't get to hear everyone else. Except for the beginner band that played before his group.

But overall, it was pretty darned good. A few more squeaks from the clarinets than usual, and there's never enough cowbell, but still a lot more together and confident than they were at the concert earlier in the year. I still think they were at their best during football season, though.

So, good job, kids, and Mr. Tambourine Man, too.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:02 PM | Comments (0)

Oh, come now.

Just because I'm motionless beside the road with my tongue hanging out DOESN'T mean I'm dead!!

I'm just fine--although late getting to the important blogging I have to do. Had a doctor's appointment this morning, so there was that, and they took four tubes of blood out of me, but oddly enough, I managed to escape without being charged for an office visit. Go figure. I think he forgot to mark it because he was sleepy this morning, and the check-out woman was too tired to go ask him about it.

Then off to the credit union up the hill, which is always entertaining, and especially so this morning because Tiny Girl was working. She's a perfectly-formed young brunette lass, but no taller than the light switch on the wall. It's always fun to go through the drive-through and see her disappear behind the counter when she climbs down off the teller chair to go get something.

THEN on to the county courthouse, and because I've had to do it before, I made sure to leave my pocketknives in the car so they wouldn't get confiscated. Came in, dumped my two sets of keys in the plastic bin along with my class ring, my watch, my cell phone, my umbrella, and my pocket change. Walked through the metal detector.

And set it off.

The woman at the other side of the gantry, who appeared to be a cross between Selma Diamond on Night Court and Mammy Yokum, said "Gimme yer coat, hun."

I dutifully stripped off my jacket, which DOES have a long zipper on it, and two metal snaps.

Back through the arch. ::BLAHHHHHNNN::

"Have you got everythang off of you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What about yer ID badge?"

Why, no--not that. Because it has a tiny aluminum clip and ferrule, and didn't figure I had to. I handed it over.

Back through the magnet. ::BLAHHHNNNN::

"I betchu anything it's that there belt buckle on you. HEY! Do this here--hold yer hans 'ike 'is [holds her forearms and hands out from her waist as if she's doing The Robot] an hold 'em there as y'go thu!"

And yes, by now I'm wondering why they don't have a hand-held wand rather than continuing this little experiment in patience. Once more, I did as instructed and held my hands close to my belt buckle in the proscribed robot-like manner and went back through the archway.

::BLAHHNNNN::

"Yep, it's that belt yonder that's a'doing it. Take it off."

Okay, by now I'm peeved, and although I do slide my belt off (which has a regular belt buckle--it's not like I'm a pro wrestler or anything) and go back through the detector once more (without setting it off), I do register my discontent by noting, with obvious (or so I thought) mild sarcasm to the diminuitive, dessicated deputy that NEXT time I came through their establishment, I was going to just come in naked. I thought that by smiling and chuckling that she would understand I meant this only in jest, although in a jest brought about by the frustrating lack of common sense I was having to deal with.

Not so. And the price of my attempted jocularity?

"Oh, no. 'Cause now if you done that, we'd have to take you off to the city jail--wait, not the city jail--the COUNTY JAIL!!"

I continued to get re-equipped as she rambled on. "And if it was cold like it is today, then we'd take you to the psychiastrist hospital and lock you up there! And you don't want that!"

No indeed. Because basically, I just want to be able to do my taxpayer duties without having to palaver with people who don't have enough sense to figure out that my belt buckle isn't hiding a weapon, but the umbrella that they just gave back to me--unexamined--COULD BE.

Anyway, I'm in a wonderful mood.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:56 AM | Comments (6)

February 08, 2007

New! Bold! EDGY!!

As part of my effort to make Possumblog an integral part of what's hip and happening in popular culture, I have decided to do a few new things that seem to be all the rage amongst the famous.

Therefore, today I shall engage in an abusive, hate-filled tirade against blacks and/or Jews and/or homosexuals and/or millionaires with bad combovers; become a vegan; enter rehab; date Lindsay Lohan; catch an incurable STD; adopt a baby from a third world country like Luxembourg; become pregnant out of wedlock; be arrested by the Malibu, California police; enter rehab; become a Scientologist; get an authentic Maori tattoo; protest global warming; enter rehab; have lunch with Al Gore; enter rehab; write a book; become subject of blogwar when it turns out I did not actually write a book; apologize on Oprah; get in a fight on Jerry Springer; be center square on Hollywood Squares; open a restaurant serving dirt and compressed air; experiment with recreational vehicles; become a follower of Kabbalah; enter rehab; release a rap album; testify before Congress; demand reparations; swim with the dolphins; swim with the lobsters; swim with the polar bears; be attacked by a polar bear; enter rehab; write another book; rail against the wealthy; become a millionaire; travel to Iraq on a fact-finding mission; start a blog; write abusive, hate-filled blogposts against whites and/or Catholics and/or heterosexuals and/or Jack Bauer; enter rehab; nationalize the oil industry; produce my own one-man show where I sit in a chair in front of an audience and stare at them for four straight hours; release a Christmas rap album; become a Wiccan-Presbyterian; expose myself in a public lavatory; enter rehab; divorce three women I'm not married to; drive from Houston to Orlando wearing nothing but an adult diaper on my head; have an afternoon snack and five gallons of vodka with Nancy Pelosi; protest; wear a fur coat to protest people who wear fur; become a country music star; appear late at the Grand Ole Opry; cry; date a Baldwin brother; appear on Late Show with David Letterman and do a composite character based on Charles Grodin, Andy Kaufmann, and Joseph Stalin; apologize for being too hip for people to understand me; get the role of Chip for the upcoming My Three Sons movie; enter rehab; divorce a Baldwin brother; marry Anne Heche; demand an audience with George Bush; and go grocery shopping.

Oh, and today is also Mailout Thursday, so I have to get that done, too.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:41 AM | Comments (8)

February 06, 2007

That was fun.

I always like having lunch with Pam. The conversation was a review of sorts in order to bring Intern Stacy up to speed on the cast of characters she might be called upon to interact with here at my place of employment. She seemed quite frightened by the people I work with.

Probably a good thing.

I also don't think she was quite ready to be in the presence of such a big moron as me, but at least she was polite about it. As was I to her, telling her in no uncertain terms as she and Pam parted company with me that I wasn't about to give her a hug since we barely knew each other. I did warn her about next time, however.

Now then, it's time for a nice long nap.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:43 PM | Comments (4)

Maybe insomnia wouldn't be that bad.

Yesterday I mentioned the odd environs my dreams seem to take place in, but one thing usually lacking in my dreams are any sorts of famous (or infamous) personages.

Not a big deal for me, but in the future I would like to request that Al Sharpton be turned away at the door.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:09 AM | Comments (0)

February 05, 2007

I really wanted to be in a chipper mood.

Really I did. I mean, it's a gorgeous day outside, even if it is cold. The sky is clear and blue, and with the rains from last week, the streets don't smell like dirty mop water and pee, and the cars make swirly decorative patterns in the steam coming up off the manholes, and I was able to drive and remember a happy time back when steamy manholes wasn't the name of a dirty website, and then, I got in line at the food joint (because I forgot my lunch this morning, although I wasn't particularly angry about that) and then it happened. Some twurd (twerp+turd) pulled into the queue and tapped on his horn.

Not by accident, either.

I understand the frustration at not having food magically materialize right there on your dashboard the moment you think about it, but you know, if you aren't brain damaged, most of the time you realize that if you pull into a fast food drive-through that already has several cars in line ahead of you that you might have to wait more than ten seconds. Second, surely you realize that blowing the horn of your car doesn't do anything but cause the food preparation staff to begin salivating in order to bestow your fish'n'chips dinner with a coating of special sauce. Third, it simply RUINS a perfectly pretty winter day.

Got my food, hoping it had not been adulterated by mistake, and headed back to work. Where my path was impeded for 12 blocks by a slow-moving vehicle whose driver took every opportunity to stop at every single light. Red ones I don't mind so much, but slowing down to allow the green ones to ripen isn't something I'm particularly fond of. No horn from me, though. Because I am a good person, you know. Which is why I was perfectly willing to be forgiving of these lapses in driving courtesy had it turned out to be an attractive young female. However, after finally being able to pull into the turn lane and peer into the driver's chair, such magnamity left me as I found the pilot to be an old woman as large and ugly as myself, with what appeared to be a habit of indulging in snuff dipping.

It is, however, still a very pretty day.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:49 PM | Comments (0)

What a dump!

Dreams again. Sorry. If you hate hearing about other people's subconscious meanderings ::coughJimSmithcough:: clock out now.

BUT FOR THE REST OF YOU, it happened again. Some people dream of flying, I seem to dream of a neverending universe of decaying backroads small towns. I don't know what it is, but once more I had a dream like that. Last night's drive took me through what seemed like several hours of incredibly broken-down towns and hamlets, and one in particular was almost a theme park ride of ticky-tacky tar papering. There was one giant old barnlike thing hard on the left side of the road (winding, two-lane, and oddly smooth) that was held up by a series of hundreds of 2x4 outriggers and stringers and such nailed onto the exterior walls and running down into the dirt. Further on down the road were similarly constructed (or deconstructing) houses and commercial buildings, but despite the appearance of things, life was quite lively around town with folks walking and driving about as if nothing was amiss.

Anyway, that was just one of the places, but the rest were similarly disarrayed. I realize it's probably asking too much, but it seems like I ought to at least be able to run across an out-of-gas and ever-so-grateful young Jane Russell every once in a while.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:36 AM | Comments (2)

What did I do this weekend?

1) I did sleep late Saturday, but it required much in the way of burying my head underneath multiple layers of pillows. Why does my family begrudge me sleep on the one day I can sleep late?

2) Laundry. Reba's back is still hurting, so it was left up to me to take the clothes to the creek and beat them with rocks.

3) Chaperoned. #6 came over and spent the afternoon and early evening with us. He and Oldest stayed in the den and watched movies and made odd smacking sounds that I believe were not related to the eating of popcorn.

4) That's about it for Saturday. It lasted much too long.

5) Church. Had a lunch/meeting after worship that lasted too long.

6) Collapsed on the couch for one hour. Was repeatedly roused by various children and a spouse. Why does my family begrudge me Sunday afternoon's nap?

7) Church again.

8) Super Bowl. Saw the last five minutes of the fourth quarter.

Other stuff happened--Catherine went to a make-up birthday party, I went to the grocery store several times, there was vacuuming (including the kitchen table), the cat nearly tore my arm off--but for the most part these things were just part of a long smear of activities that ran from one thing to the next without a cease-fire, and so this morning I'd be happy simply to sit here and be a stalk of celery. (Admittedly, some celery has it better than others.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:17 AM | Comments (2)

Hey!

That's about all I'm capable of mustering up this morning! Well, that and @$&$#^#*!@ at the multitude of comment spam messages I have to go through and delete. Grr!

Be back directly.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:23 AM | Comments (0)

February 02, 2007

I'm gonna sleep in tomorrow.

Well, that's the plan, at least. Somehow, I doubt I'll get to do that.

ANYWAY, it's been a largely unproductive week hereabouts, due in large part to me constantly spinning my wheels in wild goose chases. At least I'm never at a loss for excitement. Not to be picky, but it sure would be nice if the excitement was something more along the lines of sudden financial independence.

Oh well.

All of you have a fun weekend and come back again on Monday and we'll see what all we can come up with.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:55 PM | Comments (0)

License Plate Matching Game!

SO, anyway, about that circuit board for Catherine.

A simple thing with aluminum foil strips across the back that are supposed to connect answers to questions. You find out if you're right if you hold a little flashlight bulb and battery holder to the two ends of the strips, completing the circuit.

You can match state capitals or math answers or such things--the questions and answer type themselves aren't really the point of the exercise so much as figuring out electricity.

Or so I thought.

Anyway, we sat down and went over some possible things to ask, and she finally settled on license plates. Should be simple--find some plate images on the Internets, cut out some pictures, stick 'em on the board, write in the states, and fix the back with aluminum foil strips.

Of course, being Creatively Anal-Rententive Daddy, I immediately began trying to figure out the best way I could make an 'A' on this project, and so got on the computer and made a simple 2x6 table in Word with a nice border, and in each cell put a circle and a corresponding number and letter beside each. This was then spray-mounted onto a nice piece of foamcore board I had at the office so it would be nice and rigid.

Now, for the contacts--what I thought would be a very slick looking addition, that being brass paper brads pushed through the face of the board and unfolded on the back. That way, no punching of holes, and the brads would give a bigger surface to use for the battery leads. And they're nice and conductive.

Brought home my handiwork and was immediately rebuffed by Catherine, who noted that the foamcore was NOT poster board, and that there had been NO punching of holes into it. "How are you going to punch holes with those round metal things in the way?"

"No, sugar--look, they're metal, and they'll conduct electricity even better than sticking a battery wire through a hole and trying to touch a strip of aluminum foil in a hole."

She was dubious. And to make matters worse, she went and told the teacher on me, and came home Wednesday and said, "She said you should just do it the way it is on the instructions."

FINE!

Thankfully, I was still able to make it relatively cool through the use of the Acme Licence Plate Maker. I found this quite by accident, but was sold on it when I figured out I could black out the names of the states and then personalize the plates with little clues based on her name.

I made several so she could pick the ones she wanted, but they all had variations of her nickname at the end. SO, they wound up looking like this (in case you need help, the answers are in the extended entry):

A plate1.jpg

B plate2.jpg

C plate3.jpg

D plate4.jpg

E plate5.jpg

F plate6.jpg

Last night was the night to finish the construction. The previous day she'd haphazardly cut out the paper license plates (yes, I know I should have just cut and pasted them on the computer, but there HAD to be something in the project that looked like a kid did it, and trust me, she's like a marmoset on meth with scissors, so it looked age-appropropriate) then we stuck everything down with sticky photo tabs, and after I found and purchased a set of hole punchers, we (i.e., I) carefully punched the holes. The strips were last, and each was taped on the back and the end result looked quite attractive. And to add to the kid-assisted nature of the whole thing, Catherine grabbed a pencil while I wasn't looking and scrawled a giant "LISENSE PLATE'S MATCHING BOARD" legend directly above the neatly computer-scribed "Catherine’s License Plate Matching Game!" 18 point, Impact font title I'd put on there.

"Why'd you do that!? It HAS a title on it!"

Who knows. But we left it on there.

Anyway, as I said, I better get an A.


A) Alabama (her school's mascot is the Husky); B) Idaho; C) Louisiana; D) Wisconsin; E) Arizona; F) Tennessee

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:48 PM | Comments (5)

And continuing the mad pace of days recently past...

...I found out that being a cheapskate costs me a LOT of time and money.

Went and got Rebecca from soccer practice, went and got Catherine and Jonathan from Grandma's house, went to Michael's for poster board to make Catherine's circuit board (about which, more later), went home, realized that I'd forgotten to go by the drug store to pick up my prescription. OH--and I'd gotten a jury summons for the first week of March in the mail.

::sigh::

Worked with Cat on cutting things out, when Mom got home I went out again to the drug store AND with the idea of getting a hole puncher. I thought we had one--the little chrome-plated plier type. I could have sworn we had one. In fact, thinking about it just now, I think I have one out in the garage in my box of drafting supplies. But last night? Couldn't find one anywhere in the house.

SO, I'll get one at the drug store. 'Kill two birds,' eh wot?

On down to the foot of the hill, park, stride manfully into the CVS straight to the school supplies, look, look, look. Hmm. Scissors? Scads. Compasses? Trillions. Protractors? Bunches. Hole punchers? Well, they've GOT to have a hole punch! Looked some more, up and down the aisle. CVS has a BUNCH of stuff. Made my way back up to the OTHER end of the aisle. Saw the long three-hole punch for notebooks. AHH! Hmm. Sold out. Drat.

Went and got my meds and decided since it was close that I would run across the street (figuratively--actually drive across, because crossing the street at night in the rain on foot is suicidal. Only slightly less so in a vehicle.) to the Dollar General store. I guess I could have gone to Food World, but I figured they wouldn't have a hole punch. Turns out that in amongst the dirty piles of cheap plastic pants and shoes and food containers at Dollar General that there just wasn't enough room for a hole punch. Grr.

ON TO THE DOLLAR TREE! Where EVERYTHING is only ONE DOLLAR! And also further down the street, and now taking up much too much time. Parked, walked in, and found that apparently a hole punch is too sophisticated of a device to be made in a Chinese sweatshop and still profitably be sold for a dollar. GAHHHHHH!!

WHERE ARE THE HOLE PUNCHERS!?!

I was just about resigned to spending the rest of the evening at various office supply stores, but thankfully the neighboring Winn-Dixie had a deluxe set with the handy spring-loaded chad trap underneath for only $1.79.

Got home at SEVEN O'CLOCK with my prize, and found that the little circles I'd so neatly MSWorded onto the sheet of paper as a guide for where to punch the holes were slightly too far over. SO I had to cut a strip of paper and poster board off of each side.

But by gum, those hole punchers punched out those TWELVE holes like nobody's business!

Sure, I figure each hole probably cost around 50 cents apiece once you figure in time and gas, but obviously that will go down as I move into volume hole production.

NOW THEN, I'm going to go sit at the front desk and cover the secretary as she goes to lunch, and THEN we'll get to hear about the frustrations of dealing with a very literal-minded 4th grader!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:50 AM | Comments (0)

February 01, 2007

Okay, so your blood would be full of pressure, too.

IN addition to all the other crap I have to do, I had to go for our company health screen this morning, because I switched insurance companies from Reba's to the city's provider, and we have to work with UAB to keep a database on the employees' health and berate us for being unhealthy in order to get a break on our premiums.

Anyway, the annual screening was a year ago, and I forgot to go.

Got a note in the intraoffice that promised I would be summarily executed if I missed the makeup day. Which has shifted from Monday, to Tuesday, to yesterday, to today, as I've tried to work it in with all the other crap I've got to do. (And remember this, all you who are aching for goverment-run health care--you'll have to do something similar, I guarantee it, it you ever submit yourselves to allowing bureaucrats to run your insurance.)

SO, I filled out my old form that I got last year and walked over to Boutwell Auditorium, knowing that this was going to be not a fun thing. I mean, I already go to the doctor for hypertension and every other risk factor for dropping dead, and despite the nice medications, the last few days have NOT been conducive to easily flowing life-juice.

Let's see--had to go ahead and take four hours of vacation yesterday due to the furnace repair wait, which itself cost nearly an entire Benjamin, and then went and got the kids and found out that Jonathan had ONCE MORE forgotten a permission slip for a band trip and needed me to maybe write him a note instead, and we got home and I wasn't sure Reba was going to be on time so we could get to church all together, and so I had to go ahead and try to throw some supper together quickly, and then the nifty little things I had made for Catherine's circuit board she started cutting out and it looked like she'd chewed them up with her teeth, and then the weather guys on television were still predicting widespread devastation and snow and despair, and then Reba did manage to get home and was in a sour mood made worse by a hitch in her back that made her as pissy as a cornered injured mountain lion, and so we did manage to get to church for Bible study, where Ashley, whom I thought was doing better, started back in with her bossy witchiness to her siblings, made worse by an attentive group of fellow church-goers, and then after her little outburst, Jonathan began acting like a moist turd, so the trip home was very quiet, aside from a stop at the gas station, which used up the remaining $10 part of that hundred dollar bill I almost spent on the furnace and then another sawbuck on top of that, and after getting home was informed that I needed to take all the kids to school today so that Reba could go into work early, which means they had to get in the bed and up early so I wouldn't be late today, if I actually did have to go to work what with all the devastating ice hanging off everything, and in the process of getting the kids in bed Jonathan told me he ALSO forgot a permission slip for some thing he had to do in gym class, and needed another note to the coach for that, and he ALSO had homework to do, but luckily they all managed to get in bed at a relatively decent hour and so did I, but it didn't really matter how much sleep I got because it was filled with that dream of being on some college campus somewhere and I was looking for the swimming pool so I woke up tired and baffled, and then had to scurry around this morning trying to get the three younger kids AWAKE and as I turned Jonathan's light on the bulb blew so I had to run downstairs and get a bulb out of the utility closet and come back upstairs so he wouldn't have to get dressed in the dark and the replacement bulb was bad, too, so we had to take one out of his lamp, and I STILL had to go shave and get dressed and as I went by Catherine's room she was still asleep and so I told her if she'd just get ready before everyone else I'd take her to Michael's craft store tonight so she could get her poster board, which made her happy and active and made me remember that I still needed to go sit and shave and I went into the bathroom and Reba had gotten there first so I had to wait on her and she still wasn't in the best mood this morning but whatever, right?, because I did eventually get shaved and dressed and "Terry, could you sew my button back on my sweater?" RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE of trying to get the kids downstairs and fed breakfast and I wondered why it was that I had to sew it on, but I said "sure, okay" anyway and sent the kids downstairs while I asked Reba to take the sweater off but she acted very hurt and asked why I couldn't just sew the button on while she had it on, since it was in the back, and since she didn't want to muss her hair, which was just fine by me, you know, because I'm not the least bit uptight about such things, so I threaded a needle and got her to stand under the light and be still, which seemed to make her even more nettlesome than usual, but the button did get sewn back on and I took off screaming down the stairs and found that Catherine had only gotten out her own microwaveable biscuits but none for her brother and sister, so I got two more out and popped them in and tried to get everyone moving toward the car, which entailed everyone finding his or her coat AND me writing two notes for Jonathan's teachers so he'd quit bothering me about it and then Rebecca couldn't find her jacket or her shin guards, which she swore she'd put upstairs and she was moping around acting like she was nearly dead so I told her to look some more for them while I rousted the other two and went and got them put in the Volvo and cranked it up so it'd warm up and then went back inside to help Rebecca, who was more or less just standing around and about to cry, until she made a pass through the dining room and found her stuff which she began shoving into her gear bag while I rushed out the door and to the car where Catherine was in tears because Jonathan was acting like a butthole toward her by saying mean things, which was pretty much where he was with his attitude last night, so I had a stern lecture for him that lasted until Rebecca got in the car and off we went to school where I dumped them out and made the dash for the elementary school to dump Catherine all the while trying to think of something to write for the Thursday Three if I got to work in time, which I thought I might be able to do since there was no ice on the roads, and after dropping Catherine and telling her I loved her very much even when she acts like a baby I was off toward town and managed to bob and weave my way into the slow lane no matter what I did, meaning I didn't get to work until exactly 8:00 and there's this matter of actual work that I have to get done that I've been putting off and, yes, that health screen I had this morning, so after posting a lackluster T-3 that everyone will hate, I took off and walked across the street and prepared to see my blood pressure number up in the ionosphere, and sure enough, I sat down and immediately felt myself tensing up with my normal surge of "white coat syndrome" aided and abetted by my "incredibly hot mature red-headed nurse with reading glasses syndrome," and sure enough, my blood pressure was 900 over 250.

Well, almost.

It was too high, though, and I had to explain that I am under treatment for it, and when I am not jazzed up on life and Diet Coke, the medications my physician prescribes do a fine job of controlling my debility, and that when I do my own monitoring away from the scary doctor places, I have normal blood pressure. Three minutes later, and it was down some, which seemed to relieve her.

ON the bright side, the high pressure made the blood draw much quicker, as my precious essence shot out of my veins like a fire hose into the test tubes.

Back home to my unkempt desk now, and it's time to do actual paying work, because I've got to leave early again to go pick up Bec from soccer, and tomorrow morning I've got a meeting to go to that will keep me away from the desk for ANOTHER three hours or so.

But other than that, things are pretty quiet.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:24 AM | Comments (9)

January 31, 2007

Diagnosis:

Bad Flame Sensor.

Tab:

90 bucks.

Time spent waiting on repair guy?

2 hours.

Repair time?

15 minutes.

Satisfied?

Oh, you betcha. After he took a look around and saw what was going on, the troubleshooting only took a minute or two, then the taking out and cleaning of the sensing bit only a few more minutes on top of that. The ol' rude Ruud is now kicking out its full complement of British Thermal Units, and life is once again on track here in Casa de Possum. And I don't have to worry about young lovebirds complaining about how cold it is.

Anyway, it's now 3:13, Judge Judy's on the toob, and there's not much use in going back to work because I'd just have to turn around and head right back home to pick up Rebecca from soccer practice, so I suppose this is it for the day.

Tune in tomorrow, and we'll do us some Thursday Threeing.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:15 PM | Comments (3)

January 30, 2007

So that's how you get it fixed!

As I have been reporting for at least three of the past several years, our downstairs furnace has a mind of its own. Sometimes it will kick on and blow out some heat, but most of the time it just sits there and lets the downstairs get downright cold. Like yesterday evening, when it was 57 degrees. And that's real Fahrenheit degrees, not those silly made-up French Celcius numbers.

It's possible to turn the main switch off and back on and get the thing to light off and run for a bit, but really only for about five minutes, then it goes back off. You can keep hitting that switch, but in the end that's not a very efficient way of keeping the downstairs warm.

Now in years past, I have thought about changing the thermostat, and even bought a new one, until I had the epiphany that the air conditioning part of the unit works just fine in the summer. Which means the thermostat is probably just fine.

I've done some looking on the Internet to see if anyone else has this type of problem so I could possibly see if I could fix it myself. What I've found out is that it might be very simple, or not. And there's not a really good way of telling the difference simply by asking the furnace, "Does it hurt when I move this?"

And then there's the possibility, it being natural gas-fired and all, of recreating the famed January 15, 1978 explosion in lovely downtown Auburn that leveled the Kopper Kettle. An event which, according to one of my building science professors, sent the building's heavy iron boiler several hundred feet away after blowing it through the roof.

I guarantee you, I'd get in trouble if I did that.

SO, even though it gets chilly downstairs, eventually summer does come along making it less of a priority to get fixed. This year, I really had good intentions of calling someone, because it did get cold several weeks back while I was off for Christmas, and I thought since I was home that it would be a good time to have workmen traipsing around. I even called one place, and they never called back.

And then it got unseasonably global-warmed, and once more, the priority for getting it fixed immediately sorta slipped.

Then, last night as I said, it was downright uncomfortable, and I thought maybe I should try to remember to call someone this week. Maybe. That is, until after we'd all eaten supper and cleaned up and come upstairs for the rest of the evening that Reba said something to me that snapped me out of my lackadaisical attitude.

"Ashley was wondering...she was wanting to know if she could invite #6 [not his real name] over Saturday and maybe they could just hang around the house and watch videos and stuff."

Once again, the ol' good news/bad news thing. It's good 1) that she asked first, 2) that neither of them mind staying around the house, 3) that she has, of late, been very much more responsible, 4) that the boy seems to be genuinely nice, although somewhat lacking in social grace, 5) and that she even said she'd be willing to help get the house cleaned up.

Bad?

That danged furnace is broke, and I'm not ABOUT to let them sit there on that couch and have an excuse for snuggling up! I've used that excuse before, and I KNOW HOW IT TURNS OUT!!

That furnace is gonna get fixed--the guy's coming tomorrow at lunch.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:15 PM | Comments (2)

I'm all for being educated.

Really, I am.

But you know, I don't ever recall when I was in the 4th grade having to make my own electrical circuit board. Or rather, having to get my parents to make me my own electrical circuit board.

Cat's class is studying electricity, and doing a good job of it, it seems. None of that dangerous (but nonetheless enlightening) experimentation I did as a child with screwdrivers and live outlets, but still, it seems they're learning something.

Particularly about circuits. And they've got an assignment that's due Friday morning to create one of those little match-up game things with a sheet of questions and answers linked on the backside by aluminum foil strips.

It's not really hard to do and I do know how to make them, but it's not exactly one of those things that you just let an inattentive 9-year-old loose on with a pair of scissors, some tape, and aluminum foil. And that's not even considering that you also have to get together some colorful questions and answers to put on the thing.

::sigh::

Yet another assignment. If I don't get an A on it, I'm gonna be upset.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:08 AM | Comments (2)

January 29, 2007

And THEN what happened, Possum Daddy!?

I went to sleep and then woke up the next day, that's what!

And it was a very odd day.

Got everyone more or less ready to go to church, ate breakfast, piled in the van, hit the road. A very pretty day, and the kids got to see the ducks and geese and swans at the place up the road from our neighborhood, along with the chickens, and to make it even MORE special, they were graced with the sight of two possum roadkills further on down the road!

On to church, went to class, heard a good sermon, then had to wait on everyone to go use the restroom afterwards. Which turned out to be a good thing, because as I was standing there cooling my heels, a friend of ours who just so happens to look like a brunette version of Natasha Richardson came by and tugged my sleeve and said, "I've been meaning to tell you that you look like you've lost a lot of weight!" Which is weird, since I haven't. I blamed it on my suit. Anyway, nothing like getting an ego boost in the church corridor!

On to lunch, and since it was still the Weekend of Reba's Birthday Celebration, we took her to the nice Chinese place where they bring you the food instead of making you graze off of a buffet. Ate, home, settled in to read my newspaper and watch the 24 Hours of Daytona. Phone rings. Seems #6 wants Oldest to come to church with him tonight. Fine. "Is he coming to get you?"

Hesitation.

Oh, goody! I knew it was only a matter of time!

His folks didn't want him to have to be on the road so much and wanted to know if we could maybe, possibly, bring her part of the way. "Will he bring you back?"

Affirmative. So it's only a matter of getting her there, and I was figuring we'd leave a bit earlier than usual for church, drive her over there (across the county) and then go on to church.

After more Mom-Daughter-#6 talk, I was informed that he wanted her to come earlier so they could have some time before church and she could meet his mom and dad and hang around a bit and stuff like that. Which in the end meant that I was going to be called upon to put down my newspaper, turn off the television, and take her out there myself right then. Yes, she has a license, but she's still not very confident on the Interstate, and she'd have to go someplace she was unfamiliar with, and the Focus still might be acting up, so her driving herself was pretty much out. Leaving good old Dad. Good old grouchy, hateful, spiteful, mean old Dad.

Who with an air of resignation put his paper aside, turned off the teevee, and said, "Well, come on, then."

Over across town, stopped at the designated drop-off, he was right on time again and chipper as he could be, we made the passenger swap, "Have her home before 10!" "Yes, sir!" and off they went.

If he wasn't just so relentlessly eager and chirpy, it would be much easier for the squiggly rays of perturbitude to get through my scalp.

Home, finished the paper, tumped over on the couch and started drooling, and then it was time to head back up to the building. The kids had a practice session beforehand, and I tried to nod back off but couldn't, then it was time for worship, and some guy got up and couldn't lead singing at all. Apparently he is still battling a head cold or something, but when he started singing, all the crud in his sinuses vibrated loose and made him start hacking like someone in a tuberculosis sanitarium. And he really thought beforehand that this wasn't going to happen, so he was very put out with himself and his sinuses. And his inability to hit any note except by accident.

Oh well.

On toward home with a stop for gas and groceries, supper, get ready for bed, and then the blackout hit. As I mentioned earlier, the kids took this opportunity to come both unhinged and unglued and unquietable as they stumbled around in the dark chattering and cavorting like blind spider monkeys. And then right in the middle of it, Oldest arrived home (well before 10, I might add) and so Mom went down to let them in and had to act all sociable and Oldest and #6 were all chatty and loud and that got the other kids up and peeking over the bannister and trying to get attention, which caused yet more consternation and angry Daddy hissing as he tried to get them back in the bed so they'd start building up some heat under their blankets so they wouldn't freeze to death during the night. #6 said his goodbyes and put his filthy mouth on my child and was then on his way, the rest of the kids were finally secured in their cells, and it was time to settle in for a long winter's nap. Until the power came back on and relieved some of the pressure for the employment of arctic survival skills. One of the ladies I work lives in an adjacent neighborhood and she said their power didn't come back on until 1 in the morning, so it could have been worse.

ANYway, that all there is what happened this weekend. I don't think I want next weekend to be quite so jam-packed.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:20 AM | Comments (4)

Let's see.

Friday, stopped and got Reba a little birthday cake, but due to all the hubbub this weekend, we still haven't cut it. And as I figured, the closet didn't get cleaned out Friday, because she went shopping. Not gonna complain, because I never could quite figure out what to get her this year.

Saturday, begin the hubbub. Oldest had to go get her hair and nails done for the pageant at school, so Reba took her on to the fixing place, and I had duty with the younger three and the task of getting the car stereo installed. At 9:45, Rebecca was still not dressed. ::sigh:: Left her at home and took Cat and Boy with me up to Best Buy, expecting yet another big dollop of incompetence.

And was pleasantly surprised. The kid said it would take about thirty minutes, and although I was dubious, it actually took LESS than thirty minutes. Since we'd not had breakfast, I took the kids in and got something from the breakfast buffet that they have set up by the cash registers. You didn't know that Diet Coke and Pringles are breakfast food!? Well, they ARE! Went back and sat in the waiting area and ate and the kids played their GameBoys and I watched the installer kid splice wires and make adjustments on the mounting bracket with a bench grinder. 'Custom installation,' don't you know.

Ready to go, and hey, it looks very nice and it WORKS! Amazing. It's almost enough to make me want to get one for the Volvo. Except that it cost money.

Back to the house, where Rebecca was STILL not ready to go anywhere, even though when Mom got back, we were supposed to take her out to eat. Bec got her clothes on, I folded clothes, the kids went out and cleaned the cat's pen, and then the girls got back with a fresh-looking young lady decked out in a French manicure (which I have never seen any French woman wearing) and a nice haircut. They'd cut her bangs, which she was QUITE incensed about, but she looks so much better without that annoying brace of carelessly-carefully undone tendrils on either side of her face.

On to eat, to the Quiznos, which was extraordinarily expensive to feed just a bunch of kids, and then next door to Coldstone Creamery, the newest in faddishly incomprehensible ice cream scoopage. I just don't see the need for the theatrical aspects of all this--why the cute combo names, why the exhorbitant prices for a tablespoonful of jimmies, why the need to knead the ice cream as if it were a dollop of drywall compound? I don't know. But it impressed everyone but me, who would rather they just get a hunk of ice cream, throw in some cookies or Heath bar bits, hit it a couple of times in a blender and be done with it all. And charge about half the price.

But I am a cynic.

On back to the house for a bit, then it was time for Oldest to go do her interview, so she took off in a flash, and I went to go get Lightning more things.

The kids had broken the latches on his litter box, so he's recently begun lifting it off and playing with it. Further, he has learned to tilt the self-waterer reservoir off of its base. We thought he was accidentally tipping it over when he'd use it as a step to get up higher in his pen, but one day we filled it up and put it in there and watched him as he busily began pawing at it until he knocked it over, spilling water everywhere.

Stupid cat.

So, he needed a new litter box and waterer, so I headed out for Pet Smart.

I hate going to the pet store. I just can't stand seeing all the kitties and puppies all lonely and everything. I also can't stand people who think since they love their animals and want to bring them in the store with them that I should ALSO love their animals just as much as they do and really should enjoy having a snout rammed up my crotch.

I don't.

Anyway, I got a litter box with a handy screen in the bottom that makes poop scooping easier. Pick it up, and the litter goes through, sieving out the poop. What a wonderful learning experience for the kids! It's just like life, y'know!

Also got a watering dish with a more stable reservoir. If he knocks this one over, I think I'll just spray him with the hose a couple times a day.

Home, showed off the new purchases, with which the children--and Lightning--were duly impressed.

About time for the pageant. Oldest had already been home once more and gotten her gown and other junk and gone on, and now it was time for us to go down to the BP station at the foot of the hill and meet up with Beau #6, who'd found himself unable to refuse to come see his newest belle in all of her glamourosity.

Right on time, he was. He's making it very difficult for me to dislike him with the white-hot intensity I desire. But I know he'll mess up, so it's a waiting game, I suppose.

On to the high school with him following behind in his truck--wise young man. Knew better than to get trapped into riding along with us! Went in and milled about waiting for the doors to open, then finally got to go sit down. And wait.

Show kicked off with genial Trussvillite Ken Lass (of the Wendy Garner Radio Show) emceeing. It was a very nice show, although at THREE HOURS LONG, just a bit tiring. The girls all did very well and the companion guys who were competing for the "Mr. Hewitt" title were actually pretty funny. Sometimes guys can act like, well, teenaged guys, but they did a good job of being charmingly comic.

All over with, and Oldest didn't get a spot in the court, but for once she seemed less upset about it all. Mainly, one supposes, because she had #6 waiting around for her afterwards. Who wanted to go out for a bite to eat. At 10 o'clock at night. ::sigh:: He's hungry all the time, and he's nothing but a tall lanky thing with big tennis shoes. Must all go to his feet. Anyway, we told them okay, but for Oldest to come straight home afterwards, which she did.

Which is nothing if not promising--no lip, no excuses, and home when she said she'd be. Could it be that this young man is a POSITIVE influence on her!? I dare not wish for such a thing, and MUST find other reasons to keep my dislike for him percolating as strongly as possible!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:48 AM | Comments (2)

Well, Howdy!

Yep, managed to make it though another one, despite myself. And despite the influx of all that tremendously cold weather that global warming has brought us. To make it even worse, about 9:00 last night, the whole neighborhood had a blackout.

Immediately, the temperature in the house plunged to -40, we suddenly began starving to death, and twelve packs of wolves appeared at the door. Or so one would think given the reaction of the rest of the family members.

Not sure what it was, probably a tree down on the lines somewhere outside the neighborhood since there was a lot of wind. Anyway, had to find all the flashlights and lanterns and stuff and start piling sleeping bags onto everyone's beds and lighting the gas logs downstairs and trying to get the kids to CALM DOWN AND SHUT UP AND GO TO SLEEP but they were so wound up by the sudden loss of electrical entertainment that it was hard to get them put away.

I burrowed under the sheet, (non-operational) electric blanket, Reba's good sleeping bag, and Reba's old sleeping bag and settled in figuring this morning would be spent chipping ice out of the sink so I could brush my teeth. I'd finally just about gotten to sleep when just as suddenly as it had gone off, the power came back on. Digital appliances all over the house chirped back to life and set themselves to flashing "0" or "12:00," the furnaces both kicked on, the nightstand lights burned my retinas through my closed eyelids.

I was glad the juice was back, but almost miffed that it came back on right as I was about to go to sleep. Almost. Got out from under the covers and went around turning off stray lights, turned off the gas logs, came back up and got under the covers again, knowing that in about ten minutes I'd be kicking them off because I would be sweating like it was July. Sure enough....

Anyway, it's plenty cold outside today. Stupid global warming.

Be back with more after while. Lots of junk to do this morning, so bear with me as I get done with it all.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:50 AM | Comments (0)

January 26, 2007

Oh, let's go home!

Well, pretty soon, at least. It's time to march into the gaping maw of the weekend and see what all there is to it. I predict it will be very busy, and frustrating, since part of it will be spent at Best Buy finally getting the CD player installed in the Focus. There will also be a school pageant. I predict that will be full of angstiness.

I wish there was some place to hide, but there's not. SO, tune in Monday and let's see what happens!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:24 PM | Comments (0)

Let's go to lunch.

And the bank. And the card shop.

I have a feeling this is going to take a while...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:52 AM | Comments (0)

January 25, 2007

ENOUGH!

I have to go to the dentist now for my semiannual dental cleaning and gum bloodying. All of you have a good afternoon and I'll see you tomorrow!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:56 PM | Comments (0)

Canonical List of Suggestions.

Still trying to figure out what to get the missus. From past posts, we have the following: sparkly things; a trip to the spa; flowers; 500 parrots; a fake dragon tattoo; some pie; a new oven and a fancy set of copper cookware; a different-coloured Volvo; top line chocolates; an oven where the "broil" setting is actually only 350; a $100 pair of shoes; time with me on one Friday night a month for the next three months with grandparents providing kid-sitting while Miss Reba and I head out for dinner, movies, concerts, or walks in the park; a full body massage, or if that's immodest for her, a spa day, without Oldest; and finally, a Thumper Pro Massager.

Very good suggestions, and I really need to decide on something.

I was very excited yesterday evening when she said she was going to get to take tomorrow off from work. Because I am incredibly selfish, thoughts of a intemperately naughty nature started cropping up almost immediately, most of which revolved around me surprising her at home sometime during the day, playing the role of either the Handsome Furnace Repairman or the Handsome Pizza Delivery Boy or the Handsome Sailor Returning From Sea Duty or the Handsome Secret Agent/Low Level Bureaucrat.

One of the kids asked her what she was going to do tomorrow. She said she was going to clean out her closet.

Suddenly, I found myself in a quandary. Although I do enjoy the random romp, she REALLY needs to clean out that closet. She's got stuff from Christmas still hanging all over every door and doorknob in our bedroom, and you can't walk through the door without knocking something off the hangers, and the closet's been a mess for months, and she keeps saying how she needs time to clean it out and I really would like for her to have some quiet time to...hmm?

What?

What's that, Miss Reba?

Ah.

Well, I see.

That makes my schedule for tomorrow much more clear.

You see, as I was pondering all of this conflict in my head, she informed me that she'd gotten another present yesterday.

The same present she gets every 28 days.

I think, then, that tomorrow I shall leave her alone in peace with her closet-cleaning, and maybe pick up a nice cake on the way home.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:46 AM | Comments (9)

January 24, 2007

Once again time for Admiral Stockdale.

"Who am I, and why am I here?"

Good grief. Hour and fifteen minutes, and I couldn't get a WINK of sleep. People kept blathering, and then I had to blather, and I had to use my uptight, unaccented voice so all the derned Yankees could understand what I was saying. What a waste of time.

At least they brung wimmen.

Anyway, now it's so late there really no time to play, so I think I'll just sign off for now and see all of you tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:20 PM | Comments (0)

Now then.

I have to get ready for my next meeting and print out some maps and find some other junk to take with me so I won't look like I just walked in off the street.

All of you play nicely and I'll try to get back in a few hours. If not, please send out a search party. (Preferably with party hats and party favors.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:30 AM | Comments (0)

Suggestions So Far

As I noted yesterday evening, I need some birthday present suggestions for Miss Reba. This is what we've got so far:

Sparkly things, a trip to the spa, flowers, 500 parrots, a fake dragon tattoo, some pie, a new oven and a fancy set of copper cookware, a different-coloured Volvo, top line chocolates, an oven where the "broil" setting is actually only 350, and a $100 pair of shoes.

Any others?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:12 AM | Comments (6)

January 23, 2007

Hey, guess what tomorrow is!

Yep, the twice-a-month off-campus funcapade! AND, not only that, I have another some kinda meeting tomorrow afternoon with a bunch of out of town folks, and I couldn't find a way to get out of it. I'm such a dunce.

Anyway, tomorrow's version of Possumblog is going to be thin and weak and sickly and peaked and feeble and scanty and unsubstantial. So there should be nothing to complain about as it's pretty much that way anyhow!

Yay!

By the way, please remember to answer the question in the post before this one. I really would like some tips for something nifty for her.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:56 PM | Comments (0)

I ask you because you're really smart.

If your wife was Miss Reba, and her birthday was Friday, what sort of present would you get for her?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:58 PM | Comments (7)

January 22, 2007

That's what you want to hear.

"Hey."

Uh-oh. That's my sister, and I hear a bunch of crap going on in the background. This could be Not Good.

"Hey, what's g..."

"I know I don't call you much," uh-oh, "but I've been having trouble with my car starting," WHEW!, "and this morning it was really hard to crank, and then I heard this noise, kind of like, I thought, something like a belt? And then it cranked? What could that be?"

Gee, first I'm the Yellow Pages, and now I'm freakin' Kreskin. "Well, uhh, I don't know, but it sounds like it could be the start..."

"Could it be the starter?"

"Yes, that's what I was about to say--it could be, but I wasn't there to hear it so I don't know, but yes, it can be that or something else."

Clever lad, aren't I?

Anyway, she'd gotten to the dealer and they were wanting $500 to replace the thing, and she wasn't sure if it could just go bad, so I had to reassure her that they can go bad all of a sudden, or slowly, or anything in between, and that I figured most of the cost was probably labor. Maybe a couple hundred for the starter, and the rest to pay the highly-qualified Infiniti mechanics in the back. Checked online, and sure enough, a starter for a 2000 Infiniti I-30 is around $220 or so.

AND THEN, she got to talking about how crappy her day had been--a crazy patient's equally crazy husband had shown up and verbally abused her and everyone else in earshot for a while, and that she's still in a sour mood after someone stole her wallet and credit cards last week (out of her purse that had been in her office), and then this thing happened with her car.

So, I gave her the best long-distance arm-across-the-shoulder I could give her and I think I finally got her to feeling a bit better. Which should last just long enough to write out a $500 check.

I wish she was closer to home for stuff like this.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:28 PM | Comments (0)

Apparently it's just the day to get on my last nerve.

Otherwise, why would we have had two pointless meetings today? And why would The Guy Who Can't Spell be in both of them?

Conspiracy? Probably.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:02 PM | Comments (6)

Remind me to lock my office door.

The Guy Who Talks to Me At the Urinal (and Who Can't Do Tables in MSWord) came by the door to cook something in the microwave, and I knew he was going to stick his head in the doorway and start chattering on and on about stuff. (You know, like I do when I blog, with the exception that you can click away, and I am trapped here talking to him while I type this.)

"Tell me some restaurants in Trussville."

Oh, so I'm suddenly the Yellow Pages? Good grief. Had to actually have a conversation, had to ask what type, and then he had to let me in on the big secret of why he was asking, which necessitated him CLOSING THE DOOR (blocking any possible chance of escape, short of strangling him), and had to run down a list of possible places he might enjoy. All of which I gave my "Eh, I've never died from eating there" seal of approval.

Thank goodness he wasn't in a REALLY talkative mood.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:58 PM | Comments (0)

Quite possibly the most banal thing you'll read.

(Assuming you don't read anything else on here.)

But as I was about to eat lunch (which consisted of the very last of the bean-and-sausage soup I made this weekend), a thought occurred to me. How many of you crumble crackers into your soup? I've done this ever since I was a kid, and it's difficult for me to eat soup unless I've got a handful of crackers handy. And now I've noticed my kids do this as well.

Obviously, this is far outside the bounds of proper etiquette, but I enjoy it nonetheless.

Anyway, the soup was really good.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:46 PM | Comments (13)

"Your dad scares the crap outta me."

Well, good.

And I didn't even have to tell him about that time I had to strangle a terrorist with my bare hands.

Who am I talking about?

Oh, I think he's either Beau #5 or #6, but no matter, he's a guy, and as I keep trying to tell both Oldest and Reba, no matter how nice he is, no matter how polite, no matter how solicitous, no matter where he goes to church, he is still a guy, and he still only wants one thing.

I have tried my dead level best to tell them this ever since Beau #1, and I think it might finally be starting to get through. I can kinda understand Oldest's naiveté, but Reba's been married twice, and one of those was to me, and so she SHOULD know I have a one-track mind, but still, they look at me with equal parts shock and disbelief when I don't immediately start hyperventilating about the good fortune of another hulking goober calling on the phone.

Anyway, #6 and Oldest had a date Saturday night, and he didn't start off impressively. It was almost enough for him to be endearingly dim, much like me.

First, he lives on the other side of town. Now, if I'm going to go pick up a girl at her house, I think I might get directions to her house, either from her, or the miraculous Internet. As proof of my one-track-mind theory, he didn't do either of those things. He just headed for Trussville. ::sigh::

As you could expect, he got lost before he even got there. He called several times, and Reba talked him to the exit and tried to explain the rest of the turns. And so, thoroughly confused, he was then given to me so I could play the role of Lloyd Bridges as Steve McCroskey in Airplane. Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit sniffing glue.

And don't call me Shirley.

Anyway, I talked him through all three traffic lights, the turn, across the tracks, up the hill, down the hill, up the hill, around the turn, and into the driveway. "Don't hit my car when you pull in."

"Yes, sir!"

He got out and I stood there at the door with the phone in my hand and brought him inside. Nervous shaking handshake. Again--good. He and Mom and Oldest chatted a bit and I moved into the kitchen to be out of the way, then came back to see where they were going to eat and what they were going to see at the movie. They had no idea. Again, I would sorta think these things would be sorted out ahead of time, but what do I know?

I reminded Oldest that we had the church lectureship Saturday morning at 9:30, and to be home, and she started to complain, but #6 reassured me that they'd be home at a decent hour. Eddie Haskell? Maybe.

Out the door they went (after the obligatory invasion by Catherine, who had to go show off for everyone), and it was time for us to start fixing food for Saturday.

Did some junk, and then about ten minutes later I hear the doorbell ringing and the sound of someone pounding on the door. Oh sweet @#$!. I got to the door and found them standing there, with #6 having an embarrassed look on his face as Oldest piped up, "HIS CAR WON'T START!!" Well, it's actually a truck, but no matter.

"You need a jump?"

"Yes, sir, please."

And then he continued to alternately thank me and apologize and express his embarrassment at his predicament during the entire jumping-off process. To make it worse? He couldn't get his hood open. In the five minutes it took to get him going, he was a puddle of nervous chatter.

Good.

Off they went, and we got on with our cooking. I made some 16 bean soup with smoked sausage, Reba made sandwiches, and I went up and got my tee-shirt and shorts on after putting the beans on, with the intent of getting the soup poured into the crock pot and then going to bed, being that I was about to collapse from fatigue.

Came back downstairs, turned off the beans (in case you're wondering, I did the fast cook method where you boil them for twenty minutes instead of soaking them overnight) and sat down on the couch to wait the required hour for the beans to steep before transferring them.

And promptly went right to sleep.

And an hour later was woken by the doorbell. Why doesn't Oldest use her key!? I stumbled off the couch and went to the door, looking much more disheveled than I did four hours earlier, and let them in. They seem to have had a good time--went to eat at Zaxby's, saw Night at the Museum, and then came straight home.

Good.

Reba talked to them for a bit and I went back to the kitchen to finish putting my soup in the cooker, and then #6 was on his way, and Oldest was full of giddiness.

And I got to hear once more how frightening I am.

Good.

And then, I went to bed, because I was still very tired, and we still had to get up early on Saturday.

AND THEN, ON SATURDAY!

Up early. Got everyone ready, fixed some microwaved breakfast, settled the crockpot into the van, and got us on the way. Good set of lectures, then lunch, then a couple more talks, then back to home, and got the kids to go out and play with the cat so he'd have some company. Did some more laundry, then that evening Reba took Oldest out to go get some pictures made for the school pageant, I got the kids to go get cleaned up, fixed a big salad for Sunday's dinner at church, and then afterwards played several rounds of dominos with Catherine.

I still don't quite know if we're playing by any known set of rules, but, hey.

Sunday, up early again, popped some taquitos in the oven (again, for lunch--and guaranteed to get devoured by the kids like hyenas on a wildebeest), fixed our breakfast, and with ten minutes left before time to go, a request from upstairs for a blouse to be ironed.

::sigh::

I very nearly requested that my dear wife wear another blouse of some sort that wasn't wrinkled, but I knew this would take more time than ironing. Funny how that works out.

Out the door, more or less on schedule--although no small amount of schedule adjustment was made by the judicious application of force to the accelerator pedal. Got to church, unloaded, got to class and was only about five minutes late. Amazing!

Another good set of talks, then it was time for lunch again, with the added anticipation of possibly a visit from #6! I'm just a'quiver with excitement!

We got finished eating and he called to say he was almost there. Once more, if you're going to an unfamiliar place, it would seem like a good thing to figure out your route ahead of time. It would seem.

Anyway, Oldest started talking him in, and I began to agitate for someone to fix the kid a plate for when he did get there, and noticed the food was quickly being taken up and wrapped in foil. I kept asking Reba if we should make him a plate. "I don't know." The ladies were now in a flurry of wrapping activity--again, something like hyenas on a wildebeest, except instead of gnawing and snapping at each other, they were a whirling mass of plastic wrap and aluminum foil, apparently having a race to see who could finish first in wrapping up their piece of haunch or belly.

Well, dangitall.

I got up and got a plate and got him a couple of sandwiches and some salad and some meatballs and a drink and came and sat it back on the table. He got there not long afterwards, and I told him if he had any complaints, to tell me, because I fixed it for him. I didn't tell him he had to eat it all, but he must have gotten the idea, because he got full and told Reba he was afraid I might come back and see he didn't eat it all and get offended.

Good.

Anyway, they got finished up and came on back in the auditorium with us and sat through the last sermon of the day. And, of course, #6 was quite the subject for much gossip. He took his leave, because he had to get back home and we had stuff to do at the building afterwards, which was fine by me.

Finally home.

I like it when we have those days where the evening service is at 1:00. Finished doing some laundry, watched the football games, ate some leftover soup and salad, played some more dominos, got the kids in bed, and then tried my best to go to bed at 9:30, because once more, I was wiped out with fatigue.

Alas, 9:30, #6 rang the telephone beside my bed, and so I had to get up and go hand it to Oldest, whom I hope told #6 that he had woken me up. They had a long conversation, which didn't end well (we'll let all the tumult of that remain private), but I think my antipathy toward all potential suitors is finally being seen for the wise prudence that it is.

::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:53 AM | Comments (12)

January 19, 2007

So soon!?

Well, yes--I have to take Boy for his orthodontist appointment this afternoon, so it's time to call a halt to the festivities for now. All of you have a great weekend and I'll see you again come Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:51 PM | Comments (0)

There are times in a man's life...

...when he comes home and retreats to the couch amidst the din and tumult of the household, intent on doing nothing more than sitting there and doing, saying, and thinking of absolutely nothing, because his head is so full it has begun to bulge in an alarming fashion, looking like one of those balloons at the carnival that you inflate and pop with a water pistol.

And then, in the midst of trying to clear the mind, the odd thought enters and makes him wonder to himself, "Good grief, I am an idiot! How in the world have I survived!?"

Or, at least I assume men do this--I've never asked any other guy, so I only have myself as an example.

BUT, after arriving home last night to the usual mayhem, and having a head full of the cares of adulthood, all I wanted to do was go sit on the couch and stare at the television. Which was not turned on. I didn't want to have to be troubled with processing visual information.

Anyway, as I sat there and vegetated, an odd thought crossed my mind. In April of 1986, I was in a very different place, doing something very different.

I was near the beginning of a three-month European study-abroad program with a bunch of other architecture students, and after a dash through England and Scotland, we'd found ourselves in Amsterdam, a picturesque city of concentric canals and venerable old buildings, as well as dog doo, drugs, and doughy Dutch doxies.

Anyway, we'd arrived and done a couple of tours through the environs the first couple of days, sketching and photographing and admiring the swaybacked buildings and their walls made of teeny tiny bricks, and managed to politely refuse the abundant streetcorner offers of high quality hashish and heroin, all while trying not to look too much like a giant group of American tourists.

For some reason, I got it in my head one evening that I wanted to go out and see the after-hours scenery. By myself. Without a map. And not speaking a word of Netherhollandaise.

Did I mention Amsterdam's layout? The central part is all a bunch of concentric canals?

Well, it is.

And oddly enough, just as all cats are gray in the dark, the entirety of Amsterdamnation looks alike in the dark as well! It's also a lot easier to step in dog crap in the dark.

Yes, I know--hard to imagine.

Anyway, being full of youth and idiocy, I tucked my identification in a safe spot, made sure I had a supply of pretty Monopoly money, and headed out to see what there was to see.

After about three blocks, in which I had crossed a lovely bridge over a lovely canal, I was lost. Not really lost lost, but turned around. Or, so I told myself at the time.

However, in retrospect, I was REALLY lost.

After about an hour of fretful walking, I found myself in a section of town that was quiet and dark, which I pretty well knew was not where I was supposed to be. I walked along, and up ahead saw a few folks out at a car parked by the curb, and thought about seeing if they spoke English and could possibly get me back close to our hotel.

As I got closer, I noticed that there were several men around the car (a yellowish beigey sort of color, a Citroen, I think) and there was one inside who appeared to be quite well involved in taking out the seats.

Having, it seems, already taken the wheels off.

In the moment when I glanced sideways and nodded my head and was about to speak, it occurred to me that this scene--although I was now in cultured Europe and had already seen many odd and charmingly cultured scenes--THIS event was probably NOT normal.

In that split second, I had finally realized the fact that this particular troupe of gentlemen were doing a bit of extralegal late-night freelance car parts shopping.

I just kept right on walking. I figured interrupting them at their work to ask directions would seem horribly pushy and rude, and I was trying my best to be a good ambassador for the United States. And thankfully, they allowed me to continue on my merry way up the street, and did not clock me with a spanner and stuff me in the trunk and tip the car into a canal when they'd finished up.

I managed to turn a corner on down the street and stumbled into a brightly lit car plaza with a small gas station, and it was staffed by a leathery fat Dutchman who managed to point out where we were, and where I needed to go, and how to get there. Turns out I was only about four blocks from the hotel, which was nice, because by then, I was becoming much more aware of just how badly my little jaunt could have turned out for me.

So, back on the couch as I contemplated this odd recollection that had come steaming through my head, I wondered how it was--seeing as how my life is full of similar escapades--how I'd managed to make it through them relatively unscathed. Obviously, I credit a merciful Creator for this happenstance, but I still have to think that He's been VERY busy with me over the years.

And then I though I might better get up off the couch and help fix supper.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:37 AM | Comments (4)

January 18, 2007

And thus ends...

...yet another rather odd-feeling day.

I don't know if it's fatigue, or the crappy Midwestern Eastern European weather, or the random insanity back at the ranch, or what, but my goodness, this past couple of weeks has had a peculiar boringness to it. There's nothing really beefy in the news, nothing exciting at work (although today WAS Mailout Thursday), and nothing in the way of giant bundles of money raining down from the skies. I can't believe that my effort to be NEW BOLD & EDGY has so quickly been stymied by this mundanity.

Maybe tomorrow will excitinger. I am scheduled to be giving a seminar on pencil sharpening, you know. And I might go downstairs and see what's in the vending machine. Hard to believe, but I'd even welcome the return of the Screaming Guy in the Park. Maybe I can go look for him.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:37 PM | Comments (0)

January 16, 2007

That was fun.

I miss not getting to eat lunch with Miss Reba. When I worked at The Bad Place, I could come home every day and eat lunch. Then there was a while there while she was at her own Bad Place that we couldn't eat together, and then there was the nice few years when she worked eight blocks away and we'd eat together most days, but it's been a while since that job. SO, it's nice when she gets a chance to come downtown.

But let me tell you this--I am very angry at everyone for not working hard enough on global warming! A very nice weekend, and then all of a sudden winter decides to show up. And not the good kind of winter, either, with pretty blue skies and stuff. No, this is the ugly Midwestern crap with skies that look like dirt and miserable cold wind and squishy wet sod that you track all through the house no matter how hard you wipe your shoes. FEH!

I'm gonna go burn some tires or something and see if I can get the nice warm weather back.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:42 PM | Comments (10)

Now then.

I am going to go have lunch with a real woman, the comely and occasionally feisty Miss Reba, who at this very moment is walking over to my building, and when she gets in my office I'm going to give her a kiss. And then after that we'll go to lunch. Maybe.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:34 AM | Comments (0)

And THEN!

Up early Sunday, get dressed, eat breakfast, get to church, have class, worship, then stay afterwards for a study session the kids were having for Bible Bowl, which was scheduled for later on in the afternoon. They studied, I went and got a "news"paper to read to pass the time, then it was off to lovely Pell City for the afternoon's activities.

We've gotten down to only having two upper grade teams (there's always been a gap in the number of kids in the second to seventh grade--plenty of older ones, lots of babies, but not many in that middle age group) and there were a couple of congregations that brought four senior teams apiece. But, we still managed to come in second, which is pretty good, all things considered.

Back home then, then back to church, then a stop for some supper, then home, where I finished missing the first two hours of the Jack Bauer Show.

Then, on MONDAY!

A holiday for the kids and me, although I still had to function as the alarm clock to ensure Miss Reba got up and went to work. I lazed around until the phone woke me up at 8, then decided to get up and get with it for the day. Which was spent finishing the rest of the laundry that didn't get done Saturday and Sunday, putting away stuff out of the dishwasher, playing with the cat, and trying to figure out what's wrong with the Focus. It runs fine, then in about ten minutes of road driving, starts missing. Which says to me it's still got fuel issues. But it runs fine on the driveway. ::sigh:: It's almost enough to make me want to get another car. But that requires money.

Various other stuff throughout the day, appointments to be kept, errands to be run, Boy to his Scout meeting, Oldest to play rehearsal (yet another one), but by golly, I actually got to see most of the second two hours of the Jack Bauer Show!

Update to follow...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:37 AM | Comments (2)

Y'know...

...it's getting to the point that so much happens over the weekends that I can't remember any of it come Monday. Making it worse is that I occasionally have some very vivid, realistic dreams, and I have to take a second to remember that stuff didn't really happen. Or, at least I don't THINK I wandered around an old Edwardian-looking college campus and stumble upon a giant restroom with a great huge fountain in the center, as well as an incongruous set of offices around the perimeter of the room.

Remind me not to drink a lot of iced tea before bed.

Anyway, best as I can recall, Saturday was spent ferrying Oldest and the rest of us back and forth to UAB. Honor choir rehearsals in the morning, then the performance in the afternoon. And even better than last year, especially the junior high/middle school choirs. And Doc Copeland and the rest of the UAB folks once again did an outstanding job of organizing the event and somehow managing to get all these kids herded together (something akin not so much to herding cats, as to herding hyperactive cats in heat hopped up on catnip and Red Bull) and singing beautifully.

Now the choir folks seem to be quite cognizant of various screwups, but from my chair, there were very few slip-ups. The singers are very good, but anything they heard that sounded off was more than made up for by the acoustics of the Jemison Theater at the Alys Stephens Center. I am constantly amazed at the sound of the place. Theater design is tough--and everyone hears everything slightly differently. Everyone has their preference, but like a Steinway or a Stradivarius, there has to be a certain depth and warmth to the sound so that the whole place becomes like a living thing. Too much brightness and liveliness (from hard walls and such), and it sounds tinny and harsh. Too much padding, and it sounds like everyone is being smothered by a blanket. Hard to make all that work out with the place full of people and mechanical and electrical noises, but the room works well. So for all the singers, if you screwed up, it didn't quite make it all the way off the stage.

As usual, my beef is with the audience, particularly the three women (or girls) up in the balcony behind the stage, who for the last half of the concert moved around and chattered like they were at home watching television. You couldn't hear them, but you could sure as heck SEE them, and it was uncalled for and highly distracting. A suggestion for next year would be to make sure that back area is cordoned off.

And folks--please. Take some cough medicine before you come. And give that baby a big dose of Benedryl.

One weird thing happened twice--two tiny fluttering pieces of paper fell from up in the rigging to the stage during the performances. I don't think anyone was up there, so I suppose it was just something left over from another show, but it was distracting, too.

Maybe I need to learn to just shut my eyes.

Anyway, great job everyone. And of all the good things about it, probably the most gratifying is that the experience has caused Oldest to be much more interested in going to UAB when she graduates. Although I'm sure the University of Anchorage is a fine school, I think she'd do better a bit closer to home.

After that, Reba's mom and dad took us all out to eat at the world-famous (written about by Lileks!) Olive Garden out on Crestwood Boulevard. It was good, although the wait seemed inordinately long for a table, considering there were only a few people in front of us, and it was 4:30 in the afternoon.

Home, then various family dramas that left me drained and begging for sleep.

Then back up bright and early Sunday!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:05 AM | Comments (0)

First thing?

Staff meeting.

AAARRGGHHHH!!

Be back in just a bit.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:27 AM | Comments (0)

January 12, 2007

Another long weekend.

Both in number of days and in junk to do. As mentioned, Oldest has her choir concert tomorrow, which means the Best Buy installation had to be rescheduled for next weekend. And there's just a ton of stuff to do around the house--I've got to finish putting away some of the stuff around the outside. Seems Reba is now tired of the autumn scarecrow she had on the front porch, so back in the Not a Storage Shed it goes. And there's just all sorts of things in the yard that need neatening up. And there's still a very strong gasoline odor coming from the Focus that might be indicative of a small leak still hiding somewhere. And there's laundry to do. And the upstairs could use a good vacuuming with my the new vacuum cleaner. And doggone it, there are books to be read!

And frankly, I don't want to do much of anything except maybe sit outside and stare at the sky. I'm very good at it, you know.

ANYway, we have MLK Day off Monday, so Lord willing I'll be back in here Tuesday with something more interesting to report than usual!

Or not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:11 PM | Comments (0)

What a morning.

Oldest is doing the UAB honor choir thing again this year, and had a rehearsal last night. Since she seems to have enough trouble piloting her car during daylight in familiar environs, we decided it would be best if we delivered her and picked her up. Along with one of her friends who lives around the block from us. Left work a bit early, sped home, tried to get Oldest to call Friend so she would be ready when we got around the block, Oldest forgets how to use a telephone book and telephone, we leave, drive around block, wait ten minutes for Friend who had no idea what time we'd pick her up, drove to UAB, arrived with five minutes to spare. Back home. Eat supper. Drive BACK to UAB, drive back to Trussville, drop off Friend, go home.

Figure out that today's rehearsals will require that I take all the kids to school so Reba can get to work early, because she will have to get off at 3:00 to go pick up Oldest, and we also have to pick up Friend again this morning. SO, everyone up, everyone dressed, food on the way out the door, drive around block, pick up Friend who was more or less ready to go at 6:50 this morning, drop off two kids at middle school, drop of Tiny Terror at elementary school, put the hammer down and head into Birmingham, find my way across town to UAB, drop the final two passengers off at the music building, turn around and FINALLY get to work. And I was only 15 minutes late. ::sigh::

I need a nap now.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:07 AM | Comments (2)

January 11, 2007

Dagnabbit!

Why is it that the moment I get ready to play, somebody comes in and wants to know something!?

HMPH!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:26 AM | Comments (4)

January 10, 2007

Well, now.

Here we are, the end of the day, and absolutely nothing fun accomplished at all.

And my tiny, walnut-sized brain is so tired I can't even come up with anything remotely humorous to say.

Although, for some reason last night after I went to bed the thought crossed my mind--do television news anchors in Latin American countries perform verbal gymnastics trying to get the exact right non-Spanish-sounding inflection when pronouncing English names of people and places in the U.S.?

It is a mystery.

ANYway, tune in tomorrow when there will be something newboldandedgy.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:47 PM | Comments (0)

NEW! EDGY! BOLD!

Okay, so that's a lie.

Same old dull unbold stuff, and still have work-junk to do. But I fear that if I don't at least give the compulsive clickers a little something here on Possumblog, I will lose my entire audience.

When one's audience can be counted on one finger, one thinks about such things.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:18 PM | Comments (5)

I sure hope y'all have some crackers left...

I have about three billion things to get done this morning, and can't come play for a while.

::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:56 AM | Comments (0)

January 09, 2007

I must make my escape.

Gotta go pick up Middle Girl from soccer practice, so you folks are on your own for a while. Please feel free to enjoy a nice afternoon snack--there are some saltines somewhere around here...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:45 PM | Comments (0)

Magic Shirt

Well, magic of some sort. Rebecca came home yesterday with her brand new soccer team tee-shirt. Black, long-sleeve, with a big soccer ball on the back surrounded by all the names of the girls on the team. Including hers!

She was about to burst with pride, and couldn't wait until this morning so she could put it on and wear it to school. None of the other middle school kids get to compete with the high school kids except the girl's soccer team, so it's almost--almost--like being in high school.

She's usually not the giddy type, but this comes pretty close.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:55 AM | Comments (0)

January 08, 2007

So, for the REST of Saturday...

Got all cleaned up (though still reeking of gasoline) and decided I'd see if Best Buy could go ahead and install the new CD player we got Ashley for Christmas. Called them up and spoke with someone whom I believe might have had a pulse.

Maybe.

Turns out the earliest they could get to it would be Wednesday. Which means the earliest I could get there was going to be next Saturday. After much more discussion, we arrived at an appointment time of 4:00 p.m.

"Uhhhm, do you, like, have the harness and dash kit already?"

"No."

"Uhhm, well, you know, it might be, uhhhhm, good to, like, go ahead maybe, and get that, because you know, we've got, like, a buttload of harnesses and junk, but the dash kits, we only have a few of them, and maybe we'll still have them by Saturday, and I'd hate for you to show up, and, uhhhhh, you know, not have one? But they might still have them."

Hey, give 'em credit for going ahead and letting customers know they're a bunch of screw-ups and that something might go wrong. Because heaven knows how difficult it would be to set aside a harness and dash kit for this customer who's coming in on Saturday to get his stereo installed.

Anyway, I thanked him and told him I'd come get one right then, just to be sure.

Off to Best Buy, where I whisked by the surly greeter leaving a fragrant trail of hydrocarbons behind me. Made my way to car stereos, and found a likely-looking open-mawed kid leaning against a display.

"Hi--I need to pick up a dash kit and wiring harness."

"Uhhhhm, okay. Uhh, go around here?, and, uhhh, then go down to your left?, and then there's a door to your right?"

Sure enough, the door was there. Locked. A BUNCH of people were in there, and all of them looked at the door. One guy was on the phone. He wouldn't look at me. The other guy was jumping around in an animated conversation. He would look, but whenever I tried to motion that I needed something, he would act distracted. Finally, I saw him reaching for his shiny keyring. And then he left. Then he came back. Then he talked to someone. Then he made a move toward the door. Then he left. Then he came back and opened the door and walked away.

I took it I was supposed to come in and possibly stand in line, although "line" was something of an abstract concept. Two swarthy guys in jogging suits had a shopping cart full of stereo equipment, and the guy who'd been on the phone got off long enough to tell them they needed to buy the repair insurance. "IF IT GOES BAD, WE FIX IT!"

They nodded.

The peripatetic guy who'd let me in finally decided I might need something, since I was just standing there looking hopeful. "Yneesuhelp?"

"Yes, I need a dash kit and wiring harness for an Oh-one Ford Focus."

"Whayearanmodel?"

"A Two-thousand-one Ford Focus."

He looked around and called out to some other guy, "HEY!Gethatmanadashkitnharness!"

"What kind of car?"

The gopher looked at me--"An '01 Ford Focus."

Jumpy Guy told him the same thing.

He wandered off, chatting amiably with all the other installer guys who were wandering around. He looked and looked at the stuff on the wall. Finally found a small package and took it down. "Here."

Harness and plug. "I also need the dash kit."

"Dash kit, too?"

::sigh::

HOW DOES BLEEDIN' BEST BUY STAY IN BUSINESS!!??

"Yes, I needed the dash kit AND the harness."

He wandered back to the wall of plastic parts, and having successfully retrieved the proper thing, finished up his conversation with his buddy before handing me the package. "Here."

Thanks. No, really, thank you for being so indifferent. Makes me feel all warm and tingly.

And then, to go pay, itself another layer of unnecessary frustration as you're herded through a cattle chute, not knowing exactly where to stand or stop or to whom you should take your goods. Two cashiers got finished with their customers at the same time, and both turned around and looked at me. Not with that look that says, "HI! Come check out here!" but with the dull-eyed gaze equivalent to the snowy static on an unused television channel. I made a half step, not sure still of which drone would be quicker, and gave them both a questioning glance to try to determine which was more conscious. "I can take you here."

Great!

No, I don't have the Hhvbrhsfk rhelckfj Membership Card. No I don't want one today. "Phone number?" I dutifully gave her my work number. Or someone's work number. Not sure, really.

Paid, and gone. If I can help it, this weekend's installation visit will be the last time I ever go there again.

Home, played with the kitten for a while, rested, and began to notice the creeping soreness in my shoulders already acting up. Stupid car.

I went in and saw Reba and Cat and Oldest off as they went to the cousin's birthday party--it turns out it ran from 6 to 8:30 p.m. rather than being up during the day. When you would expect a birthday party to be. That's what happens when you book it for the Land of Giant Inflatable Bouncy Things (With Added Upchuckabilty) rather than just having it at home.

SO, I finally got around to taking my shower and washing off the gasoline, and afterwards got Boy and Middle Girl to do their hair washing and stuff while I did some laundry and reading.

The girls?

They didn't get back until after 10. Seems after the birthday party, a certain wife of mine decided to go to Target for a few things, then ran into two different sets of people she knew, and had to talk to them.

A lot.

ANYway, so that was the rest of Saturday.

Sunday?

Restful, for once. Although from what I heard on the television, there was a storm sometime during the night. Which was fine--at least the OUTside of the house no longer smelled like a Chevron station.

We loaded up, went to church, made a stop at the grocery store on the way back (to pick up a few small things NOT picked up at Target the night before), got home, and I enjoyed a nice read of the newspaper while Reba fixed lunch. And obviously, since everyone is a mind-reader, we all instantly knew we should go and help fix things. Thank HEAVENS we don't have to be asked for help, and just KNOW when we should be doing it!

ME!? BEING SARCASTIC!? NEVER!! Anyway, about halfway through the Parade magazine, Rebecca came and sat down on the couch, and soon thereafter, I hear cutlery being placed EVER SO DELIBERATELY, with EXTREME PREJUDICE, on the table.

"Uh, Rebecca, is Mom okay?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

Uh-oh.

WHOP! WHOP! Table knives hit the tabletop.

"Did you help her cook lunch?"

She gave me the sad look and said that she tried but Mom said that no one ever helped and that we shouldn't have to be asked.

Oh, sweet Jiminy Cricket. I was so glad to get home and relax and rest my aching shoulders and bruised back that I had forgotten that someone in the house was doing stuff and would much rather stew silently and feel put out than ever ask anyone for help!!

::sigh::

::sigh even more heavily::

Do I go and try to salvage this? Try to see if there's anything to do?

::sigh::

"IMAH, ANH."

::sigh::

I got up and walked around the corner just in time to see the last table knife go walloping down onto the table. It all looked very nice, though, and smelled great. I didn't say anything but just started getting ice in the glasses and trying not to make any sudden moves. They can smell fear, you know.

Called the kids down and got them to sit quietly while the final plate was put out, and then we had a very, very quiet lunch. Except for Catherine, who simply can't be put upon to be properly full of remorse and guilt about anything, much less when it's about helping in the kitchen. There was, after all, a video game to be played while all that stuff was going on. "LOOK!! MY PORK CHOP BONE LOOKS LIKE A 'Y'! Or maybe an R. A little r. MAMA? Is this fat? Should I cut this off? WHAT'S IN THIS BREAD!? It's hot!"

"Peppers."

"IT'S HOT! Do we have anymore?"

On and on. After a sufficient amount of compliments about the high quality and delicious nature of the foods from all parties, Mama seemed to be a bit less put out, and to make it better, the boys got all the dishes unloaded from the dishwasher and the dirty plates put back in, and got the machine running again, and cleaned up the gigantic mess that was left on the range top. Not that there are any messy cooks in our house, and not that she doesn't clean up after herself. I would never say such a thing. I'm sure the grime that builds up after spattering grease everywhere by cooking pork chops in a skillet without using a lid is probably the result of someone else in the house. In fact, it's probably me. Yeah, that's it. I'm probably the one who did it, and just can't remember it. So it's only right that I clean it up. Not that I'm stewing silently--I have absolutely no desire to be a martyr and not ask for help. That bottle of cleaner under the cabinet? I had someone get me that! And a paper towel, too!

Anyway, harmony was restored, and the remaining clothes were hung up, and Miss Reba even decided to come sit with me on the couch.

Where I soon dropped off into an uncomfortable drooling slumber.

Time later to get up and go to church, did that, came back toward home, and I made what I thought was a very wise decision. We ate out--just to keep anyone from having to fix anything.

SO, thus ends another weekend, full of potential disaster narrowly averted!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:47 PM | Comments (10)

Anyway--

As I mentioned, my weekend was extra full of car-related stuff. If you don't want to read about me being a smelly moron, well, you've picked the wrong day to read Possumblog.

Before I get going on this, I offer you this chance to bail out and go on to something more entertaining. Which is a pretty wide choice. So, go on if you must. Nothing to see here but uncomfortable contortions and flammables.

OKAY--now for all both of you who're left.

Car Repair the Moron Way!

Okay, the problem is that early-year Ford Foci up to about 2001 had a fuel pump design that was made for European fuels, which apparently are much cleaner or something. Which is all well and good for those guys--they pay enough for gasoline, so it darned well better be clean enough to drink. But apparently we don't really care that much, and our filthy fuel has enough solids in it to clog up the pump's fine mesh prefilter. Once this happens, the pump has a harder time pumping (naturally) and eventually, it goes bad. Robbing banks, smoking crack--that kind of thing.

WELL NOW, Ford's solution to this was to offer an extended warranty on the pump, so if you have one of those early ones, they'll replace it with a new pump, free of charge.

COOL!

Unless you have one built after the cutoff date, in which case you are left to the tender mercies of the service writer at your local friendly Ford dealership's service department. And you will be staring at a $500 repair bill. Oh, sure, there's talk about Ford extending the warranty on these slightly later models, too, but when you have a Focus that has begun exhibiting the classic symptoms of fuel pump expiration (bucking, surging, missing, stalling, backfiring) and said car is driven by a teen with no discernable skills at negotiating emergency situations, one has few choices except to repair said uncooperative car.

One could just break down and give someone five $100 bills, which, it being Christmastime, are nonexistent, or one could, with a modicum of technological know-how and a box full of ancient tools, attempt to save four of those $100 bills along with a $50 bill by purchasing a fuel pump and replacing it one's self. (For the truly hardy amongst you, here is a photo of said pump assembly for your viewing pleasure.)


People like this are called "morons."

I am a moron.

SO, back before Christmas I bought a fuel pump from a guy on eBay (and in one of those things that further cements my position as a moron, I bought one that I KNEW was an interim part number model that has since been superseded by a newer part number, because I am not only a moron, but a cheap moron) and after waiting innumerable days for him to ship me the pump, it finally arrived last week.

During this time, a certain Oldest child of mine would not stop asking about the pump, but I was very patient and longsuffering, and only screamed at her to shut the **&^# up in my head. I also took the opportunity to do the necessary research to figure out how to replace this thing--the Internets are very good for this, and best I could tell, it was somewhat doable by the average guy with some mechanical skill. Or me, even. I also thought I should go ahead and get a repair manual, too, since they have pictures and reviewed-by-a-lawyer descriptions of the various tasks.

Believe it or not, everyone noted that gasoline is dangerous. (As this site notes, the vapor produced by one cup of gasoline has the explosive potential of five pounds of dynamite.) So, despite my slightly comical depiction of this procedure, this crap's deadly if you play with it and it's best to let someone else do it.

Unless you're a cheap moron.

Anyway, Friday night I stopped by the car parts place to get a new fuel filter, figuring I might as well change that out, too, while I was being Mr. Burnie McSplosion, and picked up a little pump to use to syphon the rest of the gas out of the tank.

Saturday morning dawned and despite my intention to get up early and get after it, the lure of a warm bed and a hot woman delayed my progress by several hours, but I finally had to say "ENOUGH OF YOUR LASCIVIOUSNESS!" to Miss Reba and tear myself from her hungry embrace. (Actually, the fact that the kids were all awake and kept coming and bouncing on the bed is really what made me ready to start work, but, hey.)

Downstairs, grabbed my repair manual, backed the cars out onto the driveway and set to work.

First thing you have to do is relieve the fuel line pressure, which you do by pulling the fuel pump fuse and letting the car run itself out of pressurized fuel. There's still gas in the lines, it's just not under pressure.

Then, the jacking up of the rear of the car, which really should come after syphoning the gas out. But since I'd never done this particular type of car before, I didn't understand.

Anyway, up it went, and then the jackstands were set, and, uhhh. Hmm. Still not quite a lot of room under there. Got a block of wood and jacked some more, gaining another inch or so, which made ALL the difference in the WORLD!

Not.

Okay, finally, up. And, well, hmm. The repair manual says to take off the rear wheels to have more room. I discounted this idea when I first read it, because I figured there'd be plenty of room. There's not. Taking the wheels off would have been better.

Oh well.

Now then, trying to syphon the gas. Stuck the hose down the tank's gullet, pumped, pumped, pumped.

Nothing.

Withdrew the tube and found out why. The tube's not long enough.

Drat.

Fiddled around and finally figured I'd go ahead and take a look underneath and see what I could see.

Not much, as it turns out. Add to this a certain discombobulation that comes from looking at things upside down and backwards while supine. I'd crawl around, get lost, crawl back out, OOOOMPH myself up with a mighty sit-up, look at the repair manual, try to figure out what I'd seen underneath, read, read, read, look, then crawl back under, all the while hoping that those giant stout jackstands I had in place weren't in just the wrong place.

Gosh, concrete is hard. And gritty. And I am soft, and dim. Not a great combo, that.

Finally got some sense of direction, found the filler hose connection and fuel filter. Got to thinking about some more things. One thing I'd read on the Internet never mentioned it, but the repair manual made a big deal about having to remove the heat shield from the tank, but this required taking off the exhaust pipe. I didn't want to do this. So I unscrewed the heat shield and just bent it down "out of the way." In quotes because it wasn't much out of the way.

Anyway, unscrewed the clamps on the filler tube, and pulled it out. Snapped the connectors on the fuel filter, and pulled the hose. WHOA!! GASOLINE!

Yeah, I know--who woulda thought that!? Stupid me.

Anyway, the fuel filter was removed from its tiny little niche and duly drained of its flammable cargo, aid aside, and the new one screwed back into the bracket.

Time now to get the gas out of the tank.

I sorta half-remembered that there was only about a quarter of a tank left the last time I drove it--maybe about four gallons or so. I got my big nice vapor-sealing, explosion-proof gas can out of the Large Plastic Playhouse that Only Looks Like a Storage Shed (and for once was glad the can was empty) and positioned it somewhere under the car, then crawled back underneath with my little hand pump again, threading the hose into the now-open filler tube hole into the tank. I heard it splash a bit and knew I'd hit what I was looking for. Now, just a few pumps to prime it and let physics do the rest.

OOMph, ughhh, :: skwik :: skwik :: skwik::skwik :: skwik ::SPLUSH!!::

Yeah, baby! LOVE the syphon. ::dribble:: Hmm. I'd thought I'd gotten the syphon pouring, but maybe not. It had stopped after just a second. Hmm. URPH! :: skwik :: skwik :: skwik :: skwik ::SPLURSH!!::dribble::

Hmm. Well, it LOOKS like it should work. I guessed I maybe had the intake a bit lower than the outlet, but since I was upside down and under a car and in a bind and trying to pump a small hand pump over my head, I just couldn't quite see it.

Well, there CAN'T be that much gas in there--I figured I'd just go ahead and pump it out into the can. Might take a few minutes.

UHHGGHH :: skwik ::SPURSH:: skwik ::SPURSH:: skwik ::SPURSH:: skwik ::SPURSH:: skwik ::SPURSH:: Whew. I was trying to keep up a good rhythm, but there was no room to really do a lot, so I took to pushing the pump handle with the bottom of the car and pulling down with my other hand. :: skwik ::SPURSH:: skwik ::SPURSH:: skwik ::SPURSH:: skwik ::SPURSH:: skwik ::SPURSH:: skwik ::SPURSH:

By about minute 10, my arms were really hurting, and I had since adjusted myself so that I was trying to pump the thing with both hands out above my head, except since I was on my back, they weren't really above me, but out beyond my head, sorta. But the effect, had I been standing up, would have been of me acting like I was clapping my hands over my head, over and over again :: skwik ::SPURSH:: skwik ::SPURSH:: skwik ::SPURSH :: skwik ::SPURSH:: skwik :: SPURSH:: skwik::

So, you know, really I saved money on a health club membership, too, because this was killing my deltoids and triceps. :: skwik ::SPLOORSHGLUG!!!::

AIEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

GASOLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!! I'd managed to fill up the five gallon gas can with a mighty stroke of the pump piston, and spilled about five pounds of dynamite out onto the driveway to boot. I scrambled out trying to keep from getting it all in my hair and eyes and on my clothes and such, and did a pretty good job at avoiding it. Mostly.

But here's the deal. There was obviously more gas in the tank than I thought. Time for another gas can. Went and got the two-gallon plastic one, and ONCE MORE clumb underneath the rear of the car and started the pump again. This time the syphon action worked, so I didn't get as much of a workout. And, it finally sounded like I had reached the bottom of the tank. I gave it a few more pumps and rearranged the hose a couple of times, and satisfied myself that I was done.

Whew.

Smells like gasoline around the ol' homestead.

Now. Time to drop the tank. I thought. Maybe. Again, the repair manual had a LOT of things that it said needed to be disconnected, including the lines to the charcoal canister. Except, well, the pictures didn't look right, and I couldn't tell exactly what it was that I was supposed to disconnect and the canister had some kind of cage over it and I was upside down and backwards and, ehhhhh, hmm.

Maybe I need to go pee.

Went and peed and grabbed a meatball off the stove as I ran by, and noticed the clock said it was 1 o'clock. I had now been at this for nearly three hours, and hadn't really done anything.

Well, this thing's gonna come out, and I'm not taking anything else loose. Undid the tank strap bolt and WHUMP, down it came, very nearly onto my soft cranium. Ooomph. There's still a LOT of gas in there. That's not a good thing. Anyway, the tank slid down and over some, with the flimsy metal heat shield holding it just enough to keep it from falling completely out. Which was a nice thing. I could finally see what all sorts of things I should have disconnected, but no big deal, because the Holy Grail was sitting right there in front of me--the top of the fuel pump!

Now to get it out.

It is held in place by a big blue plastic ring, something like what you'd screw onto a Mason jar, with the top of the fuel pump assembly being the flat disc on the jar. In the repair manual, this ring is big. In real life, it's HUGE. I had thought I could undo it with a pair of slipjoint pliers, but I didn't have a pair THAT HUGE. I tried unscrewing it with my hands, but because I was wedged underneath the rear wheel well with a tire and the sill of the car, any attempts at leverage were quickly rendered useless.

As they say in my line of work (i.e., being a moron) if at first you don't succeed, hit it with a hammer.

Which is exactly what I did--took a plastic-handled nut driver and tap-tap-tapped the handy plastic wings on the retaining ring until it loosened and came free. I'm really smart that way, you know.

Off with the ring, and then the moment of truth. Took the lid off and reeeeeached down into the hole and wow, there SURE is a lot of gasoline down in there! I grabbed the fuel pump and gave it a twist--it's held in place in the tank in a small well with little retaining blivets inside that lock onto some small projections on the pump body. And luckily for me, I DID remember the part in the book about looking and making sure which way the thing came out. It has a swing arm on it that is the fuel level sending float and it can only go back in one way. Turn, click, and carefully pull out the assembly, which is, of course, full of gasoline.

Now then, time for some changing out of hardware. The hose on top of the pump needed to be taken off and put on the new pump. I had tried to do this underneath the car, but it required three hands. Outside on the driveway, it only needed two and maybe a foot. Now then, back to the underside of the car and a puzzle.

The new pump had a little circular screen on the bottom. The old one? Nope. Hmm. I wonder if it's still in the tank. "This will require putting my hand way deep in gasoline!" I said to myself. "But you're a moron, so go ahead."

Sure enough, the little circular screen off the old pump had come adrift, and was sitting at the very bottom of the tank. But I did find it. Whew. I stink of gasoline!

Now, in with the new pump, and I carefully lowered it and its fragile swing arm into the tank and, uhhhh, hmm. Which way did it go? Oh, yeah. Annnnnnd, hmm. Try again. Riiiiight, there! Nope. Hmm. There seems to be a problem. I can't tell--because I don't have the tank all the way out and it sitting on the driveway in the open where I can see into it--exactly where the new pump is supposed to go inside. I tried in vain to feel around and not douse myself with gas again, but it was no use. I had to dip my hand in there again and figure out--by feel--the shape and location of the little well and where the little blivets were that held the pump, and then with the other hand try to line things up close enough to make it twist-lock back into place.

Apparently, God was tired of cautiously watching over me and wanted me to go ahead and get finished, because after that, the pump dropped right into position and clicked into place.

But, you know, I didn't know what God had on His mind, so I had to UNCLICK it and turn it and take it back out again, then put it in and twist and click it AGAIN, just to make SURE I had it in the right place and hadn't maybe by mistake done it wrong. I would like to request that in the future God speak directly to me like he does with Pat Robertson. And to be as specific as possible. "Moron," etc.

SO, all back in place, all that's left is to put the pump lid and rubber seal back in place, and spin on the big Mason jar blue plastic ring!

YEA!

Held the lid in place, and threaded the ring on. Hmm. That's not right. Off. Try again. Down--ooops--cross-threaded. Off. On. Oops. That's not it either. Off. Turn ring. On, too tight--that's wrong. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Repeat for THIRTY MINUTES!!

&^^$@*&!*!(&#@&!@*!!!

&*$*$^@#^!!~)(*

For some reason--I guess because the screw threads on the ring were so large and coarse, it would get cross-threaded every single time I put it on. I did and undid it so many times I thought--well, I thought bad thoughts. If the tank was only on the ground in front of me, the ring would have just spun right on, I was sure of it.

FINALLY, I managed to get it on the tank straight, and got the rubber seal in place, and the lid right were it needed to be, and it went on without further muss or fuss. Tapped it tight with my hammer and plastic tool, and it was all ready to put back together.

Threaded the outlet hose back 'round all the wires, gingerly hoisted the tank back up into position, fidgeted around and got the tank straps together and held with their bolt, reinstalled the fuel filter and bracket, tightened up the retaining straps, reinstalled the fuel lines, reinstalled the fuel filler hose, and filled it back up with a couple of gallons of gas. Plugged back in the fuel filter fuse.

Moment of truth time.

It's three o'clock now--fully five hours after I started. Five hours spent on a job that in retrospect really could have been done in only a couple of hours, had I known what needed to be done and not gotten all confused and sore and gassy smelling.

I got Reba to come out and told her to switch on the key while I was underneath--I had just buttoned everything back up, but if I didn't hear that tell-tale buzzing of the pump running, I was going to be in awfully bad shape.

I once more crawled underneath the car--"Okay."

"WHAT!?"

"Turn the key!"

"WHAT!?"

"TURN. THE. KEY!"

::clik:: BZZZZZT.

Ahhhhhh.

All is right with the world!

I had her hit it a few more times to get some gas pumped up to the fuel rail, then I hopped up and cranked it. Cranked right up on the first try. Ran like it should.

SUCCESS!

Friends, there is nothing quite so relieving as having fixed something that REALLY needed to be fixed.

Turned it back off, put up my tools, got the jackstands out, lowered the car, and did a quick test drive to go get some fresh gas and see how it did. By the way, the two gallons I put in it made it go back up over a quarter of a tank, so I figure I left around a couple in there, even with all my aerobic pumping activity. Turns out it was over half full of gas. Oops.

Anyway, it drove just fine--no missing, bucking, backfiring, chugging, chuffing, or anything else.

I might be a moron for having torn into this, but in the eyes of my wife, I am quite the amazing mechanic and manly man. In the eyes of my eldest daughter, I am quite the maddeningly slow cheapskate who won't let her have ANY freedom, by insisting that the car sit in the garage until he can fix it himself rather than take it somewhere, but luckily one who was able to get if fixed (not that it was really that big of a deal) before school started today so that her life is not further ruined.

Hey, one outta two ain't so bad, I don't guess.

Now then, as for the REST of the weekend...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:30 AM | Comments (9)

::clik:: BZZZZZT

Quite possibly one of the most gratifying sounds you're likely ever to hear.

Of course, this is predicated first upon you spending four hours wallowing around on a rough concrete driveway spilling gasoline all over yourself and contorting yourself into shapes no fat man should ever be contorted into. After you do that (and a few other things) the click of an ignition switch and the buzzing of a fuel pump are like listening to a mass choir singing the Hallelujah Chorus.

In other words, the fuel pump swap on the Focus was undertaken and successfully completed without blowing anything up! Hooray!

The longer version of the story--and a story it is--follows later. I gots junk to do this morning (as always) and so I beg your patience. And just to be safe, please extinguish any open flames.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:30 AM | Comments (2)

January 05, 2007

Luckily for me...

...Saturdays are PLENTY unboring!

Tomorrow's version of Saturday promises to be full of fun and/or calamity, in that I'll be changing out (finally) the fuel pump in the Focus. This requires dropping the gas tank and avoiding igniting explosive gasoline vapors (and myself) in the process. And, of course, it can't be simple, and there's all sorts of jiggery-pokery underneath the car just to get TO the gas tank, and I'll be trying to wrench with one hand and hold the Haynes manual with the other, while lying on the ground and supporting various underchassis metal objects using my head and a broken piece of wood. Sometime in there, Reba will be taking Youngest to a birthday party, meaning I'll be left to the tender mercies of gravity and volatile organic compounds, with only the slightest hope that if I'm crushed or exploded, one of the kids in the house will notice and decide to make an effort at calling 911. As long as it doesn't require pausing the latest version of 'Super Pokemon Red Stripe Contest Battle GO!' or missing anything on television.

But you know what? I sorta like being left alone to do my lonely manly battle with recalcitrant inanimate objects. It's actually relaxing, in a way. And it sure beats having to do laundry. Or using my new vacuum cleaner.

ANYway, all that and more this weekend--tune in again Monday and we'll see what all I tear up!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:52 PM | Comments (2)

Has anyone else...

...ever noticed how slow Fridays are?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:19 PM | Comments (0)

January 04, 2007

Pants.

Why, it's enough to make me want to wear them to work on a regular basis!

My inlaws got me a couple pairs of the nicer quality Haggar dress pants for Christmas, and I've worn them (the pants, not the inlaws) yesterday and today, and I have to tell you I think I'm hooked.

I usually buy the old reliable (i.e., cheaper) version and while they are nice and long-wearing, the fabric feels a bit off or something. But these new ones? Whatever sort of poly/wool blend it is drapes nicely, almost like silk, and it's soft and smooth and cool-feeling and during the day I often find myself desiring nothing more than to fondle my pants legs.

Add to this that they don't have pleats or cuffs, the fabric isn't shiny, and they have a cleverly disguised magically stretchy waistband, and it's just about all a husky boy could want in a pair of trousers!

Oh, sure, I know there are probably some of you who will yearn for the days when I would stroll pantsless down 20th Street during my lunch hour, but with these great new slacks, those memories may have to remain just that--memories.


By the way, this is not a compensated endorsement for Haggar, however I would be more than willing to accept as many pairs of these pants as they'll send me.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:09 AM | Comments (4)

January 03, 2007

Y'know the worst thing?

About this whole head cold/tuberculosis thing I've got?

It's not the inability to breathe or the lethargy or the shouldn't-look-but-must-anyway reflex after using a tissue, but rather it's the sharp stabby pains in my eyeballs. All the rest of the symptoms aren't really all that bad, but that feeling of having an angry drunken knife-wielding imp wedged inside my eye sockets is really rather distracting.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:57 PM | Comments (0)

Smoker's Laugh

Stopped on the way home yesterday at the hair-cutting place to get sheared. It had gotten unruly and had that ugly roll of wiry curls at the bottom in the back that wasn't quite long enough to make a good mullet, but not short enough to be acceptably neat. Just looked ratty.

Anyway, signed my name, and resigned myself to not getting who I wanted. It was a completely different crew from the usual crowd, and none with the bubbly weird-haired vivaciousness of the usual cast of young perky chubby girls. The older ladies usually do a better job, but aren't nearly so talkative, unless it's to ask if you want your ear hair trimmed. I think the young girls are too embarrassed or grossed out to ask. Which is fine by me.

SO, waited for a bit, then got called back to the chair by one of the ladies with the youthful bobbed 'do, who sat me down and strangled me with the cape neckband. I tried to explain how I wanted it cut--"shorter-ish, all over, and thinned, and then something up the back so it doesn't look wooly. Kinda."

And off she went.

As I guessed, no conversation to amount to anything, just her occasional hoarse interjection to one of her coworker's questions. I don't know--maybe she had a cold like I've got, but I think her husky-voicedness was more the result of a two-pack-a-day Virginia Slims habit than a rhinovirus.

She more or less got toward the end, indicated by the huge pile of hair on me and the floor, and as usual, asked about my need for a trim of the disgusting old man hair growth on places other than my scalp. "You want me to trim your eyebrows?"

Now having gotten so aged and advanced in years, the fur atop my eyes is longer than it was when I was young, and occasionally even distracting, but I promise that even at its worst, I am no John L. Lewis. In most cases, errant strands can be coaxed back into a small caterpillarish shape, and in doing so help even out their appearance. For some reason, my eyestaches are a bit thin on the ends, so having some extra help from the center doesn't hurt anything. But if the center is trimmed too much, I'd wind up looking like I didn't have any eyebrows at all. So, I passed on the trim.

"Uh, well, no thanks--they're sorta thin on the sides, so I use the other part as something like an eyebrow comb-over."

Just a silly throw-away line, but it tickled her to no end, and despite sounding like she was going to force up a lung doing it, she gave a hearty phlegmy chuckle at the notion of a man having an eyebrow comb-over.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:17 AM | Comments (11)

Anyway...

...not too bad of a morning, actually. The meeting, as meetings aren't usually wont to do, went dashingly well, which was nice for a change. Still have much transcribing to do, and while not actually looking forward to the task (it being, after all, actual work), I don't have the usual deep-seated resentment and dread I usually harbor before beginning such an assignment.

Yet.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:27 AM | Comments (0)

January 02, 2007

Oh, yeah.

Sure was nice not to have to go to stupid meetings while I was off from work. Just had an hour-long one that was a marvel of intricately-crafted idiocy.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:59 PM | Comments (0)

I hate Christmas.

Not really--it's just part of my plan to be bold and edgy this year. I actually hate cleaning up from Christmas. Especially vacuuming. I've mentioned it before, but of all tasks, vacuuming is the one thing I hate more than all other things. And I'm the only one who will use the vacuum in my house. Grr.

Anyway, we got the tree boxed away yesterday, and in a perfect recreation of a live tree, it scattered an assortment of needles all over the carpet. Got out the good ol' Eureka upright that came to our marriage via Miss Reba, started it up, and it made a horrible loud sound. It's actually been making a variation of this sound for a while, but yesterday's was nearly unbearable.

Couldn't see anything obviously amiss underneath, until I started looking a bit deeper where the plastic suction impeller was located. Hmm.

Several big chunks were gone. Which probably explains the weird loudness of the thing, and the fact that it had gotten to where it wouldn't pick up anything. Also probably explains that horrible clanking and clattering wheezing noise it made several weeks ago.

::sigh::

I think it's time for a new vacuum.

SO, I set off for the store yesterday.

Why are there so many choices? There must have been twenty different types of vacuum cleaners there on the shelf at Wally World, indistinguishable in most instances except for their colors. I started out thinking that I liked the bagless kind, so that narrowed the choice down to only 18.

Then there's something you have to figure out between your normal bagless and the super terrific neato keen cyclonic action bagless, which if you go for the tornado-in-a-tube type, further narrows things to about 15.

This is where is got confusing, because there were dual and single cyclonic things, and some were pricier but not for any particular reason other than having three more shiny things, and some had fifteen filters and some had only nine and some had lights and some had gizmos and some had jigglers and some had Edge Suction Power 2400 Technology and every single one of them boasted 987% More Cleaning Power! than everyone else.

None of them were guaranteed not to break on New Year's Day while you were trying to vacuum up fake fir needles.

I finally settled on a Hoover Fusion Cyclonic Upright Vacuum, mainly because its filters didn't have to be replaced, just washed out with water. Only problem is that I feel like an absolute clown using the thing--just look at it! It's a lurid combination of red and blue plastic that looks like a kid's toy, with all the weird lumpiness and faux-technosity of the peculiar looking Dyson models. Vacuuming is bad enough, but who wants to look like something out of a bad Japanese comic book while doing it!?

Oh well.

It works very well--too well. I never knew how much grunge was in that one little section of floor. It was easy to dump the junk out, though, and it is nice having all the various tools on the machine instead of slumped in the bottom of a closet. It does have a headlamp, which is of dubious utility, and a handle on the bottom so you can use it to clean stairs, which has always been one of those nice things to have that not everyone designs in.

Somehow, I don't think it'll last as long at the one I let my sister have, that my mother had given me when she got a new one. Best I can tell, we originally got it around 1976 or so, given its Harvest Gold color and The Price is Right flower-patterned bag. Anyway, as far as I know, it's still working just fine.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:04 AM | Comments (5)

Then again, maybe I wasn't.

Remember that cold I had?

I really wasn't that bad, and was more or less gone after about three days.

Well, it came back with a vengeance about a week ago, and managed to infect everyone in the house.

Blech.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:07 AM | Comments (0)

Santa done brung me...

...a whole wad of stuff. I got four dress shirts (which are shirts you dress up nice in, not shirts that double as dresses), about six or eight ties, two pairs of slacks (which become quite taut once stretched around my muscular lower limbs), about five pairs of blue jeans (which is really strange, since I don't wear blue jeans that much, but hey), the book Flags of Our Fathers, a bunch of new socks, a souped-up Crescent wrench with the automatically opening and closing jaw, a trunk organizer for the Volvo, and a couple of gift cards. The Barnes and Noble one from my brother- and sister-in-law I used to get a new wall calender and a bunch of bargain-priced books (because I need more books), and the Wal-Mart one from my mom I used for a new electric razor and a pair of shoes to replace my Dockers deck shoes that have begun to make my heels hurt REALLY badly.

I must have been a very good boy.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:29 AM | Comments (6)

This is not me.

T.O. finds his calling

I will say that Mr. Knight would be advised not to touch me.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:03 AM | Comments (5)

Hmm.

So this is 2006+1, eh?

Well, color me unimpressed.

However, I must say the tail end of '06 was particularly nice and relaxing and full of Clausian booty and oddly enough, I even managed to LOSE five pounds while I was off. I have no idea how that happened.

ANYway, as usual, lots of stuff to catch up on in the next few hours--mostly of a work-related nature, sadly enough. That's the thing about being off for a week. You come back and have two weeks worth of work to do.

SO, more to come as the morning drags on and time becomes available to post.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:57 AM | Comments (0)

December 22, 2006

Until we meet again next year...

xmaspossum sm.jpg

...give your family a big hug and kiss, and tell them how much you love them. As I've noted, I'll be off next week, and will be back to blogging sometime in The Ought-Seven.

May God's blessings be upon you all.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:10 PM | Comments (3)

Boy, Art People are odd.

Walking back from the museum, I came out of the doorway and immediately to my right noticed something peculiar. A woman, of youngish-middling age and thickish-middling figure, with short hair and the dark framed glassed favored by those with artistic pretensions, had gone and plopped herself onto the base of the big ugly statue in front of the museum.

She sat there holding some books and other junk, supremely casual in that self-consciously casual way Artistic Sorts have when they think they're being boldly clever and naughty and coloring outside the lines and shocking the rubes with their flippant nose-thumbing directed toward the "rules" of "civilized" people.

But you know, that was an awful lot of effort for very little in the way of reward. The statue sits up a slight rise in the front yard of the building, across about five feet of grass. And it's been raining. So the ground was undoubtably soggy. Probably just like the top of the stone base itself. Which is probably around thirty inches up off the sodden lawn. And actually pretty small when it comes to being useful as a place to sit and gaze upon the world gazing back at you in amazement at your cleverness. Not really a good place to get both the ol' hams up there, you know? And no place to set your books and other ephemera.

So the whole attempt to look however it was that she wanted to look came off looking much more comical than she probably intended for it to. Next time I think I'd use the handy park benches scattered about the downtown area.

IN ANY EVENT, wound up with a couple of nice books for Miss Reba, because we just don't have enough books. First one is a big job on The Quilts of Gee's Bend. Her family is full of quilters (as is mine), although she's never done any herself (nor have I). But she still likes looking at them (as do I).

Second is one by Kathryn Tucker Windham, a tiny book called The Bridal Wreath Bush. Anything that in only 32 short pages makes a grown man tear up in public is a pretty good book.

A few more things to get tonight, and then I'm all done. Except for the wrapping.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:47 PM | Comments (1)

Now then...

...after the preceeding little ray of sunshine, it's time to get out in the icky rainy weather and go over to the art museum for a little bit of shopping for Miss Reba.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:18 PM | Comments (2)

Okay, now--where was I?

No, really. I seem to have gotten lost in this blizzard of paper.

ANYway, last night was Christmas shopping night for the youngsters, with a brief bit of civic dutifulness ahead of time. Met up with Miss Reba at the house, unloaded work stuff, and then headed out for a quick bite before my meeting.

Stopped at a local joint called Willy T.'s, which is known amongst the fair dwellers of The Gateway to Happy Living for its delecatable fried chicken strips. Walked in and was greeted by a chipper young lady of beauty queen good looks with the news that they had no fried chicken ready.

Reminds me of the time in the long ago when my folks and sister and I were on vacation and stopped at a Waffle House, and they had no waffles.

ANYway, we got ourselves each a cheeseburger, which was of the big old-timey mom-and-pop handmade type, and it was quite good. Aside from an unmistakable flavor of char in certain bites. I blame that on the kid in the back manning the grill who had pierced ears with those great huge black spools in them.

On then down the street to City Hall, dithered about, did our quasi-judicial thing, and then it was time to run up Santa's credit card debt.

First, to Sam's, where we picked up a nice little portable DVD player for Middle Girl, a CD for one of the other kids, and some baklava for the Christmas grazing table at work. (By the way, this seems to have gone over very well. It's only 10:16 and it's just about gone.)

Next stop, Wal-Mart, looking for something for Cat, who has been wanting--of all things--a guitar. I'm not sure if you've ever noticed, but learning to play a guitar (which she will have to do, seeing as how she doesn't know how) requires an attention span of longer than five seconds. I was willing to get her something inexpensive, but all of the other parents in similar situations had apparently beaten me to all the budget-priced models. So, no deal on that. Santa can be very cruel that way. Did manage to find a couple more CDs and the "Deal or No Deal" DVD game. (Trust me--Tiny Terror wanted this more than a guitar, and at least she WILL play it for more than five minutes.)

So far, despite all the wandering about and looking, not a lot in the way of things. Hard to buy for people who have everything, you know. ::cough::MissReba::cough::

Next stop, Best Buy to see about picking out a CD player for the Focus. We've been promising Oldest since before she turned 16 that we'd get a CD player installed in it so she could listen to something other than the horrible old-fashioned abominations known as "cassette tapes." Why, one might as well have a giant Victrola strapped to the hood as have to endure such things! Anyway, despite the avidly disaffected "assistance" offered by the sales staff, we STILL managed to find a relatively nice Sony model (the slammin' jammin' CDXGT510, dude!). If I ran Best Buy, I would have a spot on the employment application that says the applicant agrees to not wander around with his mouth hanging open all the time. Also got Boy a GameBoy game and a DVD of something or other.

ON TO TARGET, where we looked again for an inexpensive bestring-ed musical instrument, and again came up with nothing. Found another CD. Purchased it from a young man who never let our patronage interrupt the conversation he was having with his associate. If I ran Target, I would have a spot on the employment application that says the applicant agrees to at least pretend to be interested in the person who's helping to pay his salary, and at least acknowledge paying customers while they are at the cash register--even if this means taking a break from a conversation with someone else.

By now, it was 11:00. Too late to go to the bookstore, where we still had some things to get.

Oh well.

On to home, unloaded the gifts, hid them away, and crawled into bed.

It's very tiring being Santa.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:38 AM | Comments (0)

Silly ol' work!

Due to the impending holidays, this morning is going to have to be Mailout Friday, so allow me to get all that out of the way and we'll play a bit in just a little while.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:10 AM | Comments (6)

December 21, 2006

Tonight?

Well, it promises to be a busy one. Got my local zoning board meeting to attend, and there's gonna be all sorts of eye-gouging and hair-pulling going on, so that should be entertaining. And then Miss Reba and I get to go do some final Christmas shopping for the children, having somehow managed to convince her mom and dad to let them spend the night tonight. I'm certain they're all getting along just fine today, and will continue in harmony throughout the night and throughout the day tomorrow.

I like to think that way, just to prove to myself that I still have an active imagination.

As for gifts, I still don't have anything for Reba. That's a bad thing. And she tends not to think it humorous when I place a bow upon my head and yell "Surprise!"

I suppose I will just rely on Santa Claus to make sure she gets something nice. He seems to know a lot about such things.

ANYway, see you all tomorrow!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:34 PM | Comments (0)

December 19, 2006

Well, yet another short day.

Gotta go pick up Middle Girl from school. She's supposed to be having a "captain's practice" for soccer (one where the team captains do the workout) but she wasn't quite sure if she was really going to have it or not. Heaven forbid that anyone actually use a telephone and find out...

ANYway, I need to skedaddle, so I'll see you all tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:59 PM | Comments (0)

"All I want for Christmas is a Ford fuel pump, a Ford fuel pump..."

Let me start off by saying that the Internet is the world's greatest invention if you know how to work on cars.

Oldest has been driving the Focus and aside from tearing up the tire and ripping off the passenger side mirror, hasn't had any other problems. Until last week, when she said it was acting "weird."

Normally, this I attribute to a loose nut behind the steering wheel. (But only as part of my internal monologue.)

She is so terrible at discerning reality that I couldn't tell if she was really having problems, or if it was just a normal thing that she had decided to take notice of, or simply a cover story for her having done something else to it.

SO, over the weekend, I finally got a chance to drive it. Started off fine, down the hill, over the bridge, stop at the Advance parts place to let them turn off the check engine light. The code was an old one that I've explored before--the old "low coolant temp" thing that is caused by a bad sensor. So, it's not that.

Drove a bit more, down Main Street, and then sure enough, it started missing a bit. Accelerate, stumble. Hmm. Turned, over the tracks, missing all the way, turn, turn, then back up the hill to the house, and then the popping and backfiring started.

Well. It really is running weird, and obviously not something that seemed to be driver-induced. I got it home and did an underhood check and ran the mental checklist--low speed, idles fine. No obvious vacuum leaks. Got spark on all four. Seems like it could be a clogged fuel filter or something.

She drove it yesterday and reported it was worse, and so I decided to turn to the Giant Oracle of the Ether to see if there was anything online about what might be causing the problem.

Sure enough, after about ten seconds of searching found that certain '00-'01 Focusseses had problems with clogging fuel delivery modules, which is a fancy term for a fuel pump. Same problems as mine--bucking, backfiring, missing, and Ford had agreed to extend the warranty on these models and replace the pumps. Neat.

Except.

I called the Wizards of Dearborn and gave them my VIN, and since mine was a later date of manufacture, it's not covered under the warranty.

::shakes fist at Henry Ford::

So--what to do? First, find out from a friendly local dealer that replacing the fuel pump is a $500 job.

And then found out that I could save about $450 if I do it myself. Seems there are several (thousand) other folks who have had the same problem, and more than a few who took the time to post online the procedure for changing out the pump. All I have to do is get a new pump, which again are about half the price if you order an aftermarket part online rather than from the factory. In fact, if I wanted to, I even found a fellow who says that the problem can be fixed without even replacing the pump by giving it a thorough cleaning.

Problems?

Well, replacing it or cleaning it requires dropping the gas tank, which isn't hard, but isn't exactly easy, either. You have to depressurize the fuel system (again, instructions online for this, thank goodness) and it requires some jacking and such, but I've dropped tanks before, and it's worth doing it myself if it's gonna cost this much.

Anyway, the way I figure it, I have (or will have) saved myself about a thousand bucks doing my own work on this car. It's been a good car, and fun to drive, but there were some gremlins in the early models that didn't get worked out--the ignition switch (which I had to do surgery on, saving myself around $300); the leaking cabin air intake box (which I had to leakproof, saving myself around $200), and now this little ordeal.

All that to say that the Internet and its storehouse of knowledge is one of the greatest economic equalizers out there--even if I didn't have the tools and junk to do this myself, at least I would have more information than blindly relying on the good nature of a local mechanic. And since I DO know how to do things like this, the depth of the information available is truly amazing. Sure, you have to do some looking, and some research to make sure you aren't doing the wrong thing, but it's a minor investment of time.

If you're trying to keep a car (old or new) running by doing your own work, it's hard to beat the information available nowadays.

So, thanks, Internet!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:29 AM | Comments (6)

This mad social whirl simply must come to an end!

I wonder if this is what it's like for the Vanderbilts and Astors, what with all the glittering parties and nonstop gaity and stuff?

Probably so.

Prompted by the Scout Christmas party last night, which was held in the fellowship hall over at the Methodist church. Nice year end wrap-up, and Jonathan got to do a short presentation on the campout at Rushton, which he got a special notation for by actually writing something down beforehand to say, rather than just get up and not say anything.

Then it was time for Christmas songs, and I finally figured out what the words to Frosty the Snowman are. I usually get caught right after "two eyes made out of coal" and sing the rest using the old standby yada yada. Had to make an emergency run during the cavalcade of songs as a certain tiny girl waited five microseconds too long to excuse herself to go to the restroom, leaving a wet spot on the back of her jeans and necessitating a quick trip home for dry pants. Got back and snack time was underway, and then the final culmination of the evening's activities.

And let me say this--whoever came up with Dirty Santa should be shot on sight.

It wouldn't be so bad if one person bought all the gifts so that there was a consistent quality. It wouldn't be so bad if people didn't try to cheap out on the gift. It wouldn't be so bad if people were nice about it.

But none of this happens. Invariably, there are one or two gifts everyone wants, several rather innocuous ones, and some that are obviously the stuff that was on clearance at the Dollar Store. And invariably, you buy a nice gift, it gets taken away by someone who's a jerk, and you go home with crap. Boy, that's REALLY the spirit of the season, eh?

Anyway, now Catherine has two more plastic recorders to squeak loudly around the house with, since Jonathan wasn't so excited about them and gave them to her.

SO, thus ended another one of the many social engagements of the year, and we got home after 9:00, which played havoc with everyone's getting-ready-for-bed schedule.

Eh, who needs sleep, right?

Right!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:39 AM | Comments (2)

December 18, 2006

As I was saying...

Boy, I wish they'd hire an extra secretary.

As for the rest of the weekend, Sunday we went to church and then over across the county for lunch and gift-swapping with Oldest's grandparents then back across town for the kids to have a meeting for one of their innumerable activities, and then, instead of doing the smart thing and taking a nap for an hour or so, I stayed awake, which meant that when the evening service rolled around, I was REALLY struggling to stay awake.

And failing miserably.

I would catch myself drifting off, and couldn't do a thing about it, and almost immediately I would wind up in one of those weird conscious dreams where you hear the background noise around you but you imagine you're in a completely different place and doing things and then you realize you should be awake and so you raise your head back up and nod sagely, to emphasize that the statement just made was profound and worth nodding in affirmation, until you decide to look down again to follow along in the Bible on your lap, and you drift away again, oblivious to the fact that you don't in fact HAVE a Bible on your lap, but it doesn't matter because you find yourself as a manager at a grocery store and you're making change for a cashier before rousing yourself back to full consciousness and rubbing your eye as if something was bothering it.

I usually can do pretty well, but for some reason I got a nap-jerk in one of those drifting-away spells. You know how you feel like you're about to fall off the bed right when you're going to sleep, and you startle yourself awake? That's what I did, except it felt like I was stepping down a step and lost my footing, and so my leg jerked, and I jerked, and then I had to figure out a way to make it look like my foot was cramping or hurting or something, so I leaned down and rubbed it. Apparently it worked, because later Rebecca said she thought I'd popped my ankle.

On back to home, unloaded the car, ate supper, and then set in to finish up my work. I'd e-mailed myself my stuff I was working on so diligently last week so I could finish it up over the weekend and have some time for other things this week. Apparently, those other things will just have to wait, because now it's time for me to go BACK and take another shift at the front desk.

::sigh::

Be back in a bit.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:52 AM | Comments (11)

Wouldn't you know it.

I was about to yammer about Sunday (not that anything happened, but, hey, when has that ever stopped me), but I've got to go cover the front desk in the absence of our secretary.

::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:15 AM | Comments (0)

Well, let's see.

As for the head cold, it's breaking up sorta, although now all of my bodily fluids smell like Mucinex.

Friday night, got out and went to the super-convenient new shopping center over on the other hill. I really like having a JC Penney that close. Aside from the fact that it causes us to spend money.

Saturday morning we got up and after a while, I figured out that it was going to be just Catherine and I going to the Christmas party for the kids from church. Reba couldn't get going, none of the other kids could get going, and there was a giant mound of laundry to do, so it was decided that since it had gotten so late, they'd stay behind, and maybe eventually get out and go do some family Christmas shopping while we were gone.

SOooo, loaded up the Volvo with foodstuffs for the party (roll-up ham sandwiches, brownies, chips, soft drinks) and a gift for Catherine for Santa to give her, and my alter-ego superhero costume.

This is getting a bit depressing.

Just like Halloween, when Jonathan and Rebecca were too old to want to go trickertreating, they were too old for this party, too, since it was just for kids up through the fifth grade. So it was just Cat and me again, and she was awfully quiet on the drive. Maybe she was preoccupied by the scenery, because it was truly a gorgeous day--bright blue skies, temperatures a Spring-like 70 degrees. But I think she was just being quiet for some other reason.

Got to the appointed home and found ourselves as the first arrival. After a brief bit of horror that maybe I had either gotten the date or time or place wrong, I figured we were okay when I saw the host waving out the window at me. Got out, Catherine played with the frightening-looking brindled pit bull mix that was lounging on the driveway and we trundled our stuff inside. And thankfully, more people began showing up just then, so she would have some hyperactive company to interact with.

Stowed my costume in a back bedroom, we ate lunch, the kids (who by now numbered five in all) had a few games of an aggressive competitive nature and then retired to the living room to sing Christmas carols, which was my cue to make my exuent and change.

Off with my civvies, then on with the pants, boots, smock--begin sweating profusely--belt, beard, wig, hat. HO!

I clomped back through the house and made my grand entrance as Kris Kringle with all the loud-mouthed abandon I could muster. It's probably wrong of me, but whenever I dress up as Santa, something comes over me and I act a bit too jolly and wry and slightly crazed. Santa always blames this on having to ride in a sleigh behind eight tiny reindeer. Santa has a line of patter that is half Groucho, half Jonathan Winters, and half Uncle Bubba who no one likes to invite over for the holidays because he invariably does something that makes someone uncomfortable.

The kids seem to like it, though, and the adults do, too. I had told Catherine beforehand that I was going to dress up, and for her not to tell any of the little kids so it wouldn't spoil the surprise, and she was a perfect helper. I jabbered like an insane man, asked the kids what they wanted for Christmas, distributed the gifts, made a grand and dramatic exit, went and changed back into my regular clothes, and expressed deep remorse that I had somehow managed to miss Santa Claus.

They kids played a while longer and then I gathered Cat up and we headed back home. She was in a bit more talkative mood on the way home, but I have a feeling that this might be her last little kid Christmas party, and no matter how pretty the day was, it still wasn't bright and sunny enough to make up for that twinge of remorse.

On to home, and found that everyone was in the same clothes as when we'd left, but they all eventually got ready and off we went to Target to shop for each other.

Such confusion. We had to have the parents to buy stuff, but the question was how to divide up the four kids so that each could get the others' stuff without them knowing it. What we finally settled on was for Reba and I to take two kids, who would each buy for the other two, then we'd check out separately, put the stuff in the car, then come back and swap one kid, and then we'd go and pick out the gift for the one each had been partnered with previously, then check out again.

Sound confusing?

You just don't know. But somehow it all worked out.

Home, unload, got everyone clean, and then into bed.

That was a long day.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:35 AM | Comments (2)

Ol' Mr. Swirly-head Returns!

Good morning, everyone!

A long and confusing weekend, full of nasal congestion and ho-ho-hoing and stuff such as that right there. More to come in a few minutes after I remember all that I forgot.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:14 AM | Comments (2)

December 15, 2006

Yes, it's been an awful week for blogging.

Sometimes it's like that around here--one minute there's all sorts of sparkling wit and clever repartee, and then for the next several months there's nothing but twaddle.

Hopefully next week will see some of the cobwebs clear out of my head. Not that the weekend ahead will provide any restful, cobweb-clearing potential. Got a party for the little kids at church tomorrow, and guess who gets to dress up in his Santa suit?

Yep.

::sigh::

There's all sorts of other stuff I think I'm supposed to be doing as well this weekend, but for the life of me, I can't remember what they are. Then again, maybe I'm just not trying very hard...

ANYWAY, sorry for the overabundance of bland swill this week, please do check back in next week to see if it gets any better. I'm betting not, but sometimes I surprise myself.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:06 PM | Comments (2)

Sheer madness.

Bad thing about being stopped up and feeling all swirly in the head? Well, for some reason, I become sensitized to noises that most of the time I ignore.

"Such as?"

Glad you asked.

I'm not quite sure, but I strongly believe that the HVAC system in our building (heating, ventilation, and air conditioning) is of a type known as a "variable air volume" type. Basically, you've got air of a relatively constant temperature blowing through the ducts at all times, and there are little motorized dampers inside little boxes all along the way that feed off of a big trunk, and those little dampers are controlled by a thermostat that tells them to either let more air through or constrict the airflow to a particular room or set of rooms, depending on the needs of that particular area.

There's one in the ceiling out in the corridor outside my office.

It's operating right now. How do I know? I can hear it cycling. Over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, all day long.

It's a tiny little mechanical noise, something almost like a metal cicada--gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri.

Gri-gri-gri.

Gri-gri.

Gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri.

Gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri.

Gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri-gri.

Gri.

Gri-gri-gri-gri-gri.

Gri-gri.

All day long, the tiny little actuator is busily opening and closing its little damper, working hard to ensure that its thermostatic master is completely and utterly satisfied at every single microsecond during the day. Open, close. Close more. Open. Open, open, open, open. CLOSE. Close. Close, close, close. Open. Close. Close. Clo-no, wait, open. Open.

Such things I don't notice so much when my head's not all stopped up.

I must say it's rather on the annoying side.



AARRGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:19 PM | Comments (2)

So, what's on tap for today?

I have no idea, but I hope it doesn't involve operating heavy machinery. I took a couple of Mucinex this morning, and the stopped-up wet furry feeling in my head has been replaced by a dryish swirliness that feels as though I'm walking downhill all the time. So, I guess that means no bulldozer practice this morning.

Darn.

OH, by the way--we got to go see Catherine sing last night with the elementary school choir. Wow. It was held in the gym, and the place was packed with people. Honest to goodness, standing-room-only crowd. The kids did very, very well, although there seemed to be quite a few with ants in their pants. Including one little girl on the back row who, in addition to singing for all she was worth, also showed how she could hop up and down and twist to and fro.

Little stinker.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:18 AM | Comments (6)

December 13, 2006

Why, yes, I AM still alive.

It has been an exceptionally long morning, made exceptionallier longer by the fact that I have contracted some sort of head-blockage.

Downside? It feels like I'm swimming in a pool full of wet cat fur when I walk.

Upside? My voice has a nice, deep, husky tone to it that makes me sound very much like Raymond Burr.

Anyway, no time to play, and so I need someone to host tomorrow's Thursday Three. PLEASE--we ask you not to all rush headlong and willy-nilly in your efforts to be the first to volunteer! While your enthusiasm is understandable in light of the tremendous prestige such an assignment brings, you must be nice to each other and not cause an indecorous mob scene! Drop me an e-mail or leave a note in the comments below if you are willing to take on this grand and glorious task.

As usual, monetary compensation will be offered, and will be based upon the amount of currency we have in petty cash. At the moment, it appears to be approximately seven cents and a button.


UPDATE: WE IS SAVED!!

Noted East Carolina doctor of philosophy Jim Smith has been selected from the vast wriggling pool of volunteers to host tomorrow's Thursday Three.

Congratulations, sir!

SO, everyone be sure to check in first thing bright and early tomorrow, and see what sorts of questions Dr. Smith has for us.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:20 PM | Comments (4)

December 12, 2006

Wow--THAT was a short day!

I have a meeting to attend, so it's time to hang up the Closed sign and scurry away until tomorrow. And wouldn't you know it, but I have another one of those early morning convocations of bureaucratic taskmasters tomorrow, so there will be absolutely NO Possumblog until much later in the day.

We apologize for the poor service, quality, and portion size. However, we do remind you that we still provide a tremendous value on the dollar, and that shirt and shoes are not required in order to be served.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:26 PM | Comments (2)

December 11, 2006

Well, yes...

...it WAS cold on Friday night. Thankfully, the wind that brought the Alberta Clipper that came through Thursday night had died down, so it was only cold, not cold and windy, which as I have noted over and over, I hate.

Had to stay until 9:00, and it wound up being just me and one of the moms, the boys having abandoned us and gone inside to keep from being cold. Wimps.

Saturday, up early and over to the high school to pick up all of our fruit orders. For some reason, Reba bought a whole bunch. If anyone would like me to give you the gift of Indian River citrus for the holidays, please give me a call and I'll send you several cases.

Then it was off to the Galleria.

Which I didn't want to do, but someone in the family wanted to go get Mom a necklace, and the closest store that had it was way over there in Hoover. I had intended to come back after picking up the fruit and take a shower and shave and put on something relatively decent looking. I got back to the house and found that everyone had magically gotten dressed and were ready to go.

The one time when I could have done with everyone doing just like they usually do and be ready to go two hours late, and they decide to all be ready.

So, off with us all and we dropped off my mom's order to her house, then the family and I went to the largest enclosed shopping mall in the state--one that tries ever so hard to be spiffy and swanky and upper-crustity--and I'm dressed in dirty jeans, a ratty Auburn sweatshirt with long john shirt on underneath, a disreputable ball-cap emblazoned with the Barber Motorsports Park logo, and a two-day growth of face-grizzle. And I REALLY think I should have had a shower first. Really.

Anyway, I needn't have worried. I was dressed better than at least 15% of the people in the mall. Although in fairness, they were TRYING to look sloppy, and my derelict-look wasn't something I desired.

Oh well.

Home, dropped everyone off, and got Boy and off we went for our final tour of duty on the tree lot. We'd stopped at the grocery store and gotten some stuff to eat, and sat there for a minute or two trying to eat inconspicuously. Boy, it was busy. And as I noted earlier, we just about got rid of all of them by the time we left.

Home again, and finally got to fix the mirror on the Focus. Which was made slightly more difficult by the fact that Lightning's little cat condominium was still in the garage, and he was mightily interested in seeing what I was doing and was constantly reaching out between his picket fence and trying to snag my arm or back with one (or more) of his razor sharp kitteny claws. It was difficult enough to work on it without having to slide in a narrow space and put up with a wacky feline. But I did get it changed out and the new one looks very nice.

I sure hope it doesn't mysteriously fall off again.

We had supper, and I took a bath and shaved (finally), and then Mr. Fatigue broke into the house and hit me in the head with a mallet, which explains why I wound up collapsing in the bed at 9:00 o'clock.

Sunday, up early, breakfasted, got to church, good class, good sermon, then home where we decided it was time for Mr. Kitty to move his domicile back outside. Rolled it back around and cleaned it out, all while wearing our Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes. Probably not a great idea. Also fixed the wind chime, which had gotten lopsided because a set of the hanging strings broke. THEN it was time for lunch, then a break for about two minutes, then time to take Oldest and Middle Girl over to a local congregation for Bible Bowl, and then after that, straight back home to pick up the Mommy and the Boy and the Tiny Terror to get back to our church for a meeting at 4:30, then sat for a while, then we had our evening service, then home, then supper, then read the paper, then Mr. Fatigue ONCE AGAIN snuck in and hit me with a mallet, and harder than the last time.

It wouldn't be so easy for him, except I'm so clogged up I can't hear him coming up behind me.

Anyway, it was the usual weekend of too much stuff crammed into too little time.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:06 AM | Comments (0)

Good Morning!!

I hope you had a very restful and quiet weekend, and all that stuff. Me? Oh, it was nice and quiet around the ol' homestead for me, too. Then again, I could just be hallucinating. ANYway, more in a bit after I remember what I'm doing.

Oh, and thank goodness all the trees got sold. There were about 20 left when Boy and I clocked out at 5 on Saturday, and the rest got gone between then and Sunday afternoon. It was pretty fun, and you DO tend to get some real characters shopping for trees.

One gentleman bought a tree and since I was wearing an Auburn sweatshirt, couldn't resist telling me that Alabama had managed to hire a new coach, but they had to go all the way to China to find him.

The new coach's name?


Wen-wun Soon

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:39 AM | Comments (0)

December 08, 2006

It's...

...very nearly that time of day!

Tree-selling with Boy tonight in the bitter, bitter, cold, then got to go pick up soccer-fundraising citrus orders at the high school first thing in the morning, then go BACK to selling trees with Boy one last time tomorrow afternoon, then I will check myself into the hospital for being both a moron and hypothermic.

I'm tired already. ANYway, all of you have a good weekend and I'll see you back here Monday. Please bring firewood.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:51 PM | Comments (3)

Baby, it's cold outside.

Not long before I left the house this morning, the official NOAA weather information was as follows:

6:53 AM
Temp: 17F
Dew Point: 6F
Relative Humidity: 62%
Winds: N 10MPH
Precip: 0.00
Visibility: 10.00
Sky: Clear
Altimeter: 30.67 In.
Wind Chill: 5F

That's just ridiculous.

But at least I'm all layered today--got my tighty-whitey briefs and tee-shirt, then my long thermal underwear top and bottom, then my regular work clothes, then had my field coat with liner and a big bundlesome pair of gloves and a toboggan in case I needed it. And I parked in the garage just to make sure the Volvo would turn over this morning (which it did).

Had to get gas this morning and did the bad thing of getting back in the car, which is just like playing with an atom bomb to hear the newpeople blather about it, because you can build up a static electricity charge a'sliding around in your nylon clothes on your nylon upholstery, and then when you get out and go grab the gas nozzle and that spark jumps to ground and lights off all that gasoline vapor, the whole filling station goes up in a conflagration of Graf Hindenburgean proportions.

Not to be a spoil-sport, but if you just touch the car or the metal column on the canopy or any other thing metal except the pump nozzle and ground yourself first, you should be spark-free. Mostly. (In any event, I think the bigger problem are the mouth-breathing loons who stand there with a lit cigarette butt in their slack jaws.)

Really, though, I don't think I would have minded a nice hot gasoline blaze this morning. Yes, I know it would have been an inconvenience for everyone, but, still. Anyway, it was warm inside the car, the way it should be.

Stopped off then at the post office next door and bothered the clerk by asking for stamps before she'd turned on all the Christmas tree lights. "Can't do anything 'til I'm plugged up!" I had no idea.

Then on to the orthodontist to let them put the bottom part of Boy's wires in. He got caught with a popcorn husk in one of his teeth, and was duly nagged for it. That'll teach him to eat popcorn. Or, more likely, teach him to floss before going to the orthodontist the next time.

Back to school with him, checked him in, and for some reason he wouldn't give me a big hug and a kiss before he went back to class.

And now, here we are. And I am sorry to say, I have NO KITTY PICTURES!!

Sorry, but it was very busy this morning and he was highly agitated from being in the unfamiliar garage, with the terrifying racket of the garage doors going up and down, so he probably wouldn't have wanted to sit still and be cute anyway.

So, no big loss, right?

Right.

Anyway, now for the rest of the show.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:17 AM | Comments (0)

December 07, 2006

Looking forward to "KITTY!" tomorrow?

Well, you'll just have to wait. Boy has to go to the mouthwire guy tomorrow morning, so your weekly serving of adorable kitten pictures will be a bit late.

I just hope he doesn't turn into a kittycicle tonight. Then again, being stiff would make him much easier to photograph.

ANYWAY, that's all for today.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:18 PM | Comments (0)

Okay, I'll admit it.

I'm a weakling, a wuss, a weinie, a...say--why do words for the weak-willed all have double-Ues? ANYWAY, I'm any sort of coward you can think of when I see stories like this:

Brrr! It's gonna be freezing!
Arctic air will chill Alabama for the next 24 to 48 hours as strong winds today carry bitter cold across the state. The lows for Birmingham are forecast to be 18 and 17 on Friday and Saturday mornings, said Ken Lorek, meteorologist with the National Weather Service in Calera. [..]

What good is global warming if I'm not warm!?

I hate cold weather like this. I don't find it refreshing or bracing or friskiness-inducing in the least. Yes, I know you folks up in the Yukon and Siberia think nothing of such temperatures and think I'm being a big fat baby, but if I wanted to live in a deep-freeze like that, I'd have left a long time ago. As an American, it is my right to have the outside temperature adjusted to meet my exact desires, and that's all there is to it!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:35 PM | Comments (13)

December 04, 2006

Managed to survive another one.

Everything went off more or less without a hitch--the lock-in did, however, create a problem in that Boy didn't go to sleep. Not at all. And so he was sleepy all weekend, which wasn't good for his early concert nor for his tree-selling duties, nor for getting up early Sunday to get ready for church. Also managed to wear out a new pair of socks by sliding on the carpet of the gym floor. ::sigh::

Concert was good, parade was quite fun, tree selling went just fine, church went well, got him a haircut on Sunday that returns him to a neat and clean-cut young man, laundry got done, &c., &c.

I haven't had time to have one moment's rest or respite from either having to go somewhere or do something or listen to someone or be charmingly suave, so if you don't mind, I'm going to do actual paying work this morning so I can relax just a little.

The fact that I am actually eager to do real work should tell you exactly how overabundantly full this weekend was.

Oh, and though it very nearly kills me to have to say it, congratulations to Florida on getting a shot at the national title, and to LSU for getting an opportunity to inflict a whooping on Notre Dame. Both Florida and LSU are great programs and it is quite rewarding to see them do this well. Especially since Auburn did beat both of them. (And as for the Tigers, time to get ready for the next opponent.)

Anyway, enough of that--let me get to work for a bit and relax.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:23 AM | Comments (2)

December 01, 2006

Well, let's see.

Tonight, Boy has a lock-in with the other Scouts, and then tomorrow morning I have to run back and get him and get him home so he can get cleaned up for his band concert which we will then all attend, and then from there go straight to the tree lot to sell more Christmas trees (with a possible change of clothes), and while we're doing that, Oldest will be at the Chamber of Commerce building complaining about being a volunteer and having to help with the Christmas parade, and around 2:00, Middle Girl will get to go and line up with all the girls from the high school soccer team to march in said Christmas parade behind the Whataburger Hummer (since Whataburger is now one of their sponsors), and hopefully we will get a chance to see her as they all file past the Christmas tree lot where Boy and I will be.

Sometime later, Boy and I'll be finished up and Oldest will be leaving to go to her third nightly performance (the premier last night being relatively unobjectionable as the hyperactive hand-flapping and swishiness had been hidden in the wings), and maybe, just maybe, we'll get a chance to get Boy's hair cut and glasses fixed.

In all of this, there is the need to do a large pile of laundry that's been building up since Thursday afternoon last.

Sunday, there's probably something to do besides the necessary churching we require, but I can't think of what it is.

SO, all of you have a good weekend, and I'll see you Monday!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:03 PM | Comments (0)

You know what I wish I had?

A million dollars.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:48 PM | Comments (4)

November 29, 2006

And then Munu blowed up.

Had a pretty good meeting this morning, despite the potential for disaster. We had a bigger docket than usual--21 cases--but still managed to finish up in an hour and fifteen. I remarked to one of the committee folks that they’ve spent a lot longer on half as many cases.

Overwhelming amounts of work tend to focus the mind, I suppose.

Then I got in here and shuffled reams of burdensome red tape and boilerplate, as well as some actual paperwork, and finally got free for a minute, which was spend finding out that it appears the volcano on Munu finally erupted and sank the entire island and the thriving civilization that once was built upon its verdant cliffs.

Oh well, serves ‘em right for building on a volcano, right?

Right.

Anyway, I don’t know what’s wrong with mu.nu, other than it’s probably something spam and server related, as it usually is.

SO, maybe after lunch someone will have cured things.

Nope.

It’s still down, [or, obviously, it was until it got fixed and was able to post this] and I’m not quite sure why I’m even writing this if there’s no guarantee that I’ll be able to publish it today. Maybe it’s just a bad habit, like fingernail-biting, or screaming at people in elevators.

And to make things worse, I’m all bothered.

Let’s just say last night was very long.

It started with a stop at Target (since it’s on the way home) to pick up some mini DVD-Rs for the camcorder, some salad fixings, and a small can of sliced black olives. I like Target, but only because it’s on the way home and has those particular items. Its low-price, high-design preciousness still irks me, though. They try so hard to be hip, but their general tone-deafness to the local market is still there, impossible to cover up.

Backpacks.

I’ve mentioned this before, but the schools around here all require clear backpacks in order to make sure students don’t do something unsafe like sneak a gun into school in them (the safe way being concealed in their opaque and mean-looking long black overcoats). Sure, it’s a stupid, non-helpful thing done to give the illusion of security, but whatever, they still have to have clear backpacks. And every year, the local Target gets in millions of backpacks, none of which are clear. So they hang there on the rack all year. Again, what-ever. Waste all the money you want, fellows.

But this year I noticed something that was even more compellingly idiotic.

A brace of backpacks with the wildly popular logos and insignias and hologram-protected indicia of the University of Oklahoma.

Okay, I realize they buy lots of things, and the buyers probably can’t be expected to know that one college is different from another, or even if they DO realize that, realize that there are these things called “conferences,” and that a school in something called the “Big 12” is different from one in the “SEC.”

But still, surely there has GOT to be someone, SOMEwhere in Target who might think to themselves, “Hey, you know, instead of trying to sell Sooner merchandise in our Alabama stores, why don’t we try Alabama and Auburn opaque backpacks that few people will buy?” Or for that matter, ANY SEC school.

Anyway, the point is, it belies your image of hip trendy style-sense-omniscience when you can’t even get the most basic things right.

And not only that, they gave up a long time ago having the guy with the tennis ball on a stick polishing up shoe marks. Slackers.

At least they DID have my mini DVDs and salad and olives.

Then to home, where the rest of the family was going to have a nice lasagna and salad. Oldest, on the other hand, had a dress rehearsal for the musical production she’s in, and last night was deemed by the play’s director/playwright The Night People Could Come Video the Performance.

Which meant that I would not get to have lasagna, because I had to be at the theater at 6:30 SHARP! And it was now 6:10. Also, Boy broke the nose piece off his glasses and they needed to be fixed, and so I shoved them in my pocket with the idea I’d drop by Wal-Mart on the way home and get them fixed after the recording session.

Maybe all that’s what made me even more susceptible to grouchiness, or maybe I’m just a fusty old coot with no humanity.

But I have to say, theater people are really off-putting.

You know, as an artsy-fartsy sort myself, I understand about pride of authorship and the whole artistry thing where you’re trying to do something bold and creative and worthwhile and meaningful and all that junk. I really do. I understand the elitism part of it--I mean, who wants to be part of something mediocre?

You play ball?

You want to win the championship.

You win the championship?

You tend to hold yourself a little differently because you did something no one else did--at least that year.

Those sorts of things--the artful presentation that makes a portrait something higher and better than a billboard, that makes a great piece of literature something greater than an assembly manual for a bookcase--those things are what make civilization.

But.

There is also something to be said for knowing your limitations. All of the pretentious high-handedness, the twee insipidness, the pseudo-intellectuality, the preening, the flightiness, the dithering ditziness, the overwrought flamboyant melodrama--all of the stereotypical affectations of Theater People--are not pleasant to be around even among people who are actually proficient at their craft, but even MORESO among people who aren’t major leaguers.

Look, we tend to give geniuses a bit of leeway in such things, because of their genius. But merely copying their outlandishness and priggishness DOESN’T MAKE YOU A GENIUS, no more than pulling on a ratty sweater and wooling up my hair makes me Albert Einstein. Shouting to everyone in the theater that YOU are an author doesn’t really mean you are. Spouting half-baked stupitudes such as “half of acting is reacting” does nothing but make you look silly. And dangitall, when did it become REQUIRED that EVERYONE in a theater production has to act like catty twits like Jack on Will and Grace!? Does EVERYONE have to act like some shallow mewling hyperactive ponce? Men, women, gay, straight--do you ALL have to be trying out for the road company of La Cage?

For the life of me, I can’t imagine Gary Cooper or John Wayne prancing around between takes talking in syrupy falsettos about shoes--and for that matter, I can’t imagine it being done by a Katharine Hepburn or Lauren Bacall. Whatever happened to being a grown-up?

And speaking of grown-up, another beef I have is the same thing as it is with Target--if you’re going to tell me that you’re THAT good, shouldn’t some of the more simple things, I don’t know, SEEM A LITTLE SIMPLER TO GET DONE? You, Madame Directoress, keep screaming at everyone to ACT! yet you don’t seem to notice that the soldier returning from abroad coming in the door has on desert camo fatigues, rather than his class A uniform, duffel, and a COAT. Since all anyone has done on stage is talk about how COLD it is outside, it just looks stupid. Can you not spend a few extra minutes to at least TRY to find something that looks right?

Oh, and this thing of being An Author. Look--call yourself what you want, but just remember that if you have to keep reminding people what you are, you’re probably not doing a very good job in the first place. That’s why I have to keep reminding people over and over that I’m a tricycle. Also, it might be worth noting that when a little kid in the audience says the rehearsal is boring, it might not be the fault of all your nervous high-strung actors on stage. Might be the script, you know.

There’s something to be said for acting like a professional, even if the production is strictly an amateur one. Maybe it’s just me, but I always have believed the mark of a true professional is being able to do the most uncommon, difficult thing, and have it look so simple that even a simpleton could do it. No fuss, no fidgety, squirmy, mugging for effect--just git ‘er done. It’s quite irritating to see the opposite in play--where even the most simple tasks immediately elevate themselves to a hysterical crisis as everyone runs around flapping their hands and screeching and then congratulating themselves when they manage to plug a cord back into an outlet.

The worst part? Feeling like I’ve just shot someone’s puppy for even saying these things. I can picture there’s probably someone who’ll see this and start crying and flapping their hands and screaming about how unfair everyone is and how I couldn’t act my way out of a paper bag. A big FATTY FAT paper bag, that’s WET THROUGH AND THROUGH WITH HOT TEARS OF ANGUISH! See, that’s the other thing--this idea that everyone wants all the adulation that they see stars getting, yet they don’t want to hear criticism. That’s when you hear all the excuses about it only being [insert lame excuse about, it’s only community theater, the lack of funding for the arts, having to rely upon volunteers, evil creeping Republicanism, etc.]. It sure would be nice if they’d remember all that stuff before waxing hyperbolic about their incredible talent and all. And to remember that talent is a better way of obtaining recognition than it coming as simply some sort of Theater Entitlement. Yes, I know--another puppy bites the dust due to my cruelty.

Anyway, I think it’s a great show and full of great people who are the best in the world, and it’s ALL right in my own little progressive, diverse, and forward-looking small town! RAVES ALL AROUND! KUDOS! LOVE IT! LuV iT! LOVE IT!

AS FOR THE FILMING ITSELF--yet ANOTHER RANT!!

Since there were a couple of cast members absent due to family emergencies (deaths in the family--people are SO INCONSIDERATE!!), we were told that if we wanted to, we might want to elect someone to come again on Saturday night (which was deemed to be the night when everything would probably be at its best) and set up ONE camera and make copies for everyone. Well, the heck with that--we were coming to the Thursday show, and a rehearsal video was actually good enough for me.

SO, as the other videographers were huddled in their little klatch, I just stood off to the side with my little tripod and camera and fidgeted with the buttons. That is, until I sensed someone right behind me.

Is there not ANYONE in America who isn’t a living, breathing, stereotype!?

Pushy, rude, aggressive, nasally, full of self-loathing, condescendingly superior, able to dispense disdain and mawkishly induce guilt without the least bit of effort--I will say no more about him lest I be accused of harboring every anti-ism in the book.

“Hey--the other guys and I elected you to be the person to film on Saturday!”

He said this with the chipper nonchalance of someone used to giving people orders and having them carried out. Of course, his way of giving orders was by being chipper, so it made it look like a suggestion instead. As if I would just love to be at their disposal with MY equipment and be responsible for seeing to it that everyone got copies.

“Uh, no.”

He affected a dumbstruck air, as if he couldn’t believe I wasn’t going to be a team player.

“We’re not going to be here on Saturday--we’re coming Thursday night.”

“Aww.”

He said it with the type of inflection that you give to someone when they PROMISED to do something for you, and then backed out at the last moment, leaving you holding the bag, and yet you’re too nice to yell at them for being inconsiderate. All that with that one little word and that little downcast look and that slumping shoulder and that edge of irritation that anyone would dare not do what he said.

He stood there a second and then half-shouted to the others in the group that I wouldn’t do it.

Hey, guy?

Here’s one for you, and one for the tiny horse you rode in on.

Oh, and that thing about being there last night at 6:30 sharp to start filming? Didn’t start recording until after 7:30. Didn’t finish up until after 9. Meaning I didn’t get to go to Wal-Mart to get Boy’s glasses fixed. Could’ve gone beforehand had I known there was going to be an hour wait. As it was, I had to try to epoxy the nosepiece back on after I got home. Grr.

You know, some nights, it’s just best not to mess with someone who hasn’t gotten to eat his lasagna.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:31 PM | Comments (6)

November 27, 2006

Okay, so I have a minute or two...

SATURDAY!

Up early, because it was the annual Raising of the Tree, in which the Oglesby family watch as Daddy climbs up into the Forest of Imagination and hews down a mighty plastic spruce and then slides it down the attic ladder in its convenient cardboard box, then everyone watches with admiration and delight as it is placed upon the Ceremonial Square of Carpet That Keeps the Tree Stand From Making Dimples in the Real Carpet, and then each of its 1800-plus individual branch tips are gently spread apart to herald the coming of Christmas!

It truly is a special time.

It was even MORE special when I took out the center section from the box, and one of the sharp wire edges of one of the 1800-plus individual branch tips decided to viciously attack the side of my left hand, leaving a nice two-inch-long gash extending from the life-line in my palm to the second joint of my pinkie finger.

YAY!! A bright line as red as Santa's coat opened up, and I spread much good cheer to all!

Nothing says "Holiday Magic" like self-injury.

Aside from that one mishap, the rest of the tree assembly, light-stringing, and decoration went off well, and everyone helped this year, which made it much nicer.

That done, it was time to go wrassle with real trees, as Boy and I made our second tree-lot appearance. I dressed much too warmly. It was probably over 70 degrees, and I had on a tee-shirt over a thermal underwear shirt, with a quilted good ol' boy vest over the top of that.

But at least it was another fun day--lots of sales and no rude people. Although you do sorta have to wonder who comes to a Boy Scout Christmas tree sale, picks out the biggest $60 tree they can find, and then ask if we'd take $55 for it.

"Uh, well, no--they're marked with the price they are, and we can't discount them."

Wouldn't have been quite so bad if they didn't drive up in a new Dodge Durango.

Anyway, a fun afternoon, despite the unseasonable heat and abundance of conifer sap and the appearance of Oldest at the lot, begging to be allowed to go to the movies and out to eat with some of her friends from the theater production. She'd ostensibly been up there all day long helping with the scenery, which I doubted, seeing as how her skill-set in handiness and helpfulness are rather lacking, but there she was now, wanting a favor. And money. A twenty seemed highly disappointing to her. Go figure.

The plan was dinner, then the 7 pm showing of Casino Royale, then home directly afterwards--no date, no passengers. Which I thought was fairly clear.

Boy and I finished up, headed for home, cleaned up, ate, made sure everyone else was ready for church on the morrow, then sent them to bed.

Mom and I stayed up a bit later, and seeing as how the house was nice and quiet and dark, well, you know.

That is, until I made the tragic error of bumping into the clock on the nightstand, which lit up with great big glowing LCD numerals

"10:21"

HEY!

"HEY! Reba--it's 10:30! She should have been home nearly an hour ago!"

Which resulted in a rude cessation of sporting about, and a phone call to the wayward. "But," you ask, "what good would that do if you're supposed to turn off your cell phone in a theater!?"

Because, my friends, Oldest refuses to turn off her phone, fearful that she'll miss a call. Not that anyone ever calls her, but it's a convenient way for her to brag about having a cell phone. Even though no one cares. ANYWAY, called, and sure enough, it rang. Then clicked over to her mailbox. So I redialed. Rang, and this time it was answered by a very embarrassed girl whose phone had gone off in the movie theater.

"Where are you?"

"Wehadtogotothelatershowbecausethey'dalreadygottentheirtickets!"

The only thing that saved her is that I could hear the movie in the background, and I knew there was an 8:00 o'clock show. "You should have called to let us know, Ashley."

"I DIDN'T HAVE TIME!!"

Oh, please. Anyway, she was told to get home forthwith after the movie was over, which she did, and was completely mystified why anyone--namely her fusty old father--would even be the slightest bit concerned that she wasn't where she was supposed to be, when she said she'd be there.

Imagine that.

After a short sharp interchange on the duty of notifying her parents of changes in plans (since that was indeed one of the primary reasons for allowing her to have a cell phone in the first place), and then it was finally off to bed with her.

Sunday? Well, my 3:00 is here, so you'll just have to wait a while for that, but it was much less involved and there was only the tiniest bits of angst involved.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:24 PM | Comments (0)

Saturday? Sunday?

It might be a while before you hear about them--I just got tagged to watch the desk while the secretary goes to lunch, and then I have meetings the rest of the afternoon, and then I have a continuing education seminar tomorrow until late afternoon.

Suffice it to say, more trees were sold, church was attended, things were done, and crises avoided. Mostly.

Anyway, let me go do all that garbage and I'll be back to you sometime in the future. Hopefully not the distant future.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:50 AM | Comments (0)

Not...

...that Friday was all that exciting.

Reba had to go to work, which meant she had to get up early. Which meant that I had to get up early to get her up early. Because alarm clocks apparently only work on one side of the bed.

Off to work with her, and then time to keep the youngsters entertained. Breakfast first, which was thin omelets and leftover muffins (for three quarters of the children, the last quarter of whom couldn't be bothered to get out of bed, lest she actually have breakfast, preferring instead to sleep in and then later complain that no one fixed her breakfast).

Off they went to bother the cat and various other kid things, and I busied myself with some housekeeping chores. Of a sort.

After our last campout, I didn't set the tent up to make sure it was dry, and so I decided to open it up in the garage and make sure it wasn't breeding mildew. Obviously, this was of great fascination to Catherine, who decided to help by walking around asking questions.

Good thing I set it up. The bigger tent was okay, but the smaller pup tent that Boy had used was still wet on the bottom. Also gave me a chance to change out the zipper pulls on the storage bag. I think the original tabs must have been made out of cardboard, judging by the way they snapped off so neatly in my hands the first time we ever unloaded the tent several years back. I've made do with little stubs since then, but finally got tired of that and looped some of the split rings you use for car keys onto the zipper shoes. That worked just fine, and looks almost like it was meant to be that way.

Tent dried, tent folded, tent packed, some lunch, and then it was about time for Boy and I to head over to the Christmas tree lot. Made a stop to drop off Rebecca and Cat at Grandmom's house, then stopped to get a soda.

"You know what, Dad?"

"What, buddy?"

"Grape is my favorite artificial flavor."

The things you learn...

Anyway, the tree thing is new to both of us, since he just joined the troop, but every year his troop sells trees as their only fundraiser, so everyone is expected to pitch in and help tend the lot and load trees and such, and this weekend was our first shot at it.

And it turned out pretty well. The thing to remember is always wear long sleeves and have a pair of leather gloves. And that people will tie just about anything onto the top of just about any vehicle. And that sitting around a Christmas tree lot for four hours is a good way to get to know your neighbors. And boys would rather play ball and chase each other than sweep needles or carry trees.

Fun afternoon, all things considered.

Home, clean up, eat supper, snooze, dream of SATURDAY!!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:20 AM | Comments (0)

Well, first, a bit of advice.

Never be the wake-up caller of a guy who works the night shift.

I’d gotten a note over the weekend from our very own Chef Tony who asked me to give him a call. This being bright and early for me, I didn’t quite think about other people who aren’t quite so bright when it’s this early.

Such as, oh...Chef Tony.

Oops.

But if nothing else, it does raise the total number of bloggers to whom I’ve actually spoken to more than I can count with both hands and 2/5 of a foot!

ANYway, being that I successfully dodged a very large piece of cast iron that was flung at my head, I can fill you in on the details of the long weekend.

THURSDAY

Turkey Day, which started with laundry for some reason. Got up, watched the Macy’s parade, got dressed and made ready to go over the Pinchgut and through the subdivision to Grandmother’s house sometime before lunch, and got to see everyone. It’s always nice to be the one no one remembers--Reba’s two spinster aunts, bless their hearts, still mistake me for Reba’s first husband. To whom she was married for only six months, before he met an untimely demise seventeen years ago. Oh well.

As for food, there was green beans, peas, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, sweet potato casserole, sliced sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, cornbread dressing, turkey, ham, rolls, cake, pie, and, of course, gravy--both gibleted and “plain.” “Plain” being just as I described it last week, reeking of innards but more or less free of them, but with an extra helping of boiled egg bits. I passed. In fact, passed on most of the fare--I don’t really eat large plates of food, despite being a big hefty guy, but I like food too much to be miserable from it. I had some turkey, some peas, some beans, a small piece of dressing, a little spoonful of sweet potato casserole, and that was it.

A bit of clean-up then, and then I got the special privilege of pushing Catherine in the swing!

Grandmom and Grandad have a swing they inherited when they bought the house that consists of a plank with a hole in it, knotted to a rope that is itself suspended from what looks to be an anchor chain wrapped around the trunks of two trees. I have tried swinging on it, but the plank is only about a foot long, which gives my ample and meaty hams only six inches of shelf space apiece.

Comfortable, it’s not.

But Catherine, who enjoys the thrill of swings and bicycles and anything else giddiness-inducing, loves it, and wants nothing more than to be swung as high and as heartily as possibly. Which I did until we were both winded. Got her all the way up into an adjacent sapling, I did. I’m still not quite certain why there’s so much in the way around the swing--all kinds of wild hedge and spindly saplings and honeysuckle vines. It’s not so bad in winter, but in the summer it looks like snake paradise.

ANYwho, she swung (swang? swingeded?) until she was tired, then we went on a little hike through the woods behind the house. Which aren’t really woods, but just the part of the subdivision that hasn’t been built on yet. It was fun, though. I showed her some different trees and how they taught Jonathan to build a campfire and maple seed helicopters and we walked all the way up to the top of the hill where the bulldozed trail turned into a dead-end street.

It was really quite a nice afternoon, and then after a few more minutes spent watching the sky while laying in the grass in the backyard, we went inside to watch stupid Japanese cartoons! YAY CARTOONS!

To home, some leftovers for supper, some reading, and then to bed.

Because the next day was FRIDAY!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:34 AM | Comments (4)

That was quite pleasant!

A good holiday, about which you will get to read all of the infinitely tiny details after while. Staff meeting beckons! And there is that inconvenient detail of having to actually type up all of the infinitely tiny details.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:27 AM | Comments (0)

November 22, 2006

Well, THAT was a long day to end such a short week.

Not that it's over with, because it's not, but I thought I might as well go ahead and sign off for now since I have more work junk to get done. All of you have a wonderful holiday with your families, and tell them that you love them. I hope to see you all back here Monday, where you'll get to hear about a weekend spent helping sell Christmas trees.

It promises to be interesting, that's for sure.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:06 PM | Comments (3)

So what have I been doing today?

Deleting comment spam mostly.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:37 PM | Comments (5)

November 21, 2006

I promise...

I didn't have anything weird last night for supper, yet I was treated to yet another bunch of wildly improbable dreams.

At least one was pretty fun--I got to go visit fellow-Volvo owner Kitchen Hand down in Australia! It was quite nice, as they're going into springtime (unless Al Gore further messes things up). The trees were in full bloom and leaf--which being Australian trees, were completely different from anything I've seen outside of a Dr. Seuss book. Nice place they have there, though, even though it looks nothing like any of his pictures on his site. Big rambling farmhouse set on a slight rise, with what looked to be a goodly-sized 20 acre spread, or so.

And, of course, there were his vehicles. As noted, he has a bunch of Swedish iron in real life, but in my dream, it looked like he was collecting cast-offs from various Mad Max movies. One in particular caught my eye--I conjured up an early-'70s Aussie version of a Chevy El Camino made by the GM subsidiary Holden. They actually do have these down there that go by the model name of "Ute," but this one I don't think anyone ever thought of. It had a pickup truck bed like an El Camino or Ute, but then forward of that, it had four doors. And it was a convertible. And between the seats was a gigantic big block Chevy with a blower on top. Apparently, one of Kitchen Hand's relatives made it. For some reason.

Anyway, it was a lovely visit and I got to meet everyone, and commented on how nice and warm it was down there this time of year. Sadly, they did not feed me.

Then I was back in high school, and we were having classes in the school even though it had been shut down and there were no lights on and the hallways were full of junk that looked like it had been there for a hundred years. And wouldn't you know it, I couldn't remember what class I was supposed to be in, AND couldn't find my book, AND couldn't remember which one was my locker, AND I was running late to class, AND I couldn't figure out why I still had to go to school when I was a full-grown adult.

It was not very nice at all.

I'm hoping tonight won't be quite so involved.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:46 AM | Comments (0)

Purty!

As I mentioned yesterday, I do have some photos of the weekend, and I did remember to bring my camera today, so here's a small sample of some thousand-word-substitutes. They are in the extended entry because the thumbnail-making function of MT is still not quite doing the right things, so I had to post the larger size versions of everything.

ANYWAY--


The first one is one I took Friday evening out the bathroom window at work. It was just so pretty I couldn't help myself. That's the Alabama Power building to the left.

sunset.JPG

Now then, some camping photos--here's Boy after we got some breakfast:

sip.JPG

And here he is at camp. In this photo, he is bothering a small piece of wood.

firewood bothering.JPG

This is something I didn't notice until I was reviewing the pictures later, but in this one, I was actually taking a picture of a couple of other of the boys with their stack of firewood, and way over to the far right of the photo in the background, it appears my son is auditioning for American Idol. Or screaming at a stick. Or something.

oddfellow.JPG

Here's a shot from the tent area, across the creek, toward the small eating pavilion and outhouse. The Oglesby Odyssey (far left) did very well as a camping vehicle, although not particularly designed for that purpose. I was somewhat concerned about the road out of the campground, which was steep, and paved with gravel ruts. Traction control is a godsend, folks.

camp.JPG

Sunday morning, you will notice Boy is wearing a bit more clothing than he was Saturday afternoon. I'm just glad he packed something warm this time.

chillyboy.JPG

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:04 AM | Comments (9)

November 20, 2006

Anyway, as I was saying...

...it's been much too busy around here this morning, but at least I did get to take a nice lunch break and go eat with Pam the Liberal. Oddly enough, not a bit of politics this time, other than of the office sort. Good food, too--at at the meat-n-three over at the AmSouth Regions-Harbert food court--where I was pleasantly surprised to see behind the cash register the lady who sometimes works over at the Chinese place. She's so nice. Different hair today, too--sort of a chestnutty-with-highlights. Must be her winter look.

ANYway, got me some green beans and squash and chicken and some good conversation. And then had to get back out in the wind.

Good night a'living, I don't see how people in places like Chicago and Buffalo live there. It's not that cold today, but the wind is howling and somehow managing to come from every direction simultaneously. I don't mind it being chilly, but I can't stand cold wind. Makes me cry.

It was cold this weekend, too. There was some wind, but I think it was only getting up its strength for today. Nice place, though. Just a short jaunt from home, we stayed at a place called Camp Rushton. Bright sunny days on both Saturday and Sunday, and the only slightly off-putting things were that it seemed to be awfully damp for there not to have been any rain lately, and I would have preferred a wood privy seat instead of steel.

The boys had a fire building class and a lost-man drill after we set up camp, and managed to cook beef stew for supper Saturday night and eggs and bacon and grits for breakfast Sunday. All that food-buying I did was for naught, however--turns out the boys had cribbed the adult menu, and it had a bunch of stuff on there that was already part of the stuff they keep in the troop's chuckboxes--salt, pepper, sugar, mustard, ketchup, and junk like that. However, I didn't know this, so I wound up buying a lot of stuff that wasn't needed. Second, I bought for four people in Jonathan's patrol. Only two of his group showed up.

BUT, I figure now that we've got that stuff, we can keep it in a box in the garage. I've long wanted to have an emergency supply box that we could load up in the van, but never did get around to getting everything together in one handy location. I've had tons of stuff, but it has always been scattered to the far corners of the house, and to have gotten it all together quickly would have been difficult to do.

Turned in about 10:30 Saturday, and aside from the two previously mentioned dashes to the outhouse in the middle of the night, I stayed acceptably warm. Of course, that changed when I poked a body part out of the sleeping bag. The little heater I got worked nicely as a sock warmer, though, and kept the chill bumps at bay as I got my clothes on. It'll also make toast! YAY TOAST!

Going back to the subject of cooking, it was a good experience for Jonathan, who'd apparently never peeled a potato before. I handed him a potato peeler and went back to what I was doing, then turned around to see him holding the blade and taking tiny little nicks out of the potato skin. He now knows how to peel a potato. Heaven help him.

As for other diversions, we did listen to the Auburn-Alabama game (and kudos to Miss Wendy for her very close prediction) but it was hard to do. The boys have attention spans honed by years of video games, and it's hard to get them to just shut up and listen to something, so they yammered for a long time then dispersed and went off wandering around. Which was fine by me--at last I could finally listen to the thing. Sounds like it was another typical game for both sides--Alabama running up and down the field and not being able to score enough points, Auburn managing to score enough even though they shouldn't have been able to, at least on paper. Chalk it up to good coaching and players who keep their wits, I think. In any event, thanks from the Auburn family to the University of Alabama for spending so much money on their new facilities--they seemed to have made the Tigers' stay much nicer and more pleasant. But please, bottles go in the trash. Quit messing up our--I mean YOUR--stadium.

Anywho, we had breakfast Sunday, then a short devotional in front of the fire, and then it was time to hit the road--the Scoutmaster made the call to break up early because it was so cold and windy.

Back to the Scout house, unload, then to home, lunch picnic-style with the girls on a blanket spread on the den floor, then unload the van. Sure was easier when help was available--Boy was so glad to be home that he couldn't be dragged from the den to unpack much of anything.

Go upstairs and scrub off the smoke, get ready for church, then to Arby's for supper, where the Korean or Chinese manager was a whirlwind of incoherent efficiency. He made sure everyone was on top of things and the food was served hot and fast through the use of a barely intelligible stream-of-consciousness patter that sounded like some sort of cross between Shecky Greene and a propaganda film. Whatever works, I suppose.

Home, kids to bed, me to bed, where whatever I ate from Arby's gave me explosive gas as well as lurid, feature-length Technicolor dreams. There was one part there where I was trying to outrun someone who was poking along one of the convoluted sidestreets around here, and I took a wrong turn and wound up going up an alley beside a parking garage where someone had parked three beat-up American Motors cars--a Javelin, a Gremlin, and an Ambassador sedan--all with identical red, white, and blue livery. Now, AMC did have a program back at the turn of the '70s when they would deliver cars for racers with this sort of paint scheme, but I hardly think an Ambassador was part of the program. But in my dream, I thought, "Hey, I bet these things are RARE!" After I reached a dead-end, I went inside the parking deck and spent hours rummaging through a series of stores that had all sorts of weird, off-beat, military surplus stuff for sale, and then found myself in some kind of concourse where Robert Goulet walked by wearing a hideously bright red and white track suit that had "Design Review Committee" emblazoned on the front and back. I thought, "Hey, that's Robert Goulet, and I never knew he was on the Design Review Committee!" He walked back by later and had on big black aviator shades, which I figured were to keep people from noticing him.

Sometime later, I found myself at a lake, and there was this absolutely gigantic AMC Rebel there. Yes, I know--it's very peculiar that I kept dreaming of American Motors cars. Anyway, this one was like a supersized one--there was someone else there and I was trying to show them how wide it was, and when I looked in the side window, it was like looking from the front of a bus to the back it was so wide. The explanation was simple, however. It was actually a boat. Made by welding two Rebels side to side to create one double-wide homemade car-boat.

Then, we went to a football game, which I thought would be problematic since someone had dumped huge piles of dirt and rocks in big mounds all over the field. No one else seemed to think anything amiss, however.

Through it all, I kept embarrassing myself with loud, rumbling, thunderous, gaseous discharges, but again, no one seemed to mind in any parts of the various dreams. It was not until this morning that I realized that was the one part of the whole dream experience that was actually happening throughout the night. I figure none of the kids or Reba complained because they'd been rendered unconscious.

Anyway, I suppose it'll be awhile before I ever order another one of Arby's corned beef reuben sandwiches with a side of jalapenos.

So, that was pretty much it for the weekend. I do have a few photos (of the campout), but as usual, I forgot to bring my camera in today, so you'll have to wait until tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:51 PM | Comments (5)

November 17, 2006

Another weekend...

...another campout.

Yep, Boy of the Scouts has yet another wilderness jaunt planned this weekend, and Dad gets to tag along and bring food for his patrol. Luckily, it looks like they're only going to have about three or four boys in his group so it's a bit less moneysome to keep them provendered.

And it should be a bit more comfortable for me this time, too, since I've reassembled a bunch of my old camping stuff I'd misplaced, gotten some new-old stuff, and got something to cook on. Should be pretty fun, and this time I have the tent all to myself since he has to stick with his patrol buddies.

SO, packing up tonight, heading out tomorrow, and be back on Sunday after church, hopefully still with Boy and a feeling of relaxation. I intend to take a book this time so I'll have something to do, lest I find myself having to participate in actual physical exertion.

Other news?

Well, this has been Rebecca's first week of soccer tryouts for the high-school team. Yes, she's only in the eighth grade, so it's doubtful she'll get to play much, if at all. At least right now. But she is REALLY looking forward to it, and has done quite well this week by her accounting of things. That's good--she's able to do this and still get her schoolwork done, which is what caused her to drop club soccer in the first place.

Let's see--Oldest is still doing the musical rehearsal thing, as well as her usual job of being a horse's rear-end toward her younger siblings, to her parents, to her grandparents, to people at church, to people at school, to people in general. Lot to be said for consistency, I suppose.

Youngest continues to be her usual bouncy self. Wife continues to be her usual bouncy self, except when driven to exhaustion and collapse by her workplace, which seems to have more than its share of incompetence and drama. Kitty continues to be a cat.

And me?

I have no idea. But the idea of going off in the woods sounds pretty good.

Anyway, all of you have a wonderful weekend, and I'll do the same, and then Lord willing come Monday we'll all get together and swap stories.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:10 PM | Comments (0)

November 16, 2006

Work!?

::sigh::

Yes.

Be back after while.

::grumble::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:57 AM | Comments (0)

November 15, 2006

I have no idea.

Why did my wife take Jonathan and Catherine with her to Target last night?

She was ostensibly going to pick up some groceries for supper, but it never fails that she gets stuff that has been valued-up by all the people who think the public craves meat packed in tiny little pieces in a giant designer plastic tray with a twee logo and precious detailing and a price that borders on insanity.

Well, I guess some people DO buy that stuff, but I've never been one to care whether or not the store has Michael Graves-designed nose hair trimmers or not, and I'd rather not pay for all that preciousness when it comes down to time to buy foodstuffs.

But, sure enough, she got a bunch of stuff that had it been purchased elsewhere would have been less expensive and of equal quality (although admittedly not with the admixture of sullen red-n-khaki wearin' groovers who think they're too cool to work at Food World).

And she got sushi.

Why?

I don't know.

I also don't know why she got so danged much of it--only three of us will eat it; Jonathan, Catherine, and I. And then there's the whole deal of the fact that we're just not trendy eaters. I've mentioned I'm a food rube before. I mean, I appreciate fine food and all, and know how to use all the fancy implements, and what goes with what, but I don't go out of my way to seek out exotica and revel in it and wallow in it and attempt to cipher all the nuances of viney undertones of various fungi and ocelot spleens.

And then we go back to that thing of buying exotic stuff, and then buying it at someplace that seems to think it's REALLY exotic, and that people should pay mightily through every orifice for it. And eat it with Philippe Starck-designed chopsticks. Sure, it might not be something I eat every day, but it's not like you can't find such fare around here. For a lot less money.

But she got six trays of it, and each tray was enough to feed a person. Sure, it would probably keep an extra day or two, but I know I don't want to eat sushi more than a couple of days old, which means that even after Boy and Tiny Terror and I had a giant repast fit for a sumo wrestling club, there was STILL a bunch of it left over.

So guess what I have for lunch today.

I sure wish she'd just gone to Winn Dixie.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:24 AM | Comments (6)

November 14, 2006

Lethealgia Relief!

I was trying to remember something funny that happened this weekend and it finally came back to me!

I remember now why it was that I had an easier time staying awake during preaching on Sunday night. We had a sermon on things people think are in the Bible but aren't, and one was the quote, "spare the rod and spoil the child."

That's actually one of Ben Franklin's aphorisms (although there are similar references in Scripture), but what made it stand out in my mind was that in a slight slip of the tongue, our preacher said it came from Franklin's noted work, Little Richard's Almanac.

After that, all I could think of was a flamboyant howling high-haired wild-eyed man, incongruously dressed in knee britches and frock coat, with tiny bifocals upon his nose.

I doubt that was the what I should have been thinking about.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:47 PM | Comments (0)

What I want.

I was watching the PBS show last week about Alberto Santos-Dumont, and it talked about after he figured out big dirigibles, he made himself a tiny one he could fly around Paris in, and he'd go out to eat and just pull up to a restaurant and tie it off and get out, sorta like his having his own flying car.

I want my own personal-size dirigible.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:23 AM | Comments (2)

November 13, 2006

The Long Weekend of Daddy and Catherine--Part TWO!!

So, up early Sunday, more or less. Cat had been so proud about getting up early Saturday, but didn't quite have the same get-up-and-go-itiveness for church day.

After I blew the freon horn and banged on the garbage can with my swagger stick, she finally came to. Clothes, hair, shoes, in more or less that order, then downstairs to doctor Kitty with his meds. He really likes this stuff--"wrap his paws around your forearm and purrs"--likes it. I assume it's full of narcotics.

Breakfast, a quick game of Wheel of Addiction, then on to church. Boy, it was lonesome. Catherine was nice to me, though, and sat with me rather than her usual friend--an older lady who dotes on her terribly. It was nice to have her there with me, even if she racked out on the pew five seconds after she put her dollar into the offering plate. At least she didn't snore.

I sure hope I didn't.

Couldn't stay focused for anything, and kept drifting off into a very strange land of hallucinations and delusions. I do try to keep my Bible open, so I can at least pretend I was looking down reading. I think when my head hits the pew in front of me it is a bit hard to disguise, however.

Afterwards had to remind everyone that my kith and kin weren't sick but were with all the OTHER people's kith and kin at camp and wouldn't be back for a while. "Oh."

Yeah.

LUNCHTIME! Off to the East Buffet, where they serve many food things, and blessedly few of them look like mystery meat. Chicken looks pretty much like chicken, beef looks like beef, shrimp like shrimp, and pork looks like pork. Mostly. I still have a hard time believing those long skewers of "chicken" actually came from a bird. ANYway, it was good.

Home, and HEY! FAMILY'S BACK! YAY!

And mad.

Oops.

Seems that I forgot I was supposed to come home after church and meet them and then we'd all go out to eat together. So much for a big hug and kiss and "happy to see you!"

::sigh::

Helped get everything stowed away and the laundry started--again. The kids kept asking what was for lunch, and Mom kept mumbling about something. Dast not ask.

Instead, I gathered up Jonathan and we went over to the OTHER Chinese place down the highway from us and got some suitable Asian cuisine--hot and sweaty soup, Mongolian beef, and chicken, and shrimp, and some sesame chicken. Brought it home, instant hero status once more. They ate like Mongol hordes.

Me? Well, I had tried while I was out to find a better bag for my new sleeping bag because it was big and I mistakenly threw away the plastic stuff sack it came in. Because I am an idiot. So I'd gotten one from Academy (I felt the need to spend money, for some reason) and after we got home with the food, I found the new sack to be much too small. Back to the store, got another one, it was much too big. Why? Because I am an idiot.

::sigh::

Well, enough of that. Time to head back to church for evening worship, where the song service was led by some guy who seemed to have caught a terrible case of kennel cough or distemper. Why? Because he's an idiot. Did manage to stay awake better this time, though, and enjoyed a very good sermon.

On to home, finished up the laundry, got the kids to bathe (AWWWWW!) and engaged in several more rounds of Cat's new game, and then, it was time to go to bed.

Boy, that sure was a long weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:44 PM | Comments (0)

The Long Weekend of Daddy and Catherine!

Well, after we sent everyone on their way Friday,we ate supper which was nothing more than soup, but which she enjoyed immensely because a) she's a kid, and b) because she got to help fix it. And she thought it was the bee's knees to be tasked with unloading and RELOADING the dishwasher.

After that, it was upstairs where we watched some television and she played on the computer and I did likewise, registering our feline in the giant database of RF-identifiable critters. After much fun and games, it was time for bed, and as is her habit when her big sister Rebecca is gone, she got some choice toys and blankets and piled up in her bed to go to sleep in instead of her own. I don't know why, but I suppose it helps it be less lonesome.

Me?

Well, despite being glad the house was quiet, it was sorta lonesome for me, too, so I read and watched Conan and answered some e-mails and finally wore myself down enough to be able to sleep. Alone. ::sniff:: You know, you just don't know how much you miss the sudden elbow in the throat, the snoring, the loss of blanket coverage, until it's gone. And to make matters worse, pillows do NOT make a suitable substitute for the soft squishy parts of a woman.

On the plus side, it was MUCH easier to sleep late Saturday morning. Ahhhhh.

Dressed, got downstairs, found that Cat had been up playing for the past 3 1/2 hours, was relieved that nothing had been burnt down.

"When are we going to the movie, Daddy!? And to the Skate Station!"

"Well, we have to finish up the clothes, and then the football game comes on at 11:30, and we need to watch that, and then after that we can go!"

YAY DADDY!

Gave Kitty his medicine, which he eagerly lapped up. They said it tastes like honey, and I guess it must because he certainly seemed to like it. Rolled him back around to the backyard and let him out to run around a bit, which he did, again without seeming too concerned about his missing luggage.

Go figure.

GAME TIME!

Oh, my.

This is terrible.

Oohh.

Ouch.

There--that's a quarter-by-quarter wrap-up of the whole game. Auburn now has no shot at a BCS game, or even a division title in the SEC. They'll get to go to a bowl, but as I said at the first of the year, there's only one game that really matters anymore. And as is custom, this whole week will be spent in ceaseless taunting of our opponent. SO just watch out.

ANYway, that was that and that was horrid, so to take our minds off of it, what better way than a MOVIE! But first, food!

We had tons of Chick-fil-A coupons for free orders of chicken nuggets, so we decided we'd go get a snack before, and a snack after the movie. It being in poor taste to simply use two coupons per person, you know. The first trip before the movie got us waited on by a kid who desperately wanted to be a comedian. Keep the day job, son.

NOW THEN--MOVIE!! She really had been wanting to go see the third Tim Allen Satan Claws movie, but from what I've read, this one seems to have been one sequel that would better had it gone straight to video. Or simply not been made.
SO, I managed to talk her into seeing Flushed Away.

MOVIE REVIEW TIME!

Well, it looked like a cute movie, and the trailers all seemed cute. Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be--PRETTY DARNED CUTE!

Dashing (in a Walter Mitty/Mr. Bean sort of way) London city mouse gets flushed down the loo by an interloping sewer rat, and finds himself in a scaled-down simulacrum of the topside world, built entirely by the sewer rodents. Lots of nifty scenery, almost to the point of distraction.

Roddy (the name of the mouse) has to find a way to get back home, and WOULDN'T YOU KNOW IT, crosses paths with a plucky, determined girl mouse (voiced by Kate Winslet
--and who knew girl mice had breastes!?) who's something of a Humphrey Bogartish African Queen sorta gal with her own boat made of cast off bits of sewer rubbish.

Being that she is plucky, and independent-minded, it is no surprise she has run afoul of a gang of toughs, whose leader is NOT a rat, but rather a big toad, who once was the pet of none other than Prince Charles. We come to find out that the story behind his fall from royal grace is what drives the action of the movie, and leads in turn to several high-speed chases through various watery places, a la James Bond.

Particularly funny (at least to me) are the abundance of slugs who operate as something of a Greek chorus/sound effects/beat box/comical musical accompaniment/visual distraction. Who knew they were so talented!? The boss frog (something of a Sidney Greenstreet/Blofeld type) has an apartment filled with what he regards as high art, and he has a French cousin who is a hitman. Of course, the French cousin frog has henchfrogs, as well as the stereotypical French desire to eat, mime, and surrender. (The black rubber frogsuits were also a very clever touch.)

Anyway, Roddy does get home, but he realizes his life in a gilded cage (no-- really) is nothing compared to the excitement of life below (ref. previous comment re. bosomy girl mice), a whole way of life which he comes to realize might just be completely wiped out if the evil boss toad has his way.

WILL HE SAVE THE DAY!?

Well, go see it. It was doggone funny, and I'm going to have to get the DVD when it comes out to be able to take in all the clever scenery. The animation is interesting too, in that it replicates the look of the Claymation Wallace and Gromit work, but in CGI. There were some moments there where it was obvious there wasn't quite enough rendering power for the facial features--you could see some sort of digital artifacts keeping them from being as "smooth" as stop-motion, but overall it looked quite nice.

I give it five out of five curly possum tails!

Now then, back to Chick-fil-A for our second tiny box of snacks, and then it was time to go to the Skate Station, the multi-dimensional skating/laser tag/arcade/go-kart/miniature golf place down at the foot of the hill from our house. All she wanted to do was play the video games, which seemed reasonable enough. She was quite worried that it would be closed, but I pretty much knew it would be open, and guess what?

I WAS RIGHT!

Sorta.

It closes down between 5 and 7 for private birthday parties, and then reopens to the public afterwards. We had to wait a little while in the car, then went and stood in the freezing cold wind to get inside. Once in the door, we pressed on past the ticket booth and went into the main building and--"Sir? Are you with a birthday party?"

It was some kid who looked all of twelve. He was the bouncer, I guess. "Uh, well, no--we're just going to go play in the arcade."

"Um, well, sir, you have to ask the lady at the ticket booth. She has to say it's okay."

Wha!?

Surely they haven't started charging admission!

I pressed back to the window (it being covered over with highly impatient out-of-towners who seem to not have any idea about waiting for your turn in a polite fashion) and asked the two white haired ladies behind the glass, "She's not skating--she just wants to play in the ar--"

"SIX DOLLARS!"

No way.

"Cat, we're not going to pay six dollars just to go inside and play video games."

Uh-oh. Welling tears.

She'd waited so long, and been relatively quiet, all in anticipation of playing skeeball and Whack-a-mole. But dagnabbit, they're crazy if they think it's worth six dollars to get into their sweaty-smelling, pizza-stained zoo.

We left. "Hey, I've got an idea! We'll run back up to Wal-Mart and you can play in their arcade!"

This seemed to mollify her somewhat. It's not a big place, but they do have some games and they have an air hockey table, and she likes both of those. And you know, it had been almost six hours since we'd last been to Wal-Mart, and I must say I was a bit homesick. SO, back off across the way.

Walked in, saw the Family Fun Center sign poking out from the wall, and as we go there, the odd-looking set of chains over the opening. Inside, boxes.

The Family Fun Center had been de-funned and turned into a storage room.

Surprisingly, she wasn't that upset. "I knew it was gone!"

"Well why didn't you say so!?"

"I don't know."

Hard to argue with that.

"Can we go look at toys?"

I have a feeling this will cost more than six bucks.

And I was right. She went down the aisles pointing out things she wanted, with me close behind telling her she needs to write them on her list for Santa, until we came to an interesting diversion. "Wheel of Fortune," Plug Into the TV Version. Hmm. I've seen these things for Pong and Pac Man and several of the old arcade games--you have a control box that plugs into the A/V ports on the television and it's just like playing in the arcade. Hmm. That might be fun.

Turns out...I was RIGHT! Highly addictive, even though there is no Vanna. All the sound effects are there, though, and it works quite well. After we got it home, we must have played with it for two hours. Of course, being that I have a gigantic brain full of useless trivia and stuff, I was able to win quite handily, but Cat still had a good time, even when she was begging the machine to hit Bankrupt.

But, fun and games must come to an end--long day and time for beddie-bye and all.

And then it was SUNDAY!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:27 PM | Comments (7)

Because if you're going camping...

...you simply MUST get your hair did.

The car with the remainder of my family was going to the beauty saloon so Reba could get her hair cut and colored and for Oldest to get her hair cut. Because a good coiffure is so important when you're wallowing in a sleeping bag and standing in bonfire smoke.

::sigh::

Whatever.

Rebecca and I went home and got the first part of the supplies loaded up--snacks for the campers (ours and everyone else), sleeping bags, plates and cups and junk, did some laundry (since no one had any clean blue jeans), and generally puttered around until everyone got back.

AND, once they got back, sheer bedlam. No one seemed in any great hurry to pack, even though they were going to try to leave early so they could arrive before dark. Add to this a certain unstable oldest child who took it upon herself to start screaming and slamming her brother's bedroom door because he was tapping on his practice drumhead.

I love my family, but I have to confess it was something of a relief when they left out. Especially Miss Screamy McMelodrama.

Anyway, leave they did and it was just Cat and Daddy.

We rolled Lightning's pen around and put it in the garage so he'd have a place to sleep for the night that wasn't outside, did a few more loads of regular laundry, and then went to get him from the vet.

He seemed to be just fine; in fact, much more active than I know I would have been given a similar state of affairs. Or lack thereof.

Anyway, the nurse gave me his papers for his microchip and a bag with three thin syringes of pain medicine. "I--uhh, but I don't know how to give him a shot!"

"No," she said gently, as one does to a mental defective, "they don't have a needle--it's oral. We just put it in a syringe so it's easier to give it to him."

"OOOhhhhh."

They brought him out, and I tried to find out if there were any special instructions. Not really, it turns out. For all the loot he'd just cost me, they seemed to be unconcerned if he stayed in or out, ate or didn't eat, was warm or cold, high or low, up or down, or even if he took the medicine they'd charged me for. It's almost as if he was nothing more than a CAT! Hmph!

Anyway, into the car with him, then to home, where we let him quiet down a bit in his carrier in the kitchen. I think this was more for my benefit, though. He seemed ready to go play.

Later on when it was time for supper we put him in his garage apartment, and settled in for the Long Weekend of Daddy and Catherine.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:14 AM | Comments (2)

Black Gold...Texas Tea...Akron Doughnuts

Pulled into the service bay, popped the hood, waited. Watched the new kid fumble with trying to open my air cleaner case. Felt the guy underneath yanking on stuff. Listened to the shop patter.

From down below in the pit, "Hey, tell them they've got a left rear tire down to the belts on the inside sidewall! Looks like it's about to let go!"

::sigh::

That's the sound of money being suctioned out of my billfold. Not that there was any there in the first place.

Tires. Not now. Yes. Now. No avoiding it, since I was about to send my family off in a fully-loaded van off to the hills and hollows of Marshall County, I was going to have to buy tires. Add something else to the To-do list.

Oh, probably need to add crying in there, too.

Finished them up, paid for my oil change, then it was off to Wal-Mart. Figured I might as well get them there, so we could shop for soccer shorts, too. And we needed Q-tips. And soap.

Pulled in to the Wal-Mart service bay, and was met by a chubby girl with their ubiquitous hand-held writing-up machine. I tried to plead my case that since I had a warranty, maybe I could get some small proration back toward a new set. She called over some dude to look at them--shaved head, wearing those stupid sunglasses that look like something out of a science-fiction movie, short sleeves rolled up even further. "NO, that there's alignment done that. Can't expect us to pay for something that the car caused!"

Luckily, there was a large iron tire tool close by, so I took it and began beating him in his ugly stupid misshapen shaved head until he was more accomodating. Oops, sorry about the stupid wraparound sunglasses, fella!

Oh, sorry. Daydreaming again.

You know, I wouldn't have been quite so miffed at him if he didn't act like such an imperious little goob. Sure, I realize it's not easy when all you have to look forward to in life is when the Snap-On Tool truck comes by once a month, but you know, customers are still customers, and the one with the Honda Odyssey wasn't trying rip anyone off, he just wanted to know if the tire could be prorated any. That's all.

Why do I keep going back to this place, when I KNOW--based on MANY past visits--that the Wal-Mart Tire Center in Trussville is nothing but a pit of idiocy and poor service? I don't know--it's something like Charlie Brown trying to kick the football, I guess. One day, I just know Lucy won't pull it away.

But not today.

To make matters worse, they no longer carry the cheapo Douglas tires I had on it and only had more expensive Goodyears.

::sigh::

I went in and called Sam's across the highway to see if they had anything cheaper.

::sigh::

No.

Fine. FINE! ALL OF YOU TAKE ALL MY MONEY!

I'm going to go get some Q-tips and SHORTS!

Not.

Nothing they had in the girl's section would fit her. Nor in the sporting goods section.

GAHHHHHHHHH!!

Got Q-tips, though, and a giant jug of hand sanitizer.

Waited. Waited.

After an hour and a half, during which time the van was mostly ignored by the tire changing personnel, it was finally time to go.

Wow, it drives so creamy smooth, it's like I'm rolling along a highway paved with hundred dollar bills!

WHEEEEEEEE!!

On over to Hibbett Sporting Goods, to see if THEY had any shorts.

Finally found a couple of pairs of Nike running shorts that she liked and that fit her reasonably well. As much as I might complain about paying $90 for a tire, it seems a much bigger racket that Nike's got going when three pairs of shorts cost THE EXACT SAME AS A TIRE. Dang it ALL, people--what good's having sweatshops in Indonesia cranking this stuff out if you can't pass some of the saving along to your customers!?

::sigh::

On toward home, then, to get the van loaded.

As we waited on the light at Main Street, I looked up in time to see Reba and the rest of the kids in the Focus, going back up Chalkville Road the way we'd just come from.

I wondered what that was all about.

I figured it must be an expedition to spend money.

And I was right.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:40 AM | Comments (12)

So, where was I?

No, really. Where was I?

::sigh::

Oh well.

I guess I'll just have to try to remember it myself.

ANYWAY, got up early Friday with A Plan. Go drop Kitty off for his operation, get the oil changed in the van, come home, help load van, send family off to the wilderness of Guntersville, play the rest of the weekend.

But.

Rebecca needed some shorts. She's starting her soccer practice tonight, and she doesn't have any good shorts to practice in. Okay--so, kitty--oil change--shorts--home. Good deal.

Off we go to the cat doctor with Lightning in his little cat carrier. Which he now more or less fills up. Got him there, got him signed in, and then had to start answering questions from the receptionist.

"Labwork and pain meds?"

"Uh, no, I think I'll be fine without them."

Oh, sorry--that was my internal monologue.

"Pardon me?"

"Do you want Lightning to have any labwork done?"

Well, only if it cost an exhorbitant amount of money. "What--uhmm, well, why--Huh!?"

"We can do labwork before his surgery to see if he has anything that might be wrong with him that we need to address."

It's just a danged cat, people. Oh, wait. It's my kid's cat, and if anything happens to it, I've got to have plausible deniability.

"Well, okay, I guess."

"Pain meds?"

::sigh::

"Sure."

"Would you like to have him chipped?"

PLEASE START TALKING ENGLISH!! Sorry. Internal monologue again.

"I'm sorry?"

"A microchip ID. They can put it in while he's under anesthesia. If he's ever lost, anyone who finds him can have him scanned and they can find out who he belongs to."

Or just keep him.

Did I want this? I mean, he's a cat, and cats DO run away sometimes. Stupid kitties. Just how much would I want him back? I--well, no. That's just a waste of--"Daddy, are you going to get this thing?" Rebecca had the brochure. ::sigh::

"Oh, go ahead and do it. Might as well."

Left him there dangling from some girl's arms as he was being weighed. He should be made of solid gold.

Off then to the next place, Express Oil Change!

Yay! OIL!!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:07 AM | Comments (0)

Boy, what a weekend.

I didn't mention it, but I spent the weekend as a near-bachelor, having only the Tiny Terror to keep me company as my wife and the other 3/4 of the children went off to a church retreat up in Guntersville.

It was quite an exciting weekend, believe it or not, what with a fixed kitty to attend to, MORE tires to buy, a very disappointing game to watch on the teevee, movies to go see, laundry to launder, and much laziness to laze. AND MORE ABOUT ALL THAT in just a little while. I have to get it all typed up, you know. Or made up.

SO, more in a little while.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:28 AM | Comments (0)

November 08, 2006

And then he thought...

...once he got back to the office that he'd have time to play. Little did he know that there would be people--OTHER people--who had different things in store for him. And so he wound up spending fruitful blogging time that he could have used to discuss yet another of his weird dreams to instead do actual work.

Or what passes for it in the civil service.

And as he was typing, another thought crossed his mind--"Why aren't there more supermodels in civil service? And for that matter, why aren't there ANY supermodels in civil service?"

It is a mystery.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:13 PM | Comments (3)

November 07, 2006

Doody Calls

I have my twice-monthly off-campus meeting tomorrow morning, so you'll all have to gloat or whine without me for the first couple of hours.

Have fun! But not too much...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:04 PM | Comments (0)

Girls.

Eeeeevil.

That's all there is to it.

They got their feminine wiles a'working all the live-long day, and dangitall, they start YOUNG.

We sat down to supper last night and Rebecca (who is a girl, but not quite as evil as she could be--yet) was recounting her trip to the doctor's office and the things we did while we waited to be called back.

One of the more comical things we observed was a mom (a girlish woman who probably used her feminine wiles to get her husband) who came in with her two young daughters (cute, and working up to evil quickly with their cuteness) and sat down at one of the small tables with a nice plastic box of crayons and paper. She set them to work coloring pictures and even worked on one herself, and it was fun to watch them having a nice quiet time as they waited.

And then, from the seats along the wall a raggledy little girl jumped up and came and stood there beside the table, and beside her was an even smaller raggledy girl. They just stood there, transfixed, as if they'd never seen anyone use a crayon before. The mom asked sweetly if they'd like to sit down and color and they did so with great enthusiasm.

Until they got called back.

They wouldn't leave, even after Dad, with his crimson Alabama hat and crimson Alabama sweatshirt basically had to pry them out of the chairs, and then only after promising one girl she could take the paper with her.

It was all pretty comical, and Rebecca thought it was funny that the little girls who didn't belong to the mom acted like crayons were such a big deal. OF COURSE, being an Auburn fan, I had to make some crack about the fact that since the kid's daddy was a 'Bama fan that he probably hogged all the crayons for himself, since we all know how childish and stoopid and stuff them guys is.

So, after a bit more refreshing denigration and stereotyping, I thought the matter done, when suddenly, Boy looked at me and with a look of utter dismay said, "Daaad, just because someone is for Alabama DOESN'T mean they aren't intelligent."

What the!?

WHAT!?

I was speechless (momentarily)--I mean, I can stand many insults, but to have my OWN CHILD, my own SON, speak such HERESY to ME at my OWN DINNER TABLE!! WHY, the mind REELS at such perfidy! At such insouciance! AT SUCH--

Wait a minute...

"Son, who is she?"

"WHAT!?"

Uh-huh. MMM-HMM! Ahhhhh--HAH!!

"Oh, you can't hide that--there's some girl out there you like and she roots for Alabama!!"

"I don't know WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT!!"

Reba (who is as evil as they come, what with her feminine wiles that are plain for the whole world to see)--even SHE knew what had overcome her baby boy.

The shy grin, the reddened cheeks, the mild protestations of ignorance, the REFUSAL TO CONFIRM OR DENY! It was so obvious--so blatant that he had been smitten by some comely young lass in Crimson and White. I've heard tell of such things and the destruction wrought upon families by such pernicious mixing of allegiences, but never did I think it would happen under my own roof!

I am bereft that he has fallen victim to this most disheartening of attractions--why couldn't she be a Vanderbilt fan? Kentucky? Mississippi State?

WHHHHHYYYYYY?!

Anyway, I'm willing to set that aside if her daddy owns a sporting goods store or a car repair place.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:37 AM | Comments (8)

I have a question(s).

I just now went to the restroom, and as I was standing there resting, I looked out the window beside the restceptacle (very convenient, I must say), and saw a highly attractive young blonde woman of the Delta Burke-class walking down the sidewalk below. What caught my eye (more than her) was the absolutely gigantic wheeled baggage she was rolling behind her. I figured from her clothing and the direction she was walking (toward the Legal Aid office) that she was probably a lawyer of some sort, but I have to ask--just WHAT is in all that luggage!? I've seen sales reps for brick companies carrying around stuff like that, but I've also noticed a good many lawyers doing the same.

Do you really have to have all that? Is it so heavy that they only let the big girls roll it around? Is there a legal requirement that the cases have to look all dumpy and sober, or can you have something with some color?

Just wondering.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:50 AM | Comments (7)

As for the doctor visit...

Two hours of time spent, only to find out (repeatedly) from the doc that all we had to do was mail her the form and she could have filled it out since Rebecca already had a complete physical this year. Maybe--and I'm just thinking in pixels here--maybe they could inform the appointment-making apparatchicks of this. Yeah--I know--that's just crazy talk!

Anyway, we did go ahead and get her a flu shot while we were there. And I have to say, it really doesn't seem to be much of a benefit to have a separate waiting room for sicko kids, when they all have to be piled up together with all the well kids in the injection waiting area. I walked out feeling as though I was covered in a layer of croup.

Blech.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:19 AM | Comments (2)

November 06, 2006

See? Told you it was going to be a short day!

I'm done for the day, so all of you have fun for the rest of the afternoon, and remember to go vote tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:50 PM | Comments (0)

And today?

It's a short one. I have to take Rebecca to go get her physical for soccer, so I have to leave out of here in just a few hours. She's very excited about playing, but she's got a lot of physical conditioning to do.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:25 AM | Comments (0)

Anyway, as I was saying...

...all that instruction I did on training a certain someone how to change a tire was all for naught. I suppose if I had been unreachable she might have been able to manage--but I have a feeling she forgot ever having been shown anything in the first place, and would swear upon a stack of Bibles and upon her own life she'd never been shown. Look, if she can run over something and immediately start blaming someone else for it, she's capable of any variety of delusions.

ANYwho, I was all happy Friday afternoon when I got the call from Reba--yes, for some reason Oldest can't just call me, it has to be relayed through Mom--who told me Oldest had a flat, and that the hubcap had come off, and it sounded like the whole car was rattling when she parked it. And as I mentioned earlier, Oldest wondered aloud to Mom if someone had flattened her tire in the parking lot. Hey, sometimes even the paranoid can be right!

In my mind, I imagined she'd gotten a nail in her tire, somehow managed to flip a hubcap, and that was it.

I packed up and made the trek to the high school parking lot, where I found her in the car at a parking spot near the end of the row closest to the field house. Parked, saw the front passenger side slouched down like the innumerable open-mouthed goobers wandering around with backwards baseball caps.

She hopped out, and we walked around to the flat side--again, I expected a deflated doughnut, and intened to fix it with the handy can of spray goo I keep in the trunk.

What did I find?

A giant gouge of a hole, and the tire completely separated from the rim. It looked like she'd driven into the sharp pointed end of something with a sharp pointed end, at about 110 miles per hour.

"Ashley! This isn't a flat--you had a blow out! You ran over something! How'd you do this?"

"I DON'T KNOW!! I DIDN'T HIT ANYTHING! SOME GIRL SAID I LOST MY HUBCAP AND I GOT IT! DO YOU NEED MY HUBCAP!?"

I knelt down and examined the rim--big concrete-rough gouge on the side of the rim, and looked at the hubcap--corresponding abrasions there.

::sigh:: She'd hit something with it--hard--hard enough to completely shred the sidewall and kick off the hubcap, but she was so intent on blaming someone, something, else that she had completely erased any memory of what she was doing or anything else. When she gets like this, there's no reasoning with her, no way to get an honest answer. "Where did this happen?"

She waved her hand over toward the front of the school, and again asked me if I needed the hubcap.

"No."

I pulled out the spare and the jack, and put the carcass and bones in the trunk. "You aren't going to put the hubcap on?"

What IS it with her and that hubcap!? She seemed to have taken her salvation of the hubcap as proof that she has nothing to do with any of the preceding events. "No, the spare tire doesn't get a hubcap--when we get the tire changed, they'll put it on."

I followed her up to Sam's where I dropped a nice $60 replacing a tire I'd purchased only a few months ago. At least she did say she was sorry, which is a far cry from the screaming fit she pitched last week when she determined that because we wouldn't spend $2,000 to send her to some sort of money-wasting educational enrichment thing in Washington for a week that we hated her.

::sigh::

Left the car, took her home, went to the bank, came back, took her to her play rehearsal, came back home, got Reba to take me back to Sam's to pick up the car. She dropped me off, I got the car, drove home expecting to see the van there, since Reba was supposed to come right home. Not there. Parked Focus, saw note on door--"Gone to pick up Ashley." Apparently, rehearsal was cancelled for her.

AFTER ALL THAT, the rest of the weekend was uneventful, and thankfully so. I used my newly-invented Pillow Head Sound Arrestor Saturday morning when I heard Boy click on cartoons, and I am almost ashamed to admit that I slept all the way until 10:00 o'clock. I haven't done that in years and years and years. It sure was nice. Sorta. A certain member of the fair sex to whom I am wed begrudged me the extra hours, but I was so blissfully out of it, I never heard her usual Saturday morning Dropping of Fully Laden Baskets, or her Loud Opening of Doors, or her Loud Slamming of Doors, or her Rackety Dropping of Piles of Plastic Clothes Hangers, or her Clattering of Clanging Metal Cookware.

After awakening and dressing, I had a few more errands to run, to the OTHER bank, where I saw famed radio and television personality, Ken Lass, then I came back and there was laundry, and other things I can't remember, and I listened to the football game which was nice, AND THEN--

--we loaded up the truckster and went to Penney's to shop for blue jeans. Even in the South, there does come a time when it's too cold and you just can't wear shorts. We stayed there until very, very late. And spend very, very much money. But they all have enough pantses to wear for a whole week.

Sunday, again, not much to do, and I actually got to read a paper! Did have to make another run to Sam's, this time to get snacks for yet another weekend campout. This one I won't be going on, though--it's for the kids at church--who (along with several adults including Miss Reba) will be heading up to Guntersville this weekend. I stay at home to sit with Cat, although I predict a good time will be had with much silliness. But, as I was saying, had to go get a variety of snack items both for our kids and everyone else's, too.

Managed to do that, and got a sample of stuffing from one of the sample ladies. She told me all about it as I tried to leave, then asked me if I wanted to buy some stuffing.

"UHmm, no--I don't need any today. But thank you very much!"

She was disappointed, I think. But I really didn't need a five pound box of stuffing.

Home, unload, then back up to church for the kids to have their meetings on various things, then after worship they had a get-together at another family's house, while Mom and I and Cat went and had supper at Ruby Tuesday. Only four tables occupied, and yet the service STILL seemed lackadaisical.

Oh well.

All in all, an okay weekend, if you discount the vast outflow of money involved.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:54 AM | Comments (0)

Make that a longer while than I thought.

Just found out our secretary is out for the day and I made the mistake of wandering by the outer office to get a refreshing cold beverage while my boss was out there. So I got tagged with watching the phone for the next hour.

::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:28 AM | Comments (0)

Aside from having to leave work early...

...to go buy a new front tire after a certain oldest child of mine managed to tear a four inch long by 1 1/2 inch wide gash in her front passenger side tire--"I DON'T KNOW HOW THAT HAPPENED!! I THINK SOMEONE MIGHT HAVE DONE THAT IN THE PARKING LOT!!"--other than that, the weekend was remarkably trouble-free.

BUT, more of that in a little while. I have to start my carbonated beverage IV.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:12 AM | Comments (0)

November 03, 2006

That time already!?

Uh, well, no, not quite.

But my brain is all squishy sounding and that's always a sign it's best to wrap things up here at Moron Central and get ready for next week. The weekend plans are unremarkable, thank goodness, and it is my most sincere wish that they contain nothing more exciting than finding a quarter in the washing machine. Well, unless it's finding a million dollars in the washing machine, or finding that the washing machine has been magically turned into solid gold by a troupe of kind elves. Or even elves impersonators.

ANYway, all of you have a great weekend, and come back around Monday and we'll see what sort of trouble we can get into.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:04 PM | Comments (0)

So what exactly does one do to cool his ardor for his beloved?

He comes home, kisses her on the cheek, then takes his middle daughter to Academy to try to find a new pair of soccer cleats.

And then he stays gone for three hours, not returning home until nearly 9:30 p.m., because finding a new pair of soccer cleats required trying on Every. Single. Pair. Ofcleatsintheentirestore. Every women's pair, every man's pair.

This one was too tight through here.

These hurt across here.

This one doesn't have a comfortable back.

This one rubs my heel.

This one hurts here, but feels better here than this one.

This one makes me feel like I'm rocking backwards.

This one is too hard.

Repeat.

Do you know how long three hours is when it's spent in a sporting goods store, when you're not looking at fun things like guns? It's a long time, that's how long.

But, it had to be done--she begins soccer again on the 13th, and she needs to get her cleats broken in a bit before she starts. And I apparently needed something to calm me down and make me so fatigued (aided by hungried, since I didn't have any kind of supper before we left) that my more base desires were safely and conveniently dissipated.

Of course, now I have had a night's sleep, and breakfast, and Miss Reba's picture is looking at me across the desk right now...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:40 AM | Comments (0)

Since we're a'doing pictures...

Here's one from this morning I took over by the library after dropping the kids off. It's a gorgeous day today, and the leaves are prettier this year than just about any time I can remember.

parkway morning.JPG

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:11 AM | Comments (2)

November 02, 2006

Doing the things I don't want to do!

I have to go make a run across town to look at a paint sample. Mainly because I've been unable to hide sufficiently well to keep from finding out it was something I needed to go do.

To make matters worse, my shoes still smell like gasoline from stepping in a puddle of it last night when I went to fill up Reba's van.

::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:05 PM | Comments (0)

November 01, 2006

Of Frustration and Melancholy

Well, I got all finished up yesterday and thought that TODAY I would be able to finally play, and I'd come in early and hit the ol' keyboard hard and do some catching up with all that's gone on lately.

Shoulda known better.

Got up this morning and rousted the kids. Since Reba had to go in early, I had to take the younger three to school, which is usually not that bad as long as we leave at 10 til 7. Yesterday, we managed fine. This morning? Well, they took a bit longer to get downstairs, and they had Things to Do. Which they needed done while I was trying to fix them some breakfast. Seems Boy needed a base to hang his pipecleaner DNA model on. I had to go find that. Managed to find a narrow shoebox, stuck a hole in the top, pushed in a bent paperclip as a hook, and hung the twisted fuzzy things in there neatly. Done. But then he needed tape. Tape is supposed to be in THIS cabinet. It was, but there was no dispenser, so I needed the scissors, which Boy had to go retrieve from some other part of the house. Cut two pieces so he could tape on his description.

"Daddy, I need you to fix this."

It was Catherine, who'd remembered she wanted to take another one of her little homemade pizzas to school today just like she did yesterday. Only, yesterday, she'd already had it made and we only had to heat it in the oven.

Today?

She had to make it AND get it hot. And it was time to go. Grr. Heated up the oven, cleaned up the mess from breakfast, told everyone to get their backpacks and get ready to go, told Cat to put away her video game so she'd be ready to go, waited, waited, took the pizza out as soon as the cheese looked more or less melted, wrapped it in foil, slung it in her lunchbox, yelled upstairs to Oldest to have a good day (which got the usual frosty silence in response), and hit the garage door running about five minutes behind schedule.

Middle Two to middle school, Cat and I on to the intermediate school, pulled into the drop-off and sat for a moment to see if the doors had been unlocked yet.

"Daddy, do we have time to go back home?"

::sigh::

"Why, Catherine?"

Although I knew.

"I forgot my backpack I'M SORRY DADDY!!"

"Well, you might be late, and I know I will be, but whatever."

Back home, pick up backpack, back to school, where she got out with plenty of time to spare--not the least bit late. And then it was time for me to go to work. It was 7:40.

I got here at 9:00. A wreck at the 31st Street exit, which stopped traffic and contributed to a wreck after the Tallapoosa Street exit, both of which backed up traffic all the way to Trussville. By the time I actually GOT to the 31st Street exit, there was no wreck there anymore.

SO, now I'm here, and I'm not in a pleasant state, and to make it worse, Halloween was quite the bummer. Jonathan and Rebecca both had homework, and neither one was really that excited about going trickertreating, which at first I thought was good, and I congratulated them for being mature enough to realize that if they did go out, they knew they'd have to get their homework done first. Catherine was QUITE ready to go, however, and got on her witch costume and grabbed her plastic pumpkin and we headed out.

It was warm--didn't even need a jacket, and I probably would have been more comfortable in a tee shirt instead of my dress shirt. And it was light out--there were scattered low clouds that bounced the lights from the main highway. And for some reason, there just weren't nearly so many kids out this year.

And the worst thing? I only had one with me.

I think she noticed the loneliness of it all, too. The first house she was excited, but after that one, I think she missed not having a couple of other kids to run with her and try to get to the doorbell first. She usually is chattering like a spider monkey on crack, but she was very quiet this year.

And it made me sad.

How many more years will it be before she decides she's too old for dressing up and asking for candy? To make it worse, when we got back, Jonathan had finished his homework and was all excited and wanted to go out, too. I dropped Cat off and Boy and I started walking.

He felt the same vibe, too. Not very many kids out, and a certain sense that he was a bit too old to be dressing up. We went to the few houses on the street behind us, and when I pointed out some more houses up the way, he suddenly just said he wanted to go home. "I'm hot."

This from the kid who'd played football for three hours with a bunch of rowdy boys on Sunday afternoon in the big field where we camped. He was hot.

I really don't think that was it, and I have to tell you it makes me miss all those times when there was no such thing as getting too hot or too tired or too old to run around the neighborhood after dark, when having to go to the bathroom didn't mean going home, but finding a conveniently dark clump of bushes.

For once, I'm kinda glad everyone's putting up Christmas decorations early.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:50 AM | Comments (5)

October 31, 2006

::sigh::

Yet another day where I won't get to come out and play due to having to toil my life away in the salt mine. Actually, it's not really a salt mine--more like a manure mine. Anyway, I have a bunch of garbage to do and I have to get it done, so all of you run and play without me and I'll try to catch up on things later.

::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:29 AM | Comments (4)

October 30, 2006

GRRR!!

Mu.nu is acting up and ate my entire post! ARRGGHHHH!!

Well, dang. I hate it when that happens, because I never can get my thoughts together again when it does. Well, poop.

Anyway, I'm just going to have to give you a list of the pictures with a brief caption for right now--I've got work work to do, and don't have time to go back through and make a whole new post. GRRR!!

Also, since Mu.nu has been acting up, I can't upload any pictures, so I'm relying on my fallback Photobucket account. I'm just going to go ahead and post the entire image below the jump, so if you have a slow connection, please be patient and let them load.



Okay, here is bedraggled Boy as we set off on our expedition--

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The place we camped was a very nice 31-acre spread alongside Logan Martin Lake that belongs to the sister of one of the Scout leaders. Or it did--they just sold it, meaning this is the last year we’ll be able to use it.

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Here is Jonathan proudly displaying his tent-pitching skills--

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After the boys changed out of their uniforms and had some lunch and some free time

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--it was time for the exhaustive battery of team relays. Here the boys pretend to listen to the rules.

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And here is Jonathan participating in the cracker-chewing-then-whistling relay.

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He is accompanied by Sparky, who belongs to the man whose sister owns the place. Sparky appeared to be approximately 114 years old, and had two speeds--waddle and stop. Sparky looked to be a cross between a pug, a bulldog, and a Vietnamese pot-bellied pig. He liked crackers.

Our team eventually won. After that, Boy decided to sit down and sketch some--

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This is the view he was looking at.

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After that, suppertime. Here he prepares sausage for his faux Mexican pizza, which was really more of a quesadilla. Or pizzadilla, as he called them.

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After supper, the campfire, and I went to bed early because I was cold and sleepy. Sunday was a bit warmer, but Sunday morning was still rather frigid. Pretty, though--here’s the fog rising off the lake as I poked my head out the tent on Sunday morning.

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All in all, a wonderful trip, but I was glad to get back home, too. And I wish this stupid blog server was working right, because I said a whole lot more than that. HMPH!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:05 AM | Comments (2)

Well, hello there!

Lots of weekend to talk about, but it will come back to me in dribs and drabs, because I keep finding myself with my head tilted back and loud snoring noises coming out of my mouth. Weird!

Oh, and I've got some pictures so that'll take a little while to get them resized and such. Of course, that'll take a while, too, for the same loud snoring sound reason...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:17 AM | Comments (0)

October 27, 2006

Well, now--speaking of cooking and manliness and such...

...the weekend approaches, and as I mentioned earlier in the week, Scout Boy and I will be heading for the wilderness with his troop tomorrow to spend a couple of days frightening the small animals. It's supposed to be a whole family campout, but the girls are content to let us go off and be savages for a day or two, which is just as well since the idea is for each Scout to take care of the cooking and comfort needs of his family for the entire time. Now I can wrangle five other people, but Boy might be a bit out of his league on that one. Taking care of himself and one old chubby guy is probably more his speed.

ANYway, he gets to cook my meals for me, which should be interesting since he's going to try to make pizza and cookies. Mexican pizza, at that. I keep trying to remind him that we don't quite have the necessary equipment to bake anything, but he's pretty determined what he's got planned will work. I have a feeling I will be giving some assistance. Anyway, we'll have sandwiches for lunch tomorrow, then our evening meal of Mexican pizza and salad with cookies, then sausage omelets for breakfast Sunday.

The rest of the time will be spent doing Scoutish things, I suppose. Looks like a whole lot of free time in there, judging by the schedule, and I'm not quite sure Boy is quite aware of just how long that can last when you don't have a television or a Game Boy and are expected to run around in the woods for hours on end.

BUT, that's okay. I think it'll be pretty fun, as long as I can manage to stay warm and dry and free of chiggers and ticks. And I can tell you that modern camping beats the heck out of campaign-style reenacting--nothing will remind you of your age quite so much as sleeping on frozen ground with nothing but a thin wool blanket around you. Which is one of the reasons I don't do that anymore--war is for young men, and so is dressing up and playing at it.

SO, anyway, that's the plan for this weekend. All of you have a good time and Lord willing we'll see each other again come Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:07 PM | Comments (2)

October 26, 2006

A Reprieve!

The football game got rescheduled for Monday, so I can go home and go sleepy-bye!

Although probably not quite as soon as I'd like.

BUT THAT'S OKAY!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:54 PM | Comments (0)

I tell you what--

--if it ain't one thing, it's another.

I hadn't intended on doing only one post yesterday, but along about 1:40 as I was just about halfway through lunch, I got a call from the elementary school about a little youngster who shares my surname having a bout of the gut ache. Normally, I would have told them just to send her back to class, but seeing as how Rebecca spent the day Monday over at Grandmom's house with a terrible stomachache, I figured Youngest must have gotten a touch of it as well.

SO, off to the other side of town to pick her up.

Oh, and this is on top of the fact that Reba had just gotten to work yesterday when the high school nurse called her about Oldest, who seemed to be having a recurrence of her internal plumbing distress and so she'd had to ALSO go home, get her, and take her to the doctor, then to the hospital so they could run an ultrasound and do blood work and all that stuff. SO, there was all that going on as well.

Off to get Cat, who seemed a bit sluggish when she came to the lobby, and slightly on the warm side. Hmm. This dissipated about the time we got to the middle school. We'd gone there to pick up the Middle Two, since Reba's mom had gone with her to the hospital with Oldest, meaning the two middle schoolers wouldn't have been able to get in her house if they'd ridden the bus. SO, a note was sent to them to come ride with Dad, who was parked out front.

WHO, at that moment, was desperately trying to take a quick nap, because he was once more having one of those sudden loss of energy moments from the lungcrud he's been battling. Luckily, Youngest took this time to recover from her malady completely, and her constant chattering and wiggling and running back and forth from the car to the trash can on the front porch of the middle school managed to keep me from actually getting any sleep.

Bell rang, kids made their way to the car, we went home, sat them down to do their homework, and I collapsed on the couch. Got about five minutes of actual sleep in about two hours. Oldest came in seemingly in fine fettle, since she was loudly telling all the younger kids in her usual haughty way about just how horrible everything was at the hospital. Mom said they hadn't been able to find anything specific, which I found just SO shocking. I know Oldest really does have some pain, but I also know it has a way of growing all out of proportion depending on the circumstances. ::sigh::

Anyway, had a bite to eat, and the two Middle Kids and I got ready to go to church and get gas in the Volvo, which we did, then on the way back we had to stop by the drug store and get my medicine, and THEN on over to Staples to pick up some envelopes. We HAD TO HAVE ENVELOPES.

Got back in the car and started the final leg down Main Street to the blessed relief of home. Passed by the shopping center, noticed the two police cars parked driver-door-to-driver-door at the funeral home, checked to make sure I was going the speed limit, which I was, did my mental checklist of stuff I had to come in and do today for work, tried to figure out why, exactly, we needed envelopes tonight of all nights, thought about this weekend's campout with Boy, which sounds fun, and FLASHING BLUE LIGHTS!!

Wha!?

I was just past the Target part of the shopping center, and I knew I was still putting along the same speed I'd been going, so at first I thought they might be on a call somewhere on down toward the center of town, but when I slowed down to pull off into the Eastminster church parking lot, the cruiser followed me right into the driveway.

Uh-oh. I wonder what in the world is going on?

Of course, the kids were greatly excited by this turn of events.

Engine off, dome light on, window down, hands on wheel.

The officer approached slowly with his hand near his holster, "Sir, may I see your license and proof of insurance?"

I fished out my license and insurance card and handed it to him while the kids whispered gleefully back and forth to each other.

The policeman looked at my information for a bit and then said, "Sir, I stopped you tonight because you don't have any taillights."

Oh, dadgummit. I didn't quite doubt him, as I've had lighting trouble on the old Volvo for months now that I haven't quite gotten all sorted out, but I thought that I had myself covered by using the rear fog lamps--the Volvo has an auxiliary set of red lamps in the back to enhance visibility in snow and fog. I'd had them on, but I suppose they must have gotten burnt out.

"I don't have ANY lights back there?"

"No, sir."

"Uh--well, I have had some trouble with them, so, uhmm, well--okay then."

He took my license back to his car and came back with a warning ticket. While he was gone, Rebecca, of all people, kept jabbering about how she didn't like it that he was taking so much time and how she couldn't understand why he stopped us and on and on and ON until I told her to SHUT UP AND NOT SAY ANOTHER WORD!

Which she did.

Thus, with a warning in hand, I cranked back up and we headed on up to the house, unloaded ourselves, and I sent them on to get their baths while I once more collapsed on the bed.

Today?

Well, Oldest is over at Grandmom's, so I brought the Focus to work today since it's dark and rainy and I don't want to get stopped again for not having taillights, and I'll be taking Boy to the game tonight so he can beat on his drum, and I'm hoping that the cold damp weather doesn't cause my lungcrud to turn into tuberculosis or scurvy or dropsy.

And worst of all?

I didn't quite have time in all that to come up with a Thursday Three for today.

Sorry.

Maybe next week?

We'll see.

As for now, I have all the stuff I was supposed to do yesterday to get done, as well as the stuff I'm supposed to do today done, because I've got to leave early to go get Boy and get him to the bandroom on time.

And now I would like to take a nap.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:19 AM | Comments (19)

October 25, 2006

Zzzzz

I'M AWAKE!

Not that I want to be.

Whatever I've got is doing a number on me like a light switch--one minute I'm perky and obtuse and irreverent, the next minute I feel like my brain has turned to molasses and all I want to do is sleep. The congestion is breaking up, which is both good and bad. Breathing, after all, is a good thing. Hacking up giant wads of mucilage? Well, it's certainly satisfying on some level, but still, socially awkward.

A busy evening last night didn't help. Reba needed gas in the van, and Boy needed a new pair of ugly gardening shoes to fit in with all the other kids. ::sigh::

You might recall I'd gotten him a pair of mock-Crocs a while back, which were not quite the high quality one would normally expect from a $5 pair of plastic shoes made by Chinese child labor. The strap on one came loose. It had a little retainer button that was supposed to snap onto a corresponding plastic snap on the shoe, but the plastic was messed up and it would never stay snapped. He'd walk around with it flopping, and so I finally just took it off for him so he wouldn't look so bedraggled. The problem was in leaving the other strap on the other shoe.

Apparently, the lack of symmetry bothered him--one shoe with a strap, one shoe without--because sometime over the weekend, I noticed he had something threaded on his shoe and wrapped around the back of his heel--

"JONATHAN! What have you got on that shoe!?"

"Nothing!"

"Well, what's that red string on there!?"

"It's not a string!"

"But what IS it!?"

"It's a pipe cleaner, Dad."

Oh, well, of COURSE.

::sigh::

I realize we don't have great wads of cash, but there is a certain stubborn pridefulness in me that will not allow me to have one of my kids walking along with a shoe--even a cheap $5 pair of Chinese-child-made plastic shoes--tied on with a wire pipe cleaner.

"Jonathan! No. No, son, we AREN'T going to do that--I'll GET you another pair of shoes, but you will NOT go to school looking like that!"

"I wasn't going to go to school with it like this!"

Wasn't, won't, whatever. Anyway, I told him when we went to the store Monday to get supplies for our weekend Scout campout (coming up this weekend--oh boy!) that I'd take him and get some shoes.

But I forgot his shoes in the midst of all the food shopping.

SO, last evening I arrived to pick them up from Grandmom's house after an afternoon of feeling pretty darned chipper, and Boy asked the moment I got in the door if we could go get his shoes. Tenacious little booger, he is.

I agreed, got us all home, got supper started, welcomed Mom home, found out the van was out of gas, told her I had a shoe chore to fulfill, found out that Oldest needed a foundation garment that required the assistance of Mom, and further Oldest wanted to go to the second night of an audition for the local theater group, and at that very moment we had a nice pile of fish baking in the oven, meaning that this was going to turn out to be something of a tag-team effort.

SO, out the door in a rush with Boy in tow, stopped at Academy so I could check on a few supplies that I needed to replenish in my camping stuff and walked up onto a whole pile of Crocs, so we found a black pair that fit him, and THEN...


The Holy Grail--The White Whale--The Brass Ring!

"What!?" you might ask, fearing the answer.

AS well you should.

Bright yellow rubber shoes! IN MY SIZE!!

Some of you might recall that many seasons ago, while Pam the Liberal still worked here with me, that our department was beset by a hollow husk of a human whose sole purpose in life seemed to be promulgating stupid department-wide regulations. Why? Well, he never could quite get the idea that if someone was making trouble, you deal with that person. His idea was that you make EVERYONE unhappy by layering on another layer of ridiculous work rules intended to curb the troublemaker. You all know how these things work out--the troublemaker continues to make trouble, and you're left with a bunch of policies that are ignored. Until some little martinet wants to make trouble.

ANYWAY, one of the things was a dress code, which was a marvel of incoherence and oddness. I always dress like a bureaucratic drone anyway, so the idea of wearing torn blue jeans to work or tight, revealing workout clothes wasn't really high on my things-to-do list, and I do happen to bathe on a very regular schedule so flies rarely find me more than momentarily attractive, and I do wear shoes. So, the whole idea of such a silly bit of rank-pulling chafed me, and I swore to Pam the Liberal that one day I was going to come into work wearing a kilt (since they were not prohibited) and a pair of bright yellow rubber garden clogs (since ladies' shoes were so rigidly prescribed, but mens' were not) and just see what the reaction would be. I was only half-joking, but as time wore on, it became a running gag betwixt Pam and myself as to when I would be showing up in my garb.

The problem? Well, the kilt was not a problem since there's plenty of places you can get them, but I really DID want a pair of nice gardening shoes to wear out in the yard, and for some reason, I was averse to ordering a pair online. I have no idea why--I've ordered other stuff--but I never did really want to go to the trouble of ordering a pair of clogs. THEN when the big Croc craze hit, and the kids wanted some, I started looking around for a pair for myself. Although a black pair would be much more suitable, in the back of my mind, I told myself that only yellow would do. The problem was finding anything in yellow in a man's shoe--large-sized yellow shoes I suppose generally being the choice of clowns or the disturbed.

BUT LAST NIGHT--I finally found yellow rubber garden clogs in my size! YAY ME!! So, I got Boy a replacement pair of black ones, and I now have a pair of yellow. Which I didn't wear today since I had a very serious meeting to attend. And anyway, when I do wear them I want Pam to be able to see them. BUT AT LEAST I HAVE THEM NOW!!

SO, after that and after some other shopping (running through the store) at Target and after filling up with gas at the foot of the hill, we zipped back home, sat down to eat, and I was suddenly in that complete shutdown mode.

Everything seemed to move in slow-motion. Ashley came back in from the audition, she and Mom left to go bra-shopping, I put things in the dishwasher, the kids went and took their baths, and I draped myself on the side of the bed like a sack of wet plaster.

Sometime later, Reba and Ashley got home, I think the kids went to bed, I turned around and stuck my head between a couple of pillows, Reba showered and came to bed, and all night long I dreamed of the usual decrepit old small towns I usually dream about (one of the places was an old ball park that had a faux Norman tower that had been built in 1909 and the whole bottom of it was gone--somehow) and then I woke up this morning with a plan.

I would get up and go in for my meeting, then turn around and come right back home and go to bed and sleep the rest of the day.

I got up and stood in the shower half-asleep for nearly twenty minutes, and decided I might should go in to the office after the meeting just so I could finish up the paperwork from the meeting, then tell my boss I was going home for the rest of the day.

Got out, got dressed, got the kids rousted (somewhat), kissed Reba 'bye, and wondered if I would actually get any sleep if I went home after the meeting. Daytime sleep is always a hit-or-miss thing, you know. You hear stuff you don't hear at night, like dump trucks and day laborers.

Drove in to work, admired the lurid dayglo sunrise, had the meeting, took copious notes while nursing a Diet Coke, packed up afterwards and got here. Hmm. What a pile of junk to do. Maybe after lunch?

Nah. I guess I'll stay for the duration. Maybe I'll sleep in late tomorrow. Or go to bed extra early tonight. Or mableke,,,,,,,,,,,,, WHA!? Sorry. Maybe I could just rack out under my drafting table...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:14 AM | Comments (5)

October 23, 2006

Okay, where wasn't I?

Oh, yeah--fall festival.

One of the benefits of driving the truck is that no one bothers me, I've got a place to sit down, people like the hayride, and I can listen to the radio. I've mentioned before about the old Massey Ferguson tractor we used to have--it's a bit of a let down not to have a tractor pulling the trailer, but only for the passengers. Even a rusty twenty year old Isuzu beats sitting there breathing Diesel soot--and all without the benefit of a radio.

That was nice, in that I could listen to the game and not miss a minute of a lackluster game by Auburn. Once again, I am shamed by my lack of prescience in score prediction, but as has become the norm, every weak team they play seems to get an additional charge of emotion and they always play much better than anyone anticipates. Oh well--a win's a win, I suppose.

We left a bit earlier than usual so we could get back and finish cleaning up, which we did, and then I had to make a run to the store for some floor washing junk and a new sponge for the sponge mop. Catherine wanted to help mop, and I WANTED her to do something, but she's not able to handle big yarn mop, so I figured (since the floor wasn't nearly as dirty as it was the last time) to equip her with something a bit more her speed.

Got home and after I moved the chairs to the den and cleaned around the more difficult areas, she came padding along and begged to help. Seldom do any of the kids beg to help.

So, she scrubbed and wiggled and actually did a pretty darned good job of it. Even more incredible was when she later got one of the cookies we'd baked and carefully brought it over to the sink to eat it "so I won't get crumbs on my floor I just mopped."

I could have cried tears of joy--FINALLY one of them understands where MESSES come from!

To bed with us all, then back up Sunday. Off to church, good class and good sermon, then quickly back to the house to brace for the onslaught of...


two kids.

Same two as last time--we had a bunch of people gone visiting again, and so we have a bunch of leftovers. Not that I mind. And again, not that I mind not having the house wrecked by some of the more destructive little angels we know. Thought we were gonna lose the cat, though. He climbed up on our backdoor neighbor's fence, and the kids were all out there and I figured he was going to jump down into their yard, and then we'd have to go knock on their door and create a disturbance. Luckily, he didn't run away when I got on the scene to take control, so I scooped him up and put him back in his house while the kids ran around getting their church clothes messed up.

After they all left, we put things away and I got to take a nap of about ten minutes. Unfortunately, it was not ten contiguous seconds, but rather dribs and drabs of minutes or two at a time.

Folded more clothes, then got ready to go back to church again. Rebecca and Catherine are both taking a little class on saying Bible verses in Spanish, so after that was over they were jabbering away in something that sounded only vaguely Romantic. In fact, it was only slightly Indo-European. But it's nice that they're enthusiastic about it, and Rebecca has a friend from school who's bilingual so she's going to get her to help.

Evening worship, then home for some lunch leftovers, and then I absolutely crashed. I couldn't stay awake for anything. I don't know if it's the crud in my lungs or what, but it was like I had been given general anesthesia.

And I still felt that way this morning, which again is why I decided not to bother with blogging today and just take it easy.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:15 AM | Comments (2)

Silly me!

I erased a bit of code when I posted my quote of the week, and it messed EVERYthing up. And here I thought some interloper had messed me up.

ANYway, I got up this morning and decided I was going to take a day off from blogging. I felt like garbage. Immense fatigue, head feeling as dense as a bowling ball--blech.

Why am I at work then? To be able to get some rest, I guess.

Anyway, I'm gonna take a day off, so you won't get to hear about cleaning house Saturday. It actually went pretty well, since it was still more or less picked up from last month. I did do something I haven't done in ages, though.

I fell.

I have always prided myself on a certain Jackie Gleason-esque lightness of foot, which frankly is lacking in so many men of heft such as myself. Raymond Burr had it, John Goodman has a bit of it, John Candy didn't. Some fat guys move like fat guys, and others of us have something of a soap bubble quality.

SO, imagine my surprise when I was bringing the (evil) vacuum cleaner (Satan's own appliance) through the kitchen and somehow managed to get the power cord caught in betwixt the toes of my left foot while I was in mid stride. I couldn't get my foot untangled fast enough to keep from pitching forward, falling in slow motion much like a giant redwood.

After landing, hard, on the kitchen floor (which is a layer of sheet vinyl flooring laid over concrete), I lay there a moment to collect my thoughts and ask for damage control reports from other parts of the ship. The right knee reported pain and discomfort, but otherwise was still operable. The right shoulder/arm/wrist complex reported a sharp smarting sensation, but again, able to get underway. The head reported looking under the stove and seeing a dustbunny that needed to be gotten out. Actually, more of a dust boa constrictor. The other parts of the body overruled the head and agreed to get up and go finish vacuuming if the head would just forget about the dust under the stove.

Danged vacuum cleaner.

Anyway, the house got cleaned up pretty well, and we had our fall festival at church, but I can't tell you about that because I've decided, as I said, to take a day and not worry about blogging.

Although, I have to say, Saturday would have been an even better day to not do anything, because it was just beautiful--today's bright and sunny, but sort of chilly, but Saturday afternoon was perfect. We had all the stuff set up out in the parking lot this year, mainly because the kids tend to track hay into the building and spill stuff. Much better to do that in the parking lot. AND as in years past, I got to drive the hay ride. We used one of our member's old 4WD Isuzu P'up, which has a certain agricultural charm to it. Never heard a gasoline engine that sounded quite so much like a Diesel.

Quite fun.

Well, I have to go to staff meeting now. Be back in just a bit to tell you what all else I won't be blogging about today since I'm taking the day off.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:21 AM | Comments (9)

October 20, 2006

Well, let's see--

--laundry, heavy-duty housecleaning, fall festival at church tomorrow (I get to drive the hay ride truck!), little-church-kid's luncheon and Bible study at the house for the SECOND month in a row on Sunday, and all I want to do is go home and go to bed and sleep.

I don't think I'll get to do that.

But at least no yardwork! It's too soggy, for one thing, and the grass weeds isn't aren't growing that fast, for another. And I'm lazy, too.

ANYway, all of you have a great weekend and come back around Monday sometime and see if I manage to keep all the plates spinning on their respective sticks.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:52 PM | Comments (0)

Well, I'll be.

You might recall my recent nano-controversy (or micro-kerfuffle, as I said here, and the initial story was here) about Tiny Terror's computer teacher setting all of her young charges up with Yahoo! e-mail accounts.

My beef at the time was the teacher seemed not really to understand such things should be done with the parents' permission, and that she was definitely NOT any child's legal guardian, and further that Yahoo! is adult-oriented. It's much too easy to find unkidfriendly content on the various Personals sites, and that should have been pretty obvious up front.

Well, I wrote a nice note to everyone (teacher, computer teacher, principal, school tech guy), and although I did get a response from the computer teacher, I never really felt as though I got any sort of acknowledgement that yes, maybe things could have been done a bit better so as to avoid all this. I realize they get calls and letters from cranks all the time--I've been on two different private school boards of trustees and Miss Reba ran a daycare at a school, so I know cranks--but it would have been nice (since I was nice and calm and not the least bit crankish) to have had some sense that SOMEthing would be done differently in the future.

I let it slide, although it still nagged at me a bit, but then while I was rummaging through Cat's backpack last night taking out all the wads of paper, I found an interesting note from the computer teacher:

Exciting things are happening in [the school's] computer lab! Students are setting up personal email accounts through Gaggle.net, a kid-friendly email site. This is a school-oriented email service in which teachers monitor content. Before activating an account for [the school], Gaggle verified that we were a functioning school and I was a certified teacher. [Explanation of the classwork to be done] We began our lessons using Yahoo email accounts. However, it was discovered that access to unsuitable content wa a possibility on Yahoo sites. [Emphasis mine] All Yahoo accounts that were established have been cancelled and will no longer be accessible. [Remainder of letter lectures parents on Internet security for their kids]

Well, how about that.

Still, I am not undissatisfied.

Mainly it was the tone--the passive voice "it was discovered" makes it sound as though it wasn't bloody obvious from the start that SOMEONE herself wasn't quite up to speed on the pitfalls associated with the Internet, and then the remainder of the letter's wording was just a bit off-putting. I know some parents don't know these things, but the teacher obviously didn't seem to understand them, either. It would have been nice to not act so uppity about it and admit that the whole thing was a learning process for EVERYone involved.

Reminds me of an old bit that I believe was told by Jerry Clower--there was a fellow who liked to tell everyone how smart he was, and one day he was with a bunch of guys watching a man make horseshoes. He picked up one that was still hot and burned his hand and dropped it suddenly, and the guys started picking on him and asking him if it was hot. "Naw--I just didn't want to look at it that long."

Anyway, I'm glad they did decide to do something, and I'm satisfied about what they did do, and hopefully the kids will learn a little something. And hopefully the adults will learn that until they run that horseshoe down in the water bucket it's best not to grab on to it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:22 AM | Comments (0)

Did I mention...

...that my lungs are filled with rubber cement?

I hate it when that happens. But for the past week, I've had a bout of consumption (or something even more dreadly), and whatever it is has settled deep in my chest where it gnaws at me--particularly at night. Meaning that I'm either drowsy this morning because of the lack of sleep, or because of the expectorant/decongestant/cough suppressant/dessert topping/floor wax that I took. Or, it could be that big warm mug of paregoric.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:06 AM | Comments (0)

October 19, 2006

Short Day?

Well, yes. Gotta go pick up the kids from school this afternoon as well as a bunch of junk that Jonathan sold to people during the recent band fundraiser. Some of which requires immediate refrigeration, I think.

SO, off to that side of town. But don't worry, there's still plenty to do around here. Such as, oh, blowing stuff up real good! Nate McCord sent me this extraordinary link to something that looks like a real-life version of an Elmer Fudd cartoon.

Not sure of the exacts on this one, but photo number 4 looks to be a collimator, a doohickey you place in the end of the barrel when you're first adjusting the scope. As tempting as it might be, allowing the device to STAY in the muzzle is a bad thing if you want bullets to come out. Or, at least, come out without peeling your barrel apart. Or your scalp.

Anyway, be safe out there, and come on back tomorrow and let's see what sort of fun we can have.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:25 PM | Comments (4)

Lunch?

No, I have to go cover the front desk while our lone remaining secretary goes to lunch. Be back after while.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:49 AM | Comments (0)

I realize...

...that this isn't Angryfied Tuesday, but dadgummit, The Guy Who Burns Toast did it AGAIN. And this time he had little thin grubby split sausage links on the toast.

I never really take notice of people who walk by in the hallway, and so he manages to sneak by and load up the toaster oven outside the door with combustibles (thankfully, no paper--lately), and then he LEAVES. Goes shuffling to the bathroom (he's advanced in years and has numerous health problems, meaning both locomotion and peeing take forever), then he comes back after the flames have died down, seemingly astonished that his toast burnt.

I caught a whiff of scorch and before I could get up and run out to the hallway, there were already gray curls of smoke coming up out of the toaster. I opened it up then shut off the timer/power switch, but by then, the unpleasant smell of incineration was all over the entire floor.

"Whew!" he said, as he gathered his meal and walked back to his office.

Yeah, you could say that.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:23 AM | Comments (3)

October 18, 2006

Well, good MORNING!

Looks like today is going to be much more open for playtime, although that is always subject to change.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:17 AM | Comments (0)

October 17, 2006

Honor to whom honor is due.

(AND it's Uptight Tuesday, Too!)

Back now, but only briefly, in that I suddenly have a kabillion different things I have to get done today. I felt compelled to check in, though, just to let you know I didn't get run over by a log truck or something. AND to brag a bit, in that Oldest was inducted into the National Honor Society this morning, so Reba and I went to the school for the ceremony. Very nice, but I think if I see another girl sashaying along working a piece of chewing gum like a mule eating peanut butter, I will scream.

::hitching thumbs into beltloops::

WHY, BACK IN MY DAY, there weren't no GUM CHEWING in school! PERIOD! You got caught with gum, they'd tie you to a stump and beat you with broom handles, then make you go around school scraping up gum and then make you EAT it all. And when you got sick, you had to clean that up, too!

&^^%*$!

It really does make me wonder--I've read the rulebook and I know they aren't supposed to be chewing gum, but more than that, the whole open-mouthed-smacking-hunched-shoulder look would seem to belie a person's supposed smartypants status. And since appearance seems to count for so much in high school, it just seems odd that this particular affectation would be so prevalent.

Makes you wonder about kids.

Until you look around the bleachers and you see that the apple doesn't slouch far from the tree. So, obviously, the only thing this can mean is that I'm the abnormal one. Therefore, I intend to pull my pants down to my butt crack, walk around with my jaw appropriately slackened, and wear a backwards baseball cap plastered down to my head.

Yes, I know--"An improvement!"

Anyway, it was nice to see her recognized for her good schoolwork. It's almost enough to make one overlook the disaster area that is her bedroom. Almost.

BUT NO MATTER--I have things to get done now and for the rest of the day, so maybe we can get back at this whole blogging biz tomorrow.

IN THE MEAN TIME, since I have kicked off another episode of Troubled Tuesday, if YOU have a particular beef or gripe or angriness or peeve or nit to pick, please feel free to take a moment and give them voice in the comments section. As is our custom, we ask you to refrain from outright vulgarities and expletive-laden diatribes, and instead use the more genteel &^$$!@~ or **&&^$>? in order to keep from scaring the horses.

SO, have at it, and I'll see you sometime later on in the day when I can take a break.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:52 AM | Comments (7)

October 16, 2006

Thank goodness for people with a memory!

Just got a call from Miss Reba reminding me of an appointment we have tomorrow morning, meaning that tomorrow morning's first post will be later than usual, and could even be considered a late-morning post.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:42 PM | Comments (0)

So, pillows are good.

I found this out last weekend, when I heard Kids WB coming from somewhere in the house, and in a barely conscious fit of pique, pulled one of my pillows up over my earpan.

Heaven.

I decided from then on, I would do the same thing every Saturday morning to keep from being awakened by tussling children, insipid Japanimation, or my lovely wife loudly getting plastic clothes hangers or loudly closing the door of the armoire. Saturday is the ONLY day I get to sleep--every other day of the week, I have to get up an hour before everyone else and try to get them all rousted, and by Saturday I’m working on something like a 20 hour sleep deficit, and I want nothing more than to be able to sleep until I wake up the way nature intended. Yet, since everyone else GOT their sleep during the week, they all want to get up and do things on Saturday morning. Loud things. Loud, daddy-wakey kinds of things that make Daddy angry. And Daddy is not allowed a bit of righteous anger, because it Casts a Pall on the Morning.

That is, until I found a way to sleep through it all.

I woke up enough that I had the presence of mind to pull the pillow over my ear sometime before dawn, and there is stayed all the way until 8:30! I even heard Miss Reba come in sometime in the intervening time between when she got up at 6:30 and when I woke up, and as is her usual manner, she loudly opened and closed the armoire door to put away my grippies, and the only thing I heard was a muffled thud as the door was slammed home and the latch snapped shut. Heaven. I usually get the full brunt of the sound, which sounds a bit like someone dropping a sheet of plywood off a loading dock, followed by the sound of a Browning M2 bolt being drawn back and released. And I don’t know why she does that--the door can be closed quietly, but she never chooses to close it that way. Always loud.

BUT NOT WITH PILLOW-AIDED AURAL CANCELLATION!

Finally woke up, refreshed and chipper, went downstairs and had breakfast, and began the process of yardwork.

Filled up the birdfeeders, then got Boy outside and we started on the lawn. He wanted to do the front, and bless his heart, he did most of it, except for several lines of clever grass that managed to swerve around and miss being nicked by the mower blade. Kept trying to get him to get over a bit closer to those, but he couldn’t quite get them all. But hey, at least I didn’t have to do it!

On to the back yard. And by the way, what a beautiful day to do yardwork--cool but not cold, bright blue sky--the only bad thing was the dust. Still. Should get damped down a bit today with the rain, but Saturday is was a bit thickish. No matter, though--STILL a pretty day to be outside. SO, back yard grass, then all done by noon.

Hmm.

You know, the back looks really snakey. Lots of stuff I’d let go over the summer.

Since I’m a moron, I decided to do a little clearing. TWO HOURS LATER, I had managed to cut down three wild hedges and limb up the oak, sycamore, maple, and pear trees. The latter causing me intense scratch-and-pokeage as I tried to drag the branches over to the side of the yard. I know they have thorns. Yet, for some reason, I CONTINUED to jam them into my fingers and scratch my arms with them. Reached down one time as if I was picking up a feather pillow to put upon my head, and rammed one deep into my knuckle. Another time reached into a pile and got scratched up and down my arms like I was fighting with an expensive free kitten.

Stupid me.

BUT, it sure cleaned up really nice--the stone planter bed is almost nekkid of plant growth, and the trees look a lot fresher, and I have a huge pile of brush alongside the house.

Then it was Part Two--chemical devastation!

Drove over to Marvin’s and picked up a gallon of Roundup to douse those wild hedges, and various other stuff that’s growing where it oughtn’t, AND I picked up something else for a project--Styrofoam.

See, Lightning’s little cat condo is out there on the porch, and it’s going to get chilly as the months go on, so I decided to give him a bit of an enclosure to keep some of the wind off of him. Two sides and a top of blue insulation board I figured should do the trick, so I got a 4x9 sheet and squished it into the van, then got it home and began the construction process.

You know what? Cats don’t like you making scratchy sounds outside their cage. Lightning was inside while I was measuring and cutting, and he did not like it AT ALL. Every once in a while, he’d reach one of his gigantic kitty paws around, ready to destroy whatever it was that was behind that sound. The other drawback was the wind picking up. Ever try to cut a big sheet of foam while it’s getting blown around? Not easy.

ANYwho, got all the pieces cut and secured, then had to go BACK to the hardware store to get more duct tape, then made a stop by the car parts place to get some wipers for the van, THEN finished up the three-sided enclosure, THEN after Reba and the two older girls had gone shopping, got the lasagna out of the oven and got ready to go deliver a dinner to one of our folks at church who had been involved in a very bad car wreck. Rounded up the two younger kids, got them to help me carry stuff, and off we went. Delivered the food, chatted with the wreck-guy’s wife to see if they needed anything else and commiserate while the kids amused themselves by agitating their gigantic Doberman through the glass kitchen door.

Off then back toward home, and stopped and got some food for us, because the last I’d heard before we left, the girls were still heavily shopping. As is the normal way of such things, I figured they wouldn’t be back until late, even though Reba had said she was going to fix spaghetti for supper. I’ve seen enough such plans come to naught before, however, to know that we needed to go ahead and get something to eat.

Got home, walked in, and Reba was cooking spaghetti.

Oops.

Our stop at the fast-food joint did not engender any tender feelings toward me. Add to this the general frustration level of spending a half-day shopping and not finding what you wanted, and I can tell you, it was very quiet.

BUT HEY--at least I could listen to the Auburn-Florida game in peace! Am I right!? SURE I AM! (And she did get over being miffed--seeing as how the two smaller kids still wanted some spaghetti, and the laundry did get done without further intervention on her part. It’s all good.)

ANYway, what a game! And for once, I’m glad I got my score prediction wrong. In amongst all that excitement, children were cleaned and polished and everything made ready for Sunday.

SUNDAY, which came and went without incident--two good sermons and a wondrous thing called a nap, and NOT one taken during the things of an important ecclesiastical nature! Sat there in my chair after a good lunch and a read-through of the free newspaper that got tossed on my driveway, and dozed off in that droolish manner, with all the weird semi-conscious dreams that you get. And it was a pretty day, too!

All in all, one of the more better weekends.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:39 AM | Comments (2)

Now that was pretty much okay.

As weekends go, that was a pretty good one, although let me tell you this, if you choose to prune your pear tree, you might ought to wear gloves. More about that later, after I carefully recreate in excrutiating detail all of the boring details!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:57 AM | Comments (0)

October 13, 2006

Is it just me...

...or has it been a slow week? I think it's been a slow week. And it appears a slow weekend is in store, or at least I HOPE it is.

ANYway, I've got some junk to do before I go, so I will bid you all a hearty adieu and ask you to come back sometime Monday and see if the weekend was slow, or fast, or just sort of half-fast.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:12 PM | Comments (3)

Homecoming!

Boy had to be at the middle school's football game last night to beat on round loud things, and Reba was supposed to work the concession stand, and I had really, REALLY wanted to stay home, but Rebecca wanted to go to the game, too, since it was homecoming, after all, and then Ashley decided she wanted to go, so I couldn't very well sit home with Catherine and leave Bec sitting in the stands by herself (which is what would have happened, because there would have been no way Oldest would have deigned to be nice and sit there through the game with her) SO, we all loaded up the veehickle and drove over to the stadium.

As usual, there were the clots of oblivious kids walking around the track around the field in knots and clutches and packs, gossiping and ignoring the game, and there was Catherine, who was so full of P & V that she couldn't sit still if she'd been shot with a tranquilizer dart, and there was the disappointment of both the 7th and the 8th grade teams losing, and there were several moments of light rain that caused me to have to get us down out of the stands and run under a roof overhang by the restrooms so we wouldn't get dampened.

The one insight I had occurred to me as I saw the fifty-jillioneth mom come walking by who seemed determined to relive her youth by trying to wear something she bought in the junior's department. The insight I had is that football stadium lighting is absolutely the worst thing for these ladies, because the lights seem to have a way of making everything look more extreme--if you really are young and attractive, the lights seem to double your smooth, dewy glow, but let me tell you what--if you smoke two packs of Virginia Slims a day in between trips to the tanning bed, those big old lights turn you into something out of a haunted house. And it really does highlight that impossible-to-find-in-nature hair color, too. The beneficial effect of the lights was also confirmed by the presence of the Breck Girl Mom (whom I've not seen in ages), who seems to have found the secret to immortality, or at least a highly durable form of perky redheaded cuteness.

As for Boy, he once again impressed me with his ability to play the drums. He's always beating and banging on the furniture and other things at the house, but it's hard to tell what he's actually accomplishing. Over by the bandstands, though, he's got it going on--at once focused on the director yet also loose and grooving. He's actually playing music, rather than just matching the notes on the paper to beats on a drum. And it's not just him--they all sound about as good as the high schoolers, who are none too shabby when it comes to such things.

Pretty darned cool.

And it was pretty darned cool as far as the temperature, too. Several folks in the stands showed up wearing shorts. Including one of them who I've already mentioned was quite full of silly energy.

She slept well last night, that's for sure.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:26 PM | Comments (0)

October 11, 2006

Sweet!

Miss Reba's coming downtown on an errand and we get to have lunch together!

Boy, I sure hope she's bringing some money with her...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:12 PM | Comments (2)

Hooray!!

It's like feeling you get when they ring the dismissal bell at school!

Well, sorta.

I'm happy to be through with my near-dawn meeting, but the initial elation at being free is somewhat tempered by the fact that I had to return here to serve out the remainder of my time today. Maybe it's more like the feeling you get when they ring the bell after first period, when you had that teacher who smelled like wet clay and had the giant mole on her neck. The rest of the day is still ahead, but at least you don't have to listen to her wheezing and cackling.

ANYway, things to do, but I'll be checking in periodically to make sure everyone is having a good time and the aerosol cheese is holding out.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:18 AM | Comments (6)

October 09, 2006

Other things I did not do.

Well, I conveniently forgot to cut the grass. It's really getting wooly and I'm sure it's making the people who care about such things nervous. Which might be a good reason for letting it go another week.

After watching Auburn get hogtied, I took the younger two girls up to Wal-Mart so they could finish spending their Christmas money. Rebecca had wanted to get a case for her camera and a bigger SD card. I had a 128MB card I had been letting her use, but I convinced her to step up to a 2GB. That used up a lot of her money, which seems kind of unfair to a kid. I mean, the chip is the same size as the 128MB one, and looks the same, and for some reason it cost 70 bucks? I explained that it would hold nearly an infinite number of pictures, but I think she was still a bit disappointed in nearly blowing her whole bankroll on one bit of plastic and silicon. Anyway, she got a camera kit with a tripod and case and battery, so that was okay. And a couple of video games, so that was even better.

Cat? Well, she needed something to stack DVDs in, even though she didn't KNOW she needed one, so we got a small rack so she could try to put away some of her things in her room. AND, a chair. I don't know why, but she's been wanting a butterfly chair. I suspect one of her friends has one. Anyway, I've resisted, because she has no place to PUT a butterfly chair, out house being completely furnished with an abundance of sitting utensils. But, she wanted to use her money to get one. The Wallyworld had exactly one left. She decided to try it out in the store (it is Wal-Mart, after all) and pronounced it "too small."

But then, this caught her eye. Or rather, her sense of adventure. As with the butterfly chair, she felt compelled to dispense with any sense of propriety and proceeded to rock backwards numerous times with her feet extended toward the ceiling while giggling maniacally. (It is, after all, Wal-Mart.)

Thus entranced, she asked if she could use her money for this must-have item. Well, it IS smaller than a butterfly chair, and the entertainment value is much greater.

So, it now sits in the floor of the den, and each of them has taken turns flipping over backwards.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:31 PM | Comments (0)

Well, now.

Arkansas=drummer

Auburn=drum

That was terrible, but it was only part of a litany of miscues and damage this weekend, culminating with the youngest taking a header over her handlebars and planting herself facefirst into the concrete sidewalk. Tally of damage--broken helmet visor, big goose-egg on the left forehead, dime-sized abrasion on the chin, bruise under left elbow, numerous abrasions upon the top of her right hand, skint place on her left pinkie, bruise on left thigh, big raspberry on her left knee.

I feel bad--not for her, she's like a steel ball. I feel bad FOR ME (it being all about me, after all) because I was standing there changing out the windshield wiper blades on the Volvo, chatting with Reba, and was watching Cat come down the sidewalk. She was going so very slowly, and then just fell over. Sorta hard, over and off to the side, but from a distance it really didn't look so bad. Well, except for the face-plant part. Anyway, I didn't think much about it as Reba ran down the walk to see about her, but upon further examination, she'd boogered herself up something fierce, as we say. I should have been much more concerned, but sometimes you just don't know how concerned you should be.

ANYway, she's fine, aside from looking like she's been riding inside a cement mixer.

More blather to come, but right now I have a bunch of comment spam to delete.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:19 AM | Comments (5)

October 06, 2006

ANNNNND the weekend.

Well, same ol' stuff--laundry and yardwork. The latter is going to have to be a sure thing this weekend, though, because the grass is getting a little too uppity and thinking it runs the place. Bad enough that the mimosa and honeysuckle and poison ivy and wild hedge and poison oak actually do, I don't need my derned lawn turning on me, too. And laundry, like it was last week, is going to be mostly a me-proposition what with Reba having armneckback spasms. At least I do have the good sense to actively make the children help, rather than simply try to employ passive guilt toward them. Yes, they SHOULD be eager and willing to take time from their busy schedules to help their longsuffering parents with such chores, but you know, they get distracted by coming up with ways not to help. Sometimes it pays to help them by reminding them a little. And loudly.

Biggest thing I'm hoping for is to go to sleep early tonight, and being able to wake up in the morning without being jolted awake by someone turning on cartoons at 6 a.m. Might have to have a little meeting about that tonight before everyone beds down.

SO, anyway, a life rich in excitement awaits along the Pinchgut--all of you have a great weekend and we'll talk to you Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:27 PM | Comments (0)

And now?

Well, right now I have to make a run back to Trussville to take Boy for his 11 a.m. orthodontist appointment. Be back after while, and yes, never fear, Possumblog Sport Center WILL be on the air. Just a bit later than usual.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:14 AM | Comments (0)

Ain't technology grand?

Just went downstairs to the snack bar to get a drink, and before I got to the door heard the tell-tale "chi-chirp" of someone's two-way. Turned the corner, saw a guy standing there at the snack machine with the phone held out from his ear, ready to talk. chi-chirp "Well, they got crackers with cheese, and crackers with peanut butter, and they got chips--they got all kinds of stuff. You want any of that?"

The person on the other end was someone upstairs in our building. Nice to see the value of wireless communication systems is being utilized to its fullest.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:11 AM | Comments (0)

Thursday Night Lights.

Had the opportunity to take Boy to the stadium last night so he could join the rest of his band members as they played to urge on the 8th grade football team. And took Catherine with me, too, simply because I needed to have the additional chore of looking after someone who couldn't be still even if she were anesthetized. And, of course, since we had to be there early, we also got to sit through the 7th grade game, too.

Left Rebecca and Ashley at home, because Mom would be home soon to see after them. I thought. She'd had a late afternoon doctor's appointment (having muscle spasms in her shoulder, it turns out) and last I heard, she was on her way home.

Got to the stadium and watched the 7th graders play their game, and right in the middle my phone rang. It was coming in from Ashley's cell phone. Panic, of course. Answer, turns out it was Rebecca, who, for some reason, had been instructed by her big sister to call me--and waste both Oldest's and my cell phone minutes--to "remind" me that I was supposed to be at a building committee meeting at church.

1. I had already called to tell the rest of the guys I had to be at the game and would miss the meeting. Called them on Wednesday, as a matter of fact.

2. It is the height of gall for Oldest, who refuses to take any responsibility for remember her own comings and goings, to feel as though she should keep up with MY schedule.

3. And finally, there was NO REASON to use HER cell phone, NOR for her to tell Rebecca to call me.

This was the logical sequence in my brain, but what came back through the phone, since I could barely hear anything, was 'I took care of it, and don't waste my minutes on things that don't concern you.' Bliip. Grr.

Game finally got over, with the 7th graders falling to a very weak Mtn. Brook team 28-0. It was not a pretty game by either side. Went down to take Cat to the restroom, then got us a burger before the next game.

Finished that up, looked at my watch, saw that it was around 7 or so, decided to call back to the house to make sure Mom was home and all was okay. "Hello?"

Sounded like Rebecca, so I asked her if Mom had gotten home okay. "This is me." OH, it was Reba--sounded just like Bec. Probably all the noise, because the band had just kicked in. Laughed, asked her how the doctor visit went.

"Is Rebecca with you?"

Hmm. So that's what your blood feels like when it turns to ice.

"Uhh, nooo--she's there at the house."

"No, I can't find her and the car's gone and Ashley's not here and I don't know what's going on and I've been all over this house and no one's here..."

And then the sobs started. Oh good Lord, what in the world is happening!?

A billion things start coursing through a parent's mind, and 999,999,999 of them are bad.

I was about to go get Boy and head back to the house to figure things out when I heard Reba say Rebecca had just come downstairs, and found out from her that Oldest had gone over to her aunt and uncle's house who live around the block from us in our neighborhood.

1) Apparently Rebecca had been in her room listening to music on her headphones and didn't hear Mom and didn't realize she'd been missed.

2) Apparently, Ashley was under the impression she could just come and go as she pleased without telling anyone other than her sister.

3) Apparently, Ashley was under the impression that the most important thing in the entire world was to deliver some styrofoam bees to her little cousins, who weren't even at the house, having gone to soccer practice.

4) Apparently, Ashley was under the impression that it was a good idea to waste time having her secretary call me to remind me of something she had no business interfering in, yet was incapable of picking up the phone to call someone to make sure they were even at home, before flouncing out the door on her stupid gas-wasting errand.

At least Reba got calmed down a bit--enough for me to tell her to call over and make sure Oldest was actually where she'd said she would be, and to call me back if she wasn't, and I'd come home.

Grr.

Sat there and stewed, wondering why nothing can ever be simple. I suppose I should have gone on home, but this is only the second time Jonathan has been able to play, and it would be unfair to him to snatch him away, just so I could go home and be unkind to his unthinking sister.

I guess it's probably best I wasn't there, anyway. Although Reba needed support and sympathy after getting such a shock AND after coming home from a doctor's visit, I think I would have made the emotional turmoil even worse because I was not in a mood to be kind and understanding and considerate of someone's fragile teenaged sense of self-esteem.

Called back a little bit later and Oldest had managed to find her way back and Reba was in the middle of explaining to her the idea that she doesn't get to do whatever she wants, whenever she wants. Again, probably better from a guilt point of view to have the image of your mother crying, alone at the kitchen table, burned into your memory. Anything I would have said would have only made her defensive and snotty.

And she was very contrite, especially after being made to call Reba's mom and dad, who'd also been called in the initial "where is she!?" search before we found out where she was supposed to be, and were all wound up in an emotional tizzy just like Reba. Apparently, it was quite an intense conversation with Grandpa, as well.

Anyway, I can at least say that Jonathan can play the fool out of a snare drum.

I've heard him play a few things before on his bell kit, and he's had a couple of concerts, but this was the first time when I could really see him do his stuff, and the little stinker is good. And not only that--the whole middle school band is good--you can tell they know their stuff when you can see them leaning and jumping and doing horn swings and junk like that, and it still sounds nice and tight.

And the second game turned out pretty good, too. 19-14 in our favor, and it included a last second goal line stand.

So, you know, it all turned out okay.

Although I could still punch a hole through a door.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:34 AM | Comments (0)

October 05, 2006

Postprandial Musings

Had to make a jaunt across to Southside to go to the credit union. Absolutely gorgeous day out there--lots of blue sky and sunshine, light breeze, 86 degrees. And those are real degrees, not the Frenchy made-up kind.

Some thoughts: Even a very ugly city looks pretty good when the sun's shining. Birmingham's not ugly (mostly) but it does have some graceless parts that are an insult to concrete and asphalt. But you know, even alleyways and medical gas enclosures can look striking with the right light. Mostly.

The color green. I know I said earlier it's my least favorite color, but I forgot about redheaded girls. Redheaded girls wearing green makes green my favorite color. It's even more favoriter when the green happens to be a corduroy miniskirt. Just sayin'...

Speaking of clothes, I think I messed up today. I have on my white shirt with the thin, closely-spaced blue stripes, and my heather blue pants, and for some reason I thought that I would be able to successfully wear a tie that has diagonal dark blue stripes interspersed with a sternly geometric series of interlocking bits of white, gray, and light blue. This is a close match for it. The overall effect looks bad. The colors don't really match the stripes in my shirt or the color of my pants, and the pattern of the tie clashes with the stripes on the shirt. The question is whether to go ahead and give up and take my tie off, or act like it's supposed to look like crap. Sorta like David Letterman's insistence on wearing light-colored socks. Every day.

Constructing a dome over Legion Field? Golly, that's just a great idea. In fact, it's such a good idea, we should put one over the whole city! That would be cool. Of course, it would make it much harder to fly around in our flying cars, but hey.

Anyway, it sure is nice outside.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:21 PM | Comments (2)

O si yo!

Catherine is studying about Indian tribes in Alabama right now in social studies. I remember doing the same thing in fourth grade, and to this day I still get in my head the sing-songy set of names of the four major tribes that I had remembered back then so I could remember it on my test: "Choctaw, Chickasaw, Cherokee, Creek."

Anyway, she had brought home some recipes the other day for some breads and fried corn meal type things, and the printouts were promptly buried under a mound of other stuff on the kitchen table and forgotten.

Until last night, five minutes before we had to leave to go to church.

"Where are my recipes, Daddy?"

"On the table somewhere, why?"

"Because I'm supposed to cook one of them and bring it to school with me tomorrow."

::sigh:: Sure would have been nice if she'd mentioned that when she brought the recipes home. ::yet another sigh:: Also would be nice if she could actually be trusted with a hot stove, seeing as how in the absence of that trust, it would fall to her parents to complete this assignment.

She had settled on Grape Dumplings, which is an obvious choice, in that we didn't have any grape juice in the house, which meant a stop at the grocery store on the way home to get some. You know, just like back in the olden days.

Anyway, to church, to the store, to home, Cat in the tub, and Mom turned loose to boil dough. While the fire was being stoked, I was tasked with finding for our little student some information about how the Cherokee got their food. Seems there was ANOTHER part of the assignment SOMEone had forgotten about. (By the way, it seems I was wrong about the part about them going to the grocery store--at least back in the 1800s, they actually had to grow food--in the GROUND!!)

BUT--at least this assignment did have a benefit. Those grape dumplings are pretty darned good! Miss Reba brought some upstairs while I was on the computer--they taste like biscuits with grape jelly. Interesting bit of family lore, too. Seems Reba's grandmother used to make the same things, saying it was just an old family recipe. It's possible it could have been from the Indian side of the family, or not (it's a simple dish, after all), but the memory of smelling and tasting them brought back some fond memories for her of visiting her grandparent's farm when she was young. (And yes, I'm think I'm sorta jealous that I didn't get any recipes or advice or wisdom handed down from my Cherokee g-g-grandmother, although I imagine she'd say to watch out for Washington politicians.)

Anyway, Catherine thought they were good, too, and was even more excited that she'd get to tell everyone in class that she--with her sparkly blue eyes and light brown hair--is a tiny part Cherokee herself.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:54 AM | Comments (0)

October 04, 2006

Maybe I've grown jaded.

But I have to say the event in the park wasn't all that great this year. Maybe it was just the time of day, or the fact that all the teevee personalities were off eating lunch or fixing their toupees or something, but it really seemed bland. I did pick up an NBC13 Weather+Plus Severe Weather Guide and Redundancy Primer, which is very slick and shiny, and a similar one from ABC 33/40, which is also slick and shiny, but not nearly so thick. Sorta like James Spann's scalp, but not his hair.

Anyway, to spice things up, I suggest next year we have a tornado. And a fire. And an earthquake. And maybe some funnel cake vendors.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:41 PM | Comments (2)

Well, I'll tell you this...

What we WON’T be doing is using the Internets. I noticed something weird last night when I tried to access my office mail from home, but didn’t think too much about it. Until this morning, that is, when I got the exact same “HTTP 502 Proxy Error - Not enough storage is available to process this command. (8)” page that I’d gotten from home.

Hmm. Something wrong with one of the big valves in the basement, it seems. I have a feeling it’s probably related to the recent spike in malware that our filters didn’t catch. I doubt I was the only person who got messed up (shoot, given the level of computer savvy around here, I know I wasn’t the only one) so I figure they’ve taken down a server or something to try fix their problems. I saw our department’s MIS guy the other day and he said they’ve pretty much resigned themselves to having to go through every machine in the department to fix things. I suppose I need to rid my hard drive of those racy daguerreotypes of the Ziegfeld Follies girls.

Anyway, all well and good, except for the time being at least, I’ve lost my only portal to the world beyond these four walls! (Insert sound of melancholy piano chord) Well, except for the real portal called a “door” that I could use to walk outside the building, if I should so desire. And I might just so desire, considering that there’s the annual Community Awareness shindig out in the park today. All sorts of folks supposed to be out there, such as the po-lices and the teevee weather celebrities and such. Might be worth a trek to see what there is to see.

And while I’m out there, I think I’ll do something else--traipse over to the library, where I will find that I have e-mailed this to myself, and then will take a moment to post it so that everyone won’t think I’ve been run over by a car while waddling across the roadway in the dark.

I imagine there is probably a way to update Possumblog via e-mail--I know there is for Blogger, but I haven’t figured out if Moveable Type/Mu.nu can as well. That would certainly simplify things a bit.

ANYway, as long as the big tube here is clogged up, this will be it for posting and being able to access my web e-mail or just about any other thing for some undetermined amount of time. Hopefully, only a day, but you never know when it comes to these silly computers.

BUT WAIT! I was just now about to go across the wilderness, and checked one more time, and HOORAY!! The pipeline's a'pumping again! (Insert sound of happy saloon-style pianoforte music)

But never fear; I'll still go take a stroll through the park later on and see what sorts of free junk I can snag.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:33 AM | Comments (4)

October 03, 2006

The Artful Dodger

Or roger-dodger, as it were.

My appointment was for 2:30 yesterday, and I got there and was called back in short order. Although not quite as short as it could be--the nurse called me, and I got up to walk back and there was a young lady who was walking in in front of me, and she seemed to surprise the nurse, who immediately began talking to her about something. I stood there patiently as they chatted, and when they finished, the nurse looked at me. "And who are you?"

"I'm Oglesby--you just called my name!"

She apologized--the girl was her daughter-in-law, and she was surprised to see her and thought something might be wrong. Golly, and here I thought it was supposed to be all about me.

Blood pressure, sit and wait, go to lab, sit and wait, go sit down and get stuck and get three tubes of blood drawn. Thankfully, it was remarkably pain free. Went back out, sat and waited. Got my numbers and went back down to the exam room. Sat and waited.

FINALLY got the doc to come in. Chatted for a while, bloodwork all looked okay, blood pressure looked okay, still seems to think I should lose weight, even though I told them I only weigh 145 pounds. He listened to my chest and back, talked about setting up a stress test sometime at some indeterminate future date (which is admittedly easier than setting up one on a past date).

"Okay, and now what about your prostate?"

"It said it was fine, and couldn't come to the phone right now." Although that was my internal monologue, the audible one wasn't much different. "If there's anyway to not, I sure would appreciate it. I realize you don't like it any more than I do [Which could be a lie, but it's one I'm willing to believe--Ed.], but I can confirm I haven't had any problems."

He seemed to waver, and I continued to plead my case as I looked at his bratwurst-sized fingers. He finally decided to get a few more blood tests and a PSA (which ain't no public service announcement) and if everything looked okay, he was willing to wait for my six month checkup.

SO, he wrote down some more tests for them to do (and luckily the phlebotomist had already drawn out enough when I first went in there) and so I had to go back and wait for a bit longer. After some paperwork on their part, I got the ol' tiny plastic cup to fill. "Right there's the restroom, just leave it in the silver-colored box."

I usually like a bit more privacy--the sample dispensing room was right beside the chair where they take blood, and there was an attractive young lady sitting in it. The chair, not the restroom. Anyway, I went on it and tried to pee as quietly as I could. There's really only two options--silent, or like an elephant after drinking 20 gallons of beer. Got a cupful, opened the little stainless steel box and EYYYEYIKES! My pee would be sharing space with the pee of the young lady sitting in the seat outside the door!

I have to say, this created a very odd feeling in me--equal parts revulsion at having my bodily fluids cohabitating with those of an unrelated person, yet also an odd sense of intimacy. I decided neither thought was truly appropriate, and settled upon allowing my competitive nature to take over, and quietly expressed no small amount of pride and satisfaction that MY sample was approximately twice the volume of hers.

Thus assured of my overwhelming superiority, I washed up and opened the door and made a concerted effort to not make any eye contact with anyone.

And that was it--paid my money and I was out the door.

SO, as long as nothing odd comes up--such as finding out my urine tests says I'm pregnant--looks like I'm okay for another few months. "Okay" being a rather elastic concept in my mind--I figure if I've strength enough to blog, things are going pretty well.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:46 AM | Comments (0)

October 02, 2006

AGGHH!!!

I ran out of some of my medication this weekend and since it had no refills left, I told the automated phone system at the drug store to call the doctor's office and get them re-up my Rx.

But it turns out they couldn't refill it just yet.

You know, I didn't realize it's been over a year since I'd been in to see the good doctor. And I use "good" only in the sense of a hyperextended sense of faux propriety. Not that he's a bad doctor, he's not; it's just that as I mentioned the last time I saw him, he's a retired Airborne guy, and has giant gnarled soldier hands the size of beef shanks. I had vowed after my last lady doctor went into retirement that I would do all I could to find another fine-fingered physician to replace her, but time was short when I contacted this fellow, and then I let the task slip my mind.

And now I'm filled with adverse anticipation and a keen hope that he isn't in the mood to ride the fenceline 'round the back 40, so to speak. But I can't get my meds until he gives me a brisk once over, and so I went ahead and scheduled it for this afternoon, meaning that ONCE MORE, I have to stop playing for a while here and get some actual work done.

Whee.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:54 AM | Comments (4)

THERE you are!

A nice weekend spent not doing what should have been done! No grass cutting, no trips to drop things off at the thrift store, a hearty Italianate meal on Friday, ice cream cake on Saturday, a new quarter begun for Sunday school and everyone was actually there and ready to teach, and the video camera got a workout.

I tell you what--I've got some kids with scary-good comic timing. After all the gift unwrapping Saturday afternoon, Catherine wanted to go ride her bicycle in the street. As is our agreement, she has to have an adult out there to help watch for cars (we have a few too many people who think any straight stretch of road is the equivalent of the front straight at Talladega). I had started a new disc in the video camera, and thought I might get a few shots of her zipping along happily on her bike, which I did, and then got her off to the driveway for a moment and began asking her some questions about history and such.

"Hey, Cat--tell me, who was the first President of the United States?"

"GEORGE WASHINGTON!"

"Very good--and his wife's name was?"

::pause::

"Um, Helen Washington?"

And from there evolved another fifteen minutes of schtick that would have made Burns and Allen ashamed to have even be on stage. I don't know where she got such chops. And then the birthday girl came outside to see what was going on, and she's just as funny. Where in the world did that come from?!

IN OTHER NEWS, looks like our little bridge over the Pinchgut is finally open now--and just as I predicted, it's a noble, safe, modern thing that completely blocks the view of what it is that you're crossing over. Gasoline was down to $2.05 this morning. (Of course, what most of you don't know is that for people who vote Republican, we've been buying gas at $1.03 for years now. Yep, sure have. Big secret, though. Don't tell anyone.) My mom's doing okay--went and picked her up after work Friday so she could go out to eat with us. She said my car rode too rough. Almost as bad as her Infiniti G35. We got some rain early Sunday morning before the sun came up. Probably a bunch more stuff, but right now, I have to go to our wonderful Monday morning staff meeting.

Say goodnight, Gracie.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:26 AM | Comments (3)

September 29, 2006

Tonight?

Well, the family and I will be journeying to the World's Most Famous Olive Garden, site of the notorious Limey Cricket Writer Hatchet Job of 2002, and the Rebuttal Fisking by a Stalwart Fargoan. And, wouldn't you know--I even chimed in on things!

Ahhh--the good ol' days...

Anyway, since that time the Italian Villa down the street has gotten less passable, while the old O.G. still rocks along with its discreet hint of Tuscan decor and passable wine list, and the biggest draw, the bottomless, Jane-Mansfield's-bra-cup-sized salad bowl!

Mmmmm--salad!

In honor of Middle Girl's birthday, we're heading that way for a nice meal tonight, and then tomorrow will be devoted to the opening of presents and cake at the house, and various other things of a more fixing-and-doing nature. I really need to cut the grass, and there's some things to be taken to the thrift store, and some instructing on how to operate a digital camera. Broke down and decided to go ahead and get her a really good one, because she liked it best of all (it's red, you know), and she's a good kid who wouldn't mind even if she didn't get exactly what she wanted.

Sunday will have all sorts of meetings in addition to paying attention to the more important things, and no, I'm not talking football.

SO, much to do, and work on every hand, it seems. If you're of a mind to, come back Monday and see how things turned out. Even if you're not, come back anyway!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:24 PM | Comments (0)

How'd that happen?!

I mean, just yesterday there was this squawling wiggling red bundle of slimy goo, and today there's a fourteen year old young lady, mature far beyond even those fourteen years. Of all the kids, she's the most like me--for good and for the not so good. Big, athletic, loving of life, affectionate, smart, studious, quiet, sensitive--she sees so much, understands so much, but says so little at that time, waiting until she just has to say something. Her inate sense of decency and empathy is so far elevated above her peers--in far too many cases, it exceeds even those who're fully matured in years. A peacemaker, she can't stand it when the other kids start sniping at each other and being selfish. She's always eager to please mom and dad and teachers, and even when she acts more in keeping with her young teen age, she's never quite so bitter or angry or hateful as some children I know can be. She loves to laugh, and has quite a wicked little streak of mischievousness herself that she brings out every once in a while.

Such a girl. When I first held her, I never could have dreamed that she would have turned out to be such a blessing.

Such a girl, that little Rebecca.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:10 AM | Comments (8)

September 28, 2006

Well, obviously...

...he had other things to do this morning and afternoon, so I guess it'll be kicking back on the sofa tonight. It looks like he's be pretty busy today, so I can understand why I didn't get a call-back about lunch. That, and he would have had to sit out front and mind the phones with me.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:08 PM | Comments (2)

Now then--

I have to go serve my time to atone for my gratitude at the lack of wildlife sounds in the outer office--it's my turn to do telephone-sitting duty to allow our now solo administrative support person to go eat lunch.

I figure it's worth it, at least as long as everyone gets a turn.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:44 AM | Comments (2)

Back to normal.

Or what passes for it.

Made the run to the toothyanker yesterday for my crowns, and got to see the big C-5 Galaxy cargo plane landing at the airport with all the Presidential impedimenta for his visit here today. He said he might drop by and chat with me for a while, but you know how fluid these scheduling things can be. If he can't make it by during the day, Karl said he'll be able to come over tonight and watch the game with me. Thank goodness the house is clean. I mean, sure, there were some North Korean hit men hanging around yesterday, but I strangled them and left them at the curb for the recycle truck to get, so I think everything should be okay.

Anyway, got to the dentist and was escorted back to the chair by the same less-than-skilled assistant I had when the first tooth grinding took place. Uh-oh. Read a Reader's Digest while she hovered and I tried to read, and finally Doc Nancy came back to get going on me. Almost a repeat of the grinding operation, with the doctor getting quite peeved that her assistant was more of an unsistant. But at least it didn't take hours on end. I had both crowns cemented in place within thirty minutes, so it's hard to complain.

But. I would like it if there was some recognition that my jaw will open only so far. And that my skin is not infinitely elastic--especially that around my lips, when it gets dried out, and gets frictioned to a hand inside of a dry rubber glove, and pulls to the point where it feels like my lip is going to split open like someone popping a grape between their fingers.

At least it's done--TIME FOR CORN NUTS AND BEEF JERKY!!

Got back to work, and was inundated by more crap to do--the phone wouldn't quit ringing, and it was never anything good. Well, I can't say never. I did get one call from a contractor I had worked with before, and that was a nice call because she's a she, and I had enjoyed working with her back when I was at The Bad Place because she was a very smart she and ran a good business. Her daddy is the putative owner of the shop, but she really runs the place and does all the paperwork and job visits and stuff, and was always good to work with. And that's saying a lot for me to say about a contractor. Anyway, it's been at least twelve years since last spoke, and it was just like picking back up from a conversation five minutes ago. So that was a nice call. IN FACT--she just came to the counter for a sign-off on a permit a few minutes ago. She still looks just the same, and after a hearty handshake, I told her so. She said thanks, and with a wicked little grin she said, "You do too, and you've even still got hair!!" Hey, I'm as impressed as she was. And she was kind enough not to notice all the gray.

Anyway, all the rest of the phone calls were crap.

A bright spot?

Well, it only goes to prove that I'm really not a very nice person, but nonetheless, I'm still relieved that our outer lobby area is suddenly now free of a certain person's constant hoots, screeches, braying, ululating, coo-cooing, cackling, whooping, hollering, screaming, shouting, blabbering, yammering, blithering, and constant interruptions and rudeness to our citizen-clients.

A long nightmare is ended, and I can finally feel okay about leaving my door open again, and not have to cringe every time I have to tell someone to come to the counter and ask for me, or have to return a call from someone and have them ask who the incredibly rude person is who took their message.

Obviously, this being a bureaucracy, we can't be so forthright as simply to fire someone when they constantly--for years--display their instability and insubordinate nature, nor paddle around the office on their raft of mental flotsam, but it does seem that such a person CAN be transferred to another department. It's unfair to the people that will now have to deal with it all, but doggone it, at least it's not us. And at least this new billet will not have the need to interact with the public.

Anyway, just a tip--if YOU are the type of person to display all these characteristics, it's probably best that you not file a grievance against your supervisor when it was YOU who kept constantly interrupting HIM while he was with a taxpayer at the counter, and it was YOU who told him he needed to shut up and go to the conference room if he was going to keep on being so disruptive. Because doing that rarely causes things to work out quite like you think they should, and you find yourself shipped off to Siberia within 24 hours or so.

I shouldn't be like this, but that ol' schadenfreude sure does feel nice sometimes.

Now then, time to do other things. Maybe even stroll though the lobby without being stared at!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:44 AM | Comments (0)

September 27, 2006

GREAT FLAMING WADS OF GRAVY!

It has been nothing but turmoil this morning, which accounts for the tremendous lack of content here. AND I HAVE TO LEAVE TO GO TO THE DENTIST! My new crowns are ready to be installed onto my tooth stumps, so the wrenching and gluing process that is to come should be such wonderful fun.

Anyway, this, such as it is, is it for the day. Tomorrow we get to have a Thursday Three, and I think it will be a good one, with the theme being Complete and Utter Failures. Tune in then, and we'll see what it's all about.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:57 AM | Comments (5)

September 26, 2006

Y'know what else?

It's probably not a good thing to go to bed and sometime during the night have a dream that you're filming a beer commercial with Kathy Griffin, and for no particular reason you decide (in this dream) to whisper in her ear a litany of earthy suggestions of a very carnal nature to her, and then the whole beer commercial production has to shut down when she gets offended that you weren't serious, but just sorta joking around, and further she decides that the reason you were just joking around was that she's ugly, which you never said, because although she's no Catherine Zeta Jones, she's still kinda funny in those Sierra Mist commercials and being kinda funny is attractive in its own right, although you will concede that she probably does talk too much and has that odd affect of always being "on," but still, up until you gave her the dirty talk, everyone was just laughing and having a good old time.

I blame the English peas.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:16 AM | Comments (5)

You know...

...I complain about dumb ol' work, but I think most of you should have figured out that it's generally for comic effect. I'm glad I have a job, and although it's no barrel of laughs every single moment of the day, neither does it require being splattered with noxious chemicals or animal feces.

But even then, there are some days when it becomes obvious that I don't necessarily need this particular job. And of late, those days seem to come in closer intervals.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:22 AM | Comments (11)

September 25, 2006

So, what was it again that I did this weekend?

Well, I can tell you this--I didn’t do any yardwork. The grass has slowed down enough that even with two week’s worth of growth, it looked okay. Actually, probably better than it would have if I’d actually cut it, since it looked thick and green, as opposed to brown with big swirly blade marks across it. SO, that was good.

INSIDE?

That was a different story. I could have used a lawnmower. That’s really not true--even though I wound up staying up until midnight in order to finish up the mopping chore, I kept thinking through most of the morning that it didn’t actually seem nearly as bad as I thought. Then I remembered sometime in there that the last major cleaning for Ashley’s birthday party was actually a much more involved ordeal.

First round, pick up all the loose toys in the den and give them to the kids, throw away bits of paper with cryptic game codes and various scores written on them, stack up craft materials, put away DVDs and videotapes. Second round was cleaning the same things off of the stairs. Third round was cleaning up the same things out of the dining room. Filthy little children.

The next steps were assisted by Catherine, who ran around the ground floor with the big lambswool duster, getting various cobwebs off of the ceilings and lamps and knocking all the dust down onto the furniture. At least she didn’t knock the lamps onto the furniture.

Next up, the loathsome vacuum cleaner. I hate the vacuum, but apparently this makes me the only person who is allowed to use it. Vacuum, vacuum, vacuum. Gosh, vacuuming sucks. Got all that mess done, and it got around lunchtime. Or past.

Ate a quick lunch, and calculated my timing--let’s see--2:30, then clean kitchen, then go to grocery store, then fix snacks for tomorrow, then mop. Plenty of time. (Said the moron.)

After lunch, started in cleaning the kitchen, while Catherine was given a dust cloth and Pledge and told to dust the wooden things. I think she did. Or not. Anyway, who cares about that--I had the kitchen to organize. First round, pick up all the loose toys on the table and give them to the kids, throw away bits of paper with cryptic game codes and various scores written on them, stack up craft materials, put away DVDs and videotapes. And old packages of cookies that got buried. One was a Keebler Soft Batch chocolate chip cookie pack, with only one eaten out of it.

Hmm.

I walked over to the garbage can with it, but out of curiosity decided to peek inside, expecting bugs or furry gray. You will be happy to know that through the marvels of modern chemistry, the Soft Batch cookies were still nice and pliable, and didn’t have even a hint of mold. And they still smelled like chocolate cookies. I wonder… What are they, two? Four months old? Could they still taste like… I mean, they LOOK fine. And they were hidden under a protective layer of schoolwork papers. Be good for blog fodder, wouldn’t it?

Nah.

Too old even for me.

Went on and kept at it and after a pretty good amount of time, the kitchen counters and oven and microwave and toaster and everything else was nice and shiny. Moved the table out to the den, and it was ready for the last round of things--fixing and mopping.

BUT FIRST--Rebecca needed a pair of shoes. Her little suede clogs had gotten ruined at the football game a couple of weeks ago when someone poured out a whole cup of Coke on her feet, so Reba, figuring that a day that should be devoted to cleaning up needed a break in the middle to go buy shoes, even though shoes can be bought anytime, while cleaning could ONLY be done on Saturday, decided to go take her to the shoe store. BUT. If she was at the shoe store, that meant I couldn’t go to Sam’s and get luncheon supplies, because although we do have a sixteen year old in the house, she is entirely incapable of sitting for even the shortest amount of time and keeping an eye on a nine- and a twelve-year old set of siblings. Meaning, I would either have to wait until Reba returned from the shoe store--which could take years (and it was already now 6 pee em), or take Catherine and Jonathan with me and Reba could go off to do whatever she needed to do.

Obviously, despite the peril, the kids came with me. They actually were pretty good, other than needing to be able to touch everything, and the constant competition to see who could be the one to provide the motive force for the buggy. Got a big pile of stuff, some of which was stuff we actually needed, and headed back to the house. And yes, despite the fact that you would think a warehouse store would have everything, there were still a couple of things that could only be purchased from a regular old grocery store, MEANING, that after we’d unloaded the trunk, I had anther trip to make.

::sigh::

Went to Target so I could check out the digital cameras for a certain girl’s upcoming birthday, and got light bulbs, and looked for a toilet seat. Did you know Target doesn’t have toilet seats anymore? I didn’t. The little pot in the powder room downstairs had metal screws and such, and the constant dousing with CLR ate them up into black rusty powder, so it needed a new one, lest a male guest be dismayed to find rusty black powder under the rim. Yeah, I know--like a guy would lift the seat--it’s really more because I figure there’d be someone who needed to know just how clean everything was.

BUT, it was not to be--so if anyone looked, I’m sorry it was icky looking. I’d suggest you not look anymore.

Home, right around 8:30 or so, moved the table back into the kitchen because I’d neglected to understand that fixing the food would require more flat surface than just the countertops. Got a chair, sat, helped do food (and thank goodness, Reba had only taken just a little while at the store, so she’s already gotten going on it). Decided to do fingery foods--some little pinwheel turkey and cream cheese sandwiches, some sausage rolls, taquitos, chips--anything that was small and easily eaten, AND something that was hard to take apart. Kids are beasts, and making anything like a BIG sandwich is an invitation for them to pull out something from the middle they sorta like, then toss the rest away. Small stuff allows them to get one, and if they don’t like it, it’s not as big of a waste. Obviously, I’m speaking of other kids--our kids have been forced to eat enough of things that they started tearing apart that they know once they’ve committed, that’s IT. It worked pretty well, only saw one of the sausage rolls that had the innards eaten away and the flaky croissant crust thrown away. Silly goobers.

ANYWAY, fixed the foods, got them stowed away in the fridge, sent Reba upstairs, and got out the mop and bucket. As I said, this whole operation was over by midnight.

In between all the fussbudgetry, Reba got the laundry done, Jonathan found his missing Scout patch, we managed to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner (of sorts), the house got more or less cleaned up (including the upstairs bathroom, which Rebecca cleaned), we made enough food to feed several armies, and I got to listen to the Auburn game.

And then, there was Sunday…

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:55 AM | Comments (8)

"Wow, the house sure looks different."

"Yes, kids--it's called 'being cleaned up'."

Although we know it's not REALLY clean--it's just that the big hunks of crud have been cleaned away, and the piles of junk stowed or stacked neatly enough to give a simulation of good order. But hey, that's good enough for me.

More in a bit, after I get my caffeine I.V. hooked up.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:38 AM | Comments (2)

September 22, 2006

Quiet around here today.

Don't know why, other than everyone knows the season is now officially fall, so it's time to be reserved and contemplative. I think I'll go slip on my cardigan, then top it with my tweed jacket with suede elbow patches, and then smoke my pipe as I sit in my rocking chair by a hearth full of glowing embers.

Which means I'll have to make a stop by Wal-Mart on the way home to get a cardigan, a tweed jacket, a pipe, a rocking chair, and a hearth.

AS FOR THE WEEKEND, the invasion looms. Sunday we're having all the elementary kids and their parents over for lunch and a devotional after church. Our house is a wreck right now. Toys, papers, socks, videos, yaks--all of it, everywhere. The intent had been to start cleaning at the first of the month, so we wouldn't have so much to do tonight and tomorrow.

Of course, Procrastination being what it is, it took Initiative and Good Intentions both out in the back yard and beat them with a tree limb until they cried and ran back and hid under the bed.

Obviously--that's not true.

There isn't a place to hide under the bed, because it's full of toys, papers, socks, videos, and yaks.

Anyway, I dislike people coming to the house, because, well, they don't belong there. GO AWAY, YOU PEOPLE, YOU!

Remember, you can't spell "hospitable" without "hostile."

True, it has to be rearranged a bit, but they're all in there. The letters, that is, not people. I know I should be more sociable, but I like having one place where I can do whatever I want without having to worry about shocking anyone. I mean, when we have people over, there's simply no good way to run around the house in my tighty-whiteys. That's very important to me, you know. That, and not feeling like I'm expected to wash the entire house with a toothbrush.

Oh, well.

SO, that's the plan for the weekend--get ready for company, have company, recover from having company. Blech.

I hope YOU, on the other hand, have a fun and happy weekend--come back Monday and we'll compare notes!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:33 PM | Comments (5)

September 21, 2006

From the "People are Peculiar" File

Was just now at an eatery, and noticed a round older woman sitting at a table, reading a book. Just a regular-sized hardbound novel of a book. And she had it propped in a little wire caddy. Within a mere finger-breadth, her hands were clasped on the table between the caddy-bound book and herself.

Now lack of imagination is probably why I've never done anything great in my life, but it sure did seem like an awful lot of rigamarole just to read a book--I mean, you have to carry around the little wire caddy with you, and you have to set it up on the table, and you have to pick the book up every time it's time to turn the page, and you've got your hands neatly folded right there in FRONT of you to do all this setting up and turning and fidgeting--why not just skip the caddy and HOLD the book?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:28 PM | Comments (6)

September 20, 2006

See!?

If I do my work, I DO get to come out and play!!

One would think that would be a better motivator.

ANYway, I had much to do yesterday (and extending on into last night) but it looks a bit less cloudy today, so maybe your usual ration of possumy stupidity will be back up to its usual level.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:28 AM | Comments (2)

September 19, 2006

No, of course I don't have time to play.

I still have tons of junk to do today, but I get distracted so easily.

Say, maybe I could go on disability for that, and my therapy could be blogging!

Anyway, you might be interested to know that the Youngest Child's e-mail account microkerfuffle is still wending its way though the system. Got an e-mail response from her regular teacher that she had forwarded my question on to the computer teacher, who got back to me today. Not entirely satisfactorily, to my way of thinking. I still haven't gotten an explanation on whether I inadvertently gave permission for this or not (it's possible that somewhere in all those papers at registration that I signed something allowing it), nor for why a school employee might have ever thought she qualified as a legal guardian, nor why Yahoo was deemed appropriate for a youngster's e-mail account. As I noted in my reply to the reply, one of the ads on Cat's page was this:

Inbox Infatuation

Find intriguing, compatible singles at Yahoo! Personals. Have your matches delivered right here in your Yahoo! Mailbox.

As I noted, that's not quite appropriate for a 9-year-old.

Anyway, at this point, I have tried to be as restrained, yet pointed, as possible. Since I didn't get quite the response I was looking for (something less along the lines of a blithe dismissal), a copy of all the correspondence to date went to the principal and the school board's tech department guy. We'll see what happens next.

IN OTHER NEWS, well, it looks like we have a soccer player in the house again.

Yep, Middle Girl had heard an announcement of a meeting, and so we showed up last night at the high school, and it looks like she's going to be on the junior varsity team. There was a big group of high school girls there, along with around 8 or so other 8th graders like her. AND the group including some of the girls from her old team, so I think she'll enjoy herself. And practice is after school and finished by 5:30 or so, rather than 9:00, so she will still have time to get her homework done. And bestest of all, her old coach from the club team is the JV coach. So, back into that again, but hopefully this time it will be a bit less time consuming. And less expensive.

Now then, lunch.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:10 PM | Comments (0)

September 18, 2006

Now tomorrow...

...you folks are just going to have to make do with less frothy drivel. I do, after all, have work to do.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:12 PM | Comments (2)

What is this, England!?

Nice sunny morning, got into the office and within thirty minutes it had started raining. Rained for a while, and then midday bloomed nice and sunny again. And now it's raining again.

Hmm. Maybe it is--I mean, what with my bad teeth and all.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:18 PM | Comments (0)

Well, at least it's not a greyhound.

My sister seems to have had that particular urge pulled out from under her.

Thank goodness. She--despite my continual, "people-who've-had-'em"-derived cautions to her--had signed up for a retired greyhound at the dog-getting place there in Mobile, but in a stroke of terrible fortune (for her, not the dog) the agency adopted her dog out to someone else. By mistake? Maybe? Who knows. But it really soured her on the whole deal.

Rebound choice?

A papillon.

::sigh::

Why she is so dead set on getting a dog, I cannot fathom, and how she went from greyhound to papillon is likewise something I cannot understand. She even has decided to bring it with her to work for the first few weeks until it's older. Yeah, I know--SUCH A FLAMIN' GREAT IDEA! If you can't care for it at home well enough, bringing it to a DOCTOR'S OFFICE is surely a winner, right?

She seemed not to discern my level of sarcasm when I said that to her.

Anyway, just called her at work because she didn't have my e-mail address and had left a message last night for me to call so she could share with me some pictures of her new baby boy. Had to speak to her nurse first, of course. (Miss Melanie is quite a hoot--I might have to call back and talk to her just for fun.)

But, enough of that--in one last effort to place doubts in her mind about the wisdom of acquiring yet another animal to tend, I took this tack. In my best manly man voice, I said: "You know, I know those tiny flouncy dogs do find a way to procreate, but come on--think how embarrassing it must be to be a male papillon! You need to think about that--what could he grow up to be!? A hair stylist? A decorator!?"

Without missing a beat, my sister added, "An architect?"


"Uhhhh--I...dangitall!"

Hoist by my own petard! ::shakes fist at phone::

Oh well.

Pictures forthcoming when she gets a chance to send some. Maybe if nothing else I can get her to name him Steve McQueen.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:42 PM | Comments (11)

Now then, that's over with.

Had to make my first call of the day to My Friend Jefftm and sing "War Eagle" to him. Even though he is an LSU grad and the son of an LSU grad, he seems to have a very thin skin about such things. I do not know why.

WELL, the weekend was full, and most of it Saturday was spent tending to my wife, who's had a bout of internal distress of late, and to make matters worse by a factor of eleventy jillion, she had a nightmare very early Saturday morning. I blame the cheeseburger she had at the game Friday night. Among other things.

Now, nightmares can be very distressing. But when you've got work stress, and a gut full of stadium hamburger and popcorn in you, and all them female hormone-driven emotions coursing through your innards, nightmares can become MUCH more disturbing. And tear-inducing.

I don't blame her for being upset--the worst one combined all of the hot-button phobias and angstiness you could think of--missing child, missing husband, frightening circus clown showing up in missing husband's clothes, missing child recovered after having been nearly drowned by said clown--on and on. It really was an awful sounding dream, and was one of those that kept her edgy and spent-feeling all weekend.

First thing to do was get her calmed down and close the tear duct valves, and then get her downstairs for some hot chocolate and sunshine. We watched the hummingbirds for a bit, then went outside and let Lightning out to play a bit while we sat on the stone bench and played with him. Or rather, watched him entertain himself by trying to get himself a squirrel out of the pine tree.

Reba finally got calmed back down enough from her cocktail of chocolate, kittens, flowers, sunshine, and hummingbirds to come back inside and start breakfast. Or tell me what she wanted, rather. No use having her possibly burn something and have THAT become something to set off the eye sprinklers. So, she gave me an idea what she wanted, and I set in to make sure it got done easily, quickly, and without scorching anything or turning the eggs hard and brown. (By the way, it was croissants stuffed with sausage, egg, cheese and onion. And, of course, more hot chocolate.)

That done, more domesticity--got that laundry going so she wouldn't feel distressed about going off with the girls to do their get-together that afternoon.

Now, obviously, I love my wife and don't want her to feel bad about a dumb ol' dream, and I get a benefit out of breakfast and clean clothes just like everyone else, but I must admit another (very minor and inconsequential) reason for being as solicitous as I possibly could be (short of putting on a dress and pretending to be her mother) was that I wanted her in a good mood so I could watch the Auburn-LSU game without feeling guilty. Yes, I know such an admission makes me sound very shallow and callous, but I'm a guy. If guys weren't shallow and callous, wars would be VERY boring.

As would football.

Anyway, I DID get to watch my game, and the girls (including Cat, even though it was supposed to be a teen thing for the girls at church, which turned out to be a mistake to send her along) took off on their expedition while Boy and I rooted on the Tigers (blue and orange version). Actually, I rooted, and Jonathan wanted to know when his friend was going to call back. He'd asked Jonathan to come over to his house Saturday, but apparently didn't know his family had planned a reunion. Boy called and they said they'd be back by lunchtime, but they never called back. Thus, disappointing Boy to no end.

::sigh::

He's not nearly shallow and callous enough.

After the heart-stopping conclusion of the game (and I was through mentally berating CBS, and most especially twin morons Craig Bolerjack and Steve Beuerlein), Jonathan asked, "Dad, since I've been really good today, do you think I could maybe get something I've been wanting to get?"

We still had to have supper anyway, so we decided to go do our own boy's night out at Target, where he got to shop to his heart's content for various action figures that he'd been eyeing for weeks now. That seemed to take some of the sting out of not getting to go to his friend's house. Some, not all. Also made a stop at Arby's for hot meat in order to buck up his spirits. By the time we got home, he was feeling chipper again.

Then Reba got home, and apparently Catherine was a pill for the last part of the trip and made the whole thing have an unpleasant conclusion and a very long ride home.

::sigh::

At least everyone got to make their own custom lotion/bathstench material. All sorts of exotic fragrances that smelled like a candle shop explosion. I am in the wrong line of work, let me tell you.

Anyway, aside from the Youngest acting like a turd, they had a pretty good time of things and spent wads of cash, so, you know, it's all good, eh?

Of course.

Sunday was more quiet, although still very busy with a trip across the county for lunch, then back to our side of town for a series of meetings Reba had at the church building. Me? I stayed in the van with Boy and Catherine and we all slept for a while. "Slept" in my case being something more like "lapsed into semiconsciousness." Real sleep is restful, and slouching in a van seat while you drift in and out is just tiring.

Evening services, then to home, and then COMPUTER STUFF!

Grr. Seems that Catherine set up herself a Yahoo e-mail account. WHICH SHE CAN'T DO since she's under 13. So I had to wrestle her account name and password from her and delete it, and then make her a new account without her name or other pervy-attracting information and make it a part of MY account on Yahoo. How did she do this!? I mean, there's a big screen that comes up and says you have to get your parents to finalize your account if you're too young.

Well, it seems her teacher helped them all set up an account--you know, since it's supposed to be your parent or guardian, and she's their guardian at school.


"WTF!?"
I abbreviated to myself in my mind--"Catherine--she's NOT your guardian! If you have a parent, THEY are your guardian, your teacher is NOT." I told her when I got her up this morning that I'd redone her account and told her I needed to be able to see who sends her stuff, and she understood that much. I don't think the teacher understands the implications of her actions, but it's still more than a little off-putting that she wouldn't at least use something through the school, or get the school to invest in some kid-safe software that resides on their server rather than wide-open ether. But then again, there are parents that think nothing of giving their 9-year-olds cell phones or letting them go online with no supervision. Still, there's way too many murderous clowns out there for my comfort.

Anyway, it was a tiring weekend. I need a nap.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:14 AM | Comments (9)

September 15, 2006

It is about that time.

Well, almost.

Anyway, the weekend is fast approaching, and lots of it. Tonight we're going over to the stadium to see the hometown Huskies take on the good folks from Pell City. We haven't been to either of the first two games this year, so it'll be nice to get out and see what there is to be seen. (Or to try to avert my eyes from things I shouldn't see.)

Tomorrow, grass cutting, as usual, and watching the Auburn game to see if my prediction is right, and then the girls and Mama are supposed to go do some kind of thing with the girls at church. Something where they go off to a boutique and make bath stuff. I don't know what it is, other than an excuse to spend money on frivolous smell-goody things, rather than necessary and important items such as junk Volvo parts.

Sunday, lots of goings on and meetings and such like--and maybe even something spiritually uplifting! Amazing, I know!

SO, all of you be good and do good and I'll see you back here come Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:33 PM | Comments (2)

September 14, 2006

Okay now.

Having now dumped a wax paper sleeve of BC Powder directly onto my tooth and waited for it to begin easing the slight discomfort I am feeling, I believe I am almost ready to see if I can go find some food to eat.

I'm thinking my usual repast of uncooked macaroni, Corn Nuts, beef jerky, toffee, and shards of cracked ice would not be the best thing to eat.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:08 PM | Comments (5)

Ow. Again.

Remember that scene in The Untouchables when De Niro is playing Capone, and they're having a mob guy meeting, and one guy gets skittish, and then Bobby D. starts waling on his head with a baseball bat? That scene?

That's sorta the way the OTHER side of my jaw feels today.

I am thankful, however, that Doctor Nancy was able to dispense the required level of pain in a much more time-sensitive manner. My visit today only lasted an hour and a half, so I applaud her for her expeditious manner. I think she managed better this time for a few reasons--1) She had the experienced assistant today who knows which way to hold her dental doodads, 2) She went ahead and pumped my jaw full of anesthetic beforehand, rather than doing it in stages (not that it STILL didn't require another couple of pokings during the procedure, 3) She's tired of seeing my ugly gaping maw.

I am also thankful that the left side of my jaw finally quit hurting enough to be able to chew on that side. "Enough" being the operative word, in that the muscle still has a dull throb to it, but at least I can put pressure on the tooth on that side without streamers of naughty words and white hot sparks shooting out of my mouth.

ANYWAY, I am here, and stand ready to whine and cry at the least provocation, so please beware.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:34 AM | Comments (2)

September 13, 2006

Well, no time to play, it seems.

BUT, in the greatest news of all TIME, I do have another dental appointment tomorrow morning to get my other tooth worked on! YAY ME!! So, wish me luck, and let's hope the assistant knows her stuff by now.

Oh, and don't worry--there will be plenty to do in my absence...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:08 PM | Comments (0)

What a load of...

...MEETING!

That was entirely too long, and now I have this great huge boulder of garbage to roll up a hill before I can play. I was just talking to Sisyphus, and he says it gets better, but I think he might have just been saying that to make himself feel better.

ANYway.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:37 AM | Comments (6)

September 12, 2006

Hey! Meeting day tomorrow!

Blech. But it is a part of the paying gig, so it must be done. Gonna be a long one, too. Again, 'blech.'

Them there's the breaks, I suppose. IN any event, so you all later on tomorrow morning sometime. As usual, there is a fascinating selection of out of date trade magazines for you to read, and a copy of the Reader's Digest with all the puzzles and quizzes filled out.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:03 PM | Comments (0)

Tempus Fugit

Jonathan met me in the kitchen yesterday morning as I was trying to get his sister and him all fed breakfast and out the door.

"Dad? Do we have a watch I could take to school?"

What a weird question. "A watch? What do you need a watch for?"

"To tell time with!"

"Don't y'all have clocks in your classrooms?"

"Well, yes sir, but except not in Math. Or Social Studies."

"Are you ever late for class?"

"No sir. Can I take a watch?"

Persistent little cuss he is. But I had figured out a couple of sentences ago that he was probably less interested in actually telling time than he was in having a fashion accessory.

"Son, could it be that you're not really wanting to know what time it is, but just want to have a watch to wear around?"

"No, Dad--I need to know what time it is!"

Heh. Kids!

"Well, let me tell you what--go upstairs, look in the right side of the armoire, look in the middle there where my ties are and there's a round metal can there with a bunch of old watches, and if you want, I will let you wear my Timex that I use when I'm working on the car. Is that okay?"

"YES SIR!!"

He scurried off to collect his booty--one of those black plastic Timex sports watches with a white Indiglo dial. I got it several years ago for just the reason I said, working on the car or cutting the grass so I wouldn't scratch up my good watches. And it has been a great watch, but I don't mind if he does lose it or break it, since it only cost a few dollars--and I've gotten my few dollars worth out of it.

He proudly bounced back downstairs and I said solemnly, "Son, don't lose my watch. Don't break my watch. Don't let anyone else have my watch. Understand?"

He did.

Got home last night after my bout in the dentist's torturarium and Boy was running around trying to get ready for Scouts. I took him on to his meeting because I needed something to take my mind off the throbbing in my jaw, even if only for a little while. As we sat there in the parking lot waiting for his Scoutmaster to get there, I noticed he was messing with his new wrist adornment.

"Anyone notice you had a watch on today?"

"Well, I showed Adam."

"And?"

"He thought it was really cool. It says it's water resistant to 50 meters. That's 165 feet. You know how I got that? I multiplied 50 times 3.3. Mom doesn't like it, though."

Glad he came up for a breath. "Mom doesn't like it!?"

(First I'd ever heard her say anything about it!) "No, she says it's too big for my arm."

"Nah--just makes you look all manly and masculine and stuff. Hey, bud, let me tell you something--if you promise not to tear it up, or lose it, or stuff like that, I will let you have that and it can be yours. Okay?"

"You're going to let me HAVE it!?"

"If you'll take care of it."

"Wow. Thanks, Dad!"

He admired it and then hopped out when the rest of his folks started arriving. All I could think about making the short drive back home is that he's all grown up now.

How did that happen?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:44 PM | Comments (2)

Ow.

Had my dental appointment yesterday afternoon. Got in the chair at around 2:30, didn't get out until 6:00.

I feel like I've been beat with an axe handle.

Good news is that she was able to crown the worst one without having to have a root canal or anything like that.

Bad news?

1) The other broken tooth is going to have to wait at least another two weeks for its crown, unless they have a cancellation before then.

2) I have a temporary crown right now that is useless to chew on.

3) Her assistant yesterday was greener than Kermit the Frog. I assume she had finished her schooling, but I could be mistaken about that. She was cute and sweet but utterly at a loss when it came to anticipating what the doc was going to ask her to do, or exactly how to handle all the necessary tooth-repairing doodads. It made the procedure last just that much longer.

4) Remember my "hard head"? That's what Doc Nancy said about my high resistance to dental anesthesia a couple of years ago. Well, I still have it, although I think the good doc forgot about that particular problem of mine. She must have given me at least six different shots--back of jaw, gums inside and out, upper jaw, and a couple of others that I think she gave me just to poke on me. She'd give me one, wait, grind, and have to stop and try to give me more. Eventually, my whole face felt numb up to the eyebrows, but that tooth had one spot on it that would not be calmed down. She finally got it ground down enough to get where she wanted to go with it, but it hurt like having a mouthful of Satan.

Anyway, this morning my jaw feels like I've been chewing on a bowling ball.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:07 AM | Comments (4)

September 08, 2006

The weekend calls.

And unfortunately, it usually calls collect. Oh well. It's only money.

::sigh::

Anywho, we must get the house clean by the end of the month because we've got the kids from church coming over, but I can tell already it won't get done until the day before. They might even pick some stuff up, but a day later I can almost promise you that there'll be even more stuff gotten down and strewn around. I might just start throwing it all out in the yard when I stumble over it.

But, there is housework to do, and laundry, and I probably need to cut grass, and a bunch of other stuff, and the game to watch, and an anniversary Monday that for the past five years I have yet to determine how best to commemorate.

We shall see, I suppose. All of you have a good weekend, and Lord willing we'll meet here again on the 11th.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:18 PM | Comments (2)

Ewww.

You know, it's bad to have a blog, and to bring your digital cameral to work, and to have a broken tooth, and to have a mind that wanders.

All that to say...

HEY!! Who wants to see my broken tooth!?

If you don't want to see it, do not read the extended entry. If, on the other hand, you have an intense streak of the weird about you, go ahead and click.

How people can actually want to grow up and be dentists is beyond me.


yuck.JPG


Anyway, this whole thing has been very disconcerting, mainly because there hasn't really been any pain to speak of. Not when it broke, not when I accidentally get water or air on it, not when I bite normally. It does feel very uncomfortable when I accidentally get some food over on it, but that's only because I can feel it trying to wiggle under the bit of amalgam that's still in place.

Is it normal for it not to hurt? Or is it just not down far enough into the hurty part? Or is it just building up to something excruciating?

OR...am I just so stinkin' manly that I am oblivious to such piddly concerns?

Yeah, that's probably it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:52 PM | Comments (13)

Well, here it is.

Oh, sure--this past weekend I made my usual joke about carefully wrapping my white bucs in tissue paper and putting away my seersucker suit and straw boater for the year.

Despite not actually having such accoutrements, I still have some misbegotten sense of respect for the Labor Day to Easter sartorial calender that says when it's not safe to wear white shoes and flimsy suits. It's dumb, but you know, silly made-up etiquette rules are what separate us from the animals. Some people say it's tools, but animals occasionally use tool-like devices. You never see them worry about what to wear to a funeral.

Anyway, it's summer in the South for a long time, but it does end eventually. And it never fails that autumn finds a way to sneak in an early appearance to let me know it's headed up the road.

We had an afternoon downpour yesterday--quite welcome I might add, in that it settled the dust and washed away some of the city's tired funk. Rain's always welcome, but there are some summer days when it falls and it's so hot outside that the moisture in the air almost suffocates you. You get a sense of what that crab feels when he's one second into the boiling pot of water and Old Bay.

I walked out to the parking deck last evening as the flood poured down, and as I got near the top of the ramp where the car was parked, I felt it.

A breeze.

A big gust of air blowing through the open sides of the deck, enough to move the litter into little moving windrows. And the breeze was...cool.

Not cold, obviously. But still, not one of those breezes that only feels cool because the air's moving. It was the air of leaves turning colors and wood smoke and the sound of the band playing at the stadium.

It was fall.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:47 PM | Comments (0)

September 06, 2006

[Expletive]

I was just now sitting here, minding my own business, eating my lunch, when I bit down on a piece of chicken and felt something.

Something bad.

Sort of a pop, or snap.

I hoped it was just a piece of extra hard crust giving way. It turned out to be a piece of extra hard crust, which caused my TOOTH to give way. Whole inside part of #20, just snapped off and wallowed around in my mouth before I found it.

People, I am falling apart.

To make matters worse, my regular dentist can't see me until MONDAY. I'm going to try to wait, but I don't really think I'll be able to. No pain right now, but then again, I'm not using it for anything.

::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:20 PM | Comments (11)

September 05, 2006

Labor Day!

In which I, Moron of the House, do sally forth to buy more things.

As you note, no mention is made of the volleyball net in the preceeding entries, because I never got to a point of purchase until Monday, after hearing all weekend how much everyone wanted a net.

OKAY!

So, off to Academy, and I took Catherine with me to help pick it out. She being the most vocal about its necessity. Looked in all the ball racks--soccer, baseball, basketball, football, softball, ballball, even volleyball. No nets. What the?

Had to ask a salesman--"Oh, those are over in camping equipment."

Oh, but of COURSE! Nothing like sleeping out under the twinkling stars wrapped in a volleyball net. So, over to the camping stuff, and sure enough, all sorts of badminton/paddle/tether junk, and volleyball nets. Let's see, they had the Good, the Better, and the You're NOT Going to Believe What Some People Are Crazy Enough To Buy.

Obviously, although I am a moron, I am not crazy--or at least crazy enough to pay THAT much for something that will be outside, so I got the cheapo $17 version. AND it came with a BALL! No way to get anything cheaper without a ball, so now we would just be equipped with two balls.


AND SO ANYWAY, we got that and headed home, where I took it out of its handy carrying pouch. Net. Plastic poles. String of unfathomable complexity. Plastic ball. Whew--instructions.

Which turned out more to be disinstructions. Never have I been so completely baffled by a set of printed words. Maybe I just needed to go outside and see if I could figure it out one I had everything spread out.

First, the poles have to go down into the ground. The poles are lightweight plastic. The ground is made of ground things. All of them a good deal harder than plastic. Thus requiring the first major effort of the morning, digging some holes.

Now, I might not have much, but I got yard tools. Including a pick. An old-timey one, too. Belonged to my folks, who probably got it from a roving band of '49ers. Big heavy thing, but PERFECT for spiking two holes in the ground for the little flimsy plastic poles. Get pick out of Not A Shed, and carefully swing it back and down and make myself a nice square hole. I tried to make it a bit deeper by striking it again, but I only succeeded in making three additional holes adjacent to the first. Fine.

Picked one of the holes, tapped the first pole segment down into the ground. Clipped in the second, and then topped it off with the last segment. That I put on backwards. And had to fix.

Now then, the net.

Ever put up a tent? All those lines and such, and they have to be taut? It can be sorta hard. But on a scale of 1-100, with "tent-putting-up" being about a 50, and building a fast breeder nuclear reactor as 100, the volleyball net turned out to be something like a 116. I don't know why, but there were all sorts of rubber hooks and loops and blidgets and thumsers and libityfloos to make the net tight and the poles relatively plumb. And by this time the sun was hot, and I was already in a Not Good Mood, and the instructions were as inscrutible as Chairman Mao's tombstone, and I needed my hammer out of the garage which resulted in yet more time spent uselessly plundering for it.

BUT, I managed to get the hateful cords and pegs and lines and tension done!

Now on to the OTHER side. Same deal, pick hole, tap in bottom section (lightly--it's plastic you know!) middle section, top section. Now, string the net over into the slot and down with the cord A over the hook 7 while holding sller vleihs under buil norcking less that five inches, without holding while less than moving cord. Tapped in the first peg, then the second peg holding the pole, and the final peg and D'OH!!

Did I mention the little holdy pegs were plastic? Looked a bit like tiny tent stakes. Except of soft plastic. I had just tapped one in, and it apparently hit a rock and the whole thing split down the middle and squished itself sideways into unpeggability.

::sigh::

I knew I probably had something in the garage I could use to fix it, and, in fact, actually looked around a bit. But I was overcome with a fit of pique, so I figured it would be best for all concerned were I to take my leave for a few minutes and go down the hill to the hardware store. Found a big screw eye that would be quite serviceable for the intended use.

Home, and tapped that thing down in the ground with extreme prejudice, did some final adjustments to the strings so that the poles were equally misshappen, and TIME FOR FAMILY VOLLEYBALL FUN!!

We got everyone out and they oohed and aahed and we began to play a few plays. And then the ball (the one purchased Thursday) went over Reba's head and rolled right up to the neighbor's big lummox of a dog, who slobbered all over it.

Blech.

We played some more and actually kept score, and no, I resisted the urge to win at all costs. But something was wrong--the ball was not holding air.

::sigh::

I don't know if it was the rose bush, or the pear tree, or a stick on the ground, but it had a leak, and no amount of pumping would keep it inflated for more than a round or two of serves.

Drat.

Well, at least we DID have the cheap vinyl ball that came with the net, we could use that! We played and played and played for several hours--long enough for Oldest to throw a temper tantrum and storm off, and then for a good long time after that. And then, someone got all full of him- or herself. No, not me. But one of the kids (I think it was Rebecca, but I don't know) absent-mindedly kicked the ball, hard, and it slammed home like a rock into the base of the big running rose bush in the planter by the kitchen. THUNK!

I could almost hear it exhaling its last breath from where I was standing. Big tears welled up in Catherine's eyes--NO MORE BALLS!

Yes, you do guess correctly.

Back down to Winn-Dixie, where this story started, to get aNOTHER volleyball.

They promise to be much more careful this time. I find myself unwilling to put that much trust in their ability to make good on this pledge, for some reason.

Anyway, that was the weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:34 PM | Comments (4)

More weekend?

Sure.

Sunday was up early for church, and then church itself, and then a lunch there at the building, and then home for a while, where I dozed fitfully on the couch while the kids watched a movie, then back up to the building for a meeting, then evening worship, which I dozed even MORE fitfully through, because it's considered bad form to snore in church, so I had to be VERY fitful to stay awake.

Left the older two girls there for them to go off for the teen devotional after church, we took ourselves on home, ate a bite of supper, then I went BACK to get the girls. Yes, Oldest can drive. No, not after dark on lonely country roads with a passenger, she doesn't. No use tempting fate. So, off with me, then back home again, and FINALLY a chance to get into bed. After first reading the paper, which depressed me to no end.

It used to be that the Birmingham News was equally repugnant to both liberals and conservatives and people who could read above a 6th grade level, but here lately with their move to their new fancy home and their decision to be boldly less fake in their commitment to "objectivity," it's really gone far beyond itself in stinking.

You know--there used to be the way a paper would do a story, say, on the economy. If it was good news, they'd always trot out someone to say it might not be as good as we think. No matter what, no matter how good or bad, it was always exactly offset with a comment from someone on the opposite side. In journalist's eyes, that was called "balance," or "two sides to every story," but as I've said before, it's a false balance.

It's akin to such things as those slow-motion movies you see, where a bowling ball and a feather fall together inside of a vacuum. However, outside the vacuum chamber, some things are unequal, and some things are actually deserving of scorn without the admixture of equivocation. Not all news happens in a vacuum, and in the real world, bowling balls hit the ground before the feather, and they hurt a darn sight more if they land on your foot. It's as if we can't just can't come out and declare Iran's president an anti-everything lunatic, without also noting he's a natty dresser and is a college professor.

Anyway, that was the old way. Now? Well, it seems that if there's any news, it must be seen from a prism of "How Could The Bush Administration Let This Happen?" So not only do we have to tut-tut and note that Ahmadinejad has said some nasty things (not that he really meant them the way they sounded--so, you know, lighten up a bit, Jewish People), BUT we also must note he sees George Bush as a terrorist, and that George Bush NEVER taught college, and everyone KNOWS how unsophisticated he is, that it's no wonder he's messed everything up and gotten us in this mess.

EVERY story in the paper--or so it seems--is nothing more than commentary, or wishful thinking for disaster. The front page news this weekend was not how precipitously gas prices have (and will continue) to fall, but how worried every Alabamian is about, well, about rising gas prices, and everything else. WORRY! WOE! CALAMITIES!! Every opinion given, even if it can be shown to have no basis in fact, is given full credence, and no effort is made to supply anything like factual information. The common tales of woe are accepted by the editors as a sign of Deep Despair, and Distrust, and Possible Democratic Resurgence (we hope!!), and the reader is intended to accept it without question, presumably because it's written in a newspaper.

Even in things intended to be fluff, we wind up get things like this story, which glibly tosses off one of the most exhaustively debunked bits of urban folklore as fact, and uses it in a not-so-veiled slap at American lack of cultural senstitivity:

[...] Rex Parker, who has worked in product development for Nissan, Mazda and Hyundai, and served as vice president of AutoPacific, an industry consultant based in Los Angeles, said automakers need input from locals in other countries on everything from a vehicle's name to preferred colors and options.

"You can't look this stuff up in the dictionary," he said.

If the automaker's message is somehow lost in translation, it could be embarrassing, he said. Consider General Motors' well known gaffe with the Chevrolet Nova. The automaker in the 1970s introduced the vehicle in Mexico, even though the name in Spanish meant "It doesn't go." [...]

Consider this. No. That's wrong. And it never has been right. This article from Snopes.com was online in 1999, and it thoroughly, factually, logically takes apart the myth and shows that it just doesn't make any sense at all.

1999. That's a long time for basic research information to be out there in the ether, so it's not like it's something that just turned up yesterday. Maybe the last paragraph of the Snopes article says it best:

[...] The Chevy Nova legend lives on in countless marketing textbooks, is repeated in numerous business seminars, and is a staple of newspaper and magazine columnists who need a pithy example of human folly. Perhaps someday this apocryphal tale will become what it should be: an illustration of how easily even "experts" can sometimes fall victim to the very same dangers they warn us about.

It's just one article, in one backwater newspaper, but it's sadly indicative of a greater problem facing news organizations, which seem determined to screw themselves into the deepest pit of irrelevancy possibly.

Papers used to at least pay lip service to the idea of garnering facts and truth, but we seem to have run slap into the consequences of a generation of teaching that there is no such thing as absolute truth, and everyone's side of the story is of equal worth. The child and the child molester become merely opposite sides of the same coin.

The press rightly values its freedom and as free people we should all be grateful for it. But our interests are not served by those who would fail us in their most fundamental obligation--to give us light that we might find our own way.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:42 PM | Comments (0)

Saturday

Up early, got dressed, and this time made sure Boy was dressed and ready to go before I went outside. "Which do you want, bud--front yard or back?"

You'd think I'd asked him if he preferred hanging or the gas chamber.

He finally made up his mind he'd work on the front, since it has no trees to go under and around. Which is fine by me, as long as he does something other than stay in his room all day.

Got out the now-cured Murray, loaded her up with gas, and got to work. Cut, cut, cut. Tell Boy that he won't pass out from simply cutting the grass. Lots of dust, which made things terrible for both of us. Took a while, but he got the front more or less done, more or less neatly. Not that I'm complaining--I decided long ago I'd rather have it short than to have all the mower tracks straight. Unless I'm the one doing it, and THEN they have to be precise, but I won't bother him with his ability to stay in line. Just cut it, little fellow.

He finally got done on his part, and I moved to the back. Cut cut cut. Finish. Cat and Rebecca bring out a big jug of ice water to me, and the volleyball and the kitten for themselves, and we sit down in the back by the pine tree while I cool off.

They bother the cat for a while, and he attacks the volleyball before scooting up the pine tree. Fearless feline--he explores every limb up to about 30 feet or so, going out to the far ends of each one before turning around. While he does that, the girls keep hitting the volleyball at my head.

Reba took the younger two kids to the grocery store, and the Second Great Task of the Afternoon fell to me--namely, hauling Rebecca around to various merchants and service providers to see if they would be willing to purchase advertising space in the middle school yearbook.

I can't stand asking people for money.

Oh, I could be a salesman if I wanted to be, but it is one thing I DO NOT want to be. Still, she had an assignment, so after I got my shower and we got together her paperwork, I figured I might as well try to help her as much as I could with my patented selling tips.

1) Show your client you're interested in his services or product.

First stop was the UPS Store to make copies of her contracts, so since we were already there, and had just given THEM some business, we asked the nappy bearded punk who was the cashier if they'd be interested in supporting the school. "Uhmm, you'd need to talk to the guy who owns the store, and he's, like, gone, because it's Saturday, and so he'll be here on Tuesday."

Fair enough. Sadly though, the thing we heard most often.

As for other examples of Tip #1, we went next door and ate lunch at the Mexican place. Good food, and a lot of it, but sorta pricish for lunch. No matter, she asked the co-proprietor if he'd like to purchase an ad, he said he'd have to talk it over with el jefe supremo.

Oh, well. On to the next tip.

2) Be friendly and courteous and speak distinctly--you are a reflection of your product, and people must know what you're selling.

As I mentioned this morning, Rebecca is very quiet. This is not good for someone doing cold calls. Especially ones that are only one step removed from telemarketing. It's hard to sell these because the whole idea is cockeyed--you're not really expecting ANY money to come back to you from these ads--it's basically a donation. (Which flies in the face of Tip #3--Believe in your product.)

So anyway, talking to everyone was hard for her, because she doesn't realize just how quiet she is. I'd help her along some, but that really wasn't the thing to do, but SOMEone needed to tell them they could call the number on the contract, and that we could leave the ad rates with them, and stuff such as that. At least she had a good attitude about it. She'd say, "I did that one all by myself," and I'd pick on her and tell her that I had done ALL the talking. She did pretty good, all things considered, though.

We wound up visiting at least twenty different places, and had about half who said they might be able to help. SO, even though we didn't get any commitments (that ol' "boss'll be back after Labor Day" story) it was still a pretty good afternoon, if for no other reason that we got to ride around town and play, without having any deadlines to meet or other siblings to mess with us.

Home, and help finish putting away groceries, supper, then to bed with us all.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:14 PM | Comments (0)

Where was I?

Oh, yeah--I have no idea. You know, where I usually am.

So, Friday I picked up the kinder from Grandmom's and off to home we went to home. Got there, got unloaded, and the kids were outside in a flash to mess with their newest toy. Thursday when I had to make a stop at the grocery store, I had them with me and Catherine and Jonathan found a box full of balls.

"Daaaad-dy? Can we get a volleyball? 'Cause we're doing volleyball in PE. PLEEEEEEEEEZ?"

I am usually impervious to such beggings, even when offered by Catherine.

"No, y'all put that up."

"But we don't have a VOLLEYBALL."

Unassailable logic, that. "Look, put the ball back in the box and come on!" Did I mention that at the time I was on the phone with Reba, who was telling me stuff to get while I was there? Well, I was, so in this distracted state they CONTINUED to pester and molest the box full of volleyballs.

"Would y'all PUT that DOWN! NOW!"

"If we had a volleyball, we could play volleyball!"

::sigh::

Oh, good grief. It's just a volleyball. And short of duct-taping them to the floor, I don't think they were going to leave anything alone. So, in the first of many Bad Father moments to come, I did the exasperated-Andy-Griffith head shake where he just gives up and shoves his hands in his pockets and rolls his eyes.

As you all know, this is usually followed by Barney shooting his pistol in the courthouse.

Anyway, that was Thursday, so Friday they got outside in the backyard and started trying to make holes in the side of the house. Or break the windows. Hard to tell.

I went out and told them in a firm and authoritative, but quiet and level voice (i.e., yelled) for them to quit trying to tear apart the house. "Yes, daddy."

They went back to their game of imaginary volleyball. "How do you tell if it's out or if you've gotten it over the net?"

Rebecca said, "well, we just kinda pretend, sorta."

And thus we learn just how much of a moron I am.

"Maybe we need a net."

"DADDY'S GONNA GET US A VOLLEYBALL NET! COOOOL!! WHEN, DAD!? TONIGHT!?"

::sigh::

Good thing I only have one bullet in my shirt pocket.

We agreed that I would further discuss the matter with their mother, and we'd think about it.

More about that, later.

Suppertime, eat, clean up, sit around.

Reba and I sat and talked a bit, and for some reason, all the other kids went on to to their stuff but Rebecca stayed behind and sat with us. It turned out to be a remarkable conversation.

She's the most mature of the bunch, and it's possible to have an actual conversation with her without the subject HAVING to be about her, so we talked about a boatload of things. One in particular, though, tickled me to no end. Somehow the subject got to treating people nice, and she said she always tries to, but sometimes people just get on her nerves. One in particular?

Well, this summer when she'd go over to help Reba at her work, the maintenance guy there picked at Rebecca endlessly, trying his best to get her to talk to him. Rebecca is VERY quiet around people she doesn't know, and really not that talkative around the ones she DOES know. But the one thing she can't stand is people TRYING to make her talk to them. She just clams up even more. So, this guy would try to make her talk and I think he must have gotten his feelings hurt when she would refuse to jabber back at him (yeah, I know--big deal). So, she didn't like being around him. AND TO MAKE MATTERS WORSE, he tends to use language of a most colorful and salty sort, best I can tell something of a cross between the late Acidman and a drunken sailor on shore leave. Now he'd never talk to Rebecca that way, but she overheard him on numerous occasions holding forth in all of his profane glory, and THAT made her dislike being around him, too.

We tried to tell her that some people just don't know any better, and for her not to ever talk that way herself. She said not to worry (and I don't), and then she let loose with one of the best lines I have ever heard. I laughed and laughed--she has become a wit worthy of emulation. After telling us she wasn't ever going to talk like that, she said of the fellow in question:

"He's just got a mouth full of Satan!"

Ladies and gentlemen, THAT is saying something! After I quit laughing, I asked where she heard that, and she said she just made it up, and from the best I can tell from looking at the Google machine, she indeed has come up with an aphorism for the ages.

I bow before her skillfulness.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:34 PM | Comments (4)

Comment Spam and Staff Meeting. UPDATE I II III!

Both of which conspired to slow down my recitation of all the events of the weekend past. Got here and found that I had about 40 spam comments that I had to go in and clear manually because for some reason they managed to bypass the thing that sends me an e-mail when I get a comment, so they stacked up like really pervy cordwood over the weekend. Had to get those undone, and THEN we had our dumb ol' staff meeting to go to.

BUT NOW! Time for the Weekend Recap. Which I still have to write. But before I do that, I have to go to the BANK! Tell you what, if it's not one thing, it another forty gajillion.

Anyway, I'll get that all squared away and then get back to this.

A preview? Never buy your kids a volleyball from the grocery store.

And from Steevil, try to teach your kids that famous historical figures are not interchangeable.

SO, back in a bit.

UPDATE 1:49 pm: I just noticed that the Target link I had up here is now not working properly. This is the what it should be. Well, almost what it should be.

For those who don't know what the joke was, Target has a line of USA-made "Presidential Action Figures," and Steevil had sent along a link to one purported to be Franklin Roosevelt. Except the action figure (i.e., 12 inch high doll) was dressed in knee breeches, a frock coat, and had a bald pate with long hair skirting around his ears. In other words, it was Benjamin Franklin. Who not only never had polio, but also never was President. And, was, in fact, never Franklin Roosevelt. Or Roosevelt Franklin from Sesame Street, either. (Update inside an update--Apparently they aren't exclusive to Target--here is an example of Ben--properly identified--from a place called the DC Giftshop, as well as a hale and hearty cane-bearing FDR from the same store.)

Jimmy Carter is indeed one of the action figures, but it does not say if he comes complete with a boat oar and a killer rabbit. He also looks shockingly like a Ken doll.

For some reason, President Reagan is Cher-ified. While all the other Presidents have their given and surnames, he is identified simply as "Reagan."

Eh. Go figure. I'm sure there'll be a lot of bloviation about this, but you have to wonder what kid would want one of these things.

UPDATE III: BILLY THE C ACTION FIGURE! Complete with Kung-fu Groping Action!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:12 AM | Comments (17)

September 01, 2006

Hey! It's almost time to go!

A few things to catch up on here, and then a full three days of relaxation are headed my way. All of you have a great weekend, and come back on Tuesday and let's see what all went on.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:17 PM | Comments (0)

August 31, 2006

Yet another way to waste time at home.

For some reason, I got on the computer last night. I usually don't, since computers are a thing of evil and all, and noticed right away that the kids (or to be more specific, Rebecca) had been using it. I had clicked on the Start Menu (since I have been now well-trained to do things in the most anti-intuitive way imaginable) and saw that one of the recently used programs was Internet Checkers.

In almost an instant, I deduced this had nothing to do with either Richard Nixon's cocker spaniel or Winston Churchill's family estate or an oddly-bifurcated fast food drive-through establishment or a rotund rock and roll singer or, or...what was I talking about?

OH YEAH, anyway, apparently Windows XP has a link where you can play checkers against some other weirdo retard out in the ether. It's not like real checkers where you get to slap people's hands, which is a drawback.

Anyway, I figured it might be good to see where this thing leads, so I clicked the icon (which is from a forgotten Russian Orthodox ritual) and found myself staring at a checkboard, and it even had a place at the bottom where you could "chat" with your opponent. Now supposedly there is someone else out there, but you have to figure it's really either a computer program or some crazed checker fiend you'd rather not have to talk to (unless she looks like Scarlett Johansson), so I turned that part off. No use messing up my gamesmanship by typing.

The first game started and in pretty quick fashion, I beat whomever or whatever I was playing against. Victory is addictive! I managed to beat 5 out of 6 opponents--the one time I got beaten was because of my own stupid mistakes, so I will throw that one out and say I was completely undefeated. Oh, sure, I was playing at the beginner level, but it was still quite exciting.

For checkers.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:05 PM | Comments (2)

August 30, 2006

Collisions!

Poor Miss Janis.

But at least you have compatriots who are equally adept at vehicular maneuvering.

This morning Catherine and I were outside playing with Lightning, and Catherine was holding on to the kids' new volleyball. It was a cheapo one we got at the grocery store yesterday (as I was buying turnip greens) and it wasn't quite aired up all the way.

"Cat, would you like me to get the pump and air that up for you?"

"Okay."

Now we have a small ball pump in the garage. It's over by my toolbox, which is over by the wall, which is on the OTHER side of the van. Usually, the van isn't pulled so far forward, though. When it's parked right you can brush around the front and get to the tools and junk, and to the hidey place for the ball pump.

This morning, however, the van was all the way up against the cabinets. Reba had missed the wooden wedge I keep on the floor to keep from pulling to far forward. No big deal--I'll just walk around the back, then scootch up the passenger side between the van and the shelves.

No dice. She had gotten too far to the right of the wooden wedge as well, and there wouldn't have been enough room for Calista Flockhart to squeeze by there, much less someone built like Hoss Cartwright.

Well, I'll be a good husband, then--go ahead and back the van out onto the driveway. AND be a good daddy--be able to get to that all-important ball pump.

I got my keys out of my pocket and hopped in and pushed the button to open the garage door and cranked up the van and decided not to mess with the mirrors to keep from Reba having to adjust them again and put it in reverse and slowly eased back and thought what a good person I am and WHAM!

Oh, BAD-WORD-THAT-SOUNDS-LIKE-SHIP!

I seem to have forgotten that last night I had moved the Volvo over to the other side of the driveway so Oldest could get out of the garage in the Focus. It was sitting right behind the van and WALLOP!

::sigh::

I got out and surveyed the damage. Honda Odyssey, with nice big plastic bumper, and NOW with that AND with two big, distinct puncture wounds caused by the top two acorn-shaped nuts on the front license plate bracket of the Volvo.

Volvo 240, no damage aside from a license plate frame that was bent back slightly so that it now follows the slight curve of the bumper, as well as a couple of stress marks on the face of my decorative Auburn University tag.

Had I not gone junkyard shopping with the express intent of finding a front license plate bracket for the express purpose of holding my decorative Auburn University tag, there probably would have been no damage to the Odyssey.

Had I adjusted the mirror, I probably would have noticed the Volvo and not hit it.

Had I not been so focused on finding a cheap plastic ball pump to pump up a cheap volleyball, I would not have had to move the van.

Had I not been such a moron, this blog post would not exist.

So, hey, there's always an upside, no?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:52 PM | Comments (16)

I LOVE meetings!

Actually, not a bad one this time, which really is sort of refreshing. Although, as with all sorts of things of this nature, you eventually run into someone whose finely honed gift of businessjabber sprouts a malaprop of some sort. Witness, "we want to make sure we have everything and go the whole ten yards."

Although the actual derivation of "the whole nine yards" continues to be up for debate, bypassing that conundrum in a Nigel Tufnel-esque, "goes to 11" fashion does seem to be worthy of an attaboy.

Anyway, that's done now, and I even got to visit with Pam the Liberal for a few minutes before having to come back, so that was a nice diversion. Now then, LET'S NOT BE BORING!!

How about a Morgan Fairchild/Bo Derek catfight with CAKE!!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:30 AM | Comments (2)

Promoting Boredom!

Well, it's gonna be boring, but it's my own fault because I have a meeting this morning down the block and I have to get ready for it, SO I have to do all that mess, MEANING that not only will there be a lack of the normal junk on here, there ALSO will be a lack of junk PERIOD--normal, abnormal, or Abby Normal.

igor.jpg

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:15 AM | Comments (5)

August 28, 2006

Now then.

I have stuff to do, and so you'll just have to wait to hear about all the other exciting things that happened this weekend.

Oh, who am I kidding! I'll go ahead and tell you now!

Nothing.

The rest of the weekend was free of drama (for the most part) and free of disaster, and I completely missed the Emmy Awards. I didn't have to cut grass, and I only had to fold up a few clothes, and the hummingbirds are in fine form, and so there you go.

NOW I'm gonna go do my paying work.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:04 PM | Comments (0)

Hooray for Hollywood!

Sorta.

After eating a bit and getting a shower and combing bits of metal and gravel out of my hair, it was time to head up to the movie theater.

Reba told me that morning while I was grunting with a tire and wheel on my lap that she had thought about taking the girls to go see the newest Duff girls vehicle sometime during the day. I'd heard only the most vague information about the movie, but even from that knew without a doubt that it would be a complete waste of time, and that I did NOT want to see it. Anyway, she first said she wanted to go in the morning, then at noon, then finally later that afternoon. Even though I didn't want to go see some stupid movie about stupid girls who like stupid things and say stupid things, I DID want to go to the movies--maybe Boy and I could go see the thing about animals.

So, after I had recovered we got ourselves over to the theater and got our tickets--and Cat decided she wanted to got with Jonathan and me, which was just fine. So, three for Material Girls, three for Barnyard.

MOVIE REVIEW TIME!!

Well, the premise is that animals become bipedal humanoids when we have our backs turned. Hijinx ensue.

Overall, a lot of frenetic CGI action, some moments that are actually kind of touching, the music is pretty good (heavy on the North Mississippi Allstars), and enough lame humor to keep the kids chuckling. ("Hey, Pig--dead bee in your nose." ::snort:: "Nope--another live one.")

But.

The same thing everyone else says--udders. Next time anyone puts an udder on a bull, I'm going to scream. Look, it's a kid's cartoon--we certainly don't want hyper-realism here with all sorts of huge dangly bulljunk--but udder is the wrong direction to take. Give the girls udders, give the boys a nice smooth undercarriage. Think Ken and Barbie, guys.

And then there's just the way in which the animals are drawn--so much detail on things like cars or brik-a-brac--but all of the animals look like they're wearing animal suits. Especially the cows, who look like they've got rolled cuffs on their sleeves and cow hoof mittens. And they're smooth--shiny smooth--like they're wearing neoprene. It's very disturbing. And then there's the whole thing with milk. The cows (and all the other animals) guzzle it like it's bootleg booze, but you know, it still comes from OTHER COWS. The equivalent would be like if humans were really into drinking mass quantities of breast milk.

And then there's the whole political message--we have Sam Elliott as the bull(ish) guy who runs the show and holds the meetings and sees to it that no vicious coyotes (i.e., terrorists) eat anyone. The coyotes (i.e., terrorists) attack, and I'm sitting there screaming in my mind, "KILL THE FRIGGIN' COYOTES!!", but they are allowed to skulk away yipping after being told not to come back.

Hey, guess what? They (i.e., coyote terrorists) come back. Bigger, and badder, and more of them, and they manage to compromise national security when Junior Bull takes over (i.e., Democrats) by promising only to take a few animals at a time. Junior gets scared and decides to cut and run, but then finds out one of the animals taken by the coyotes is a little baby chicken. THEN he decides to be brave. Well, at least there SOMEthing that finally gets his attention. So, big climactic fight like at Pride Rock in the Lion King, and ONCE AGAIN, same situation comes up, and once again I'm screaming in my head, "KILL THE COYOTE NOW!!" and ONCE MORE, the main bad guy gets away, although not before getting walloped in the backside with a makeshift golf club. LIKE THAT'S GONNA STOP HIM!

I suppose this is supposed to make us vicariously feel good about being merciful and junk to coyotes (i.e., terrorists) who don't deserve it, but it does nothing but make me wonder if we can't even find a palatable way to off some bad guys, WHY EVEN SHOW THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE!? Don't make them the embodiment of all evil (unlike Wile E. Coyote, who was a silly dupe, and not really evil evil), and then act like they'll just go away by having everyone make angry cow noises. AND ANOTHER THING--these animals have found a way to steal human stuff and use it--cell phones and cars and junk--STEAL SOME DANGED VARMINT RIFLES! Maybe some nice Remington 700s in .243. BUT DON'T LET THEM GET AWAY.

Probably reading a bit too much into it, but still, it's a layer of frustration on top of the bullteats that made the whole movie even less entertaining.

Overall, a lot of funny throw-away lines and pop-culture asides, some snappy music, but with visual incongruities and an overlay of feel-good preachyism that I could have done without. I give it 3 out of 10 curly possum tails. The kids kinda liked it, though, but I don't think they would give it above a 5 or so.

HOWEVER, it does seem to have been better than what Reba and the older girls went to see--Reba usually gives me a movie review comprised of exhaustively recited passages of dialogue and action, but I haven't heard a peep from anyone of them about the movie. I think we have finally plumbed the depths of just how bad a chick flick can get before it completely loses its intended audience.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:42 AM | Comments (2)

And so--

Up Saturday, put on clothes, go downstairs, go outside, see that no one has dared touch my precious rear wheelless heap, survey what must be done during the day.

Set in to work.

Finish getting rear calipers bolted on, install new pads, put wheels back on, remove jackstands, lower car. It all sounds so very easy--and when you get right down to it, each of the individual tasks IS easy. However, when you have all of them to do in sequence, and you keep having to interrupt the flow of work when you realize you left your 14mm wrench on the other side of the car, and you have to get up and go around and get it and then come back and then you realize you also need your hammer and you have to go get that, well, all of that combined gets to be somewhat fatiguing.

I need a monkey.

Nice little beast to go get me stuff that I forget. Of course, monkeys tend to poop on things. And I don't know how you'd train one to get you a pair of slip joint pliers instead of a pair of wire pliers. And they'd be screeching and chittering when they weren't doing something. And they'd probably want to lick up antifreeze. Maybe I just need an assistant. Boy would do, except he isn't at the age where cars are interesting. None of the girls want to help, except for Rebecca, and then only for about five minutes. They will get me ice water, though, which is nice.

Maybe I need a robot. Who looks like Catherine Zeta Jones.

Nah, then I'd never get anything done. Unless--unless I program the robot to do car repair! Hmmm. I think I might be on to something...

Either that, or I have breathed too many petroleum distillates.

ANYway--back on with the wheels, and lower it down, and move on to the fronts.

Jack up one side, jackstand, jack up other side, jackstand, wheels off, pads out, calipers off, rotors off, rotors on, calipers on, pads in. It sounds so simple in retrospect, but all of the grunting and hammering and torquing and sweating and getting up to go get stuff I forgot wore me out.

As for the front rotors, they were worn slap out, too. They'd gotten a goodly amount of warp in them, so the pedal vibrated violently every time I put on the brakes hard, and they were 2mm too thin as well. Apparently all four rotors were the original ones, so I guess that's pretty good for 225,000 miles.

So, I had everything put back together by about 12:30 or so--EXCEPT. Seems that a while back I had bought some lower braces from an old GT model for the subframe (makes the structure a bit stiffer), and I had not gotten a chance to put them on. But, here it was, all jacked up with no wheels. If I was going to put them on, this was the time.

Obviously, however, they can't go on easily.

And by now, I was feeling woozy. 90 degrees, humidity like breathing though a wet blanket, no breakfast, and lots of exertion.

Anywho--the braces are simple thick bars with flattened ends and bolt holes. There is already one set of holes in the frame on the front side, but the rear mount holes have to be drilled. Which is difficult under the best of circumstances, but much harder when you find you haven't got the car jack up quite high enough, and the stuff you're drilling into is so hard you can barely even dent it with a center punch, and when you DO get the drill started, little hot shards of metal shavings rain down onto your arm, and then later lodge themselves in your scalp. Luckily, after cooling down.

But, despite the travails, I did manage to get two holes drilled in the appropriate spots underneath the car. Then, there was the bolting on. Which was made difficult by the lack of access. I wound up removing the bones from three of my fingers so they could wiggle into the space so I could hold a wrench on the top and bottom of the nut-bolt combo, but by gum, I did get those silly things installed. Even better is the fact that I actually CAN feel a slight difference in the ride and handling!

Or maybe it's just wishful thinking of a highly delusional variety.

Or maybe I'm just a moron.

No matter which, the wheels were reinstalled, the jackstands removed, the tools put away, and it was time to go test the brakes and make sure I didn't kill myself.

OH! And I installed my cupholder!

Off down to the foot of the hill. Soft, slow. Easy--not too hard--don't want to glaze them over!

Perfection.

Not a squeal, not a squeak, not a groan, not a grind, not a wobble, not a wiggle.

Volvos are notorious for loud squeaky brakes, and yet, despite everything, I had managed to get everything stuck back together and lubed just right so that I was spared that distress. ::shakes fist at Murphy::

I drove up to Target and turned around, then figured I would go back to Winn-Dixie and treat myself to a can of Coke, which I would put in my brand new cupholder. Got there, pulled up to the curb, hopped out with my crisp dollar bill, stuck it in the machine and it spit it back out. Five times. ::Murphy smiles:: I did have a quarter in the car, so I went back and got it and bought a cheapo Diet Chek, which is just as good as a Diet Coke.

Cupholder works just fine.

On back to home, feeling quite satisfied, but still, there was one thing left to do.

Cleanup.

My pretty little shiny trim rings were dirty, and most especially the one on the rear where the pad had worn away. The dust that came off was full of iron shavings, which had coated the trim ring with a fine layer of rusty stuff. Can't have that.

SO, as I teetered on the brink of passing out from fatigue and heat and foodlessness, I got the tires and wheels all sparkly again. Finally got completely done around 3.

Then it was time to get ready to go TO THE MOVIES!!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:34 AM | Comments (7)

The Lord giveth...

...and Murphy taketh away.

YET DESPITE THAT, I did manage to avoid any permanent disfigurement, and am able to come in this morning and peck upon this glorious computing machine and bore all of you to tears! Surely that must count as a weekend well spent.

Or not.

In any event, my great big package of brake pads and brake rotors (and my new cupholder!) arrived Friday just as predicted, and in a flurry of joy I ripped open the box to make sure everything was there, and it was, and set in to get started on the necessary dismantling right away.

As I was getting the car situated and finding my floor jack, I was still bothered by the one oversight in the whole process. When I had ordered my parts, I decided not to order a set of rear rotors. I don't really know why, other than I think I thought the ones already on the car could be turned and reused.

I don't really know why I thought this.

Especially after all that horrible grinding noise, noise that I knew was being caused by a pad that had worn down to the backer plate. That can't be good for a brake rotor. Yet, for some reason, I didn't order them. And to make things worse, I really couldn't add them to the order, without paying a huge tariff for shipping. The only way I managed to get this other stuff on the cheap was that the nice people out in Oregon were having a "no shipping charge" sale. Let me tell you this--shipping from Oregon is outrageous. So, after I couldn't order more (without paying an extra billion dollars to have them shipped) I figured I would just make do with what I had. If the rotors were too thin, I'd just have to have them smoothed out a bit, then order the rotors and install them later. Which is just a real messed up way of doing things.

But, as we have now thoroughly established, I Am A Moron.

Anyway, out with the wheel chocks, the jackstands, the jack, various wrenchy things, and off we go.

Jack up rear, set the stands in place, take off the wheels, yikes--my left rear rotor look like it had been scrubbed by a comb with diamond teeth--great big deep grooves running round and round. Yep--I could see there was no more friction material left on the pad. Aside from the piece of metal it had been attached to.

Took out the pads, took off the brake caliper, and measured the rotor thickness. Wow. Both sides were 2mm thinner than the minimum thickness. I really should have ordered rear rotors.

By this time, Reba had gotten home and I asked her to call the parts place to see if they could do the rotor turning. No. ::sigh:: They had some other places that could, but it was going to mean a lot more running around on Saturday, which I did NOT want to do.

Oh well.

I still had other things to do while there was still enought daylight, though, so I went ahead and made a run down to the foot of the hill for some brake cleaner in a spray can. Just out of curiosity, I asked the gangly kid at the counter if they had rear rotors for an '86 Volvo 240. "Yessir, we have two in stock."

You could have knocked me over with a flare nut wrench! What are the odds of them having something like that--IN STOCK!? He brought them out, and they looked beautiful--smooth and round and glistening and--ahem. Well, they looked real good.

Home, singing the 'Happy, Happy, Murphy's Law Don't Live Here' song. Which was obviously a mistake. I knew I should just be quietly grateful and not tempt fate. Because Fate is a real jerk when it comes to stuff like brakes.

Got to the house, found out there was one more piece of hardware to remove before getting the rotor off, did that, pulled the passenger side, doused the parking brake apparatus with brake cleaner (whew! highly aromatic hydrocarbons!), slid the new rotor on, and noticed it was getting sorta darkish.

Which is what happens at night.

Not going to get it all done this evening, obviously.

Grabbed my shop light and started the replacement on the right side. Undo extra hardware, pull rotor, douse the parking brake apparatus again. Boy, there's a lot of gunk in there. Spray. Spray, spray, sprrrrrrrray. Popped the new rotor on.

Ouch.

Felt like something had pinched my butt. I was sitting on the driveway with my legs akimbo as I was working, and it felt like I had sat on a pin. Started putting the caliper back on. Ouch. OW! Whatever that was that was pinching me really was hurting. I grunted and pulled on the wrench and OWWWW! That's BURNING! And now my left calf was burning, too. I leaned over and felt the bottom of my thigh and felt something wet on my jeans. OUCHBURN! "What is going on!?" I thought to myself.

It was then that I noticed I was sitting on one of the lateral joints in the driveway. And then I noticed that all of the vast amount of brake cleaner I had doused the mechanism with had puddled up on the driveway right underneath the brake, and at that exact spot was the lateral joint in the concrete. And that lateral joint seemed to be tilted at just the right angle to allow the huge puddle of brake cleaner (Caution: Highly flammable--avoid skin contact) to run toward the place I had only moments before been sitting. It then stopped when it found my buttock, and was handily soaked up by my jeans.

And made my right buttock and thigh and my left calf feel as though someone had gotten after me with a flamethrower.

I jumped up and started doing the 'Murphy's Law Strikes Again' tap dance, and ran inside and up the stairs to get in the shower before I suffered further damage to my fleshy backside. I ran into our bathroom, and lo and behold, Catherine was in the shower.

"CATHERINE!! I need you to get out! Daddy's got stuff on his leg and it BURNS! Please get OUT!"

She opened the door and looked out at me.

"CAT! PLEASE. GET. OUT."

She got out and stood on the bathmat.

"Catherine. I have stuff on my pants that is making my leg HURT REALLY BAD! I need you to leave the room so I can wash my legs off before I have to GO TO THE HOSPITAL! Please LEAVE!"

"But Mama told me to get in here and bathe before the pizza gets here."

"SUGAR! I KNOW you want to bathe, I'll let you back in in just a minute, but I have GOT TO GET IN THERE!"

She pouted and stalked out of the bathroom wet and nekkid, and I started ripping my pants off and stumbled into the shower.

Ahhhhhh.

Luckily, no permanent damage to my delicate undercarriage, but I do have a newfound respect for caustic chemicals.

I put on some different pants and finished getting my tools and stuff back inside for the night. I hated leaving the back end of the car up in the air overnight--it just looks rather low-class for such a fancy high-tone place like my neighborhood, but frankly, I'd had enough excitement for the night, and figured daylight would be better to work on things.

Got my real shower after supper, and in a fit of domesticity, made sure to take ALL the clothes out of the hamper and downstairs so that there would be no sudden CLOMP of laundry baskets on the bathroom floor Saturday morning.

And sure enough, there wasn't, and a certain wife of mine actually allowed me to sleep all the way until 8:30!

Hooray!

And then, time for more car repair!

Hooray!

About which, more in just a bit.

Awwwww.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:51 AM | Comments (7)

August 25, 2006

Weekend Forecast Already!?

Yep, because I just checked, and it appears that this afternoon the UPS Guy will be dropping off 32 pounds of Volvo brake parts at the house, and I'm so excited I'm about ready to make odd little noises!

The brake pads front and rear on the car are just about shot--the rears more than the front--and the front rotors have a bit of the warp to them that causes the wheel to shake and the pedal to bounce. Not a good thing. So I got some front rotors, too, which is where most of those 32 pounds come from. Probably needed to get rear rotors, too, but I thought maybe I could get those turned down. Right now the metal backer plate on the old brake pads are doing a pretty darned good job of it themselves--if I don't get new pads on there pretty soon, there won't BE any rear rotors left. Bad mechanic!

So, that's gonna start first thing when I get home. Hopefully this won't be an all-weekend thing. (He wrote, knowing that he was summoning the great hellish lawgiver, Murphy, who will do everything possible to smite him with a variety of calamities.)

Anyway, I got things to do here before I go, so all of you have a great weekend and I'll see you Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:50 PM | Comments (0)

August 23, 2006

Well, let's hope...

Court: Nader must pay for election suit

...that it's not one of those ugly, ill-fitting, mismatched things he's usually seen sporting around in. A nice tie would help, too. And maybe something with the hair.

GOOD MORNING! Or, Good Nearly Afternoon. [Update--Afternoon. I didn't realize it would take so long to type so little.] A very long morning today, which, when added to the very long night I had last night, makes for a blog of supremely low quality AND quantity.

Open house at the high school last night, a task which I took by myself since the other kids had tons of homework left to do, and Reba didn't really want to go. And also because Oldest really WANTED Mom to go. Gee, I wonder why that could be?

Since they've gone back to the traditional 7-period class day in lieu of block scheduling, the usual procedure whereby we pick up the kid's schedule and follow it to each of the classes was a bit more rushed this year, which meant that there really wasn't time as in the past to delve too deeply into talking over with the teachers all of a certain student's odd proclivities and perceived needs for various pamperings and accomodations.

Got there late, of course--it started at 6, and I still had to get the kids home and make sure Reba was there, and then drive over to the school, so I was tardy to Latin. I learned Corsica insula est. Pretty interesting, although they're doing more conversational stuff than all that stuff with declensions. Whatever those are. Caveat lector, I suppose. Everyone was very impressed when at the bell for the next class, I stood up and shouted "ceterum censeo Carthaginem esse delendam!" (Not really.)

Next, AP World History, taught by the same guy she had last year for US History. And yes, despite only having been in school for eight days total, and despite the fact that this year the class is right in the very early part of the morning when all other people are fresh and bright, there still seems to be a tendency for one of his students to nod off. I am certain it is someone else's fault, though. It always is.

Let's see, next was English, I think. Nice lady. Then AP Chemistry, with a teacher who looks like David E. Davis, Jr., and talks a bit like the late Shelby Foote. (Whom, it should probably be noted, also sorta favored DED, Jr. in appearance) I'd like to take his class right now, because I think I would finally understand chemistry if he taught it. Next was Business Tech--hallelujah. She will finally get instruction on using a keyboard and complicated things like MSWord, rather than either expecting us to do it for her, or, alternatively, pretending she already knows it all. Choir next, where I find out she has become something of a queen bee, for once. Goodness knows she's starved for the mindless adulation of her peers. (Not that I'm not--but I don't go home and throw fits because Glenn Reynolds never links to me. Well, not often, anyway. Fits, that is. Of course, part of that is because I realize Glenn Reynolds and I are peers in the sense that we both occupy a certain volume of space.) Final thing was Honors Algebra II/Trig. Nice lady, again.

In all, I marvel at the amount of technology available to hammer information into recalitrant skulls, and the dedication and depth of commitment and knowledge of the folks doing the hammering. I told Reba last night that I sure wish I had had such things in the school where I went--although the teachers were for the most part dedicated, the lack of resources was noticeable even then. If I'd not had that ancient set of 1959 World Book encyclopedias, I wouldn't have learned anything at all.

ANYway, in the midst of the tour, it came a torrential downpour that lasted forever, so I got wet getting to the car. Got home, walked in the door right around 8, and was really ready for some supper when I was accosted by a small Boy (who's actually not so small anymore) who wanted some help creating a crossword puzzle using his vocabulary words.

Here's a word--"I am very hungry and want to try to eat at least a little bit of supper before helping you with your junk; now go on and go do something else for a while."

Talk about technology--after I ate my heated-up-in-the-microwave leftovers, I bounded upstairs to my computer, hit the Google box with "online crossword puzzle maker," hit the Return key, and found this right off the bat--the Instant Online Crossword Puzzle Maker. Type in your words, your clues, hit the create button, and you've got yourself a nice little crossword puzzle that looks just like a crossword puzzle. It takes less time if you don't have someone hovering over your shoulder, though. The fact that I refuse to disclose who this hoverer was should tell you exactly who it was.

That done, more loose ends done, bed, dream about a house where we'd moved that had its own small primate in it, something like a Capuchin monkey, yet also something like a lemur. It was all over the house, and I was trying to keep it away from the cat, which was not the one we have now, but a very fat black and white number. At one point, I was floating on a seat cushion in the living room, because it was raining so hard. I had my little primate beside me to keep him from getting wet. Then I went upstairs and noticed that the wall in Jonathan's room was water stained and actually had water leaking through it, which just made me mad to no end at the worthless contractors for not having fixed it the first time I called them. And then I woke up because the clock went off. Raining. Which explained all the rain-allusions, I suppose. That, and I had to pee really bad. So I did. Went everywhere, it did. (Not really.)

Meeting this morning was long and tedious, and full of note-taking fury. And there was a decided lack of supermodels. Which I think is one area we need to really work on a lot.

And now? Still trying to clear out the paperwork and get on to the really important task of note transcribing! Wheeee.

And remember, Quidquid latine dictum sit, altum viditur.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:47 PM | Comments (8)

August 22, 2006

And like clockwork...

...the flow of silliness is suddenly choked off by the intrusion of work. Tomorrow marks yet another one of those marvelous off-campus meetings of which I'm so fond, so there will be no new Possumblog tomorrow for many, many hours. You may find something much more interesting to do, however.

Oh, who am I kiddin'!? Nothing more interesting out there than this! With the possible exception of watching fruit flies eat a piece of banana.

ANYway, see you all later on tomorrow sometime.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:04 PM | Comments (0)

August 21, 2006

Good Morning!

I'm barely able to stay awake! That's why I keep using exclamation points! They are SO loud, you know!

Anyway--or should I say, ANYWAY!--it was a not particularly worksome weekend, but there was enough crammed in there to give me a bad case of the slows this morning. Probably started at 8:06 Saturday morning. Seems that although my wife was miffed that her mother called LAST weekend at 8:30 and woke us all up, she herself has no compunction about letting others sleep if she's already awake. SO, up she gets, and rather than be quiet and let her poor hubby luxuriate in slumber on the one day of the week he's not required to get up at 5:30 a.m., she proceeds to go get the laundry baskets.

Being slightly awake, I knew when I heard her shuffle past the foot of the bed that the next sound would not be pleasant. For some reason--probably because she learned it from her mother--she cannot simply place something. It must be dropped. It MUST make noise or else it's as if it hasn't been officially delivered. At least I was kind of awake this time, as opposed to those times when she arrives upstairs and BLAM! drops the empty plastic baskets on the tile of the bathroom floor. BLAM! BLAM! BUMP! SCRAPE! When I'm not expecting it, it's like hearing a gunshot. When I AM expecting it, it's like hearing a gunshot, but at least it's one you think you can duck and miss.

So, here she comes, and sure enough BLAM! SCRAPE! BLAM!BLAM!

I dozed back off for half a second as she transferred the clothes from the hamper to the baskets--which ALSO somehow managed to be loud. How can cloth be loud!? Anyway, back off to alpha-wave state for a moment then all of the sudden BUMP-CRACK! WHUMMA- THUMPA!THUMPA!THUMPA!THUMPA!

Yet another odd habit picked up from her mom. The inability to open anything slightly resistant to being opened. In this case, the shower door. It's a bit tricky, in that it does hang up a bit (from abuse), but the trick (which I have demonstrated on numerous occasions) is that you have to lift under the door handle just a bit as you open it, and then the magnetic strip on the frame releases easily and quietly. If you just yank on the handle (as some are wont to do) the door bows out dramatically and then suddenly releases and begins to wobble and vibrate wildly and make a tremendous amount of loud ANNOYING noise.

But, you know, she had to get that bathcloth off the grab bar.

No use trying to sleep. I got up and got on my grass cutting clothes so I could go outside and crank up the mower and get some peace and quiet.

Epilogue: I came in after getting the front yard done about an hour later, walked upstairs to find Jonathan, walked in our bedroom and found Miss Reba asleep on the bed. And yes, I let her sleep. Although I do think I'm going to make a request next Friday night that on the next day she get all of her sleeping done early, rather than getting everyone up, then going back to bed.

Now then, time for a nap.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:43 AM | Comments (6)

August 18, 2006

Don't let me interrupt you.

The Great Literature story continues below, but it's getting close to time for me to leave for the weekend. Where have I been all day? Here, but been busier than a hackneyed analogy writer. I have a feeling it will extend on into the weekend as well. I really DO have to cut the grass this weekend, and there's a bunch of other stuff I think is supposed to be done, and this whole week has just been a blur. First full week of school for the kids, and so the evenings have been full of admonitions to finish homework interspersed with trips to go pick up MORE supplies that somehow got left off supply lists.

There was a parent's night last night for Boy's classes. Reba had to go to that since I had my little zoning board meeting to attend. It would probably have been more pleasant for her had she also not had Catherine along with her, who was in a foul mood and wicked distemper. Fortunately, Jonathan's teachers were full of nothing but praise for him, as well as shock that he's so much more vocal than his big sister who had just been through their classes last year.

Sometimes that's good, and sometimes it can be a bit embarrassing. He has one teacher who gets the kids to provide a bit of class levity (the thought being that they're going to do crazy crap anyway, so why not set aside a few minutes at the first of class to get it out of their systems). Boy's decision was to sing a song for the class. I can barely hear him in church, but Reba said his teacher told her he sang loud and long and without flinching in front of a crowd of his seventh grade peers.

The song?

One of the variations of this.

I don't know whether to chide him for his earthiness or congratulate him for being willing to stand in front of a crowd.

I believe I am leaning much more toward expressing congratulations. Or maybe I'm just leaning for another reason...

ANYway, other than the Tiny Terror living up to her name, it went well and things continue to work well. Even for Oldest, who has now managed to drive for an entire week without collision. Which is good, because we finally got the bill for how much adding her to the insurance will cost. As much as it does for both Reba and I to be insured, that's how much.

And so the headlong rush to destitution picks up speed. I really need to find a way to make some more money. But, obviously, something easy that requires no work. I think I'll be a celebrity--that looks pretty cushy.

IN THE MEANTIME, I will go on home and do house stuff, and all of you have a good weekend and I'll see you bright and somewhat early come Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:10 PM | Comments (1)

August 17, 2006

Well, now.

That's out of the way, what do you want to talk about?

Update 1, for Kathy: Yes, we had a very good anniversary, but of the kind that married couples who both work and have four kids in school and have a Wednesday evening church service have. That is, one so busy and full of other things that the various "I love yous" flew back and forth somewhat like someone having a water balloon fight. It was fun whether they connected with the intended target or not. In any event, Miss Reba did greatly appreciate her roses and earrings--they made her get all mushy and girly and stuff; emotions which I hope lasts long enough for me to be able to manipulate to serve my admittedly more base desires.

Next?

Update #2 for Janis: Thank you, I think. And far be it from me to mention it, but isn't it a bit early in the day to be hitting the bottle? (Glad to see y'all are finally getting some rain!)

Update #2.1 for Janis: Ooops. I seem to have misunderstood the lack of vowelliness for an abundance of corn squeezings. Readers will be glad to know it was only coffee. As for what the message said, I thought the last part of it said "we're drowning up here," which I took to mean that it was raining. I zipped over to the National Weather Service site and called up the Soopr Doppler 15 MILLION and it sure looked like it had been raining, but it might have just be lots of blue pixels, which the TV meatologists call "ground clutter." So, you know, ummm, well, you know.

Next?

Update #3 for Steevil: CRYPTOZOOLOGY!! My fave! Steevil refers to reputed death of the Maine Mystery Hybrid Mutant Beast. Sez the article:

[...] The animal was found near power lines along Route 4 on Saturday, apparently struck by a car while chasing a cat.

The carcass was photographed and inspected by several people who live in the area, but nobody is sure exactly what it is.

Michelle O'Donnell of Turner spotted the animal near her yard about a week before it was killed. She called it a "hybrid mutant of something."

"It was evil, evil looking. And it had a horrible stench I will never forget," she told the Sun Journal of Lewiston. "We locked eyes for a few seconds and then it took off. I've lived in Maine my whole life and I've never seen anything like it." [...]

Possumblog photo stringers have been unable to see the carcass, but do report having seen the animal in question several years ago when it was briefly captured by an Arkansas hunter.





mutant.jpg

We cannot vouch for the veracity of this photo however, and have some suspicion that it is nothing more than a clever Photoshop forgery.

Next?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:45 AM | Comments (7)

Mailout Thursday!

Paper! Folding! Envelopes! RUBBER BANDS!!

Be back after while. ::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:50 AM | Comments (7)

August 16, 2006

Where I was.

Well, I had a bunch of work to do, and then I had to go get Miss Reba's anniversary present delivered. This year was something of a rolling assault, with cards this morning as she awoke, then a delivery of roses sometime today, and when she goes out to her car after work, she will find a small gift sack hung from the gearshift containing these. (I sure hope they work, since her ears are pierced, not pearced.) Anyway, being a big traditionalist, since the 15th anniversary gift is crystal I figured she would find them suitable to the occasion.

If not, there's always this as a backup.

Anyway, it took a while, because I had to hoof it over to Bromberg's, and it's sorta warm outside today. By the time I got there I was melting into a puddle of butter. After finding what I wanted and having it wrapped, then there was the walk back up here which caused me to finish melting, and then on out to the parking deck. Thank goodness my air conditioner was working. Over to her workplace, wringing myself out with leftover napkins kept in the map pocket on the door for just such exigencies, hopped out, placed the gift bag just so, then back into the car and back to here.

So that's where I was.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:05 PM | Comments (4)

August 16, 1991

I'm not sure why that particular date, other than it was on a Friday, and didn't interfere with anything else on the calendar. It didn't have any significance as a holiday or anything to do with any date that was important to the family, and when we set it, we certainly didn't realize it coincided with the discovery of the body of one E.A. Presley in his throne room.

No matter, though--it was still quite a day for me, in that it meant that Miss Reba and I could now (legally and scripturally) spend as much time as we wanted to in each other's company, including, but not limited to, those entertaining times of the day betwixt the end of the chore time and the beginning of sleep time.

It has been, as I have said every year, quite an interesting set of years. Despite the tumult of the world around us, we have managed to do pretty well for ourselves. I think there's a couple of reasons for that, and I know they will sound hokey and contrived to folks who have lost that part of their soul that allows them to see beyond contrived hokiness.

But they are that we both know we haven't gotten where we are by ourselves. Obviously we have good families and friends, but their help would be meaningless if we also didn't have the help of someone much greater than ourselves. There is a God, and He takes care of us.

The second is that we love each other.

That's it. I figure you have those two things, the rest of it will take care of itself. And it has. And it will.

ANYway, to Mrs. Oglesby, should you ever accidentally stumble upon this collection of thoughts, I offer you a very public thanks for our time together, and will see to it that you are given a very private thank-you later on.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:34 AM | Comments (16)

August 15, 2006

My sincere apologies to Miss Janis

But I must report that it has come a cloud here, and there is much thunder, lightning and rainfall at the moment.

In other news, the dead armadillo is STILL dead, and it's still propped up against the curb down toward the bottom of the street going out of our neighborhood where it was on Saturday. However, it's not quite in as good a shape as it had been previously. Why the city maintenance guys won't come get it is beyond me. It has proven to be quite the science experiment for the kids, though--

"HEY!! It's got fur on its underside!"

Yes, children, although they have a hard outer shell, they are soft and warm inside.

"EWWWW! Flies!"

Yes, such is the way of all flesh. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, armadillo to fly bait.

"HEY!! HOW DID IT MOVE FROM WHERE IT WAS!?"

That would be something called a "car," doing something called "hitting a dead armadillo and squishing it sideways." Just be glad it wasn't Daddy, or he'd be having nightmares for weeks.

"Where did it come from, Daddy?"

The sky, kids. Giant birds pick them up over the vast deserts of the American Southwest and fly over here and drop them out of the sky WATCH IT!! Sorry--thought I saw one.

"Daaaad. Really!?"

Yes.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:24 PM | Comments (5)

Today holds great potential.

Either for lots of fun, or more boring paying work.

Unfortunately, right now it's the boring stuff, but that might change if I can ever get done with it. But for some reason, boring work saps my desire to do boring work. Go figure.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:56 AM | Comments (5)

August 14, 2006

Things to avoid when you take a job.

#1. That tiny clause at the bottom of the list of job duties that says, "And other tasks as may be assigned."

I had no sooner punched "Publish" on that last post than the phone rang with my megaboss on the other end, obviously on a cell phone, obviously a long way away, "Are you any good with the digital camera?"

"You mean like for shooting porn, or what?"

I didn't really say that.

"Well, I suppose I can do well enough."

"Oh, that was really more of a rhetorical question."

Okay.

Seems he's supposed to be giving a PowerPoint presentation somewhere over in the Sportsman's Paradise of Louisiana (a great waste, seeing as he's not a sportsman), and in the course of assembling his lecture, found that the photos he thought were on his flash drive, weren't. So he wanted me to drop what I was doing--if I wasn't too busy--and go take some photos of one of our local hospitals.

Like what am I gonna say?! "Um, sorry, but although I'm pretty good with the camera, I have ALL these stupid meeting minutes to type up, and I haven't had my afternoon Diet Coke."

No, we can't say that.

We stop, drop, and roll.

Or duck and cover.

Or something. But we don't tell the megaboss we can't.

So, what he needed was a shot of the front of the building, crafted all artsy-fartsily with the nice huge fountain a'spraying everywhere. Next, a shot from up on the Red Mountain Expressway pointed back toward downtown so you could see both the hospital and the old historic Sloss Furnace in the background and the lack of blighting billboards. (Which are scattered everywhere ELSE in town.) Then a nice shot inside the chapel of the hospital, if I could manage it--THIS would be the icing on the cake. Or, as he put it, the cherry on the cake.

SO, he gave me his cell number, told me to e-mail the photos, and that he'd gladly reimburse me for the cost of parking.

OFF TO PHOTOGRAPH!

Thank heavens I still had my camera in the car from the previous week's kitten-shots. We have a giant expensive digital camera on the floor, but I never know where it is, or if my smallboss has torn it up.

First, the shot of Expressway, then. Round and round I drive, trying to find the one exact spot where you can see everything. It happens to be the short section on Highland Avenue with the pretty iron fence and pretty plants and shards of broken bottles of Mad Dog. Took forever to find it--I kept thinking if I went up through all those crazy dead end streets around where the old apartment buildings are that I'd be able to get a better shot.

Nope.

Anyway, got my shot there on Highland, and went on to the hospital.

FOUNTAIN TIME!

Not.

Seems that the fountain had a boo-boo, and had been completely drained, and had a small track-hoe sitting beside it. I figured that probably wasn't the ambience he was looking for.

Zipped around to the backside and came back around to the parking deck. Ran inside, here's the church, here's the steeple, open the door loudly and HERE'S THE PEOPLE! Oops. Hadn't considered that there might be something going on at 4 in the afternoon, but there was. So I turned off the flash and tried to take some pictures through the glass in the door. Which later I found out looked not good.

Back out, snapped a photo of the corridor, which also had some stained glass in it as a directional thing to get you to the chapel, ran outside, melted, took a shot of the OUTside of the chapel area, found my car, left, paid a buck, and came back here to sort through what I'd done and see if I could steal some images off the Internet of the shots I couldn't get.

I couldn't. They were all pretty muddy and small, so I just formatted what I had, and sent those along to him. But not before falling victim AGAIN to the pernicious Adobe bug that affects our computers. Was going to look at one of the hospital's marketing things to see if it had a usable photo, and before I realized it, I'd clicked on a .pdf. EEEEKKK! BAD MOJO! It chugged for a second or two, and then the screen went blank.

Bzzooooh. Blip.

Grr.

Redid my e-mail, reattached the proper photos, sent it along to him, left him a message on his cell phone, and now I am now going to go home.

So there.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 06:16 PM | Comments (10)

And then...

I did even MORE laundry!

Sunday was full of church things, as well as...






A HAIRCUT!

I went all the way over to the Head Start over by Target and got Miss Amanda to give me the "ol' once over," if you know what I mean. What she did with her hands--why, I don't know if you'd be able to stand it--but she put her hands all over my entire scalp!! And then, when I thought surely she must have exhausted herself, she proceeded to gently unbutton the








CAPE FROM AROUND MY NECK, and grabbed the ELECTRIC TRIMMER, and sheared my NECK HAIRS!!

"Scandalous!" you exclaim?

Why, yes, I suppose so. But such is the thrill-a-minute life I lead. I even gave her a two dollar tip!

Now then, back to what I was doing before, which was typing. Uhmm, I mean TYPING!!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:13 PM | Comments (5)

And so...

...slowly I lifted the lid. Nothing. Nothing but wet clothes, that is.

I took them out one by one, and they landed in the basket at my feet with a damp clammy plop. I had just reached in to grab the last item when SUDDENLY! There it IS! A PENNY!

See how exciting that was, even though you already KNEW what was coming! That's the way ALL my weekends are--just one exciting thing after another! I went to the grocery store first thing Saturday to get detergent, and I found they had big jugs of liquid Tide with FEBREEZE!! And I got EGGS! And BACON!!

After breakfast, I unloaded the DISHWASHER!

Afterwards, since the rain had stopped I decided to work on my CAR! I recently bought a new (used) center brake light for it, because the plastic cover on the old one had gone to the Great Plastics Graveyard in the Sky. It had also come unmoored again from its fiendishly difficult to fix slidey retainer clip thing that was glued to the back window. SO, while it was nice and cloudy, I figured I'd go work on that. You know what? Even though it was cloudy, it was about 500 degrees in the car, and the humidity was like a wet wool sock stuffed in my nose. Five minutes I was drenched in sweat. Changed out the entire lamp fixture, and got out my BLS.

"BLS?" you ask?

Why yes, my BLS--the Brake Light Stick. Those of you with old cars know how often the brake lights seem to fail, and in order to tell which ones are burnt out, you need to be able to look at them, but to look at them, you need to hold the brake pedal down, and unless you have some of those cool stilts like the circus tall-guy has, you can't quite stand behind the car and push the brake pedal with your foot, so you need a short stick that you can wedge between the big metal hump on the floorboard (or other convenient vertical surface) and the brake pedal. (My BLS also happens to double as my ice scraper and frost brush, because that's what it is.)

Anyway, I deployed my BLS, and to my everloving consternation found that my new center high-mount stop light (CHMSL) did not light. It was the AntiCHMSL! (SEE!? EXCITEMENT!!)

Grumble. Grumble. Unhook the thing and find out that although the fixture looked brand new except for a bit of dust, it did come from the seller with a burnt out bulb. AHHHH!

Poop.

SO, a trip to the store was in order, since I had no new bulbs of this particular type. And I needed something to reattach the aforementioned slidey retainer clippy deal that glues to the back window.

Off down to the foot of the hill, AHGGHHHHH!! ARMADILLO!

Filthy leprotic little stupid beasties, and now they live where I DO! Oh well. On down to the car parts place, where I hoped that Lisa the Parts Guy would be on duty.

She wasn't.

It was Terry. Not me, though--the OTHER Terry, who has more gray hair and less fat. ::sigh:: Found a package of bulbs, found some black adhesive (the place where the retainer clip sticks on has a flat black coating on it to hide the various bits of electrical hardware, so I wanted something to cover up the BIG GIGANTIC BIT OF MISSING BLACK that used to be on the window before the clip came unglued the last time, taking part of the black with it. Not that you cared.) and headed back up the hill to the house.

AHGGGGHHH!! ARMADILLO!

I'll never get used to seeing those things.

Home, pop in the new bulb, use the BLS--YAY!! SUCCESS! Sort of. Something was wrong.

Even though all the brake lights were working, the specially-designed Volvo Bulb Out Warning Light on the dash kept coming on every time I pushed the brakes. But--but the brake lights work!

Oh.

Wait.

I hate me.

A lot.

I figured out, as I had started to sweat copiously once again, the root of the problem. That new light I bought was a slightly newer version of the fixture. It still had the same dimensions, but the bulb and holder were different. And the way the Bulb Out Warning works is by measuring the electrical resistance in the circuit--a different bulb, even if it does light up, has a different resistance than what was originally on the car. Which caused the warning to come on.

I am a moron.

SO, off with the new guts of the light, and back on with the OLD lamp--thank HEAVENS the black plastic cover (the reason for all of this in the first place) was the same for both versions of the lamp--it still fit the old one. The only other thing left to do was to reglue the retainer onto the window, which was done with no further mess or dismay.

And today, that brake light is firmly attached to its retainer clips, and has a spiffy new plastic cover that doesn't have a bit of black electrical tape holding it on! Yet.

WASN'T THAT THRILLING!!

And now, ice cream for everyone!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:22 PM | Comments (10)

Made it AGAIN!

Yet another weekend passed in which I was not struck by a meteorite or a bus! So, we must call it a success.

As for the more full discussion of that weekend, however, you're going to have to wait. I walked in to a bunch of junk to do this morning, so it's going to be a while before you get to hear about the DEAD ARMADILLO I found--RIGHT DOWN THE HILL FROM WHERE I LIVE! I had thought we would be able to be bypassed by this invasion of yet ANOTHER slow, dimwitted, nocturnal set of critters, but it appears that we possums now have some competition. But, as I said, you'll have to wait a bit to hear about that. AND about the Great Pear Harvest--we went and picked Boy's tree Saturday after the yard dried out some. We wound up with about 40 giant pears. All of them looked to be about the size of a grapefruit. We'd have had even more if the blasted squirrels and birds and bugs would have left them alone. ANYway, you'll hear about that later.

Wait a minute. I just realize I've told you the two MOST EXCITING things that happened all weekend!! Now all that's left is to hear about laundry.

Oh well. Come back after while and we'll talk about the shiny PENNY I found!

Dang--I gave away the surprise again. Just come back later and we'll all sit around and look at each other.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:23 AM | Comments (14)

August 11, 2006

Weekend?

Well, okay, if you insist. All of you have a happy weekend, and come back on Monday and let's see what all happened.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:26 PM | Comments (0)

August 09, 2006

As for middle school...

We managed to find a good parking place in the back of the building, which was nice, but had to stand around for several minutes before we could get in the building. There must be some new state regulation requiring a certain amount of sweat and body odor in schools, and they wanted to make sure they hit their quota.

First up, Rebecca and the 8th graders. Got her schedule from the lunch room, no changes. She had really wanted Latin. Maybe next year. On then to her homeroom to get her locker and drop off her supplies, then back out to the hallway to see if the locker worked. It did. And it's a top one, which is nice.

Next stop, the front lobby of the school for Jonathan's schedule. One change in PE teacher, and that was it. Dropped off his supplies, went and got his locker card, made sure it worked, and it did. And it's a top one, too.

THEN back around to see everyone's teachers, although I had to cut it short so I could get back here. I was on a combination lunch hour/comp time hour and I could hear the clock chiming midnight and could see my lovely gown turning back into tatters, so we had to rush out and get the kids dropped back off at Grandmom's house.

Of course, they aren't really kids anymore. This was made quite obvious when we ran into a couple of the girls Rebecca had played soccer with. One in particular I remember from just a couple of years ago--she was the second tiniest player on the team--little stick arms and legs and a mop of baby fine hair on top. Somewhere between then and now she grew up into a model. As tall as me, and with arms and legs that turned from sticks into stems.

Tempus fugit, and all.

Anyway, tomorrow starts a brand new school year. It should be interesting.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:45 PM | Comments (0)

Ever have one of those happy-scared moments?

Just got a call from Miss Reba, who, due to the fact that I had an early morning meeting and will have to take off later this afternoon to go take the middle kids to school, took it upon herself to wake up at FOUR A.M. today to haul Oldest BACK down to the driver's license place in order to attempt once again to take the driving test. They left at 4:30, got there around 5:00, and found that there were already two people in line ahead of them! Those people got there at 4:00. Again--that's four o'clock in the EVER-LOVIN' MORNING!

But at least this time, Oldest was assured that she would get her turn.

She made an 81.

She is now officially able to operate a motor vehicle in every single territory, possession, commonwealth and state in the Union, and I assume in both the provinces of Canada and the states of Mexico.

And full of happy-scaredness am I.

As for her test, she did have a bit of trouble from the administrator for not using hand-over-hand steering. Part of this is my fault, partly the fault of her driving instructor last year. He never taught them about the "proper" way of using the tiller, while I, on the other hand, did show her the "proper" way, as well as something better.

I cautioned her that since cars now have airbags, there is some concern that if you are ever in an accident that causes the airbag to deploy while you are in the middle of a turning movement using the hand-over-hand method, the force of the deployment could cause you to smash your face with the back of your forearm, leading to broken bones in your face and arm, or worse. (.pdf from NHSTA research discussing this here, and an abstract of an article from The Journal of Trauma, Injury, Infection, and Critical Care here.)

I think in the greater scheme of things, the probability of such an occurance is tiny, but it's worth thinking about, as is the habit of some people to park their hand at the top of the steering wheel as they drive.

Anyway, what I showed her is the way I drive now, which is something like the way you drivers of old Italian cars operate--shuffling the wheel underhanded. (Older Italian cars are referenced due to a peculiar habit of having their steering wheels at an angle something like that of a bus.) It has the advantage of keeping your hands out of the line of your sight, as well as off the center of the steering wheel where the bag of exploding gas resides. (Related articles on technique here and here.)

But the test administrator graded off for that. Whatever.

So, now there begins a new phase in her life, and no doubt more gray hair springing out of my scalp.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:42 AM | Comments (10)

August 08, 2006

'Nother'n tomorrow.

Busy day, that is. Got my regular off-campus meeting of the style patrol, then have to leave at lunch to go ferry the two middle-schoolers to the middle school so they can meet their teachers and stuff. So, as has become all too frequent, your usual dollop of possum for the day will be reduced in size by 90%, and it will lack the usual package of condiments, and you will be forced to consume it with a single chopstick.

We regret any inconvenience this may cause.

Until we meet again, then!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:01 PM | Comments (0)

Small things.

I was sitting in my chair in the bedroom last night watching the news when Catherine came bounding through to say goodnight to us and give us our goodnight kisses.

Kiss, hug, head butt.

Odd thing we picked up over the years, that. I don't know what ever started it, but it's sort of a hug without hugging. Probably had to substitute it for a real hug for some time when we were holding a baby or something. Anyway, a kiss on the cheek, a real hug with arms, and then we touched our noggins together for a moment.

"I love you--sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite."

"Okay, I love you, too, Daddy!"

Off she went in a flash.

Reba was working on work stuff on the bed and said, "We were in the car yesterday going over to Mom's house and Catherine looked at me and said, 'It's almost time to go back to school, isn't it, Mom?' and she just looked so sad!"

I know that look--she's usually such a bounding swoosh of ball lightning, but sometimes she gets still enough to think about things, and sometimes those things make her sad. And the summer, which is already shorter than it was back when I was young, and was made shorter still by her not getting to ride her bike nearly enough, well, it finally hit her that Thursday is the end of all of it until next year.

For me the summers are all beginning to run together, but to her they're all still living individuals--they come for a while for a visit then leave. It's never long enough when they decide to go, and never soon enough till they come again.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:38 PM | Comments (11)

There is no such thing as wasted time.

Oh, I mean, sure--you show up at the license-getting place at 7:30, even though you already warned a particular person that you needed to be out of the house REALLY early because there were only so many places available in line even though the place opens at 8, and anyway, you get there at 7:30, and you see that there's a line of approximately 60 people ahead of you, some in lawn chairs, the rest sitting on the sidewalk, all waiting with the same sense of dead dread of not being close enough to the front of the line. SO, you park, and go take your place at the tail of the line. Your companion hauls out a book and starts reading while you sit there and worry about scuffing your work shoes. Then you sort of nod off a bit. You wake back up and look around. Girl and her mama to the left of you. The younger wears her hair dyed black and burgundy and chopped with a Cuisinart, and has a bright silver pimple protruding from her upper lip. She does, however, have a tiny, almost baby-like whisper when she talks to her mom, which is something of a shock. Especially since the person you brought with you--who looks quiet and demure--is now loudly declaiming all of the knowledge of the known universe. Or, rather--the knowledge of HER known universe, which you and everyone else in line is quick to understand is not quite so deep nor wide as she seems to think. But we are not the target audience, are we? No, that would be the ultra-cool young man with the perfectly recreated Andy Gibb hairdo, circa 1978, who is doing his best to carefully exude his ultra-coolness and hairness, alternately complaining about school then bragging about all the classes he's taking.

At 8:15 everyone in line stands up and we stand up and stand.

By this time, I figure that about half the line--which has now grown to around 80 people or so--aren't actually taking a test of any sort. They're chauffeurs. So, only about forty actual testees. Of those, only a certain other percentage are taking the driving test. How many I don't know. But if there are more than 20, we are sunk for the day. Young Master Gibb did manage to work in some good information to someone else in line, that being that they only administer ten driving tests in the morning, and ten in the afternoon.

We wound our way around the sidewalk and finally made it to the corner where we could actually see the doorway. "The spots for the morning driving test are now full!" boomed the deputy sheriff at the door. They'd gotten through about the first third of the line. We trudged forward some more. "The spots for the afternoon driving test are now full!" We were about ten people away from the door.

::sigh::

Well, not much else to do except leave. I did decide to ask the deputy what sort of information was required to take the test, seeing as how these places are notoriously lackadaisical about having such information in one easy-to-decipher location. "Permit, proof of insurance, and registration."

The latter two of which were not mentioned anywhere in anything I read online.

My passenger and I walked back to the parking lot. "I'm NEVER going to GET my LICENSE!"

"Look, there's several million licensed drivers in Alabama--if they managed to get one, I really don't think you have too much to worry about."

But, you know, logic being useless in such instances, she merely kept repeating her grumpy rote paean to victimhood. Whatever.

Back to home, dropped her off, and went by the school to get them to confirm for our car insurance company that she's had driver training and is a good student (the standards of which are remarkably pliable) and headed on in to work.

MUCH earlier than I would have ever anticipated.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:53 AM | Comments (5)

August 07, 2006

Well now, tomorrow...

...tomorrow is gonna be a LOT more funnier than today's been!

Or not.

I'll just have to wait and see. As I noted, I will be taking a certain child of mine over to the driver's license place to sit in a big waiting room full of people also waiting to take their driving tests. Based on the experience we had when she went to get her learner's permit, I imagine there will probably be something that we've forgotten and that will be unobtainable during normal business hours.

ANYway, all that to say that the Possumblog Show will start much later than usual tomorrow, or, depending on the efficiency and punctuality of our local cadre of licensing administrators, not at all.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:23 PM | Comments (2)

And then, Sunday.

Yet another day that went well! Up early, breakfast, church, lunch, and then the first possible snag. Oldest still had that gift card to the Galleria she was desperate to spend. So, it was either go home and do more laundry, or make a run to Hoover to spend money.

Made the run to Hoover.

She found several books, and with the no-tax deal still in place, managed to get them all for her $25 card plus 94 cents of her own money. Back in the car, and to home.

Folded clothes, and decided to watch The Seven Year Itch--it's been on the shelf forever, and just haven't had a chance to see it. Didn't get a chance to finish it, either. It's to the part where the janitor takes Marilyn's tomato plant upstairs for her. What an odd, strained movie. But, you know, I can forgive a lot of odd straining if given sufficient incentive.

Anyway, time to leave early to go to a meeting at church, met, evening worship, home, supper, turn around and go back and pick up Oldest from teen get-together, home again.

All this hauling around of Oldest may be about to end--I intend to take her to take her driving test tomorrow to see if she can get her license. What with there being not enough odd strains in my life up until now.


Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:40 PM | Comments (0)

Tax Free

As did so many other folks, I took advantage of this weekend's sales tax holiday to buy school supplies. To take an even greater advantage, we piled in the van and drove to the Wal-Mart in Springville, although I probably could have just as easily gotten what we needed closer to home. At least this one had the advantage of being relatively frenzy-free. The only bad thing was that they'd sold out of loose-leaf paper.

But they had everything else. Got a bunch of stuff (and this is AFTER going through and reusing an even BIGGER bunch of stuff we had left over from years past) and then did some clothes shopping. Overall, saved about 25 bucks in taxes over what we'd usually have paid. Of course, there was that extra gas I used. And the idea certain family members have that says you're really saving a LOT of money if you spend a lot.

::sigh::

To home, unload, supper, baths and hairwashing for the kinder, fold clothes.

Sleep.

HEY! COOL NEW DREAMS!

I'll have to complain more often. But it was very nice--we were vacationing in Norway, and Reba and the kids had gone off to visit someone, and I was left by myself with nothing to do but kill time. "HEY!" I said to myself, "since I've got time, I think I'll hop in the car and go drive down to the coast and visit the Battle of Jutland site!"

You military history buffs will notice a slight discrepancy here. I've not read enough WWI history, but I did know that the Battle of Jutland was a naval engagement out in the open water of the North Sea, making a quick jaunt in a car from Norway rather difficult. I must have realized this in my dream, because I gave up on the idea and just drove around Norway the rest of the afternoon. Big place, Norway.

ANYway, then there was Sunday!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:05 PM | Comments (2)

THE ORACLE OF MURRAY LIVES!

Of course, it very nearly killed me, so it's kinda one of those good news-bad news things.

Anyway, got up and got out at about 9 Saturday morning and dragged out the lawnmower, hoping with all my being that it would crank. AND IT DID! Hooray.

Then there was the grass cutting.

When I borrowed my father-in-law's mower last week, I didn't lower it down to the height I usually cut. This neatened up the grass very nicely, and left it pretty and green. But tall. This weekend, I went ahead and cut it all down to the height I usually do, leaving it stubbly and brown. And leaving me THOROUGHLY EXHAUSTED. So to speak.

Due to the height, and the continual need to empty the grass catcher with every half lap of the yard, it took THREE HOURS to cut the whole thing--nearly two hours longer than usual. I can say with pride that the Briggs and Stratton four stroke reliably pumped out several hundred pounds of combustion by-products with nary a bobble, and cranked on the first pull every single time. I suppose the problem beforehand had been one of it being so completely flooded that it required a whole week for the fuel in the carburetor to evaporate.

ANYway, such a long time breathing in the rich effluent of carbon monoxide tends to clear the mind and allow one to think deep thoughts about world events. I am now convinced more than ever that there would be far less hatred and bloodshed in this world if we could just get people to put down their guns and come cut my grass instead. Yardwork in the blazing sun tends to damp down any feelings of vengeance. Well, unless you run over a bed of fire ants.

After completing my arduous task, completed by mowing only a six inch wide swath on each pass to keep the mower from bogging down, I came inside and cleaned up to get ready for the AFTERNOON FUN!

School supply shopping!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:22 AM | Comments (0)

Well, the first thing of note...

...the trip to the orthodontist for Boy on Friday was remarkably uneventful. And cheap. He was back there for about five minutes while they installed but a single spacer between two of his back teeth. THURSDAY, however, promises to be much more involved and costly. Goes in first thing that morning and gets a full set of wires. ::sigh::

But, at least I was able to get through early and get the Focus fixed finally. Fantastic! Yanked off the old hose and PCV, put in the new ones, and THAT was done in about five minutes or so. Zipped down to the foot of the hill and had Lisa the Parts Guy erase the fault code and reset the warning light, then it was on to pick up the girls from Grandmom's.

Home, and it was pizza night when Mom got there. Ordered from Papa John's online, and it got there in 30 MINUTES! Amazing. And they didn't have to call for directions this time.

As we waited, the kids got out and rode their bicycles. A wonderful evening--the sun had gone down, and there was a strong breeze blowing from the north. Looked like a storm somewhere. Didn't rain at the house, though. But it was so nice and quiet and peaceful, even with the various whooping and hollering of the kids. And the Wreck of Boy, when he hit his nose with the handlebars when he fell off onto the sidewalk.

The pizza guy pulled up as I was on the end of the driveway. We swapped hellos and pizza, and then there was supper, and that was pretty much the end of Friday.

Which led directly to Saturday...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:02 AM | Comments (4)

Well, hello there!

THAT was a pretty good weekend!

Long version to follow shortly.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:14 AM | Comments (1)

August 04, 2006

Short Day!

I have to go get Boy to the orthodontist, so I'm going to sign off for now. All of you have a great weekend and Lord willing I'll see you all again on Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:29 PM | Comments (0)

Why, no, now that you mention it...

...I HAVEN'T had much to say today.

I'm not that work-busy today, and the computers are humming along just fine, and my fingers all work, but I just can't get the necessary oomph to post anything substantive.

ALTHOUGH, I did just get off the phone with my mom, who will be turning 77 this month. A fine faithful woman, yet with a crusty streak of saltiness about her. I figure she's earned the right to it. Anyway, she was describing a woman she knows--and one for whom she has a deep disdain--who had been afflicted with a severe bout of looseness of the guts. Or, as dear Mom put it--"the ol' biddy has had to go so much she's sh't higher than a ten-rail fence."

Hadn't heard that one in a while, and I must confess I had to chuckle when she let it fly.

My mom is something else.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:16 PM | Comments (0)

Thursday Evening

Subtitled, "Hey, that's not a vacuum line!"

Got home, got the kids, went and got gas--for some reason, between the time I left for work yesterday morning and I got home last evening, the price of gas had jumped 20 cents a gallon at all the stations at my exit. Except for the Raceway, which for some reason had only gone up 6 cents. All of which meant that their price was 12 cents a gallon cheaper than everyone else. Figuring I'd better go ahead and get while the getting was good, I filled up. (Nice to see that they didn't boost it more overnight.)

Got to the house, "DADDY! Can I ride my bike now!?" I've been promising Catherine for the past three days she could ride her bike again. She got her wheel privileges yanked at the start of last month when she decided she could just take off on her bike without telling anyone. I was doing something in the kitchen, missed her, and went looking for her. Found her all the way up at the end of the street, doing slow circles in the middle of the intersection. Our rules had been that there was no street riding unless an adult was out there to watch for cars. No riding in the front of the house unless someone was outside, and if that person was busy, you had to stay on the sidewalk. If no one was outside, it was backyard riding only.

She'd managed to mess up really good. So, no bike riding, no scooter riding until August 1. The morning of August 1--"I get to ride my bike today!"

It didn't quite work out like that, so yesterday was the first day she really got a chance to ride. "PLEASE, DADDY?"

I reminded her of our first chore for the afternoon--the bird feeders. She said okay and went upstairs to change and I did the same. I also had plans to work on Reba's car when she got home, too, which would allow me to keep an eye on a certain bicycle girl. But, no Reba yet.

Outside, and hmm. The Squirting Frog Fountain Feature had stopped spitting. So, that to clean out. Managed to get full flow reestablished, as well as be swarmed by giant West Nile/bird flu-bearing mosquitos. In a further delay to Catherine's bike riding in the street desire, I deciced to water the plants while I was getting eaten up by mosquitos already. She contented herself with tearing up the backyard grass.

Now then, that done, opened the Big Plastic Playhouse Cleverly Disguised as a Rubbermade Storage Shed and got out the bucket of seed, filled up the feeders, and decided the bird bath needed water. OUT with the hose again, waterwaterwater, "Are you through yet, Daddy!?"

Yes, I am. Rolled up the hose, walked around to the front and was nearly blind-sided by her as she came whipping by me on her bike, lured by the freedom of the open road.

Nothing like that feeling, to judge by her reaction. She whooped and wheed and pedaled as fast as she could. While I was out there, I decided to do a bit of upkeep on the Volvo while I waited for Reba to get home. Popped the hood, and figured I'd check around for vacuum leaks--those old hoses and such tend to be not so durable. Got out my can of carb cleaner and spritzed various hoses and ports to see if there were any changes. Nope. Sealed up nice and tight. Went ahead and doused everything to clean off the accumulated gunk as Catherine whizzed back and forth, and then saw a broken wire.

Yet another jackleg repair by the previous owner's mechanic, it seems. I am constantly amazed at the crap the guy did--more half-assed and useless repairs I have never seen before, even when I was learning how as a teenager. In this instance, the wire was from the oil pressure idiot light sending unit. In the past there must have been another break in the wire, but rather than simply repair it, the guy put on a weird little quick disconnect fitting. No reason for it--the wire fits on the sending unit with a simple spade terminal--one of those flat things you can slip on and off. There was just no reason for another disconnect in the wire. And on top of this, it looked as though it had been stuck together with glue. I have no idea how it was actually attached, but the insulation material around the wire was all gummy and disintegrating, and the wire end had broken out of the thing.

So, something to putter with.

Found a suitable-sized crimp fitting, my heat shrink tubing, and my wire pl--my wire plier--where are my wire pliers!?

Looked in the screwdriver drawer, the plier drawer, the file and wire brush drawer. Lifted the lid and looked in the top wrench box. Looked in the wire brush drawer. Looked in the plier drawer. Looked in the screwdriver drawer. Looked in the tiny drawers. Looked on the counter. Looked on the OTHER counter. Looked on the shelves. Remembed I'd left Catherine outside, and she was probably doing lazy circles in the middle of the intersection again. Went and found that she'd gotten up on the sidewalk when she saw I wasn't there. Good girl! Got her to come back closer to the house. Looked in the screwdriver drawer. Lifted the lid and looked in the top wrench box. Looked in the wire brush drawer. Looked in the plier drawer. ::sigh:: It's GOT to be here! Looked in the plier drawer. Looked. Hey. There it is, right on top of the pliers.

Moron.

Got my stuff and went back outside and clipped and stripped and crimped and shrinked (yes, I know, but "shrinked" worked better with the rhythm I had going there than "shrank" would have) and now the idiot light was once again working.

Still no Reba. Cat asked if she could go back out in the street, and I said yes, then noticed something and called her back. Her tires seemed awfully squishy, so we set up the air compressor and aired them back up. I showed her the dial, and explained that the tires are supposed to have 50 pounds of pressure pushing on each little part of the tire this big [holding thumbs and forefingers to describe an area of exactly one square inch] "Wow! That's a LOT!" Yes, but her tires only had 10 pounds in them. The pump clattered away, and she was ready to go. BUT WAIT! "Awwww!" I figured I'd get the car done while I had the pump out. THAT done, and it was time for her to be released again.

I flopped down on the grass in the front yard. For the first time in a long time, I noticed that when I sat down, it didn't crunch. That little bit of rain we had sure did work good.

I sat and she rode, and soon Boy came out to play as well. They rode and rode, and were very careful when a car would come by. The sun finally slipped down behind the treeline and it almost got comfortable. Still blazing hot, obviously, but still better than having direct solar gain.

Rebecca came trotting out of the garage with the phone--"IT'S MOMMY!!" I talked, and while doing so proved the theory that telephones are child magnets. We can't get on the phone in the house without there appearing all four children under our elbows, each one fighting with the other and yammering at top volume. Well, it works outside, too. No sooner had I gotten the phone than Catherine and Jonathan came rolling up and squeeching their brakes, then set in to argue about who got there first.

After several angry, bee-swatting motions with my hands, I finally could hear that Reba was at the exit and would be home shortly. And that she had Rebecca in the kitchen boiling some eggs and cutting up some chicken for supper. Which I thought was odd, since Rebecca was still standing right beside me.

Told her when she got home I'd start in to fixing her car, said my "I love yous," told her 'bye, and gave the phone back to Rebecca.

The other two scooted on off to ride some more, and I decided to get my stuff ready to work on the Focus. First thing was to back up the van so I could get to my toolbox better. "WHAT ARE YOU DOIN'. DADDY?" Yikes! Where'd they come from?! "DAD! YOUR CAR'S BEHIND YOU!"

"I know kids--I'm just backing up the van to get to the toolbox better."

"Oooooh," in unison.

Something smelled weird when I got out. Like a transformer burning. That weird electrical burning smell. It was faint, but I could smell it. Is the van on fire!? Nope. I looked and sniffed and couldn't find it.

Inside the kitchen I went and WHEW! "REBECCA! WHAT'S BURNING!?" She was calmly sitting at the table, chopping chicken on the cutting board.

"Nothing."

"BUT WHAT'S THAT SMELL!?"

"Uhmmm..."

It smelled like maybe the stove was becoming a giant arc welder.

"Wait--what's that?"

She showed me the corner of the cutting board. The old ancient laminated melamine plastic cutting board. More or less the same sort of stuff they use for electrical insulators, which explained the distinctive smell. It was charred and about a half inch was gone. "WHAT HAPPENED!?"

Although I knew--she'd probably left it too close to the eye on the oven when she brought me the telephone and it began to smolder. She sort of shrugged and said it got too close to the hot thing. Well, yeah. "Well, open up the windows and let's see if we can get the stink out."

Went back out to the garage and got my long iron pliers from the plier drawer and a box cutter for cutting off the end of the hose, and in just a few minutes, the lovely Reba was home. Kisses, promises to be fixed shortly, after which I would take the car back down to the foot of the hill and have Lisa the Parts Guy erase the fault codes in the computer, then go get gas before it went to $10 a gallon, the eat supper. Yea!

Set right in to work. But first, needed my trouble light. I thought I would have plenty of time to work in the sun, and would have, if Reba's boss had not come in and wanted to work late. ::sigh:: Got my lamp and plugged it in, and bent under the hood.

Hot. HOTHOTHOT. Scrape. HOT. My iron pliers I had were too big. Needed my needlenosed pliers to get that clamp--ooomph--off--ergh. HOTHOT. Went and looked for my needlenose pliers. Plier drawer, screwdriver drawer, wrench drawer, etc. Found another one that might work better. HOT. Slice. HOT HOT HOT! Nope. Need those small, redhandled needlenose pliers, doggone it. Looked in the plier drawer. Hey. There they are--right on top.

Moron.

Went back out and found that I could just barely get them in position and squeeze them just enough to cause intense pain to course through my fingers. Really needed a long needlenose pliers. Which I don't own. Maybe go get some? NO! DO THIS NOW! Shoved my hand in there, oblivious to the HOTNESS of everything and FINALLY managed to squeeze and pull the clamp up over the hose. HOORAY! OUCH HOT! Deftly worked in the end of the box cutter, and pulled the hose off and WHOA! LIQUIDS!!

There is nothing more disconcerting than to be disconnecting a hose you thought was a vacuum hose, only to discover vital essences coursing through it. I thought at first I'd hit gasoline, but no, it was only coolant. Hot coolant. HOTHOTHOT. Seems that there is some kind of coolant line running near the throttle body. Also explains why the parts guy couldn't find that particular hose in the vacuum and emissions hoses.

I quickly scissored off the end I'd split and put the hose back on, and got the clamp on as well. At least now with the light, I could see that back BEHIND all of the stuff I thought was leaking was ANOTHER hose.

A hose that led directly back to the PCV valve. Yep, that's right. The hose I'd turned down the day before was indeed the correct thing. I felt around down by the hose fitting--the little elbow that fit onto the tube was as squishy as a piece of chewed up gum. I started the car just to see, and sure enough, it was making a sucking sound like a fat guy with asthma in a sauna. Well, poop. One more day without having fixed it.

At least I knew for sure what it was.

Off to go get gas, bought myself a cold Diet Coke to make up for all the sweating and burning I'd endured, then back home, wash up, suppertime.

The smell was changed now--I think Reba must have sprayed some kind of air freshener. It might have been Febreeze. But now it smelled like a dozen burning transformers set in a field of calla lillies.

Oddly enough, it did nothing to dampen my hunger.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Catherine."

"Did you get any tea?"

We really like iced tea, and have become spoiled by the availability of gallon jugs of it, sweetened with Splenda. The six of us can almost drink an entire gallon just for supper.

"Uh, well, no, Sugar--Daddy was too dirty to stop and get out at the store."

"You look fine to me."

Daddy is tired.

Finished up supper and my Diet Coke.

And wanted about a dozen more.

"Reba, you know what I want?"

She raised an eyebrow, "What you always want?"

"Well, yeah--that--but besides that, I would just about kill for a giant vat of Diet Coke right about now."

"What's "that," Daddy?"

"A kiss from Mommy, son."

"Well, why don't you go get yourself one," said the other beneficiary of that.

I began to protest that it was too much trouble--"And while you're out, you can get some tea! And some mayonnaise. And some milk. And some ice cream. And some sherbet. And we need eggs."

::sigh::

Undone by my lusts.

Despite having been too dirty and filthy an hour earlier to make such a stop, I now went back out, down to the foot of the hill, at 9 p.m., for to make a grocery bill, dressed just as I had been, with a grease-stained Auburn tee-shirt, frustration-tousled hair, and the combined stench of burning melamine, calla lillies, gasoline, antifreeze, and body odor.

At least that Diet Coke was cold, and I have never enjoyed a bowl of ice cream quite so much.

And so, anyway, this morning I made the trip back over to the Ford dealer, was greeted by the Bob Uecker lookalike, and expeditiously sent on my way with a brand new PCV valve and tubing assembly, lighter in the wallet to the tune of $44.46.

GOOD MORNING!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:00 AM | Comments (1)

August 03, 2006

HARDWARE REQUISITION!!

Yay! I love it when people leave!

We had an upper-level sort who went on to bigger and better things, and as is the way of the jungle, it was only a matter of time before the wounded carcass of his office would be picked clean of usable things that cannot be procured through the usual channels.

SO I HAVE A NEW SCROLLEY MOUSE!

It replaces one that I stole several years back when I got my stolen harman/kardon speakers from another muckety-muck who moved on. I love the ability to scroll and click using the finger wheel, and after I found out how nice it was absolutely hated using a regular mouse.

Then, my stolen one crapped out on me. ::sigh:: So, I had to go back to a regular mouse. Took forever to get used to again.

BUT NOW--in a daring daytime raid, I took my old broken scroll mouse and substituted it for the newer one in the empty office, and have just plugged it in and it's so NICE! Obviously, I have to keep my regular old mouse for when this one goes Tango Uniform, but until then, I will be scrolling and clicking just for kicks!

WHEEE!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:06 PM | Comments (0)

You know what?

It's rather warm outside.

Just got back from my meeting--well, actually I've been back for about thirty minutes now, and the trip FROM my meeting took about fifteen minutes, so it's been about 45 total minutes since I escaped from the blast furnace that is Woodlawn on an August afternoon, and I am still all nasty and sweaty.

It's a bad idea to wear a tie and long sleeve shirt in this kind of weather. Even if you don't have pants on.

Some thoughts you can use--if you see a building with puffy bits of paint flaking off, you can pretty much bet you've got a water problem. That is, water inside the wall, trying to get out. And that's not a good thing, or a cheap thing to fix.

Second, buildings made of brick look better if they retain some semblence of an actual brick color. Painting a brick building blue, or green, or painting fake shutters on the sides of the windows is not a good thing.

Third, it sure is hot outside.

Fourth, you know those little plastic letter openers people give you with their business cards on them? I always take the cover off and put my own business card inside. I'm sorry about that, but it makes it less likely to walk away from my desk.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:57 PM | Comments (0)

Again with the stupid dreams!

This is getting old. I still seem to have fallen into some kind of REM rut, and continue to have the stupidest dreams. Last night burglars broke into the house--by taking out the whole back wall. I keep thinking of different dreams I'd LIKE to have, but of course, that jinxes EVERYthing and means you wind up dreaming something even stupider.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:08 AM | Comments (0)

August 02, 2006

Can't stand days like this.

One step forward--getting my mailout all ready and in the copier and humming along...

56 steps backwards--finding out that the docket for the next meeting has completely changed after making half my set of copies.

All that running around and flailing my arms, completely for naught. Aside from the entertainment value. And now it's almost time to go get Reba's car and see if I can finally get the necessary rubber tubey thing for it, and I haven't had a second to spare to come by here and play.

It's enough to make me pout!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:24 AM | Comments (0)

MEETING!

Had one this morning that I enjoyed more than usual--we had a 7:30 subcommittee meeting at a jobsite, so it was a nice change of pace from a conference room. The venue made everyone not want to stand around jabbering about stupid stuff.

I suggest that all future meetings be held outside in the hot sun with no chairs.

Afterwards, I had to run over to the Ford dealership--seems that Lisa the Parts Guy (who works at Advance Auto Parts, by the way, NOT Autozone) didn't have a PCV valve for the Focus when I went by there on the way home last night. They seem to be as rare as conservative Democrats, at least judging by the number of them I found on eBay Motors last night. Which was exactly zero.

Anyway, after I found out they didn't have PCV valves, I bought some carb cleaner anyway just so I could buy something, and took it home and started looking for vacuum leaks. (While still wearing my white dress shirt--I am a moron, you know.)

Sprayed the PCV valve and hose--no change in idle.

Hmm.

The hose was off a bit, so I snugged it up, then sprayed some more. FINALLY found a hotspot, over behind the head, in a hose coming up off of the throttle body. I finally could hear the hissing it made when I got close to it, and jiggering with the hose made the whole car quiver and quake. THAT'S the part I need! Probably a new PCV couldn't hurt, but that hose had to be what was causing most of the problem.

SO, this morning, after my meeting, off to The Friendly Downtown Ford Dealer. I didn't have the car with me, though, which was a mistake.

"Well, here's the PCV hose assembly right here..." said the genial Bob Uecker lookalike.

"Uhmm, well, I really need the hose that comes up off of the throttle body, and loops down under the engine. It had a squeeze clamp on one end of it at the throttle."

"This has a plastic elbow on the end."

"Well, yes, but the hose I'm talking about doesn't."

Hmm.

He looked at another screen. "What about this?"

It was a diagram of the air intake system, back to the mass airflow sensor.

"Ummm, nuh-ooooo, it's not any of that, it's the hose that comes up off the top of the throttle body, about a half-inch inside diameter. About a foot long or so. Might have a formed end, but not a rigid elbow."

He had to go do something else for a minute for another customer.

I studied the picture and knew that if I could only get him to pull up a picture of the throttle body, I could point out the right hose. He came back with a box for another guy, and carrying the PCV hose and valve assembly (which might explain why it's so hard to find just the valve--it only comes as an assembly).

"Right here's your part for the PCV hose and all."

::sigh::

"Do you think you could show me a picture of the throttle body?"

"No--that last screen had the throttle body in it--see?"

::sigh::

He was pointing at the mass airflow meter--from the back of the air cleaner box, there's an elbow, then the meter, then a big accordian tube leading to the throttle body, which was cleverly not shown on the drawing. No use trying to make him believe he was looking at the wrong thing, however. He was, after all, The FACTORY Parts Guy.

"I think I'm going to have to bring in my car and let you look at it."

This pleased him greatly. "Yeah, I believe so--this has happened before, had a part on a car and it wasn't even listed in the catalog!"

How very comforting.

Anyway, that's for later--now to do some paying work.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:09 AM | Comments (4)

August 01, 2006

Well, it was more sort of a rusurlic mood...

...a mixture of surly and manic, with a helping of rudeness.

Boy, was it a weird way of doing things--long line outside of the gym, then they brought everyone in in a long snakey line that wound around the perimeter of the gym then back around to the tables set up by the door. Add to this the need of certain teacherish sorts who want to do ANYthing, simply to appear to be doing SOMEthing--one lady had the line splitting up into four smaller lines at the intake tables. Having taken one class in queuing and distribution, I knew this was a false effort at making the line seem to move quicker. It didn't make the process any faster for the people at the tables, and it also angered someone like me, who'd been standing in the hot sun, then saw someone who'd gotten in line WAY after me manage to get AHEAD of me. Do it like the bank, folks--multiple clerks, single queue--first in line gets served first.

Got to the front of our mini-line when the sign blew off the table due to the giant fan blowing behind it. "Uhm, here--your sign came loose."

"WELL FINE!" said the lady at the table, "--just give it here. Everyone knows by now to come here anyway--COME ON, COME ON, NEXT!"

Look, woman--first of all, I'm already standing right in front of you and was just trying to help you out a bit with your silly piece of cardboard, and second, you might speak to a snot-nosed punk kid that way, but have a little sense of decorum when it comes to talking that way to THE PEOPLE PAYING YOUR FRIGGIN' SALARY.

I don't think any of that breached the Angry Internal Monologue Barricade.

Next stop, schedule. If I remember right, there was Latin (hehehe), advanced placement history and algebra/geometry and chemistry, honors English, choir, and business tech (learning to type--hallelujah).

Next, ID photo, which was blessedly quick, then on to the fee person--locker, yearbook, parking, grade mailing, Latin, choir, computer, and chemistry. No total yet, though--that's at the NEXT stop.

Which ground to a halt just as we go there. Computer breakdown. Wait. Wait. Wait.

After about fifteen minutes, which I spent screaming in my head "JUST TURN IT OFF AND TURN IT BACK ON AGAIN!" things were rolling again.

"NEXT! NEXT! COME ON!"

I am fixing to get all real angry about all this perfunctory treatment crap, folks. I didn't cause the problem, and I really don't care if the people behind me have been waiting, because I HAVE BEEN WAITING LONGER THAN THEM! So stow it!

ANYway, total tab? $224. For that much money, I want dinner and a show, dadgummit.

On then to pick up the parking tag, which was quick, then the locker card, which was quick (and thank goodness she got an upper locker--she's complained forever that she has suffered immensely due to having a bottom locker.)

Left her there--she has to stay until 7 tonight--found one of the teachers to talk about some church-related stuff, then headed back here.

Oddly enough, no one even knew I had been gone.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:44 PM | Comments (2)

Well, poop.

Now that the machinery is up and working again, I have to take a break and run out to Paradise Upon The Pinchgut and get Oldest registered for school. She's working there today as a student helper, which means she's either going to be surly or manic when I get there.

Whee.

ANYway, I'll be back shortly. Or short backly.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:19 PM | Comments (0)

My wife loves me.

But should you ever meet her, I ask that you not repeat this tale.

Anyway, Miss Reba loves me, and that’s why when she went to the grocery store the other day, she picked up a bunch of fresh scallops. Despite the fact that if I were left to my own devices, I would look at the price sticker and, after recovering from my swoon, put them back on the shelf and try to find a way to satisfy my seafood craving with some store-brand fish sticks. Anyway, she still got them, because she knows how much I love scallops. Not as much as her, obviously, but a great deal, nonetheless.

And to make it even better (although, again, more pricey) these were real scallops, not the big (but still tasty to me, at least) fake scallops which tend to be circular plugs taken out of ray or skate wings.

Since she brought them home, I had gotten myself all hungry for them, and looked forward to cooking them. But I was beaten to them. By my wife, Miss Reba, whom I love more than all the scallops in the world. You see, even though Reba is a wonderful cook, she hasn’t quite mastered some things. Broiling a steak in the oven, for instance, about which I’ve spoken of to you before--the process inevitably creates huge clouds of acrid smoke in the house, setting off every smoke alarm.

And another thing, sadly, is scallops.

Scallops don’t like a lot of cooking, because they tend to become rubbery very quickly. I like to cook them by first showing them a hot skillet with some sizzling butter, just to taunt them and make them nervous, then dump them in and swirl them around quickly just until they’re opaque, then serve them up. A little lemon juice, and that’s it. Do it right, and they’ll melt in your mouth and make you think naughty thoughts. However, if you dump them in the pan and let them simmer and stew for ten minutes or so in a sea of salty stuff, they don’t perform quite so well.

My expensive spoonful of scallops arrived hot and coated in a caramelized layer of Old Bay seasoning, and despite being flavorful, they weren’t quite scallops, but more like chewy nubbins of fishspice-flavored Gummi balls. (By the way, she also whipped up some baked tilapia to go with the scallops that was super fantastic, so again, it’s not like she can’t cook.)

“How are they?”

“I love scallops!”

And I do, but not as much as I love my wife. Nor as much as I love a peaceful house.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:27 AM | Comments (7)

GAHH!

Yet AGAIN something wrong with the Internet connection here, and yet AGAIN more frustration at not being able to communicate with the outside world, virtual though it may be.

I’m telling you, it’s got to be a sign of some sort.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:15 AM | Comments (0)

July 31, 2006

And another weekend.

Friday--got home and ran outside to cut the grass before it started raining. Grass above ankle high. Made two passes on the side of the house, went to dump the grass catcher, mower started getting bogged down in a pile of pine straw before finally chuffing to a stop. Emptied bag, tried to recrank the mower. Nothing.

For the next thirty minutes tried desperately to get the mower cranked again. No dice.

::sigh::

Gave up.

Later had to go back to in-laws' house to pick up the three littler kids who'd wanted to stay and watch some sort of Disney dreck on cable. Arranged to borrow father-in-law's mower should the need arise.

Saturday morning, more threat of rain. Go out and get mower, cranks right up. HOORAY! Begin running back and forth like a madman trying to cut grass. Get side of house done, go to empty bag. Can't get it cranked, again.

Go inside, call father-in-law, beg for lawnmower. He brings his over in a little while, and boy, is it FAST. Manage to finish front and back just in time to beat the rain.

Take mower back, stop off at carwash place and finally get carpet cleaned. Boy goes with me and points out every single cheap doodad for sale in the waiting area.

Back to home, where I find out that a certain oldest child of mine has wheedled Mom about wanting to go to the Galleria to spend the gift certificate she'd gotten for volunteering at the hospital. No getting out of this one, I'm afraid.

And thus started the clean-up ritual, because I knew if we didn't get them all scrubbed and their hair washed before we left, we'd be too tired to do it when we got home. Wound up not leaving the house until 5:30.

Parked, went in, and left Reba and the two older girls in Belk's, while I did duty with Boy and Cat. First stop, the video game store. Stood around as they played with everything and watched people. A clot of nearly naked teen girls. An older guy with his wife playing NCAA Football. (Tennessee versus Miami--from what I could tell, both teams were getting beat.) Several yutes in do-rags and gigantic baggy basketball jerseys. A large longhaired guy. A lanky slack-faced goober with a neck tattoo and a girlfriend who looked like a model. The video game store truly is a melting pot of society.

Boy found a game he wanted--Cars. He really likes Mater, for some reason. He went to pay for it, the cashier rang it up--"Give him you money, Buddy." He'd brought along his birthday money. I thought. "Mom has it."

::sigh::

Told the clerk to hold on a minute, we went back to Belk's and found the girls, got the cash, and returned. Waited. Waited. Cat went back to playing with a Nintendo DS. Waited. Reba came by and said they were decamping to go to Parisian. I said okay. And noticed they didn't have anything. FINALLY got the game paid for, and once again we were on our way.

CAROUSEL! Boy was much too mature to want to be seen on the carousel, so Catherine and I clambered aboard for a quick ride. She has always loved carousels--her wild side seems to crave that swirly feeling. Soon enough, back off and we gathered up Boy for the next stop.

Seems Mom had promised Catherine a trip to Build-A-Bear Workshop, where large amounts of cash are converted into a small stuffed animal that is indistiguishable from any other stuffed animal except for the fact that you got to see someone ram a metal tube into its guts and give it a big shot of polyester fibers. We decided to go by there and let Cat shop a bit before meeting back up with Mom and girls for supper. It was at this time that Boy decided HE wanted an animal of some sort, too.

I don't know why.

In some ways, it's nice to still have my little boy around, but in other ways, you wonder to yourself if twelve isn't just a bit too old to be quite so enamored of a stuffed animal. Especially when he wouldn't DARE get on the carousel.

Anyway, I err on the expensive side. At least it's HIS money. "Are you SURE you want to spend the rest of your birthday money on a stuffed animal?"

Oh, you betcha.

After they scoped out the available animal options, we went back to the food court to wait on the other half of the family, and upon their arrival, we began the delicate process of deciding what to eat. EVERYTHING! Because to order from one place would simply be too easy, that's why.

But first, a table. Or tables. Found three square ones set together, except one of them had goop on it. Rice, I think. Luckily, there was a girl nearby cleaning up. I walked over as she swept under an adjacent table.

"Miss?"

She kept on sweeping. There was a cloth and a bottle of spray stuff on the table, so I know she was cleaning tables, too. Maybe she just couldn't hear me.

"Miss?"

I was directly in her field of vision. I was standing on one side of the table she was sweeping under. "EXCUSE ME, MISS."

She just kept right on ignoring me in the most blatant possible way imaginable.

I looked over to the small table to my left. At it sat an ancient old fellow who looked just like Burt Mustin. Who? Oh, you know him--this guy, seen here playing the part of Jud Crowley along with Howard "Floyd" McNear:

jud and floyd.jpg

Looked like him right down to the fedora. I glanced at him with a bemused look and he just sort of smiled and shook his head. I started just to grab the bottle of cleaner and the towel, but thought better of it. Went and got some napkins and wiped off the table leavings, and then we set about to go hunt and gather.

Catherine and I got gyros, Boy got shrimp teriyaki, Ashley got sesame chicken, Reba got chicken teriyaki, and Rebecca, after everyone else had just about gotten through eating, decided she wanted something from Taco Bell.

Which was absolutely the filthiest, slowest place in the entire place. What a dump.

After eating our fill, it was time to go on to the bear place. Catherine picked out a puppy, and Jonathan settled on a monkey. Voice box, little stuffed heart, blow in the filling, pull the strings tight--as the girl who was running the machine alternately coughed and sneezed all over herself and wiped her nose with her hand and left a big wad of ooze on her sleeve. Ick.

Then for the clothes, which apparently was too much for Oldest--jealous, it seems, that stuffed animals were getting clothes while she was being sorely neglected. She and Reba went on to go see if they could find anything for her, while I stayed to finish up the bedecking and the paying. Panties, shoes, skirt and top for Catherine's puppy--now named Moonlight, and boxers, jams, shirt, and shoes for Jonathan's monkey--now named Monkey Boy.

Vast outlay of cash.

::sigh::

On back to the tables at the food court to wait. 9 o'clock, and the maintenance guys descend en masse to clean the place up. Amazing amount of litter, considering the fact that they had such a studious and conscientious girl working in the same area earlier with her little broom and bottle of cleaning solution.

Ashley and Reba finally showed up, with nothing to show for their efforts, which had put Oldest in an even nastier disposition, if such was possible. Home, and to bed.

Sunday, rain.

Got ready for church, which yesterday was one long uninterrupted thing. On fifth Sundays we have a potluck, and then have our evening worship right afterwards. Which means a LOT of very sleepy people. And after that, I had another meeting, so by the time we left, we'd been at the building for six straight hours. Which is kind of a long time.

Home, finish up the laundry, listen to it rain some more, during one dry spell Catherine went outside to play with the kitten, who decided to run to the neighbor's yard and explore their dog, which in a change from usual practice was not in its pen, and thus began to bark and chase said kitten, causing it to run up a tree, causing said Catherine to attempt to get kitten down from tree, causing kitten to go nuts and start flailing away at child, inflicting a variety of wounds upon her upper torso and limbs. One day, she's gonna learn to stay away from his claws when he's upset.

All in all, just another one of your run-of-the-mill weekends.

Now then, I have dumb ol' work to do.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:05 AM | Comments (11)

July 28, 2006

Another week

You know what I need to do? Cut the grass. It's been something like three weeks or more. The first couple were fine, because it was so dry, but then last week we had several good showers and with the fertilizer I'd put down a month ago, the whole place came roaring back to life and so now the front yard looks more like the deep rough than the fairway. Aside from the peculiar alternating stripes of two different colors of green.

Derndest thing I've ever seen. I was careful when I used the fertilizer spreader, and made sure to not skip anything. But now there are strips that are deep green Bermuda, with equally wide strips of lighter green wide-bladed something-or-other. That's gonna look weird after it's cut, I fear.

Eh. Whatever.

It might be easier to get excited about yardwork except I seem preternaturally tired this week. I don't know what it is, but whatever it is, it's been accompanied by a startling array of weirdly vivid (or vividly weird) dreams. And none of them really good, if you know what I mean, but things like hanging around a club of some sort that has a faux tin-roof-biker bar/roadhouse-shack-decor section, and everyone's very excited because Taylor Hicks is going to ride a chopper right through the middle of it! Except the big burly lifestyle-biker guy who owned the bike couldn't get it cranked. Stuff like that. And lots of it. I wake up tired, and go to bed tired.

Add to this the fact that there's a lot of bad junk going on out in the real world--both in the big sense of world events and in the smaller sense of folks I know who are going through their own tribulations. Such things are very frustrating for guys like me--I like to think that given a firm place to stand and a long enough lever, I can move the world--but when it turns out that you've issued a toothpick for a lever, and you have to wear ice skates, it's just off-putting. And then, you find out that you can't actually touch the toothpick except on Tuesday afternoon between 2:33 and 2:35. And you have to loop a rubber band around it. And sing a Conway Twitty song.

I think it is time.

I have held off for a long time, but I think it's finally time.

I'm going to go home and watch my never-opened Blazing Saddles 30th Anniversary Special Edition DVD that I got for Christmas, including every special feature on it.

Laughter make Mongo feel better!

Among other things.

ANYway, all of you have a restful weekend, and we'll see you all again come Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:28 PM | Comments (0)

Registration

Dr. Smith (who is a real doctor by the way), mentioned to me that Catherine's registration yesterday must have been uneventful since I've said nothing about it.

And he is correct. Showed my papers, paid my money, picked up my stuff, and was back in the car in less than fifteen minutes.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:40 PM | Comments (0)

July 27, 2006

Hey, it's about time...

...to go do the school registration thing!

Whee!

See all of you tomorrow--or at least the ones of you who aren't imaginary.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:40 PM | Comments (0)

A Nice Idea

Via Snopes.com, a program by the United States Post Office to help you mail things to troops

Since the preponderance of "free merchandise" offers promoted via e-mail turn out to be nothing but hoaxes and pranks targeted at the gullible, we're pleased whenever we can announce that such an offer is genuine, especially so in this case as the ultimate beneficiaries are the men and women of the U.S. armed forces who are stationed overseas.

The United States Postal Service (USPS) will supply for free, to anyone who asks, specially packaged Priority Mail supplies for shipping "care kits" to members of the U.S. military stationed overseas. [...]

It's a very handy service, in that it gives you a nice sampler of boxes and things to use, and they'll deliver it right to you--and again, for free.

I went to the USPS website to see what the deal was, and noted that not only do they have these type of prepackaged items, ANY of the Priority Mail materials can be ordered without charge (aside from the stuff that is prestamped with postage). They have a lot of free stuff, as a matter of fact, and that's pretty neat.

And then, there is the stuff you pay for--would you like a novel about a postal detective? A CD of the Postal Service Band? A Marylin Monroe teddy bear? Or maybe an Elvis bear is more your style? Howzabout a mambo lapel pin?

What a country.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:29 AM | Comments (0)

SURPRISE!

Well, well, WELL! Seems that Catherine's registration goes all the way to 6 this evening, so I figure there's no reason to burn up vacation hours during the day, and will go and turn in her papers after work. Meaning I have more time today for...

WORK!

::sigh::

If everyone's servers aren't blowed up real good today, I should be able to do a bit more frivilous Possumblogging today than yesterday, but I doubt it's gonna be one of those days where I get in fifteen posts full of pith and vinegar.

Just remember--the lower your expectations, the more you'll enjoy it here!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:57 AM | Comments (2)

July 24, 2006

Well, so--

Went straight to the in-laws' house Friday afternoon after work, and surprisingly, Reba managed to get there before me. Supper, then more food prep for the party, and I got to help hoist folding tables and chairs us from the basement, and for the most part managed not to do much of anything else. I have found it best--even though I am an excellent cook and a good all-around kitchen assistant--that it is MUCH BETTER not to get anywhere in betwixt Reba, her mother, and the food.

They just have a totally different way of working, and it just doesn’t suit me, what with all of its wasted motion and deliberate loud clattering of cookware and obsessive mess-making-then-cleaning. It’s not that they can’t cook--they could go toe-to-toe with anyone, but they’d take twice as long and be twice as loud and twice as messy. (Not that you heard ANY of that from me.) When I cook, I figure out ahead of time what I’ll need and when I’ll need it and where I’m going to put it while I’m working, and do my best not to make a mess that has to be cleaned up later.

So in the end, it’s best I just pretend to be a real man and just go sit in the den, watch TV, grunt, and doze.

Home around 9:30, and the first of many surprises for the weekend to come.

Pulled up in the driveway behind Reba, who’s in the van, Jonathan and I having stopped to put some gas in her Focus. There is much heated discussion going on in the van. I park, go get a package off the front porch, go inside, get the kids putting away the food we brought with us, Oldest comes by and wants paper towels, comes back in five minutes and wants the big 6 volt lantern. “Why do you need that!?”

“Mom wants it.” As if to say, â€and may you drop dead eternally for having the gall to ask ME such a question.’

Go outside to see what the hold-up is. Reba’s bent over the passenger side front seat--“I suppose I shouldn’t ask what’s going on?”

“Well, Ashley accidentally dropped a whole bowl of pork broth into the floor and I’m trying to get it up--it really was an accident and she really was sorry about it.”

“Hmm. Well, she’s recovered quite nicely now and seems back to her old uncontriteness.”

I helped get the front floor mat out and sent her on back inside to finish getting the food put away and wrangle with the children while I cleaned up. Nothing quite like cold greasy pig broth in the floorboard to make you appreciate life, you know? Must have been a gallon down there. Two whole rolls of paper towels, and I still didn’t actually get it all soaked up. The plan was to go take it to the carwash place over the weekend and let them shampoo it.

That never happened.

After getting through with my schmaltz slopping, I pulled the van back inside the garage and rolled down the windows to help it finish drying (I don’t think this worked) and went on inside and upstairs.

My package arrived from Penney’s. Yea! Four pairs of my usual unpleated and uncuffed Haggar pants, and a pair of my usual Florsheim black wing-tips. (The other pair has done well, but the uppers are coming apart, and I did already have them resoled once, so I figure I got my money’s worth out of them.)

Opened up the plastic bag--shoes, okay. Black, navy blue, gray pants--check. Heather blue pants? Uhhh, no. A yellow curtain of the ruffley-lace sort instead. And I have NOTHING to wear that goes with yellow! ::sigh:: A call to customer service, who said she’d send the right pair of pants, and I could take the curtain back to the nearest store for a credit.

Because I didn’t have enough stuff to do, you know.

Then, the phone messages. Wal-Mart, calling to remind us of our eye-exam appointments on Saturday morning. 9, 9:30, 10, 10:30, and 11. Next message, Wal-Mart, calling to tell us that our new fancy-schmancy Blue Cross/Blue Shield insurance doesn’t pay for routine eye exams.

WHAT!?

I got out my piece of paper--well, it says HERE they do!

Not much else to do but wait until the morning and figure it out.

SATURDAY MORNING--up early to get everyone ELSE up early. Find out the vision center doesn’t open until 9. Call at 9, get a girl who says that someone else called and talked to someone else who said we don’t have coverage. “But you see, I’m looking at our summary of benefits, and it says right here, â€Routine eye exam--covered at 100% of the allowed amount, subject to $15 co-pay,’ which to me sounds like I have routine eye exam coverage.”

Silence.

“Uhm, sir, can I call you back?”

But of course.

Wait for fifteen more minutes, and she called back properly humble-ized and apologetic, “I ran off your schedule of coverage and it does say you have routine eye exam coverage.” Well, GEE, whaddya know about THAT! “100%, with a $20 co-pay.”

::sound of me slapping myself::

“Uh, well, no--it should be 15--that’s what our summary says.”

More apologies, but they can only go by what the insurance company tells them, meaning I have to call the insurance company today and find out what’s going on. IN THE MEAN TIME--off to Wally World!

Load the van, head out.

Show the girl my piece of paper saying it’s a $15 co-pay, she shows me the one from Blue Cross that says $20. I throw down my cards and she starts raking the chips toward her side of the table.

Set to work filling out papers on everyone and start shuttling folks into the exam room. Catherine has been complaining of not being able to see the board, yet when she was reading the pretend eye chart out in the lobby, she could read all the way down to 20/15. Which she was ALSO able to do for the doctor. He said she had just about perfect eyes. I don’t know who she got them from. But I’m glad--no glasses for her.

Boy--about the same, no new glasses needed for him.

Rebecca--about the same, no new glasses needed for her.

Ashley--despite much drama (repeated quietly later to mom and dad by the doctor with a wry wink) about being legally blind, only a slight change--no new glasses, but a slight change in the contacts.

Reba--about to the point of having to give up on contacts. She’s decided to try a pair of reading glasses for now, for although her spirit is still that of a winsomely randy bride, her eyes, alas, bear fully her full calendar of years. In other words, her arms are getting too short to read the newspaper. Bifocal time.

Me? I didn’t get an exam. I can still see fine from the last time, and I’m tighter than Scrooge McDuck when it comes to stuff like this. But you know what? It’s time for bifocals for me, too. It finally hit me a while back when I was trying to read one of those silly prize coupons off of a McDonald’s soft drink cup, and couldn’t see it. No matter where I held it. Stupid blurry printing! And then, the other day I was sorting through fuses for the Volvo--they’re little plastic things with barely perceptible amp ratings molded into the body. “Um, hey Catherine--does this say 10 or 15?”

“Daaaad, that says â€8’!”

“Heh--oh, yeah, ummm--I was just seeing if you could see it!”

::sigh:: Already have terrible myopia, and crazy-go-mad astigmatism, so what’s a little presbyopia thrown into the mix?

So, next year, I figure I take the plunge and ask for some lens help. I figure bifocals (or maybe even some of those progressive lenses) won’t be so detrimental to my hip, swingin’ image if I get me some of those cool Elvis-like frames like Kim Jong Il wears. Of course, I might not be able to wear progressive lenses, since I hear they make things like sawed-off little megalomaniacal dictators look rational.

Whatever.

On over to the in-laws’ place again to help get ready for the big 2:30 shindig, and I wisely absented myself in order to run over to the Penney’s at Century Plaza to take back my curtain pants. HEY! RAIN! We got several good downpours over the weekend. Which made the grass grow and the car wash place close. Which meant there was no going to the carwash place to get the rest of the broth fumes shampooed out of the carpet.

Got my return done with blessedly no problems, then shopped a bit in the store. It’s closing (it’s moving to Trussville--yay!) so they had a sale going on. I bought towels. Not just regular towels but four big giant soft fluffy huge white towels that will ONLY be used in OUR bathroom and will not be sullied by child germs!

Back to the in-laws’, where, after I got in from the rain, I got tasked with warming up the hot wings. (But not hotting up the warm wings.) Fine by me--I got to use the kitchen downstairs (they had a kitchen installed with the idea of having an apartment for themselves downstairs in their golden years, presumably with Reba and me and the children upstairs--I have a feeling I’ll need it before them). Anyway, I did that and it gave me an excuse to hide out in the basement with the kids the entire time. I’m just not good with tightly packed people, even if I do know them all. Makes me all itchy. Much better to be able to sit and watch Fairly Odd Parents and get the kids to run upstairs and get me a plate of food.

Stayed to help clean up, finally got home around 7 or so, and got the kids started on their bathing chores. “Daddy, can I use one of these new towels in--”

“NO! Those are Mommy and Daddy towels and I will eat you if you touch them!”

Finally in bed much too late.

Sunday--up early, get ready for church, go to church, become preoccupied with worldly things such as the building addition, go home for lunch, do piles of laundry, go back to church for a 3:00 o’clock meeting, come BACK home, do more laundry, get everyone in the van and back on the road for evening services, go home, do more laundry and write letters to everyone about the building addition AND manage to buy a rare factory accessory oil filter relocation kit on Ebay for the Volvo. (It’s much easier to change the filter when it’s up high and not down underneath the hot sharp things, you know), AND iron Boy's shirt for his Scout meeting tonight.

Anyway, it was a very non-inactive weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:27 AM | Comments (11)

My head feels like mush!

With the great flavor of paste!

AS HAS BEEN BECOMING ALL TOO FREQUENT, yet another weekend spent in the middle of a whirlwind, which is obviously my reward for all that sowing of wind in earlier times.

ANYway, I have nothing interesting to report, all of which you will hear about shortly.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:26 AM | Comments (0)

July 21, 2006

Okay, let's go to the tape and see how we did!

Going back to the first post of yesterday regarding my proposed schedule for yesterday afternoon, let us look and see how close I got.

1. Pick up Ashley at Cooper Green at noon.

Close--it wound up being about 12:10, but the big problem was that I seem to have walked out yesterday morning without the checkbook, necessitating a jaunt in the opposite direction to go get it from Reba at her office.

2. Drive to Grandmom's house, drop off Ashley, pick up Rebecca and Jonathan at around 12:30.

Actually a bit more like 12:45. Oh, and they hadn't had lunch.

3. Drive to middle school to register Rebecca and Jonathan--starts at 1:00, and I have no idea when it's over. Could be quick, could be slow.

Got there at 12:55, sat in the car until the door was opened and we could go in, because it was about 786 degrees outside. The whole thing, even with two kids, only took an hour.

First stop was the table where you show them the raft of documentation required now to enroll: Alabama Power bill, another utility bill, parent's drivers license, residence verification form, stool specimen, copy of deed, immunization form, birth certificate, travel permission, acknowledgement of school rules, and general information sheet. This whole list is accurate, except for one item.

And it might not be the one you think.

Having been cleared for both the 7th and the 8th grader in the family, the next stop was the schedule table, where we picked up their schedules and I got to look at Rebecca and Jonathan's math teacher. One of the primary reasons I never really complain about registration. Unfortunately, there was no one else in front of us in line, and so there was no real reason to stand there and gawk at her beyond the time necessary to exchange the usual pleasantries.

Of all times for something to be run efficiently! Sheesh!

Next stop, paying fees. Out the door, across the courtyard, back inside, and pay for two agenda books, two sets of gym clothes, two hall lockers, two gym lockers, two art fees, a band fee, and a partridge in a pair fee. $169.00. Tears ensue.

Next, an attempt to change the schedule of the Middle Girl, who had really REALLY wanted to take a foreign language as an elective--something fruity and disdainful. I.e., French. However, the only language class is Latin. And she didn't get it anyway--she got her third choice of Art. (First was Yearbook, which she DID get.) "Do you want to take Latin?!" Shoulder shrug. "It's hard." Shoulder shrug, slight nod of the head indicating a lack of concern. "Well, okay--Latin it is. Maybe. If they'll change it." We'll see.

Final stop, gym clothes, where we also turned in one (two) MORE piece(s) of paper, the scoliosis testing form(s). And then...

4. Drop Rebecca and Jonathan back over at Grandmom's and pick up Catherine.

NO! Change in plans! Decided to stop by the vet's office to see if they could change our appointment from 6:00 to 2:ish. YES! Ran up the hill (figuratively), scooped up the kitten, put him in his carrier, and proceeded to skip ahead to Step #6, AND I decided there was going to be NO WAY I could do Step #8. Called the lady at City Hall and said I wouldn't be able to make it.

6. Go home, get Lightning, The World's Most Expensive Free Kitten, stuffed in his carrier, and take him back down the hill for his 6:00 2:20 booster shot appointment.

Things went about like the first time. Sat in the exam room for a minute or two, let him out of his carrier so he could plunder a bit. He jumped on the walls, found the floor-mounted door stop again and began pouncing and arching and swatting at it. Doc stuck his head in, said he'd be with us in a minute. Several minutes passed, Lightning growing more "playful" as the time wore on. Finally, the assistant came in (it would be not be integral to the story to remark that she was young, cute, and blonde, but I will mention it anyway, because she was) and it was as if the kitten had seen a LION. Riding on an ELEPHANT. Holding a SHARK in his mouth!

The cat just went nuts--he bowed up, fuzzed his tail up to the size of a baseball bat when she bent down to get him, hissed like a broken gas main, and grew a fur ridge on his back that looked like a Mohawk, and proceeded to whirl around and latch onto her hand with all his might. He let go for an instant and she tried again to grab him, and he once again repeated all the attacking and this time hit home. The vet came in and got him onto the table, and tried to explain that Lightning might have smelled something like another dog or cat and it set him off. An explanation, however, that did nothing to make up for the damage he'd done--the assistant excused herself to go fix her hand, and as she left, I saw four bright red gouts of blood across the back of her hand as well as one long lurid dripping red gash. Looked like she'd been attacked by a MUCH larger cat. The next assistant--who for some reason was equally young, cute, and blonde came in to take over.

Shot time--rabies and the FeLV booster. And once again, the kitten reacted differently than he did the first time he got a shot, when he sat there quietly and purred. This time he howled like a banshee for both shots, and very nearly broke free from the replacement young cute blonde assistant and clawed her.

We're going to have to have a talk with him, I think.

Paid my $69.60, took kit and kinder back up the hill to the house, unloaded, left instructions not to allow murderers into the house (lest they sue us when they get ripped to pieces by our kitten), and returned to a revised Step #5.

5 (revised). Drive back to Grandmom's, pick up Catherine, and head over to dentist for 4:00 checkup.

3:20 arrival, and we STILL didn't manage to get through until 5:00. No cavities for either of us, although now it seems that CATHERINE needs to consult with the orthodontist. Not enough room for some incisors to come in, it seems. I'm telling you, straight teeth are vastly overrated.

And overpriced. ::sigh::

7. Take him back home, then take Catherine back to Grandmom's house.

Superseded by Step #6 and Step #5 (revised).

8. Drive over to City Hall for my 7:00 zoning board meeting.

Deleted in Step 3.

9. (revised) Drive back to Grandmom's and pick up all four Oldest children and go home to KFC for some supper, seeing as how I was very hungry and had not found time in all of my steps to eat lunch and sure didn't want to go home and try to fix something.

Done.

10. Hope against hope that Reba has managed to get away from work and get home.

Nope. Ate, and then waited. And waited. She didn't get home until 9:00.

And today? More of the same on her part. And then when she gets home tonight, it's over to her mom's house to help with preparations for the church get-together her parents have at their house every year. For some reason, I don't think Reba's going to feel much like helping out, but she will anyway.

Finally, 11. Sleep.

Done.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:52 AM | Comments (2)

July 20, 2006

Alrighty, now.

Time for the BUSY part of the day. See you all tomorrow.

Maybe.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:50 AM | Comments (0)

Okay, now--get ready!

We have a LOT to cram in today because it's short--I have to leave at noon to accomplish the following tasks:

1. Pick up Ashley at Cooper Green at noon.
2. Drive to Grandmom's house, drop off Ashley, pick up Rebecca and Jonathan at around 12:30.
3. Drive to middle school to register Rebecca and Jonathan--starts at 1:00, and I have no idea when it's over. Could be quick, could be slow.
4. Drop Rebecca and Jonathan back over at Grandmom's and pick up Catherine.
5. Drive to dentist for 4:00 checkup for Catherine and me.
6. Go home, get Lightning, The World's Most Expensive Free Kitten, stuffed in his carrier, and take him back down the hill for his 6:00 booster shot appointment.
7. Take him back home, then take Catherine back to Grandmom's house.
8. Drive over to City Hall for my 7:00 zoning board meeting.
9. Drive back to Grandmom's and pick up all four children and go home.
10. Hope against hope that Reba has managed to get away from work and get home--the state inspection team showed up for their annual review yesterday morning at 6:00 a.m., and Reba didn't get home until 8:00 last night. She left to go in early this morning so she could be there when the inspectors got there today. If she could get home early, it would make it much easier because the kids could stay at home, rather than being shuttled through Grandmom's house. Of course, they're old enough to stay by themselves without much worry, except for Oldest, who is less mature than Youngest, and goes out of her way to create turmoil. If she's not around, the younger three are fine, but when she's added to the mix it's like building a campfire out of dynamite. Adult supervision, therefore, is a requirement.

ANYWAY, we have MUCH to do today!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:03 AM | Comments (0)

July 18, 2006

Okay, so it wasn't a good day for blogging.

Maybe tomorrow?

Maybe.

As for tonight, I think I'll go to bed early. I've been very tired today, and my head's been feeling a bit sideways. I'm thinking it was because I didn't get a good night's sleep last night due to someone in the room who feels a need to stay up very late reading with the light on (and I don't mean one of the three small clip-on book lights that I have purchased for her over the past few years, seeing as how all of those have mysteriously turned up missing).

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:48 PM | Comments (0)

July 17, 2006

Somehow...

I let another day sneak by without fulfilling my quota of meaningless drivel. I am ashamed, but hope to correct the deficiency in the near future.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:36 PM | Comments (2)

Now then...

...I got some bidness to attend to!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:33 AM | Comments (0)

And yesterday?

Blessedly quiet, and we even got some rain!

Up early, church, lunch at the Chinese buffet, and a brief side-trip to the Hallmark store. Seems Boy had one more gift he wanted to get for me for my birthday last week.

Some time ago, while Pam the Liberal still worked here, we got an interdepartmental memo about proper work attire, which, as these things do, attempted to correct the bad behavior of one particular person by casting blame on everyone, rather than taking the more direct approach of reprimanding the guilty party. Whatever. I took it as an opportunity to make wild claims to Pam that one day I was going to show up for work wearing nothing but a kilt and bright yellow rubber garden clogs, and dare them to do anything about it.

As happens in these cases, the little martinet who promulgated the original memo went on to a much more lucrative position elsewhere, but somehow the idea of my wearing of bright yellow garden clogs never really died away. She still mentions it to me every once in a while, and sometimes I think it would be nice to have something like that when I'm doing yardwork and stuff. But it never has gone any further than that.

Until a couple of months ago, when Jonathan started wanting a pair of Crocs. As with most of his other cravings of this sort, he wanted to have what all the kids at school had--large ugly rubber footwear now having become de rigueur amongst the middle school set.

We looked around at Hallmark for some to fit him for his birthday, and somewhere in there I mentioned--only half-jokingly--that I wanted a pair in yellow. We didn't find any in his size, and wound up getting some moc-Crocs from Target for him. But he apparently didn't forget ol' Dad.

So, he got it in his mind he'd get me a pair of yellow Crocs for my birthday, and had finally talked Mom into taking him. Reba, not ever having been brought into the loop on the whole yellow shoe thing couldn't understand why he kept wanting to get me yellow shoes. Luckily for her, the Hallmark store didn't have yellow, so I wound up with a pair of black ones.

XXL, size 11-12.

::sigh::

She ought to know by now that ol' bit of vulgar information about the interrelationship of shoe size to other personal equipage is TRUE, and therefore I could have gotten by quite well with a size 9-10 shoe. But they got them anyway.

Got home, and Boy, bless his heart, said, "It's okay, Daddy--you'll grow into them." Not hardly. They looked like clown shoes. SO, off to the OTHER Hallmark store in town to see if they had something I could swap for them.

Nope. Nor did Academy, or Target, or even the hardware store.

But, let's face it--it's the thought that counts, and he was quite proud of his gift for Dad. And I am, too. Or I will be, once I find me some in yellow.

The rest of the time before church was spent swapping out little screws and bolts into a new set of storage bins I got--the old one was all wobbly and wouldn't work right, and I simply MUST have a place to put all of my bits of string too short to save.

On to church, coughed through all the songs, and then on to home again for supper. I had put on a Honeysuckle Farms turkey breast to cook in the oven while we were gone--little bit of cajun seasoning, salt and pepper. It was the best turkey I've ever had--I could have eaten the whole thing by myself.

Supper done, cleaned up, got the kids into their pajamas, and settled in with the Sunday paper. Which just pretty much ruined the whole day. I used to long for Sunday, just to get the big color comics. But, nowadays we can't just have comics, we have to Send a Message, and do so in the most self-absorbed and self-congratulatory way possible. Berke Breathed--let's face it, fellow--you aren't Walt Kelly. Get over yourself, and quit being so twee and clever. Or rather, trying to be. Anyway, I give up. The comics were the only reason I had for wading through week-old information trying to pass itself off as "news" (and commentary trying to pass as objective reporting), so if I'm no longer going to be allowed at least one nice good jolly bit of escapism in the funny papers to make up for all the other garbage, well then, I no longer see a need to buy the paper anymore.

So I won't.

I'll just sit here in my kilt and big yellow rubber shoes and entertain myself.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:19 AM | Comments (6)

JUNK!

In one of those things that makes weekends so fun that they creat guilt, I took off early Saturday morning on a junkyard jaunt, ostensibly to find a new (heh) timing belt cover. The old one I put back on the car had a spot worn through by the water pump pulley, and I wanted something uncracked.

I don't know why.

Anyway, I got there and after exploring around a bunch, found several likely candidates, and finally one that looked quite nice--for something out of a junkyard. Got it, paid, and was on my way back home, where it was time to take a shower and get ready to take us all over to celebrate Ashley's great grandmother's 95th birthday.

Of course, since I had been away for all of two hours, none of the kids had gotten ready when I got home, mainly because a certain mother of theirs seems to think they should know to go get ready without being told, much like she believes they should have shame enough to clean up their rooms or be nice to each other without being told. Needless to say, they needed telling, so having done that and gotten them scrubbing, I got my shower and ready to go.

Time to go, and a certain mother of theirs was not ready, nor was the oldest child.

::sigh::

Managed to make it and only be five minutes late, which was nothing short of miraculous. Ate lunch, came home, and it was time for Round Two of fun with the car. Had to put that cover on, you know, and I had decided before putting back on the new splash pan on the underside that I wanted to clean more of the dirt and oil off.

First things first though--that cover.

I found out it can be much more easily removed than installed.

After close to an hour, I wound up having to take the stinkin' fan and pulleys off to put it on. But it sure does look nice now!

Next, the degreasing of the underside, using some Gunk brand engine cleaner that promised to be a nice clingy gel. It wasn't. Looked like the same old stuff they've always sold. Nice thing it was "lo-odor," because if the "hi-odor" stuff had been used, I think it would have caused the whole neighborhood to get high or blow up. Anyway, sprayed that on and got a goodly amount of goo off the underside. It's almost clean. Ish.

Next, the plastic pan underneath, which went well, aside from having to use my old creeper that has plastic wheels that don't turn very well, and the fact that two of the bolts wouldn't work. Which required more up and down and bad words directed at both the bolts and at the creeper.

Finally got everything squared away much later than I thought I would, ate supper, and took my second shower of the day.

Saturday is, after all, my bath day.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:28 AM | Comments (2)

MONDAY MORNING!

Ow--quit shouting!

Well, hello to you all, and welcome to yet another week filled with exciting and disturbing tales of outer suburbia! As weekends go, the one immediately past was more than tolerable, full as it was of goings and comings and playing with machinery and entertainment--portions of which you will get to hear about directly, as soon as I can remember exactly what it is that happened and write it all down.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:00 AM | Comments (0)

July 14, 2006

Wow.

How'd it get so late!?

Nearly time to head out for the weekend. Looks like a long one, as usual. Tonight, though, some mindless escapism as we go take in Market Juggernaut of the Caribbean, featuring the non-anorexic Keira Knightley. She very well might not have an eating disorder, but dadgummit, I do wish she'd eat a couple of cheeseburgers and a big chocolate shake every once in a while. Eh--what am I thinking? If every woman looked like Jane Russell, life would just be so very boring.

Not.

ANYway, there's that, and it looks very possible that I might get to go have fun in the JUNKYARD again this weekend! YIPPEE! I love the junkyard. As usual, there will also be the laundry and housework to help with, too, but those couple of hours wandering around in a smelly, hot, and rather depressing place never fail to provide a nice pick-me-up!

Sunday, lots of churching up, as well as some meetings, and I imagine all sorts of other stuff on both days that will provide a full load of blogfodder come Monday.

All of you have a great weekend and come back then and we'll see what went on.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:35 PM | Comments (2)

July 12, 2006

More all-over hurtage!

This is pretty much all Volvo content since stupid STUPID Blogger is still down, so you may skip it if you wish.

I got home yesterday and set in to once and for all get the Volvo stuck back together. After changing out of my good clothes and into my evil ones, the first task was to modify my brand new sprocket-holding tool (in Swedish, kugghjulhĂĄllareverktyg) with the wrong thing to use for tool modification. As you may or may not recall, the thing I bought looks like this--

counterhold.jpg

The little pegs on the end fit into small holes on the web of the timing belt gears, so you can hold it still while you struggle mightily to break the bolt loose that holds everything together. One sprocketwheel I had managed to set free, but the other was stuck tight, and I couldn’t find anyplace on the engine to make the thing be still to turn the bolt, thus the need for this supposedly “universal” tool. As I mentioned Tuesday, however, upon receipt of the tool, I found that the little pegs were too big to go into the required holes.

Meaning I would have to somehow make them smaller.

Meaning an opportunity to let my skills in expedient engineering shine brightly!

Best thing to use would have been a small, handheld die grinder (think of a souped-up Dremel tool) of some sort. I don’t have one of those. Next best would have been a bench grinder. I don’t have one of those.

What I DO have is a big industrial handheld grinder that had belonged to my dad that he used for grinding welds. It’s powerful enough to make the whole house go dim whenever it’s turned on, and the torque builds up such a strong gyroscopic force that it’s very difficult to move into another plane (other than the allowing it to precess around its central axis) while you’re holding it. Which means it’s really not the thing for small, more delicate work. But when you have no choice…

I chucked the tool into my giant vise and set to work, and in only minutes of barely-controlled metal grinding and a shower of bright hot sparks, I had succeeded in gnawing the ends off the pegs enough that they would fit into the holes.

Yay.

Now then, on to the part that matters--I placed my pegs in the holes, held on tightly, got out my big socket wrench, heaved mightily on the bolt, and…

It came free! FREE AT LAST!

Finally, after a month of dawdling and looking at a non-functional automobile on the driveway, I might finally be on the way to getting the thing fixed!

Off with the gear, and in a bit of a surprise, the little seal on the shaft behind it simply fell out. Seals aren’t supposed to do that--you’re supposed to have to pry them out. This might be why it leaked so very much. (Duh.)

I pried out the other seal on the camshaft, cleaned everything with a Q-tip, lubed up the shafts, got my new seals, put some oil on them, and gently tapped them into place. Back on with the gears, and once again employed my marvelously mangled tool to hold them still while I gorilla’d the bolts tight with the torque wrench. Which began the process of making my whole upper body sorta achy today.

Now then--do I remember how the rest of it goes back together?

Sorta.

Let’s see--uhmm, the lower crankshaft gear has a couple of big washers….and they have to line up right on the timing mark. Hmm. That required some fixing and doing before I finally got it back to where it was supposed to be. Now then, to make sure everything ELSE is lined up!

timing belt.gif

The camshaft, the intermediate shaft, and the crankshaft are all supposed to be lined up exactly right, or else the car won’t run right after the timing belt is put on. This alignment is “aided” by a tiny dimple on the camshaft gear and on the intermediate gear that are supposed to be lined up with two invisible marks molded into the plastic camshaft cover. The top one is easy enough to see, but the middle one requires the use of a hand mirror to make absolutely sure it’s lined up right. The bottom cog on the crankshaft has a tiny divot notched into the washer, and THAT is supposed to align with a timing mark imperceptibly molded into the front of the engine. Believe it or not, I actually managed to get them all in line.

Of course, then there’s the issue of the belt itself.

See, it has little teeth on it, and they have to be threaded onto each of the teeth of the gears, WITHOUT MOVING THE GEARS OUT OF POSITION. Made all the more difficult by the fact that it’s not quite loose enough to do this without moving everything the wrong way. But with some great patience and even while being spoken to by my kind wife who’d just gotten home and wanted to fill me in on her day and her plans for supper as I was hunkered over the front of the radiator cutting off the circulation to my lower torso and sweating such copious amounts of sweat that I appeared to be a lawn sprinkler and was covered from fingertip to elbow in that blasted sticky black grime, I still managed to scootch the belt over the three gears successfully! All three gears lined up, marks on the belt lined up with the gears! Let loose the new idler pulley I’d installed earlier, and it was all nice and tight and just like new.

Next?

Uhhmmmm. Hmm. Oh, yeah, there’s the lower cover to put on--another grimy bit of black plastic that I had to scrape clean before putting back on. Next, I think would be…yes, it would be the big bottom pulley and dampener that had required the purchase of yet ANOTHER tool before I got it off in the first place.

Put the pulley on, connect the required tool, and with great and mighty exertions and grunts and squeals that sounded like a replay of the recent women’s tennis tournament at the All England Club, I managed to get the crankshaft nut torqued down to something close to the specified foot-poundage.

By golly, this thing is almost put back together!

And for some reason, all the muscles in my chest hurt!

On with the upper timing belt cover (and I’m missing the top screw, which probably rolled away a month ago) and now time for the accessory drive belts. Two for the alternator, and one for the A/C compressor.

Ah, yes--the hateful compressor.

Just as I had nearly not gotten the belt OFF of it when I was tearing things apart, I very nearly couldn’t get the new one ON it. And thus the greatest exhaustion and aches began, as I worked for nearly a half hour, grunting and heaving and pulling and pushing and tugging and jerking and crawling underneath and repeating the grunting-heaving procedure until FINALLY I got it loose enough to slide on the pulleys. The alternator belts came next, and they were a breeze, which is good, because by now I was full of weariness and frustration, and I was completely empty of sweat, having gotten rid of enough to fill a bathtub.

I left the belts loose on the alternator, and the mounting bolts loose on both it and the compressor and put all my tools away for the night. Next step is to finish tightening them up, installing the fan and fan shroud, hooking the battery back up, filling it with oil, and doing a test crank. That’s all for another day, though. By the time I got inside and got the majority of the grime off of my arms, it was nearly 9:00 o’clock, and I was so whupped I couldn’t bring myself to eat supper.

Luckily, lest I become Mr. Lazybones, there were other chores to be done--seems that there was cookies to be baked for something Ashley’s doing, so she and Mom were busily doing that, which left me to go get some laundry from upstairs, because there was a need for an emergency load to be washed and dried RIGHT THEN so it could be worn today by a certain teenager (who, as I mentioned, was quite involved with cookie-making) and then there was the nearly overwhelming chore of getting a certain Tiny Terror in the tub for her bath. Made all the more difficult by her seeming inability to keep from coming downstairs to see if any cookies were ready and to look out the door at the kitten.

By the time I finally got a shower and got in bed, my head was throbbing and my chestal muscles felt like hot cooked lasagna noodles.

As I said, thank goodness this morning’s meeting was short.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:50 AM | Comments (4)

July 11, 2006

As I mentioned...

...it is now time to skeedaddle for the remainder of the day. Remember that you dreary ration of possumy gruel will be late tomorrow as I go about to do the work of the people. To keep you occupied in the intervening time, there is Chutes and Ladders! Whee!

See you all on the morrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:44 PM | Comments (0)

I'll take "Potpourri" for 200, Alex...

Good morning--here are some items sent in by loyal readers for your amusement and enjoyment!

First, from the lovely green-thumbed and raven-haired Jordana Adams, a touching way of showing your team spirit. Rest assured that although I have occasional bouts of school boosterism, I have left explicit instructions that money not be wasted on me in such a manner, and that my remains be buried in a small basswood coffin purchased from Michael's, which is to be decorated with a variety of bright and colorful acrylic paints, and possibly with some glitter, and some wiggly-eye stick-ons.

Speaking of the afterlife, Dr. Jim Smith, noted Episcopalian deacon and pratfallist, sends along a link to a handy chart that gives an overview of the various world religions. As Jimbo notes, the chart's not particularly deep, but it does provide a quick and handy comparison, and there are other parts of the site that do provide more detail.

Georgia dirt kicker and graphic technology guru Dave Helton sends a note mocking me for falling to #3 in the Google rankings for "moron project," having been usurped by some sort of garage band of the same name. In order to reestablish my bona fides, I will note that the tool I have been anxiously awaiting in order to hold the sprocket on the front of my engine arrived yesterday! It's a nice piece of work--sturdy, heavy, and well made. Got home with it, and found that the two cylindrical pegs on the end of it that are intended to fit in the holes in the sprocket are too big. Meaning I will have to get out my grinder and attempt to reduce their diameter. ::sigh::

HOWEVER, not to be outdone, I did go ahead and do some other necessary work on the ol' lump of iron yesterday, installing a small plate on the rear of the cylinder head to prevent the rear seal from popping out, and installing a flame trap relocation kit. I am going to do a more detailed post on this over on Revolvoblog (in order to keep you from slashing your wrists in despair from having to read about car repair) but the short version is that the flame trap is a little bit of plastic in the crankcase vent system. In the original version, this is located way down beside the starter, underneath the intake manifold, stuffed between three inaccessible metal objects, turned sideways, and guarded by a dwarf with a battle axe. Meaning it's nearly impossible to get to it, which is bad, because the thing can get plugged up with oil, and if that happens, it can cause the pressure inside the crankcase to get real high, and it can cause the engine seals to pop out and leak oil everywhere. Which is exactly what happened to me.

I wasn't sure it was a plugged up flame trap, though. But I figured I would go ahead and check it, and also install a kit to move the hateful thing up onto the topside of the engine where it will be easier to change out in the future.

After much wrestling and mild oaths, I did manage to get it free, and sure enough, the thing was nearly completely blocked. The photo below shows the old one on the left, and the new one on the right.

flame trap small.JPG

The old one used to be the color of the new one. This shows just how blocked up it was--I have a feeling it hadn't been changed in about 100,000 miles or so. And to be something that only costs about five bucks, it sure has wound up costing me a ton of money.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:33 AM | Comments (9)

July 10, 2006

About those tires...

Reba called me Friday, at work, to drive over to her office because she thought her tire on the back passenger side looked low. Aside from being a tremendously good cautionary tale about making sure your daughters grow up knowing something about cars, the visit didn't tell that much. Possibly because I only did a drive-by, because I was quite busy at the time. But in any case, I drove by, and both the rear tires looked exactly like tires, at least from the driver's seat of the van.

Fast-forward to Saturday morning, where I was called upon to perform a quick visit to the grocery store to pick up something, and when I came back out, the sunlight was hitting the back passenger side tire in just the right way, and WHOA! She's driven the tread off of them! Part of this is that these were the tires that had been on the front before I got those changed out, but still, I sure didn't remember them being in THAT bad of a shape. But they were.

Got home and unloaded and then headed up to Sam's Club, waited an hour and a half, and then lightened my burden of filthy lucre by $108.

::sigh::

At least Sam's on a Saturday morning is a very interesting place...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:20 AM | Comments (4)

One hundred forty dollars in cash,

two ties, a dress shirt, a dress belt, ten pairs of socks, the Steve Martin version of the Pink Panther on DVD, a Celtic Woman CD, a wide assortment of cards (including one from the kitten), and two tires for the back end of Reba's car. And for me, from me, a new video camera!

Yes, that's right--I have once again managed to cheat death for another year and arrived upon the 44th anniversary of my birth yesterday. I have to tell you--although I do enjoy the presents and stuff, 44 just isn't one of those real banner-type celebration milestones. It's more like a quick stop at the highway rest area, and even then, it's not even one of the particularly nice ones. Stop, pee, stretch, look at the old brochures, and get back in and start driving again. All good things, obviously, but not quite like getting to the hotel and turning on the air conditioner.

Maybe it would have helped to have a cake--for some reason, there was no sugary, flaming remembrance of my nativity. I blame myself for not stopping and getting one this weekend. I mean, I had to go by Sam's twice--once for the tires, and again that evening to purchase my camera (and no, I don't know why I didn't get it the first time, other than wanting to shop around and see if I could get a better deal. Which was impossible to determine, seeing as how no one else sells this particular model.) Anyway, I might decide to fix the problem by stopping today on the way home from work and picking one up. And dern it all, I'm going to make sure it has the full complement of candles--none of this one, or three, or two "4" numerals--I want a conflagration!

Eh, or not.

As I said, hard to get particularly worked up about the second 22nd.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:26 AM | Comments (13)

July 07, 2006

Okay, well, maybe next week will be a bit more calm.

Or not. We'll all find out together, I suppose. As for now, I'm going to do some more clean up, then turn out the "Open" sign, lock the door, and head home.

All of you have a great weekend, and I'll see you on Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:48 PM | Comments (0)

Entertainment!

BOOKS--One of the other loose ends of minutiae with which I feel compelled to burden you with is that I did finish up my David McCullough book 1776 while away. Turned out better than I thought the first chapter would indicate. After that brief bit of barely disguised politicking, the rest of the book was relatively straightforward, although the pains to which McCullough goes to collect sources to represent our current addiction to the concept of "diversity" are sometimes distracting.

But overall, it was a breezy and relatively good overview of a crucial year in our history, at least in the pop-culture history genre of books. It lacks breadth in that it does little to address events or persons not directly related to Washington or his adversaries. International events and intrigue, especially between Congress and the French and Dutch are barely even mentioned, nor are strategic events outside of Washington's theater of operation, including the very important naval war. But a more comprehensive look at these would necessarily create a more dense and less easily read (and sold) book.

Although I realize the book's audience is probably intended as more casual readers, I do have a big quibble with the lack of maps. There are a couple of photos of historic maps, but it would be nice to have accurate maps--something large and clear enough to be of some actual use, rather than merely as pretty pictures. This is especially true given some of the detailed descriptions of troop movements in the seige of Boston and of the Long Island campaign. If the audience is not expected to be history buffs, all that talk of how big and long defensive positions are is meaningless without good maps.

Next up is a book I'm reading about secret weapons in World War II. I can't remember the name of it at all.

MOVIES--I took Jonathan and Catherine to go see Cars Monday, and I have to tell you, if you're a car nut, go see it. The kids enjoyed it immensely--even Catherine, who sat through the whole thing without having to hit the restrooms. The scenery is very nearly photographic, and quite clever in incorporating every possible automotive theme, as well as a host of inside jokes and voice-over cameos by various racing and media types.

It's almost crass to talk about the storyline being a bit contrived--I mean, let's face it, it's a cartoon movie with cars who act like PEOPLE--but still, if they were people, the story would be a bit on the predictably hokey side.

Still, there is a moment when Doc Hudson (a '51 Hudson Hornet, voiced by Paul Newman) is alone out on the edge of town at a big dirt path out in the desert, and he's trying to figure out if he still has some of the old spirit of his youth. After a few wheezing stumbles, the sound of a roaring Twin-H Power flathead six comes booming out of his tailpipe, and I swear to goodness it made the hair on my neck stand up and a tear come to my eye. It's even happening as I'm typing this--there is just something alive and visceral about cars that the animators were able to capture. Aside from the whole idea of "movie" and plotline and the peculiar suspensions of disbelief that must be undertaken to enjoy the picture, THAT one moment in that one scene was worth the whole price of admission. Put it on your gotta see list if you're an adult who loves automobiles. If you don't like cars that much, and don't get the whole racing deal, well, you might as well skip it.

The other movie I saw was one we've had on DVD at the house for a while but I hadn't watched. And the odd thing is, until I actually DID unwrap it and watch it, I could have sworn I'd seen it before--Zorba the Greek. I don't know if I've just seen so many different pieces of it over the years or what, but I truly thought I had seen it before. Well, I hadn't, but now I have, and what an interesting and offbeat movie. Seeing as how I haven't looked, I don't know quite what audiences must have thought about it in 1964, but I can't begin to imagine that anything similar could ever be made in today's movie industry, unless Zorba is played by Johnny Depp, and Alan Bates' part is played by Adam Sandler, and the widow is Reece Witherspoon, and it all happens in SoHo, and the hotel where Sandler stays is owned by a highly flamboyant gay man played by someone who's not really gay, but can gay up the place with great gayness, and Adam Sandler is writing a book about farting, and needs Zorba to help him test out recipes, so they use the hotel's kitchen, which Zorba (Depp) was able to swing by romancing the gay owner, and in a wacky series of events, widow Witherspoon comes into the restaurant, orders something, and gets terrible gas and meets Adam Sandler on the way to the ladies room and they fall over each other and there's a food fight as well as a sudden outbreak of flatulence amongst everyone in the restaurant, and he realizes he loves her but before he can ask her to marry him, she dies, or so he thinks, but she's only doing that to keep from breaking his heart because she's actually in love with a poor Long Island shepherd boy (played by Orlando Bloom), and by faking her death she's only trying to spare herself from deciding between them, until the day of the funeral, when the poor shepherd boy and the author meet, and in an increasingly noisy confrontation begin hurling insults and farts at each other, until Reece Witherspoon has had enough and declares her love for Zorba. Then there's a big wedding on a cruise ship to Greece, and someone falls in a fountain, and everyone laughs genially.

Well, this movie was nothing at all like that, which is why I was so intrigued by it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:57 PM | Comments (4)

Vacation Photos!

HEY! Quit yer groaning!

I'm going to put them down below in the extended entry so you don't have to be thrilled by them unless you absolutely want to be.

SO, here's the route along lovely I-59 going toward Gadsden--

setting out.JPG

--and here is my lovely co-pilot. She sure is cute.

shotgun rider.JPG

There are kids in the back, I guess.

As I mentioned, the cabin was right off the commercial strip in Pigeon Forge, but the view out the back was of nothing but trees. It was very pleasant, and I spent a good many hours out there just sitting and reading.

back porch view.JPG

The picture above was taken on Monday, which was the rainy day. The rainy day that "we" decided would be perfect for shopping.

rain.JPG

This is all of us, having fun shopping. Whee.

shopping.JPG

Tuesday was great--as sunny as the day before had been cloudy.

This is as we entered the park for our daytrip--

smokies.JPG

--and here's a view overlooking Gatlinburg.

gatlinburg view.JPG

On to Clingmans Dome, and a view of the tree kill on the way up and further on up the summit:

tree kill.JPG

clingmans 2.JPG

And here are the children after we got up to the top, before making the final dash up the spiralling ramp to the observation deck. They seem to have made it fine, although we did stop at every bench on the way up.

clingmans dome.JPG

It's only a half-mile trail, with a 330 foot vertical rise, but, boy, I tell you what, it seemed a LOT longer. But at least I wasn't pushing a guy up it in a wheelchair like one family I saw. A couple of young strong sons managed to push their dad all the way to the top. That takes some doing.

For any of you who've ever been through the Smokies, this scene is nearly ubiquitous. Nothing quite like driving with the windows down and listening to the water rushing by, except possibly having to listen to children complain about being cold or hot or both.

mountain stream.JPG

On to our picnic, then back up over the divide and back down to Cades Cove. Still a beautiful day, and as I mentioned, the place was pretty well eat up with whitetails. Here was one browsing right beside the van--

cades cove deer.JPG

--and here are a couple of more on down the trail a bit.

cove deer 2.JPG

Hard to beat a view like this:

cades cove.JPG

Anyway, that's about it for the slide show, although I did manage to capture one more shot of my bride before we left out on Wednesday morning. I'm not sure she was in much of a mood for it, seeing as how the children were being themselves, but I took it anyway because I think she's cute.

rrrowl.JPG

So, there you go.


Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:33 AM | Comments (2)

Other catch-up items...

Well, one thing I found out about when I got back was that ol' Rob Smith had gone on to his reward. I had corresponded with Rob on several occasions, and despite his blog persona as a person of profanely irreverent vulgarity (or vulgarly irreverent profanity, or irreverently profane vulgarity, or whatever), he actually was a man of principle and more decent than 90% of the people filling church pews on any given Sunday. And even when he was steeping in a kettle full of liquor, he could still write better and funnier than authors who'd sold shelves full of books. He was a complicated fellow, and I can't say that I will ever understand everything about him or why he made some of the decisions he made, but whatever he was, he was with no apologies. Guys like Rob don't come around in this world often, which some of you might find comforting. But when you need help, the Robs of the world are who you want on your side--no greater friend, no worse enemy.

In other items of interest that I missed, there was the conviction in Federal court of one of our former governors, and the founder and former CEO of one of the nation's largest healthcare and rehabilitation providers. From all the various news reports I've read since then, it seems that the jury understood their charge very well and weren't swayed by all the irrelevant grandstanding and preaching by the defendants. I was a bit perplexed that the other two defendants walked free and clear, but again, given what is being reported in the paper, it wasn't an arbitrary decision by the jury but one based on actually trying to get things done. They did their job as well as anyone could, it seems, and should be commended.

I thought it was interesting that the jurors opened each day of deliberations with a prayer--I have to believe that this has at least been talked about on the defense side as a possible issue on appeal--not a good reason, but just something to argue about to say that the jurors were unduly influenced by emotionalism rather than by evidence. Of course, I can't imagine that the defense would actually go forward with such a ploy, given how they portrayed themselves as being some sort of quasireligious civil rights martyrs right up there with Dr. King. But you never know.

I do know that after the verdict, both Siegelman and Scrushy made the rounds of all the local news shows and jabbered to the newspapers in a series of remarkable displays of petty bitterness--the same jury that Siegelman expansively claimed wouldn't even give him a parking ticket was now a group of people who were misled and not able to see through the prosecution's weak case. Make up your mind, there, Sparky.

I thought this Siegelman quote was precious:

[...] "If I'm in trouble for this, every public official who has ever taken money and appointed that person to a board, agency or commission is up the creek without a paddle" [...]

As a taxpayer in the State of Alabama, all I can say is "good." Bring it on, and faster please! I'm not sure if Dandy Don actually thinks Alabamians WANT their elected representatives doing business they way 'it's always been done,' but I know I don't.

ON THE INTERNATIONAL SCENE--Boy, that Kim Jong-Il is one weird, creepy little dude. Therefore, I figure there is approximately a 98% chance that Cindy Sheehan will be seen at some point in the coming months snuggled up by his side to issue a joint denunciation of that lying King George McHitlerburton.

In immigration, this odd article from the Christian Science Monitor. Being that the media seem to have given up on even pretending to be dispassionate, this little hatchet job is intended to do nothing more than promote knee-jerk opposition to ANYthing President Bush does or says, using the old trick of comparing a predecessor's success to today's seeming lack. BUT, the paper goes to far as to promote something that were it ACTUALLY to be proposed by the Bush Administration NOW, would cause the self-same paper to explode into a cannonade of confetti about how evil and vicious and lying and wicked and lying and evil and racist the whole Bushco gang is. Read the article--is the CSM's writer ACTUALLY advocating that the U.S. embark on Operation Wetback 2?

[...] Influential politicians, including Sen. Lyndon B. Johnson (D) of Texas and Sen. Pat McCarran (D) of Nevada, favored open borders, and were dead set against strong border enforcement, Brownell said. But General Swing's close connections to the president shielded him – and the Border Patrol – from meddling by powerful political and corporate interests.

One of Swing's first decisive acts was to transfer certain entrenched immigration officials out of the border area to other regions of the country where their political connections with people such as Senator Johnson would have no effect.

Then on June 17, 1954, what was called "Operation Wetback" began. Because political resistance was lower in California and Arizona, the roundup of aliens began there. Some 750 agents swept northward through agricultural areas with a goal of 1,000 apprehensions a day. By the end of July, over 50,000 aliens were caught in the two states. Another 488,000, fearing arrest, had fled the country.

By mid-July, the crackdown extended northward into Utah, Nevada, and Idaho, and eastward to Texas.

By September, 80,000 had been taken into custody in Texas, and an estimated 500,000 to 700,000 illegals had left the Lone Star State voluntarily.

Unlike today, Mexicans caught in the roundup were not simply released at the border, where they could easily reenter the US. To discourage their return, Swing arranged for buses and trains to take many aliens deep within Mexico before being set free.

Tens of thousands more were put aboard two hired ships, the Emancipation and the Mercurio. The ships ferried the aliens from Port Isabel, Texas, to Vera Cruz, Mexico, more than 500 miles south.

The sea voyage was "a rough trip, and they did not like it," says Don Coppock, who worked his way up from Border Patrolman in 1941 to eventually head the Border Patrol from 1960 to 1973.

Mr. Coppock says he "cannot understand why [President] Bush let [today's] problem get away from him as it has. I guess it was his compassionate conservatism, and trying to please [Mexican President] Vincente Fox." [...]

General Swing's fast-moving campaign soon secured America's borders – an accomplishment no other president has since equaled. Illegal migration had dropped 95 percent by the late 1950s. [...]

While Congress debates building a fence on the border, these veterans say other actions should have higher priority. [And seemingly so does the author of the piece, seeing as he voices absolutely no counterbalancing arguments. Ed.]

1. End the current practice of taking captured Mexican aliens to the border and releasing them. Instead, deport them deep into Mexico, where return to the US would be more costly.

2. Crack down hard on employers who hire illegals. Without jobs, the aliens won't come.

3. End "catch and release" for non-Mexican aliens. It is common for illegal migrants not from Mexico to be set free after their arrest if they promise to appear later before a judge. Few show up. [...]

Oh, I have no doubt these things would work just as well as they did back then, if the Democrats we had today were the same as Democrats back then, and if Mexico was as open to allowing us just to run buses over their border full of deportees as they were in 1954, and the news media could be convinced that dealing strongly with illegal immigration is more important than trying to make the sitting President look like some sort of idiot-savant evil genius, and if the United Nations was composed of something other than masses of tinpot dictators intent on destroying America. But today's Democrats are different. Mexico is not only NOT going to let us undertake mass deportations by allowing its citizens to be forcibly returned deep into their territory, they have been doing all they can to get people to COME here. The news media? Please. Look at how they have treated the situation so far--anyone want to take bets on how they would react if someone OTHER than the former managing editor of the Christian Science Monitor was plumping for the resurrection of Operation Wetback? The U.N.? Well the problem isn't just Mexico, but there are great wads of Central and South Americans who can't wait to get here from their corrupt nations, and whose countries would be loathe to have to take them back. No catch-and-release? Well, then, the only alternative if we can't drive a bus to Venezuela is to put them in prison. Where we will once again have to deal with how harsh and cruel we are for our treatment of other nations' citizens.

Hey, I don't have any answers either, but there's no use pretending that this article is anything more than just another attempt by a partisan press to poke at the current Administration.

Finally--tires. Man, how I love tires.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:09 AM | Comments (0)

July 06, 2006

Okay, that's it.

I'm ready to punch someone in the head. Hard. And then I'll laugh, and point, and say stuff like, "Hey, I just punched you in the head, hard, and now I'm laughing at you!"

And if it just so happens that it's the exact right person, I won't even feel bad about it tomorrow. (If it's just a random bystander, I might decide to apologize later on this afternoon.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:46 AM | Comments (7)

July 05, 2006

I thought...

...that today would be more or less normal. Oh, maybe "back from vacation" normal, but even that's not so bad after the first hour or so. But it's turned out to be normal only if your definition of normal is being staked to an antbed, covered in Hershey's syrup, and forced to fill out an environmental impact statement by holding a dull pencil in your teeth.

Why do people have to be so dadgummed dense? And why does their density always seem to have an inordinate impact on me?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:31 PM | Comments (2)

Worst part of being back at work?

Being back at work.

Seems that being out is a convenient way for people to dump off the stuff they don't want to do.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:43 AM | Comments (0)

Home again, home again, jiggety-jig!

Well, I’m tired for one thing. None of that “tanned, ready and rested” mess for me--I’m bedraggled and still lacking about a day of sleep. BUT, I’m not complaining. Although I am having a bit of trouble remembering exactly what all this blogging stuff is about.

As for the vacation, being that I’ve been gone so long, there’s too much to tell so I’ll just hit the high points--

Miles traveled--795 miles round trip, including one 185 mile round trip daytrip through the Smokies.

Roadkill--surprisingly few fur pies in evidence this year. And most of them were in Alabama. I seem to recall approximately 10 raccoons, 7 possums, 2 armadillos, and a variety of chewed up mammals of indistinct species. I was amazed there weren’t more up in the mountains, and it made me wonder if they do a bit more policing to keep from disturbing the tourists or something.

Car trouble--none at all. Mileage ranged from around 23 on the highway to abysmal in the mountains. (Mainly due to my keeping the transmission in second or third most of the time.) The last time I drove through the Smokies, it was with my parents in their ’74 Buick Riviera, a car of great floatiness and thirst, and I remember thinking how difficult the travel seemed on the road that crossed between Gatlinburg and Cherokee. This Odyssey seemed much more buttoned-down, and this despite the fact that I’ve never been fond of its odd handling characteristics. But it handled the tight 20mph sweepers with a full load of six passengers with great aplomb and with no fatigue on my part.

Accommodations--Very nice little modern two bedroom cabin right in the center of Pigeon Forge that was surprisingly private. It had an upstairs and downstairs and two big back porches looking out into the woods, a good sized kitchen, satellite TV (on four different sets). Only drawback was that it was at the very top of a hill, and the pool was at the very bottom of the hill. Nice and quiet, though. I am NOT impressed with the money I was charged for the cleaning fee--they need to get another housekeeping service.

Scenery--beautiful, at least the mountain part of it. The parkway from Sevierville to Gatlinburg is better looking than I recall from childhood, but still much too full of the ticky-tacky crapshack souvenir places. Exactly how many different go-kart/miniature golf places can you build in one place?! I was surprised at how many of the trees up in the higher elevations were dead--the articles I’ve read cite insect damage, various fungi, and air pollution. Cades Cove was quite beautiful, though, and on that leg of our daytrip we counted about twelve deer, two turkeys, and a mob of people who found a bear and proved their intense stupidity by setting out on foot to go get a closer look. Idjits.

Potpourri--Saw a heaping wad of Hutterites coming down the pathway from Clingmans Dome. That's not something you really expect to see. Jonathan counted motorcycles during the trip, and managed to see a total of 465 or so. Rebecca counted license plates, and wound up with tags from 37 states. Ohio seemed to be represented well. Worst drivers? Still has to be anyone coming out of metro Atlanta. It's not all Georgia drivers, but the ones that make themselves noticed most by their rudeness and unnecessarily aggressive driving all hale from Atlanta. Work on that, please.

Activities--We got in Saturday and I didn’t want to go or do anything because I was tired, but later on that afternoon we did go grocery shopping. My New York friend of Hebrew extraction might think Birmingham not so amenable to those who wish to keep kosher, but let me tell you what, you’ve never seen a more pitiful scene than the search that occurred in the Sevierville Super Wal-Mart as innumerable clerks tried to help a young woman try to find some matzah. We pick up the conversation in midstream:

She: “Matzah--it’s Jewish unleavened bread, sorta flat like a cracker?”

1st Associate: “Uh, well, it might be over in the Mexican food--hey, [name of assistant manager]--have we got any matt-so?”

Assistant Manager: “Any what?”

2nd Associate (who appeared out of nowhere): “Masto--it’s a type of Jewish crackers!”

She (quietly, and now having been forgotten by the others): “Matzah, it’s not really crac--”

Assistant Manager (to 1st Associate): “All our crackers are gonna be over on aisle 12.”

1st Associate: “Well, she said it wasn’t like real crackers and that it wasn’t over in crackers at all, and she thinks it might be in the foreign food stuff. Like Mexican.”

This conversation continued in this vein for several more minutes I’m sure, given the exotic nature of the request, but we had other things to go get.

Sunday was overcast and we stayed close to the cabin, aside from a couple of trips to church. Odd, these resort/tourist-town churches--they seem only to have a handful of regular members, and tremendous crowds of visitors. They had 275 on Sunday morning, and barely 50 in the evening.

Monday was supposed to be our day to go to the mountains, but it rained from before dawn until well into the night. So we went shopping at the Pigeon Forge Factory Outlet. Wheee. Shopping in the rain is very fun. With children, even more so. But we did find some nice plastic covers for some of our Pyrex bowls!

Tuesday was absolutely stunningly beautiful all day long, so that was our daytrip day. Up to Clingmans Dome, parked and left Reba and Ashley in the van because the former was feeling bad, and the latter somehow neglected to bring along any shoes to walk in. Hmm. Imagine that! Up to the top with the other three, looked around, and came back down. On down the mountain for a picnic stop, then on into Cherokee to buy gas, then BACK over the mountain to go see Cades Cove. Did the loop, but with it getting late in the day, we only stopped at a couple of the buildings.

Wednesday, home again. Church Wednesday night where I found that it’s probably not a good idea to go on vacation right when the new quarter starts. Thursday and Friday and Saturday? I’m not quite sure, although I think we did laundry, and we had my mom and sister over for lunch on Saturday.

Stuff I didn’t do--watch the news, read a newspaper, or look at a computer.

Lot went by while I was gone, it seems.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:19 AM | Comments (8)

June 23, 2006

I'm leeeaving, on a jet plane...

...in a Honda Odyssey--

And thus once more vacation time rolls around. I'm ready to go--I've gotten all mean and cranky and ill and short-tempered, and nothing can fix that quicker than being cooped up in a small cabin in the shadow of Dollywood with four children who want nothing but to spend every bit of money we have!

See!? I'm being snarkish and rude!

In any event, I'm looking forward to a few days away. If you get lonesome for the odd stew of possumy flavor you usually find around here, there is always the archives, which have lots of things, and some of it actually humorous, written from back when I was sometimes actually humorous. AND OF COURSE, do not neglect my friends up in the blogroll, or over on the sidebar. Just be sure and come back! Remember, it's all about me, and I need constant positive reinforcement!

As for the exact date of my return, as is my usual method, I will leave this as a secret to discourage bad people from coming to my house and breaking in, then leaving in disgust when they see what a mess we've left for them to clean up. Suffice it to say, now that we have a fierce jungle cat prowling the property, our goods and belongings should be safe. And yes, Lightning will be well taken care of by my in-laws. Supposedly.

ANYWAY, I won't be blogging again until July 5, unless I have a free moment or two. Which I'm not planning on. So, all of you have a good time without me, have a happy and safe Independence Day, and Lord willing, I'll see you on down the road.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:46 PM | Comments (5)

June 21, 2006

Stupidity,

Inefficiency, Malingering--all perfectly good reasons why I seem to have too much to do this morning!

Oh, and I think I have a touch of the chestnut blight, too.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:31 AM | Comments (10)

June 20, 2006

I wish...

...I was finished with my infernal note-transcribing.

Blech.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:43 AM | Comments (0)

June 19, 2006

Why, YES!

I DID paint the mailbox this weekend! So glad you asked!

It was also the reason for two of the three trips I made to the hardware store. First trip to go get some paint, and I fell victim to an impulse purchase because they were having some sort of early-bird Father's Day sale. All pocket knives, 20% off.

Like crack, I'm telling you.

Found a nice little Schrade Old Timer for only $7. As those who read this garbage know, I also have long carried a nice old, pre-bankruptcy, non-Chinese-made Uncle Henry in the same three blade style, although it is an inch longer. Why two almost exactly alike? As I said, pocket knives are like crack, that's why.

ANYway, back to the mailbox. While at the store, I also got some new shiny letters, and got home and started scraping and wire-brushing, and finally got most of the rust off the fancy post and the number plate. Sprayed my paint on and...

Hmm.

Well, I bought stove paint, thinking it would be just a tiny bit more satiny-finish than it was. Nope. Dead black. Now, I suppose I could have gotten out the stove polish, but it was just easier to head back down to the hardware store and get a can of shine. So, I did. Second trip of the day.

Went then to get the oil changed in Reba's car. I would do it, but it's more trouble than it's worth. Also, the entertainment value of the Express Oil Change place is hard to beat. I think I had a new kid--he didn't wash my windshield or oil my doors, and more to the point, had an odd way of checking the oil. I think he didn't realize that people can see underneath the big gap under the back edge of the hood, because when he opened it up, he searched and searched for the prop rod. That has a handy bright yellow tip so you can see it.

Then, he proceeded to rummage around under the hood looking at stuff, and managed to put too much oil in the engine. "Uhh--hey, Bay #3, need to drain one quart. Sorry! WAIT--hold on--it's reading right!"

Trouble was, he was using the transmission dipstick.

Not the one marked in big yellow letters ENGINE OIL.

He'd plunge it down in there, then read it again--"IT'S STILL SHOWING THAT IT'S RIGHT!" and shout down to his cohort in the pit. The pit man told him to have me crank it, because sometimes that will make it read different.

Cranked it, and at some point in there he realized what he'd done. He put the trans dip stick down and grabbed the engine oil stick--"YEAH, Bay #3, need to drain a quart!" The pit guy did as he was bidden and asked what happened. "I uh...uh, I'll tell you later."

I imagine he thought I hadn't seen any of this little bit of theater since my face was hidden from his by the hood, but as I said, there was a BIG gap at the bottom.

My advice to Express Oil Change? Forget the friendly Otis the Possum character, and make sure the guys doing the top side work on cars KNOW WHAT THE HECK THEY'RE DOING!

Got home and finished up the spray-paint job as Jonathan and Catherine took turns trying to get as close to me as possible on their bikes. Grr.

Let it dry for not quite long enough and started putting the numbers on. "Daddy, why are you doing that?"

"Because we needed new numbers."

"Why?"

"The old ones were all nasty looking and this looks nicer."

"Oh. You got paint on you."

::sigh::

Yes. Anyway, stuck the numbers on very carefully and now the mailbox and the surrounding patch of black grass look brand new. Time to cut grass!

Boy had already been gotten out earlier in the day before the first trip to the hardware store and had been hitched to the mower to get the front yard cut. Very nicely done--we did diagonals this time, and so the yard looks like the Detroit Tiger Stadium outfield. Sorta.

The front hadn't been bad at all, but the back yard was quite dusty, for some reason. I felt like loading up the Model T and escaping to California. What wound up happening is that it got so bad that the lawn mower actually choked down and wouldn't run. Never have had that happen before. Stopped, took out the filter, and it was as if I was trying to grow plants in there. Shook it out, put it back in, still wouldn't run. Grr.

Got the tools out and went to work trying to see if there was something in the carb. Took off the air cleaner (tearing the fragile gasket in the process), then took the float bowl off and got gasoline everywhere, including all over me. Finally finished off the grass and then went down to the hardware store for the third and final time to get a new filter which, thankfully, fit.

Then Reba took Rebecca shopping and didn't get back until 9.

"Vacation shopping," they said.

BUT, I think they probably did some Father's Day shopping, too. Sneaky girls!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:06 PM | Comments (0)

Why, yes--

I DID survive!

In fine fettle, as well.

Although there are other stories to tell, the one involving the most potential for disaster went off without incident.

Got to the high school yesterday right at noon, found my man, and found that I indeed would be required to get on the roof--but only because he needed help himself. The plan was to get up on the lowest roof in the courtyard, pull the ladder up after us, get on the next higher roof over the lobby, pull the ladder up after us, then get on the high roof of the gym. Easy, right? Especially for me, since we didn't have time for me to go home and change into my clambering-onto-roof clothing--I still had on my suit from church. (Although I did casual it up by removing my coat and tie.)

ANYway, got the 16ft folding ladder set up, up I went, over the edge, up he came, over the edge, then we pulled it up. "Now--I sure hope we don't drop it when we go to get back down, or we might be up here for a while!"

I really didn't want to hear that, even in jest.

We walked over to the lobby roof, and just as he was about to set up the ladder again, I spotted my prize, still on the lowest roof! Hooray! It had drifted all the way over the gym and landed on the backside on the roof of the courtyard. Had it drifted about ten more feet, it would have landed IN the courtyard and all of this ladder business would have been completely unnecessary. But, no big deal.

Getting down was worst psychologically, because we had to let the unfolded ladder back down over the roof edge onto the sidewalk below. One slip, and the ladder--or one of us--could follow it right down. And the bad thing was, it wasn't a long enough fall to make the ending mercifully quick--it was just far enough to where it would have hurt like a--like...uhh...like falling off a sixteen foot high roof onto concrete.

BUT, no drama. Ladder down, along with the custodian and a very grateful chubby guy in a suit. Did I mention how very much I hate getting on roofs? One of the things I absolutely hated about being in private practice was having to get up on roofs and do inspections, and I could live happily for the remainder of my days without ever getting on another roof. Somehow, I have an idea that won't happen.

After we got home last night (it was a long day) the rocket looked okay, but the film cartridge was messed up and wouldn't advance, so after much mucking about with it, I completely tore it up, meaning whatever two pictures it might have had on it are now lost.

Oh well.

At least I didn't crack my big head open.

SO--more stories of the weekend later, including such fascinating tales as Stupid Gnawing Tree Rats, Painting the Mailbox, Lawnmower Disassembly Made Frustrating, Father's Day Presents, &tc--but I have junk to get done this morning, whether I want to or not, so that comes first.

See you in a bit.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:07 AM | Comments (3)

June 16, 2006

And now?

Well, it's about time for the weekend. I don't have any idea what's going on, other than I am supposed to meet the custodian at the high school at noon on Sunday to attempt to retrieve Boy's rocket from the roof of the gymnasium.

If there is no Monday post, it means I probably fell off and did myself an injury.

All of YOU be safe, and check in and we'll see what happens!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:47 PM | Comments (0)

June 14, 2006

Doggone it.

I've gotten wrapped up doing actual paying work and can't break loose.

Maybe tomorrow...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:47 PM | Comments (2)

June 13, 2006

And even worse?

That regular ol' get together I have to attend tomorrow morning where I have to sit there at the big table and take notes and act all interested like.

Blech.

Anyway, what this means is that the usual dosage of Possumblog will be delayed until later on in the morning. You are reminded that there ARE archives, should you desire to read dusty, moldy passages that are no more insightful than the fresh ones. AND WHO WOULDN'T!?

I mean, besides sane people.

SO, off for now to go work home and work on the car some. See you all tomorrow, unless I don't.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:31 PM | Comments (0)

What's Bad

3:00 meetings. Ick.

Even worse than that are when people attend who like to hear themselves talk, thus lengthening the meeting by a factor of around 12.

It must be that neat echoey sound they hear inside their empty heads or something.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:38 PM | Comments (0)

Oh, that wasn't so bad.

It's been a while, but last evening after dropping Jonathan off at his Scout meeting, Oldest and I swapped seats and she got to practice her driving.

As I said, it's been a while, mainly because she has shown little interest in investing the necessary seriousness to the task, and the fact that after the time she took Mom with her, Mom vowed never to go with her again, leaving the pedal-gogy to me. Me, who has so much free time to go and drive around aimlessly for hours on end. With every nerve in my body stretched like piano wire. With the added tension of trying to LOOK like I'm calm and relaxed and just having a wonderful time as mailboxes and culverts jump into my peripheral vision.

But, after some difficulty pulling out of the parking lot of the Methodist church, the rest of the trip was uneventful. There are plenty of nice, low-speed streets around, mixed in with some higher-velocity sections, as well as the usual assortment of suburban dangers--bags of grass clippings at the curb, joggers, bicyclists, kids, dogs, gaggles of well-toned-and-tanned women doing their fast-walking in tight shorts and sports bras.

Okay, so the last one was more distracting to me, and it was nice to be able to leer and gawk without worrying about driving over a curb.

We stayed out for an hour and some change. A very nice evening for a drive, so much so I rolled down my window and listened to the quiet and to the shush of the tires on the wet road and felt the nice cool air. We had a rain yesterday afternoon, which was great for tamping down the dust and washing away the heat, and the trees and grass were all cool and lush. Even got her to drive down to the service station and fill up the tank, all by herself.

Only bobble was when she was having to do a driveway-assisted three-point turn, and she very nearly got herself a mailbox as a trunk ornament as she was backing up. "I WAS PRESSING THE BRAKE!" Uh, no--the brake doesn't make the engine race. Otherwise, though, she did pretty darned well for herself.

Still, I wasn't able to release the tension on the piano wires until she was in the house.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:21 AM | Comments (5)

June 12, 2006

Not only...

...did we have to get dressed up, we also had to go all the way across the county in the OPPOSITE direction to pick up Oldest, who'd spent the last couple of days with her other grandparents, so after everyone was clean and smelling good, off we went. Boy, was I sleepy. Seems a day out in the sun makes you that way. Made it to Forestdale, then made it back to Leeds, and in one of those things that rarely happens, made it exactly on time.

Very nice reception, although it was hard to seee what was going on since they had the fellowship hall lit by candles. Dim, but at least you couldn't see all the scuff marks in the walls and the torn carpet. The wedding had been on a boat on the lake, so there hadn't been room to invite everyone to that, so we all got to come to the dinner, and watch the video of the wedding.

Didn't know it at the time, but we found out yesterday that the groom had dropped the ring. Overboard. They had to hire a scuba diver to find it before the ceremony. There's probably several cautionary tales in there for those who want to tease them out.

We didn't stay long, and then it was back home and to bed for everyone.

Up early Sunday, and spent a long day doing church things. After lunch was nice--I read my paper, and we all watched old home movies. Good golly, I have gotten old.

Also, we need a new video recording device.

SOLICITATION FOR ADVICE

I think I might have already asked this question, but we need a new video camera. I don't want to do VHS tape, which I suppose leaves mini-DVD and whatever else there is out there. So, what else is there out there? What can I find that takes excellent pictures, and only costs a little bit of money? What doesn't require special batteries?

Your help is greatly appreciated.

Now then, back to the story--on back to church for evening worship, where it was my turn to lead singing. HEY! I DIDN'T COUGH! Seems like every time I get up, I get a tickle in my throat or a phlegm gusher, and neither is conducive to getting people's edification up. But, didn't happen this time, which was nice. Also, no squeakers or missed cues or beats. I wonder how all this happened at once? I'm sure it'll all get back to normal by the time my turn rolls around again.

Home, supper, and time to order my Volvo parts. Decide to get some other stuff, since I'm going to have stuff broken apart anyway, and wind up with a breathtaking bill. Well, at least it won't be as expensive as having a shop do it. What I paid for parts would only buy a couple of hours' worth of labor. So, it's all good.

Well, sorta.

THEN, our vacation plans.

I have being bugged mercilessly about where we're going, and I have resisted making any commitment until I was sure everyone had made up their respective minds about what they wanted to do.

Seems the mountains were the final choice.

For mine and Reba's family, this has always meant Gatlinburg (or Chattanooga). The idea that there might be mountains elsewhere just doesn't compute. What's a Rocky? A Pocono!? Ozark?! Huh?

So, it looks like we'll be going to the Smokies. It's been a while. We went to Chattanooga back when Reba was pregnant with Jonathan, so that's twelve years ago. The rest of the time has been the beach--or no where. Didn't get one last year due to Reba being cheated out of her vacation days. Not that I'm bitter.

Looked around a bit, and decided I'd see what there was in the way of cabins--I've never gotten to stay in a cabin before. Of course, the cabins people build nowadays should be called "cabins," and you should make little quote marks with your fingers when you say it, because they're really just nice beach houses in the mountains. Pools, hot tubs, satellite teevee, pool tables, kitchens--all the stuff that Thoreau guy didn't know about, or else he'd never have gone and made such a little ramshackle pile of junk.

Finally found one that looks nice over in Pigeon Forge, and although it was more than I wanted to spend, it's nice to have something a bit more private than a hotel room.

Sorta hard to see the beach from there, though.

Anywho, that there's the weekend for you.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:04 PM | Comments (6)

Rocket Boys. And Girl.

Got home and de-sweated a bit. (And yes, I did remember to stop at the store on the way back and get Ritz crackers.) Time to assemble the rocketry!

Now, both of them are the fancy premade types with hickeymadoos and thingamajiggers on them to make kids want them more. Back when I was young, just having stuff that could blow up was enough, but nowadays, the youngsters want more. Jonathan's rocket has a little 110 camera in the nose cone that promised to take pictures from 500ft up in the air. Sorta like your own Google satellite image. Sorta. Catherine's rocket has a velocity meter of some sort to tell you how fast it went. Both had shiny metal-toned plastic fins and sparkly mylar covering the tubes. SHINY THINGS! OOOOhhhh!

Catherine's rocket. There's a story. She was with Jonathan and I in the store when we picked out his rocket back in May, and she wanted one so bad she could hardly stand it. Which I thought was kinda cool.

HOWEVER.

Once we got home that night, she would NOT leave it alone. She was bound and determined to get into that package and start messing with it, even if it was bedtime. After many times of telling her "no" and "put it UP NOW!" I finally told her if she touched it one more time, I was going to take it away from her.

Well, you can guess what happened.

"WAHHHHHHHHHHH!! I'll be good, Daddy! I won't touch it no more!!"

"HAH! YOUR DOUBLE-NEGATIVE SENTENCE CONSTRUCTION BETRAYS YOUR TRUE INTENTIONS AND THOUGHTS!"

I didn't really say that. But I did tell her she could no longer say it was her rocket, and I was going to put it in the garage, and if it never flew, well, that was just too darned bad.

"WAHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

She finally got over it, and although Jonathan's rocket package sat in our bedroom floor, she never touched it.

So, time to lift her probation.

First step was to assemble the pieces of the launch pad and figure out the mechanisms for the various doodads. Load the film, advance it, close the window, etc., etc., then figure out the speedometer on Cat's rocket. FINALLY, TIME TO GO!

We piled into the car and set out for the high school--big open spaces, no trees, no people.

Aquiver with anticipation, we set up Jonathan's rocket first--connected the leads, backed off, counted down using the NASA standard T-minus nomenclature, and

WHISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

WHOA! Way cool! Perfect launch, nice and high, even with only a B motor in it--perfect chute deployment, and recover about fifteen feet from the pad.

Now, time for Cat's!

Set the speedometer, connected the leads--she wanted the stronger C motor on hers, stepped back, countdown, launch and

AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!

It had gotten stuck on the launch rod, and after jumping a foot up in the air, it quickly fell over and skittered across the parking lot, made an abrupt U-turn and flamed out, then shot the nose cone 10 feet out the end onto the pavement.

Awwww.

Poor Catherine! She was so looking forward to getting to launch her rocket and it had messed up. I hugged her and told her it was okay, and we'd fix it for the next time. I looked it over--seems there had been a big dollop of glue on the guide loop thing, and I guess it stuck to the rod. I got that off, and we redid the wadding and parachute (which got a bit melty) and fixed the end of the tube where it got crushed a bit. New motor, set up the launch pad again, hooked up the leads, stood back, counted down, pressed the button and

SCHWISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHH!!

Yea! Another perfect flight! It went straight up, the nose cone popped off, the parachute opened right up and it only landed about twenty feet away. And the speed of the rocket was--ooops.

Seems Daddy forgot to turn it on that time. Bad Dad.

Oh well.

Time for Boy's second launch. He was using the stronger motor this time, so we got everything set, wadding, parachute, camera, contacts, leads, countdown, button and

SHHHHHUUUUUUUUUSSSSSHHHH!

Wow. I mean WOW. Incredible. I love crap like this. Very, very high and--uhhh--uh-oh--it's going over--way over toward--like a textbook illustration of a balllistic arc--toward the gym. Which was close to a couple of hundred feet away. Still climbing--finally it quit and the recovery charge ignited, blowing out the parachute and nosecone. There it goes. Slowly drifting down onto the back of the gymnasium.

"Uh. Hm. Well, Buddy--looks like your rocket is on top of the school."

He was speechless.

"It's okay--we'll get it back--I'll call the school on Monday and they can maybe get the maintenance guy to get it for us. BOY, IT WENT WAY HIGH, DIDN'T IT!?"

He was still a bit disappointed, and I don't blame him. A few puffs of wadding blew off of the roof.

"It really did go up high, didn't it, Dad?"

"Oh, sure--that was WAY COOL! Even if it did land a bit too far away from us."

"Can we go home and get the ladder?"

"Well, I think the school people would get mad at us if we started stomping around on the roof--we better let them do it, okay?"

"Ooo-kaaaay."

We packed up our stuff and got our spent motors and headed home.

"I wonder what the picture will look like!"

I just hope it snapped--it would be terrible to have yet another disappointment on top of the first!

I just got off the phone with the school, and thankfully, the lady who took my name and phone number seemed to be quite amused at the explanation of the embarrassing goings-on. Unfortunately, the maintenance guy is in Chicago for the next two days, and won't be able to look for it until Wednesday.

::sigh::

Home, and time for baths--we had us a wedding reception to go to!

NEXT: Boy, it's dark in here.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:02 AM | Comments (2)

Junkyard? No, FUNYARD!

Up early Saturday, dressed myself in my nicest slovenly duds, and saw that the children were already up and outside bothering the kitten with an assortment of bothering things.

Hmm. Bird feeders look a bit low. Got Catherine to go get me the key to the Not a Storage Shed, and we went out to fill up the tubes with seeds.

@#%$*$&@^^$~!@#%^$%@ SQUIRRELS!

For the past several years, I have been openly prideful about my Heath bird feeders. They have been, up until now, the only bird feeder I have ever had that were so frustrating to squirrels that they had given up on them. They are a clear acrylic tube, with a metal lid, and metal perches. I have them hung from some metal shepherd's hook style poles, and the combination of thin slick metal poles, with a slick plastic tube of seeds, and metal at all the usual gnawy places has meant that although squirrels might get a few seeds, they have never been able to get in there and clean one out like they've done so many times in the past with other types of feeders I've had.

Until this past week. I had seen one fellow manage to get himself all the way up the pole and onto the feeder. Big deal. Then he'd managed to crawl headfirst down to one of the perches. Big deal. He never did get anything, because he fell off. Stupid squirrel.

Little did I know that he was persistent, and had managed after I quit watching to not only get on the feeder, and not only shimmy down it headfirst, he had actually managed to hang on long enough to the bottom-most perches to reach underneath the feeder tube, and gnaw through the bottom plug!

Nice big squirrel-head-sized hole chewed into the pliable plastic bung, and not a lick of seeds inside. STUPID EVIL SQUIRRELS!

It's not like I don't leave plenty for them to eat--I set out some especially for them, and then there's the huge pile of seeds underneath the feeders that the filthy birds drop. WHY NOT LEAVE THE FEEDER ALONE AND GET THE EASY STUFF!?

Anyway, that made us be down to only one feeder, so it was time to get a couple of new ones. And I had decided to get another hummingbird feeder while I was at it. The one I got that sticks to the window doesn't seem to be working too well, so I thought I'd get another bottle type to hang up. On the other plant hook I'd taken up and put in the back several weeks ago.

Which was--gone.

I had stuck it in the ground beside one of the other feeder poles, and now it was gone--so it seems I have STUPID THIEVING SQUIRRELS and STUPID THIEVING NEIGHBORHOOD KIDS.

Why? Why would they take THAT of all the interesting stuff they could steal? Little idjits.

So, a pole, and some feeders, and some seeds. And some Ritz crackers for Reba.

No matter how mad I was at the squirrels and juvenile delinquents, I was still about to get to go play. And not only that, when I got home, I was gonna play some MORE! Jonathan had gotten a model rocket for his birthday (and Catherine gotten one for his birthday, too) and so I told him when I got back we'd all go and fly them. SUCH FUN!

But first, my fun! Because it's all about ME!

I had stopped by the auto parts store on Friday, but the counter guy wasn't really much help in figuring out which seal I needed, and they didn't have all the parts I wanted. I decided just to order them from my incredibly expensive source over on the Left Coast. That way I'd know I was getting the right things. BUT, they'd take a while to get here, so I figured why NOT go play in the junkyard, right? Right!

But first, the stop at the hardware store at the foot of the hill. Hummingbird feeder, annnnd...

AAAARRRRHHHGGHHHHH!

What is wrong with Marvin's!? They only had the feeder with the PLASTIC perches! Oh, sure, it's cheaper than the one with the metal perches [and I gotta say, I think 9 bucks extra for 8 metal perches is ridiculous], but do you realize how worthless plastic perches are? Squirrels love 'em, and the birds peck them to pieces in no time.

GRR.

Well, thankfully, I had the metal perches from the older feeder that got broken, and two spares that I had because one tube didn't have all the holes punched in it. That still left me having to use two plastic perches. Grr.

And I have to say, I'm disappointed in Heath, too--they don't have the metal caps on the feeders anymore, meaning that Mr. Peanut Brain will just gnaw right through the top and have a nice meal.

Stupid squirrels. Stupid hardware store. Stupid bird feeder company.

Oh well.

Got two of the inferior feeders, and some seed, and I was off to the Pull-A-Part!

Yay.

Walked in, paid my buck, got my hand stamped, and very nearly ran out onto the yard in anticipation of much fun. Past the Japanese car section and--and--Fords? No, wait--this can't be. The Europeein' cars are supposed to be right here. HERE! Boy, it's hot. Hmm. I guess they moved them. But where?

OH NO! What if they just crushed them all!? What if all those fine hunks of junk had been unceremoniously squished, and now they were all out of them, and I had come all the way out here just to get sweaty for no reason!?

I went and looked some more. And some more. Woe is me!

Went back inside, and just out of curiosity looked on their computer inventory (yes, junkyards is now real high tech like) and there were scads of Volvos listed. I asked the goggle-eyed guy behind the counter (he looked a bit like Tim Curry) if the inventory list was right, and he said it was. Well, let's go look for row 87.

Went back out the same direction I started when I got there--ahhh--I see. Row 87 is somewhere over in the other direction. Went that way. STILL didn't see where 87 could be. Finally decided to be unmanly and ask for directions from a guy on a forklift. Seems that since I was last here, the Pull-A-Part has dramatically expanded, and the row I was looking for was way, WAY, WAY over to the other side of the yard.

I had by now wasted thirty minutes in the hot sun looking around. BUT NOW I KNEW WHERE THEY WERE, and that they hadn't been crushed! Yay!

Ahhhh, there they are!

Whew. Boy, it's hot.

I had no set item I wanted, other than to see about getting a couple of instrument panel circuit boards to see if I could finally get rid of that annoying dimmer switch/tachometer short. Uh-oh--two guys are looking at my junker! LEAVE IT 'LONE! I hate it when people start shopping in the same place as me!

Hmm. Let's see--oooooh! Rear headrest covers! It didn't occur to me that they were black vinyl instead of blue cloth. However, should I ever have my long anticipated eBay sale, they should bring a pretty penny. Which is bad, because I paid $5 for them.

What else? Oh, let's see if the Bimmers and the Saabs have any of their tools left. The BMW tool sets get gone quickly, but sometimes the Saabs will still have a wrench or two. SCORE! A pair of the orange Saab slip joint pliers, and a couple of screwdrivers!

Lalalaladee--oooh, hey. Fuses are always needed. Volvos use the old-timey fuses with exposed elements, which just seems dangerous on the face of it, but I suppose they work well enough. Lots of those available for the getting.

I wonder--do I need to get a trailer hitch? Back when they were over on the other side of the yard, there was a wagon with a factory hitch that I always thought would be nice to have. Eh. I'll wait.

What's this? Hmm--a young lady's car it seems. A student at Jeff State. An organ player at a local Methodist church. Also working at a local hospital. Got herself a speeding ticket in downtown Trussville. How do I know all this? Because she left all of her papers in the car--papers that included credit card numbers, and telephone numbers, and addresses, and Social Security numbers. Folks, please--if you are ever in a wreck, clean out your personal effects before they tow the car away, or go find it in the impound lot or junkyard and get that stuff out of there. Unless you really just like the idea of someone stealing your identity.

Well, time to pull some instrument panels. Found a couple that looked like good candidates. I now have pulled so many of these that I can pop the trim panels, unscrew the four screws, and unplug the control plugs in about two minutes. I undid the back and left the housings behind, along with the speedometers and clocks. Two reasons--I didn't want to pay for a full gauge cluster, and someone else might need those things.

Time to go--I was getting a little too rednecked, and red-armed, and I wanted to go fly my--uh, I mean Jonathan's--rockets. Paid my ransom at the counter and was on the way back home.

NEXT: YEEEEHHAAAAAAAAWWW! FIRE!!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:00 AM | Comments (4)

I...

...did not hit a lick at a snake all weekend! And doggone it, I will not feel guilty about it!

So there.

Anyway, Friday evening Miss Reba and I got a few minutes alone together and went out to eat at the Chinese buffet. Odd thing, that place. The guy who seems to be the lead cook and sushi chef (it's sort of a combo Chinese/Japanese place) was having his supper, and despite the row after row of greasy delicacies on display, he was having a sandwich. Something thin, on cheap white bread.

Hmm.

I wonder if he knows something?

ANYway, from there on up the hill to Sam's to buy some chicken salad and some croissants. Reba had agreed to make some little sammiches for a wedding reception on Saturday evening, so she decided to go ahead and get the makings.

That done, then off to pick up the young'uns from the grandparents' house, then home.

"Hey, you know what?"

"What?"

"What I could do, since you wanted to go do your car stuff tomorrow morning, is go ahead and make these up tonight, and you could take them on up to the building. Because we don't have room in the refrigerator."

::sigh::

Well, yes, I did decided late in the day Friday that I was going to just wait about tearing apart the Volvo in the driveway, and I was going to go ahead with my original plan of playing in the boneyard all morning. So, in order to do that without the dread of having to get a couple of trays of sandwiches across the county by a set time, I figured she was probably right--go ahead and take them on over on Friday night. At 10 p.m.

Of course, it couldn't be that simple. She had six more croissants than she had chicken salad to go in them. Meaning that at about 9 p.m., I had to get out and head down to the foot of the hill to Food World to get some chicken salad. Which, thankfully, they had.

After the sandwiches were finished, I was off again with them riding shotgun, along with a pile of vegetables for the vegetable tray that someone else was going to fix. They were good company, and we had a nice conversation on the way to the building. Then again, I might have just been dreaming that.

Got to the building, and oddly enough, someone was pulling into the driveway at the same time as I was. I don't think whoever it was was supposed to be there, because when my headlights caught him, he made a quick turn and exit. I hate being up at our building alone at night--all sorts of creaky sounds inside, and a lot of dark corners outside. And there was a single car out in the darkest side of the parking lot--I got out my flashlight and lit it up from the safety of the building, and it looked empty. Sometimes people will meet at the building and just take one car to where ever it is they're going, but you never know when you might have stumbled upon someone doing something illegal.

Put the stuff away in the refrigerator, locked the door back, got in the car and checked out the mystery vehicle a bit closer. Just an empty car. Well, that's a relief.

ON to home, on to bed, up early Saturday.

NEXT--Saturday is FUN day! Mostly.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:40 AM | Comments (5)

June 09, 2006

Onward, then, into that unknown land of Weekendia!

All I know is that I'm tired. Thankfully, VBS was over with last night, so maybe tonight we can actually sit down and eat our supper, as opposed to running around trying to eat and get the van loaded.

And, as I mentioned below, there will be the unsightly sight of me on the front drive of our home in our oh-so-neatly-trimmed neighborhood crawling around an oily old car while wearing a dirty tee shirt and my pair of jeans that show my heinie cleavage. And who know--I might even work on the car instead of just crawling around on it!

Anyway, all of you have a great weekend, and I'll see you Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:51 PM | Comments (0)

June 08, 2006

And here I was...

...complaining about the smell of two million burning shoes. And falling steel coils gouging hunks out of the roadway.

Now I have THIS to look forward to: Chicken waste spills on I-20/59

Get ready for a smelly afternoon commute.

All lanes of southbound Interstate 20/59 at the 31st Street exit are closed as of 3:20 p.m. today.

A tanker truck carrying a load of chicken byproducts crashed and blocked the interstate around 2:30 p.m.

Birmingham police were investigating the crash. Motorists reported the odor was horrendous.

I bet they did. Although I am disappointed Simon Cowell was not interviewed, because I'm sure he would say it was, "Horrendous with a capital H."

Anyway, dangitall. So much for my plan of not having to fight the traffic. 31st Street is in FRONT of where I usually get on the Interstate.

UPDATE: Friday morning. Silly me! The stinky chicken truck was INbound, so I got to sail through with no problems. Other than the smell. It was potent, but the upside of THAT is that it DRASTICALLY cut down on rubberneckers on our side of the road. Most of the time a wreck on one side of the road will make almost as much of a delay on the other side because people have that need to slow down and gawk. Let me tell you--no one wants to gawk when the scene includes liquified chicken byproducts.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 05:02 PM | Comments (0)

Second Wild Ride of the Day

Just now got back from picking up Oldest at Cooper Green and racing her back over to Mom's workplace. She was much less impressed by this situation than she was with the nice quiet suburban hospital at which she's also going to be working. Seems that the food wasn't nearly so good (which was provided to them free, by the way), and the place has something of a bad reputation what with all those poor people hanging around, and she seemed frustrated that the orientation person spent so much time telling people it wasn't so bad, and she doesn't know where the time clock is where she's supposed to clock in. Should be interesting to see if the experience opens her eyes any.

AS FOR THE TRAFFIC JAM--it's still all backed up out there, and I imagine it will be through the rest of the night, and maybe even tomorrow morning. Eight divots in the pavement will do that, you know. Luckily, the mishap mishappened before you get to the entrance ramp where I get on the Interstate, so it means less traffic for me! And as we all know, it's all about me.

AS FOR THE FIRE--it's smoldering now--the smoke is still hanging around, but it's not nearly so thick as it was, and has changed back now to more of a light gray color. I will say this--the smell of two million shoes burning isn't pleasant.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:52 PM | Comments (0)

Hey, I saw that!

First was the backup caused by YET ANOTHER steel coil lost from a tractor-trailer on I-59/20. I'd just gotten on the Interstate (going the other way, thankfully) and saw that the other side going east was at a dead stop.

Like the swallows returning to Capistrano, or the buzzards to Hinkley, Ohio, the regularity of falling steel coils has become something of a looked-forward-to event. Not really.

Next, when I was coming back from Cooper Green, I saw this warehouse fire. Or rather, the smoke from it. But you know what they say about smoke and fires!

I even got to drive right by the warehouse and see the firemen setting up their perimeter. Everyone else in all the surrounding warehouses were out looking too. Pretty cool, if you can call destruction of property cool. Or fire, for that matter, which is usually pretty hot. The headline of that NBC story struck me as humorous, too, for some reason--"Fire Burns In Downtown Birmingham." As far as I know, fire burns pretty much everywhere, not just in downtown Birmingham.

I just hope I don't come down with some sort of weird respiratory thing--the smoke that was coming out was a peculiar tan color. Blech. This update from The Birmingham News says it's a shoe warehouse. THE MANOLO WILL BE SO DISTURBED!

UPDATE: 1:40 p.m.--not just some shoes--one MILLION pairs of shoes. That, my friends, is a LOT of shoes.

UPDATE: 2:19 p.m.--Hey, they got pictures now. The thick black smoke would be paper and wood--the lighter-colored smoke (the stuff I saw when it was first getting started) I assume is the stuff the shoes were made out of.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:33 PM | Comments (7)

Okay, it's Mailout Thursday...

...so I have some mailing out to do, and then have to zip over to Reba's work and pick up Oldest to haul her over to the hospital for her orientation. Lots of zipping will surely follow.

I think I've mentioned it, but Oldest managed to get herself accepted as a volunteer at two different hospitals this summer, and has been helping Reba do filing at her work. I keep hoping that actual hard labor will make her understand a bit more about how the real world works. The fact that she's not getting paid aside.

So far, it seems only to have made her tired and petulant, as opposed to the more usual mode of well-rested and petulant. At least she's tired for real and from doing good things, instead of the fake weariness she would affect after a long day of playing video games in her bed.

Anyway, time to stuff envelopes!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:22 AM | Comments (0)

June 06, 2006

Okay, it's lunchtime...

...and I'm still busy.

What's up with that!?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:46 AM | Comments (0)

And good morning again!

Maybe today won't be quite so full of technical difficulties, although it will still be full of nothingness, as I continue to have to do dumb ol' work instead of playing. Feh.

ANYway, today is also primary day here in the Cotton State, so I beg those of you in your respective parties to please nominate someone with a lick of sense. However, this will require you to write in someone other than all the twits who've been filling up the airwaves.

I will say this--the term "liar" has lost all meaning. A long time ago, someone calling you a liar was cause to step outside and settle the question with weaponry of some sort. As best as I can tell, in this particular election cycle, everyone is a liar, and a big one, yet no one has called for a duel upon the public square. Obviously, part of this is because dueling has been against the law in Alabama since the early 1800s, but I think the bigger reason is truth and not-truth have become meaningless, at least amongst a certain group. The professional political class are a bunch of cowards and mountebanks who couldn't find their butt with both hands, and frankly, have no honor amongst them which could ever be insulted in the first place.

But, hey--human nature and all--it's been this way since the first caveman figured out he could impress his tribesmen and be chief when he boasted of killing more musk oxen than his opponent. And then his opponent asked how this could be when he spent every hunt hiding behind a rock. Which was answered by a claim by the first guy that he wasn't hiding, but merely stalking, and anyway, at least HE didn't wear frilly underwear and contribute to the ACLU. At least back then they had sense enough to settle it with clubs.

SO, anyway, go out and decide who I get to vote against come November!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:31 AM | Comments (9)

June 05, 2006

Glad that's over with.

The workday, that is. It was made even more harried by an early morning run to three different banks, and then a late afternoon run to go pick up Oldest from her new hospital volunteer post. Dropped her off at 7:30 this morning, and she got her orientation and ID badge and new spiffy volunteer polo shirt, and afterwards she came back here to sit in the chair across from me and listen to me type and talk to several thousand people on the phone. Between the ding-blasted blower and the ton of actual work I have to do, it has been quite a non-restful day around here.

Maybe tomorrow we can have time to play together?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:47 PM | Comments (0)

Whew.

Well, that was interesting. I had a short, pithy, bouncy little intro post this morning, and it got all eaten up by a denial of service attack upon the tiny tropical island of Niue. They've had trouble with the servers all weekend, so getting here has been a bit spotty, and I guess it blowed up real good this morning.

ANYway, I have expended my pithiness for the morning, and have now gotten myself deep into A Task That Must Be Completed, so this may be about it for the day. For those who are interested, I did change my oil this weekend. And we started Vacation Bible School last night, which guarantees I will be exceedingly tired all week.

SO, let me get back to my stuff to do, and hopefully Munu will continue to work.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:30 AM | Comments (0)

June 02, 2006

And now, on into the weekend!

Yep, another short day today. Gotta take off and get Boy over to the orthodontist for his checkup, and after that? Well, I'm a'going home and get started on cutting the grass. It came a nice rain last night (or possibly a hurricane--I heard the wind and rain blowing against the house, saw lightning flash and heard thunder, and then promptly went right back to unconsciousness) so maybe if Boy and I get a start on it this afternoon, it won't be so intolerably dusty like it was last week.

ANYway, nothing much planned this weekend other than the usual, so Monday's Possumblog might be an awfully boring read.

Or not.

Check back and see for sure, and until then, all of you have a great weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:26 PM | Comments (0)

Just one shot.

Jonathan got a tetanus booster, but that was it. I surely thought I remembered the nurse saying they were all gonna get poked, but I suppose it's another one of those things I just made up out of whole cloth.

IN ANY EVENT, the doctor's visit was uneventful, mostly. The kids are finally old enough to not require constant attention, so I could feel a little less antsy when I had one down the hall getting his shot, one in the bathroom peeing in a cup, one nekkid in an exam room, and one patiently waiting in another.

All of them are in good condition, although each of the girls is carrying too much weight. Part of it's genetics, especially for Middle Girl, who is the most active and physically fit. Oldest? Utter lack of activity. She's not really lardy, but she eschews physical activity with a vigor that, if turned into actual motion, would give her a cross-country runner's physique. Tiny Terror? Part genetics, part too much snacking. She's active as a hummingbird, though, so it could be worse.

All in all, not the worst four hours I've spent at the doctor's office.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:05 AM | Comments (0)

June 01, 2006

And so...

...after he swung at me, I really had no choice but to jab him in the throat with the butt of my pool cue, ESPECIALLY after his big ugly "girl"friend threw that pony keg at my head. She's good, too, which is why she pitches for the softball team. Did I mention she's ugly? Got a almost life-size tattoo of Antonio Alfonseca's head on her stomach. So...

Oh--wait--wrong blog.

ANYway, I have to be leaving in just a bit to take the kids to the doctor's office. Seems like in all the turmoil of the past year, what with Reba being in school and the normal frenetic activity around our house, we forgot to take them in for their annual check-ups. All of them. It's been two years, and although Oldest has seen the stomach guy some, and Catherine had to go visit the ear doctor, none of them have been seen, and from talking to the nurse, they're all due for their vaccine boosters. Gosh, this is gonna be FUN!

Not really.

We had them scheduled two for Tuesday and two for today, but the doctor was sick Tuesday (confidence inspiring, eh?) and so they all got rescheduled for today, so I'll have to go get the younger two from Grandmom's, the second oldest from home where she has kittysitting duty, and then back over across town to pick up the oldest from Mom's place of business where she's been shanghaied (or dragooned, if you prefer) to help with some menial filing duties. THEN to the doctor's office, where I anticipate the addition of at least three more gray hairs to my head as I try to make them act like they have a lick of sense. They better be good, or I'm gonna ask the nurse to let ME vaccinate 'em.

SO, I think this is going to be it for the day--it seems to have been quite a slow one today anyway, so I don't guess you'll miss me or Dr. Possum too much.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:32 AM | Comments (0)

May 31, 2006

Flowers and such.

Almost forgot to mention it in with all the cute things, but the hosta is blooming now, and so are the balloon flowers Reba planted a couple of years back. This is the first year they've really looked nice and full.

SURPRISE! KITTY PICTURE!

Bet you didn't know THAT was coming!

Oh, by the way, for something not the least bit cute, but highly functional nonetheless, here is a picture of the kitty tube playground deal I cobbled together for him to sleep in and run through and claw and gnaw on.

The duct tape on the left end was an accident. I had thought if I added on the other section of tube that was left over it would be better.

It wasn't.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:36 AM | Comments (4)

BREAKING!

Cute Kitty Alert!

Sticks are evil, and must be pounced upon.

Backyard water features are evil, and must be climbed upon.

Finally, what's cuter than a new kitten? A kitten and a little red wagon!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:45 AM | Comments (2)

As promised...

KITTY!

Here I am with the newest member of the family--

And here is a shot of his back stripe to show how he got the name Lightning--

The next one has to be placed below in the extended entry because it exceeds the Possumblog Cuteness Quotient.

More unbearable cuteness throughout the day.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:13 AM | Comments (8)

May 30, 2006

Now then...

I have to go eat lunch, and then I have to watch the reception desk since our secretary is out today. So, please don't call.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:22 PM | Comments (0)

Speaking of Cats...

I haven't really ever said much about it, but over the years, I have actually had a bunch of cats.

Let's see--there was Trouble, a tiger-striped cat of a fascinatingly wicked disposition that was our first cat. My sister sneaked him into the house and kept him in her room for a day or two before being found out. He hated having his stomach rubbed, which meant he got his stomach rubbed often. I also was chasing him one day in the yard while we were playing, and he stopped dead in front of me and I couldn't stop, which resulted in me stepping on his head. He was very woozy for several days afterwards.

After he went to cat heaven, there was Sylvester, who was black and white like his cartoon namesake. His claim to fame was terrible gas. He was joined at some point in there by a little orange cat we called variously Caesar, Squeezer, and The Baby One. Baby One got squished under my mom's car, breaking his back leg and taking off most of the hide. After many ruinous vet bills, he was as good as new, although he never got any bigger than he was when he was run over. Both of them managed to find out that the highway was much less forgiving than the driveway.

Next was Hildi, a gigantic fluffy black cat that we had after we moved away from the highway. I don't know whatever happened to her, and we later had another big fluffy black cat, but I can't remember his name.

Then there was Fanny, who was my sister's cat. She came from US Steel before my dad got laid off, and we thought she was beige. She was just dirty. Actually snow white. My sister lugged her all over several states, and loved her dearly. Unfortunately, when she moved back to Birmingham, the dogs in her neighborhood loved Fanny, too. A bit too much.

Meanwhile, back at our house, there was the inimitable Booger. So named because when we got him he was such an ugly gray rat-looking thing that it prompted me to say he was an ugly little booger. Booger grew up into one of the finest looking cats I have ever seen, though. He looked a bit like a Russian Gray, and although he was probably the most affectionate cat we ever had, he was also the meanest, toughest, strongest thing I've ever seen. Not an ounce of fat--a solid fifteen pounds of muscle. Our dog Wendy doted on him constantly, and he stayed around the longest of them all, but he wound up running away after Reba and I got married and we all [mom, dad, child, cat, dog] moved to Irondale together.

There are actually a few more in there, I think, but I can't remember them now, and my sister has had a few more as well, and she has two right now--Coco and Rocko, who are big fluffy oddities.

Anyway, I suppose all that was to say that I know how cats can be, and I just hope the kids won't have quite as much heartache as I've had over the years when a favorite friend is no longer around. I suppose that's one of the reasons I've been so hard to convince over the years to get another pet after both Booger and Wendy disappeared--it just hurts to lose them, and I guess I don't want the kids to be upset about such things.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:08 PM | Comments (2)

Oh, and by the way--

For anyone who thinks that little fluffy kitties aren't appropriate for someone of my incredible manliness to have around the house, I warn you that our kitty has been outfitted with a 20mm Gatling gun AND a grenade launcher. And I intend to keep him doped up on catnip all the time. So watch it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:47 AM | Comments (0)

Movies!

We watched a lot of movies this weekend, mainly because Rebecca was determined for us to have at least one, but more preferably, fifty-eleven dozen family movie nights.

Friday night (no, you CAN'T bring the kitty in the house) was Hoodwinked. Nicely animated, there's a story somewhere in here of a bad guy who's trying to drive out all the bakery and goody shops in the forest, and the police are called after one particularly COPS-worthy interaction between four of the characters. Each one has a different viewpoint, and we get to go back and follow each one through the course of events and see where the misunderstandings take place before finally figuring out who the REAL bad guy is. Lots of sight gags, which the kids loved, some funny asides, but no real good reason for the story in the first place. Oh, and it's a musical. Great animation, some funny bits, no story. Eh. I liked it because we all watched it together.

Saturday night (no, you CAN'T bring the kitty in the house)--Yours, Mine and Ours, the remake with the handsome Quaid brother. Widowed Coast Guard admiral has eight kids, goes to Connecticut, meets up with former high school sweetheart who is widowed and has ten kids, marries her then they tell the kids. Hijinx ensue, along with lighthouse renovation. Kids hate each other, decide only way to get out of mess is to break up parents, finally manage it, decide they like each other after all, then have to get parents back together. As with all movies in the giant-family dramedy genre, there are ample scenes of small children run amok, things falling, food fights, spilling paint, and adults falling in water. Eh. I liked it because we all watched it together. The original version was somewhat better, in that it didn't resort to quite so much slapstickery, but even the original has never been on my list of "Gotta Watch it a Billion Times" movies. Best bet is to check out Helen Brandmeir Beardsley's 1965 autobiography Who Gets the Drumstick from your local library. Oddly enough, very little in the way of thrown food.

Sunday night (no, you CAN'T bring the kitty in the house)--The Perfect Man, the Duff-Locklear movie of last year in which Locklear is an emotionally disturbed baker of some sort who manages to have enough money to move her entire household around the entire country every few weeks when she decides she's ready to dump the guy she's with. Of the three movies Rebecca picked, my absolute least favorite due to the absolutely inane plotline and the fact that it has scrunch-shouldered Hilary Duff in it. Oldest squealed all the way through it. Figures. Not recommended unless you like being assaulted by stupidity or spending an hour and a half cringing. Heather Locklear looks okay, though.

AND THEN, yesterday we went to the theater and saw Over the Hedge, which includes two possums in the cast, the daddy version being voiced by William Shatner. It was pretty cute--little forest creatures (squirrel, porcupines, possums, skunk, tortoise--none of which actually hibernate) hibernate in a log during the winter and awake to see that they are now hemmed into a suburb that got built while they were asleep. Bruce Willis is trying to find and return a bunch of junk he stole from a bear so he won't get eaten, and enlists the other critters to help him steal stuff from the humans. Hijinx, once again, ensue. Great animation, lots of sight gags, pokes fun at various things liberals poke fun at, but overall worth seeing. And it includes an odd take on the old Pepé Le Pew cartoons. I'd give it 3 1/2 out of 5 curly possum tails.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:53 AM | Comments (5)

Okay, well, first things first.

Yes, we now have a kitty.

Ashley's teacher brought it over Friday afternoon, and Rebecca let her come into the house with it. Thankfully, the lady didn't break her neck falling over the piles of toys in the floor.

We had him already set up with his own giant playpen (i.e., cage) for the back porch, and Rebecca spent the rest of the afternoon until we got home holding onto him. And making her eyes red. I think she's mildly allergic to cats--when the people who used to live next door would let their cat out, Rebecca would play with it and then get all itchy-eyed. I think it would probably help if she'd quit rubbing her eyes with the hand she rubs the cat with, but hey, what do I know?

Anyway, we got home and all took turns holding onto the kitty, and thankfully, none of the kids (i.e., Catherine) were too rough with it, and after a while, it pretty much was part of the family.

Still no name, though. I had suggested Salmon P. Chase, famed Supreme Court Chief Justice, and former Treasury Secretary whose likeness was on the $10,000 bill. I figure any ostensibly free kitten who has so far cost me so much was deserving of a suitably moneybags name. Also, there is the idea that cats like salmon, and chasing things, and peeing. Anyway, I was overruled.

The kids kept coming up with stuff, but it is Ashley's cat, so she was the one to name it.

He's sort of a mottled cafe au lait color on the top and sides, over white. He's got white and light brown rings on its tail, stripes and spots on its sides, and a wide branching white streak on its back. Like lightning. Thus, he has been dubbed Lightning.

UNFORTUNATELY, I left my camera at home this morning, but there'll be plenty of time for kitty pictures, but rest assured, he is as cute as a kitten should be.

The first part of Saturday I spent trying to come up with a suitable scratchy-hidey thing for him. They have all sorts of stuff at the pet store for cats to climb on, but I figured I'd alread spent enough on him. I figured a couple of sections of tubing with some carpet inside would be just the thing, so Boy and I set out for the hardware store and got a short length of cardboard concrete form tubing, then stopped at the carpet store and got a couple of discontinued (i.e., free) carpet samples.

Got the stuff home, cut a couple of segments off, expertly fishmouthed one tube so it would intersect neatly with the other at a right angle, cut a hole in the other tube, and duct-taped them together. I cut one of the carpet samples in half, put one piece in one tube, one in the other, and then wrapped some sisal rope around the outside for something to scratch on. It was a big hit with the cat set.

Sunday and yesterday, he proceded to explore, play with stuff in the flower beds, fuzz his tail up at shadows, fall over and sleep, lick his butt, jump and skitter, sharpen his claws, meow, purr, poop, eat, climb, and pounce, all repeated at two minute intervals. He's been a very good kitty so far, and hasn't seemed to be lonesome, so no late night caterwauling has been heard from him. Yet.

The kids seem to be doing okay with making sure his litter box is kept relatively free of noxious clumps, his water is nice and cold and clean, he has enough food, and that he has adequate social interaction, all of which hopefully will translate into him being well taken care of and happy even after he grows out of the kitten stage.

We shall see.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:54 AM | Comments (2)

Well, good morning!

Managed to make it through yet another weekend trial by ordeal with only the thinnest veneer of teenage torment to contend with! Hooray! Further details of the weekend to come, which included a trip to the hardware store, grass cutting, grilling, and kitty wrestling!

Exclamation point!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:04 AM | Comments (2)

May 26, 2006

My hope--

--is that I can have one weekend this month that is not filled with some kind of teenage melodrama. That's all I want. I'd like some rain so I don't have to cut the grass, but I'd take blazing hot sun if it meant the house could be quiet for once. All that garbage sucks all the fun out of me, and makes for very poor end-of-weekend blogging wrapups come Monday morning. I suppose if I wanted to, I could unload on all of you about it, but if I did that, what would I scream about when I'm by myself in the car on the way home?!

ANYway, all of YOU have a quiet and restful weekend, and I'll see you back around these parts on Tuesday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:22 PM | Comments (2)

I had to--

--sneak away a bit early yesterday afternoon to get home so I could take Oldest over to the high school. It was graduation night, and she and the rest of the choir had a song to perform during the festivities.

Got there a bit earlier than we were supposed to, so I got to do some people watching. As usual, I continue to be mystified by mamas (or worse, mee-maws) who want to look like their daughters (or granddaughters). It's not quite so bad if you can actually pull it off, but when your skin looks like baked turkey wattle, there's not much that hair dye and collagen can help with. Oh, and if your upper torso looks like you have a pair of panty hose slung around your neck with two tangerines stuffed down in the toes, I think it's probably best not to wear a halter top.

ANYway, Oldest went on in and I waited around the gate to let the early crowd of people inside, then went and asked the young fellow at the gate if I needed a ticket just to go stand over to the side, explaining that my daughter was a choir person and I hadn't been told I actually needed a ticket in the first place. He got one of the teachers, who apologetically told me I needed a ticket to get in the gate, no matter if I was sitting or standing. Which was fine. I thanked him and told him I understood, and started figuring out how I could sneak in, when suddenly I heard a shout behind me. Some nice lady had gotten in and found out that they didn't need one of their tickets--whoever was going to use it wasn't going to show up--so she let me use it. How nice of her! I thanked her and the fellows at the gate, and then went and found a seat in the stands behind where the choir was sitting.

Waited, sweated, squinted. Finally, it all started and it was a nice ceremony, and about as dignified as these things can be expected to be nowadays. It was interesting, too, in that this was the first graduating class since we became our own school system. So, a bit of history I was a part of. The choir sung their song, and I thought maybe that would be it and we could head on home.

Nope.

I had gotten up and walked down to the ground level but they all went back and sat in their chairs. Hmm. Well, I could go BACK up and sit down, but that would look goofy, so I just stood and leaned, hoping maybe Oldest would get tired and come on.

Nope.

Stayed until the recessional, but we did manage to exit before all the cars started trying to get out of the Mall area.

Oddest part?

Well, I was standing down there on the ground minding my own business, absent-mindedly looking around, and over to the side I saw some girl who I thought looked almost exactly like fellow blogger Megabeth, whom I've had lunch with on several occasions and have even hugged at least twice, but what could she be doing at Hewitt's graduation?!

And it didn't quite look like her, but then again, it did. Same color hair, but she seemed more wispy. Megabeth is very thin, but it's muscular thin, and this girl seemed less muscular, but maybe it was just because she was thirty feet away. Or not. Well, surely it's not her.

Then I noticed she was waving in my general direction, but maybe she was just waving at at someone else--I mean, there's a couple thousand people there. But, what if it IS Megabeth!? And now I've just snubbed her!? Does she think I am deliberately ignoring her? BUT--what if it's just some girl who only looks like Megabeth, and if I go over there and say to her, "Hey, Beth! I couldn't tell if that was you or not," and then she screamed at me to go away because her name was Miranda or Kellie or even Beverly, I would feel like an even bigger idiot in front of a stadium full of people who, in actuality, didn't even know I was there.

And then, she came over and stood RIGHT NEXT TO ME, almost. She had started talking to a very young girl who was actually beside me, and even when she was a yard away from me, I STILL couldn't tell if I was seeing a stranger or a friend, and I couldn't just stand there and stare at her, but then if it WAS Beth, I couldn't just stand there and continue to ignore her as if I'd never seen her before, and in either case I had gotten so befuddled I wouldn't have known what to say if I could have managed to talk. I contented myself with trying to act nonchalant and looking repeatedly over to my left to see if I could look at her long enough to either eliminate her as a possible acquaintance, or confirm that I needed to strike up a conversation.

Isn't Beth taller? Well, uhh, maybe. Or not. Does she have a tiny mole on the right of her top lip? I--uhh, I don't kn--or maybe she does. But Beth has bigger muscles, right? Well, I don't know.

Dern.

So I spent the entire time just standing there like a dimwit, and never did come to any sort of conclusion. I wrote Megabeth this morning alternately apologizing for either being a heel for not saying hello, or for being a gigantic lunatic, but have not heard back yet on exactly what I am.

ANYway, it was over soon enough, and we made our exit and headed home.

No kitty.

The teacher we were supposed to be getting it from had said she would maybe drop it off yesterday afternoon, but she didn't. Maybe this morning. Or not.

It's all very confusing.

UPDATE: Only seconds after I posted this, I found that I had a message in my inbox from Megabeth herself: "I think I am frequently mistaken for other people. Last night, I was in the car riding back from Florida, so I couldn't have been at the H-T graduation at the same time. :)"

Whew. And welcome back!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:55 AM | Comments (7)

May 24, 2006

Oops.

I forgot about a 2 1/2 hour continuing ed seminar I had today that followed hard on the heels of my morning off-campus work session, so I had to go to that, which left little time for fun stuff like blogging. Or gouging out my eyeballs with squid beaks.

Actually, not a bad set of presentations at all--one on moisture management in steel stud assemblies, one on hot applied rubberized asphalt roof and plaza waterproofing membranes, and one on direct-to-deck polystyrene insulation installation.

FUN!

Also got nice box lunch and a Barlow multi-tool out of the deal as well. Not that those multitool things are all that wonderful--I've never been fond of all-in-one universal tool things, because like a spork, they offer only the promise of the utility of actual tools. But, hey, it was free. Ish.

Anyway, my head hurts really bad now, and I still have the junk I was supposed to do this morning to do, and there probably should be some effort given to coming up with a Thursday Three.

(Topic suggestions gratefully accepted.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:01 PM | Comments (3)

May 23, 2006

Get ready.

No rich meaty possumy lumps of gristle tomorrow, since I have yet another in my never-ending loop of biweekly meetings to attend.

There is some Ramen noodle soup in the pantry if you get hungry. OH, and some beans. But the can is sorta bulging, so you might not want to eat them.

Anyway, see you all sometime tomorrow, but I just don't know when.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:18 PM | Comments (0)

Well, now--that's a new one.

When you have a last name like mine, you tend to get some pretty creative spellings and pronunciations. Unlike some people, I really don't mind all the O'Glesby, Oglby, Odlesby, Grigsby, Ogelsby, Ogleberry (Hi, Tracy!), etc., variants. I've seen them all, or at least I thought I had. Just got an invitation to a local architect's office open house with my last name spelled "Oglysby," which I have to admit is something unique.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:54 PM | Comments (7)

Remind me not to eat spicy stuff for supper.

Because it makes me dream that I've grown a luxuriously flowing mullet.

I don't really know why it manifested itself last night, although such things have been on my mind. It's been past time for me to get a haircut, and I keep seeing those annoying bristly neck hairs when I brush my hair in the back, and they look really nasty, and then Saturday we made a trip to Wal-Mart, and if you can believe such a thing, we saw a guy with a mullet walking out to his car. After we got past him, Reba said, "Now that was a mullet." And it was. And then sometime either last night or Sunday, Rebecca popped up and asked if I knew the words to Achy Breaky Heart .

"Uh, well, no--I know the song, but I can't remember the words except 'achy,' 'breaky,' and 'heart.'"

She went on to tell me one of her teachers had mentioned that it was sung by "the guy who invented the mo-uhhhm--mohawk?"

"'Mullet,' sugar--and it was Billy Ray Cyrus, and he didn't invent it, he just wears his that way to--to--well, I don't know why."

"Have YOU ever had a mo--a mullet haircut, Daddy?"

No.

At least not until sometime in the tiny hours of the night, when the effects of a highly seasoned chicken fajita kicked in.

I think it's time for a haircut.


And for Mr. Anderson's benefit, Sarah G. beat everyone to it a while ago. But I can say for certain my dream mullet looked NOTHING like this:

mulleted.jpg

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:44 PM | Comments (1)

May 22, 2006

You want to know exactly how bad I need a vacation?

I seem to have been struck--however momentarily--with a case of blinding moronicity. WAY over and above anything I've ever even thought of. I have no idea why, other than my brain is so squishy I can't keep my chronic moron disease in check.

Last week sometime, I had checked eBay for any interesting junk for the Volvo, and somehow I got sidetracked and completely by accident found someone selling an old Sears/Puch motorcycle. HEY! I remember those from the catalog!

I always thought they were cool, but you know, parents and all--they put their footses down about any glimmer of hope I might have ever had for a motorcycle, or even a minibike. Which, by the way, were also in the catalog.

Anyway, after I got on up and got my driver's license and started fooling around with cars, I never really got the bug for anything else. I have been a passenger on a friend's motorcycle exactly once, and it was rather unpleasant.

But I think what stirred the moron fever most was when I got to reading about the little Sears bike, and noted the peculiar description of the engine. Quite possibly the most absolutely ridiculous engine you could ever cobble together, it was a twin cylinder two-stroke, with a shared combustion chamber, designed back in the Internal Combustion Paleolithic era. I did some more looking around and trying to figure out this bizarre "Twingle" configuration, and after reading a bit was completely baffled and mystified as to why anyone would spend so much effort on such an odd thing.

Which, of course, seems to the be the thing that triggers so many of my flaming moron episodes. You see, I seem to be becoming something more than a mere moron--I fear I am quickly getting to the point of being a crank, fascinated by weird things simply because of the weirdness of them.

I think I need to just go sit on log for a while and not think about anything.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:06 PM | Comments (10)

Or maybe...

...I just need a vacation.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:28 PM | Comments (0)

Success.

Of a sort.

Finally got the garage cleaned out enough to get another vehicle in there. The only downside? Well, we intended to keep the van in there, and with the row of shelving on one wall, and the assorted heavy articles such as the air compressor and stationary bike in the narrow bit between the spaces, there's really not a whole lot of room to open doors and get in an out. No big deal for the sliding doors, but that passenger door in the front is pretty much inaccessible.

BUT I GOT THE GARAGE CLEANED OUT!

Couldn't throw my little worktable away, though. I figured I could put it in the far back of the yard behind the sweet gum tree, and I could use it for those times when I'm in the backyard behind the sweet gum tree and I need to put something down on a table.

I did a bunch of other stuff, too. At least I think I did. I'll see if I can remember any of it. I tell you what, this middle-age crap is awfully hard on the brain...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:19 AM | Comments (2)

May 19, 2006

On then, to the weekend.

I realize it's a bit early to be closing up shop, but I'm sleepy and that's never good for blogging, so I'll go ahead and turn off the lights and turn the Closed sign over.

Fun stuff this weekend? Grass cutting, more garage cleaning, church barbecue, and looking around at the hardware story to see if if I can figure out a way to rig up a small pen on the back porch to contain...










a kitty.

Heaven help me.

One of Ashley's teachers at school has a mama cat who had babies, and ever since then Ashley has been badgering us to let her get one. All in all, a terrible idea, especially given her inability to take care of her own room, much less an animal. "I promise I'll take care of it," she whines. And my internal monologue asks, "How!? Are you gonna throw it in the floor and kick it under your bed like you do all the stuff in your room!?"

So far, that hasn't blurted out of me, but it's gotten close.

Anyway, at least with a cat, I wouldn't have to fence in the whole backyard like I would if we got a dog, and since Oldest is going to be home some during the summer (even though she did manage to find a summer volunteer post at a local hospital, which was completely unexpected) it's not like she wouldn't be around, at least some. Of course, once the novelty wears off, and she realizes that cats are much more particular about whom they call friends, and once she's through trying to pretend to take care of it, well, hopefully it will be old enough by then to be able to fend well enough for itself.

It's still not a done deal at this time--we still have to see if the teacher has any toms available. Why? Because I'm a tightwad. It's just a whole lot easier (read "cheaper") to fix a tom than it is to open up a female.

And then there is the issue of just exactly what will be expected of the kitty's nominal owner--I am of a mind to make her sign a contract spelling out all the things she'll be expected to do to take care of it. Not that I expect compliance. It's basically one of those quixotic UN diplomacy-type deals where at least one of us goes in knowing it will get broken. There are other parties involved, though, who would actually be much better at fulfilling the terms and obligations and would dearly love to have a kitty of their own, so I figure that should give her some added incentive to uphold her part of the deal. Or not. Who knows.

Anyway, we'll just see what happens. All of you have a good weekend, and Lord willing I'll see you all back here again bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on Monday morning.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:16 PM | Comments (2)

FOOD!

And, to make lunch slightly less boring, today's repast will be conducted in the company of My Friend Jefftm and there will be the traditional exchange of car magazines. A special surprise is that this time I will be handing over a slighly tattered AutoWeek from July 7, 1998. Quite a time capsule, there!

Anyway, I'll be back after while with a bunch of stuff to talk about. Or not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:58 AM | Comments (0)

May 18, 2006

Nice thing about living to the east of where you work?

Well, if it rains about 5:15 every afternoon when you go home, you actually get a nice show with the sun low in the sky behind you as you drive toward the rain clouds--rainbows!

Saw one Tuesday afternoon around the East Lake area that went from one side of the Interstate to the other. It was dramatically bright, I suppose because of the darkness of the clouds behind it, and the colors were quite distinctly refracted. And then, another one yesterday which landed squarely upon my hometown, the Gateway to Happy Living. Same nice contrast and sharp colors, and then, in an even better show due to my change of view as I rounded the curve in the exit ramp, it became a double rainbow. Which I think is pretty cool.

Anyway...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:39 PM | Comments (6)

May 17, 2006

American Idol!

Missed it.

We had an awards ceremony last night at the high school and Oldest was being recognized for being on the A-B honor roll during her previous semester. It was nice, especially given her constant struggle with honors geometry this semester. I don't think she's going to be able to maintain that A-B grade position, although there is some good in it. We believe she has finally realized that thinking you know how to do everything and actually being able to do everything are possibly, maybe, two different things.

Yeah, I know--that's just CRAZY TALK! Obviously, the trouble must lay with her teacher, and everyone else in class, and everyone else in school, rather than in not studying.

Anyway, it was a nice event, even if it did run a bit long--started at 6:30, ended past 8:00, and the seating surface was the gym bleachers. My heavily padded buttocks began to hurt about five minutes into the feature. The school's jazz band provided pre-show entertainment. Those kids are really, really good--and an especial acknowledgement to the young lady in the trumpet section.

The kids managed to behave pretty well, considering they were all missing American Idol. Well, that is, the 50% of honorees who decided to attend, the other half apparently wanting to do something else.

Since we mentioned helicopter parenting this morning, I do have to say I found myself wishing for a bit more of that, or at least some parental input to the niceties of polite society such as suggesting that receiving an award by slouching to the presenter whilst wearing cutoff camo pants, Birks, and a ratty tee-shirt probably isn't the way it should be done. Please folks--no gum smacking, no hands rammed into pants pockets, no flip-flops, no hulking hairy legs (this only pertained to guys last night--thank heavens), no nervous hair flipping, no mouth-breathing, and none of that odd, "I'm too cool to be ashamed of how cool I think I'm being," manner of movement most on display by the boys, but also by some of the girls. Oh, and girls--or your parents, at least--believe it or not, there are some social situations where a skirt can actually be too short. Yep, believe it or not! Although our little burg has grown by leaps and bounds (Trussvegas!), it is still not Hollywood, and you are still not Paris Hilton. At least not until the grainy, night-vision video is available online.

Anywho, congratulations to all the kids and keep working hard. Dude.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:28 PM | Comments (2)

You know what's worse than a filmstrip about gingivitis?

Finding out that danged-fool Chet the E-Mail Boy fell and broke the projector, and so now we'll have to sit here and not have ANYthing to talk about! And he has the nerve to complain about his hip hurting! SHEESH!

Anyway, I only had one suggestion sent to me yesterday for a topic of discussion, from Tex who suggested: "Teen Angst! We still haven't heard about teen angst and how it associates with Mother's Day. Those are always informative for those of us beginning to rear our own Teens. :)"

Uhm. No. As I told her in a much longer and more detailed fashion, this past weekend's frivolities have not yet reached that ripeness that you wish for when you say, "you know, some day we'll look back on this and laugh." I can't review them without a great deal of bafflement and anger, so it's best not to put them to pixels. Other than to say that she's been taught better.

So, no gingivitis, and no tips on dealing with hormone-driven psychopathy.

GOOD THING THERE'S STEEVIL, famous NASA rocket scientist and trepanning aficianado, who sends along several news stories this morning.

First, from this Washington Post article about Bill Cosby's speaking tour, what Steevil describes as the "best quote by person with best name":

[...] "The coroner, Marie-Lydie Y. Pierre-Louis, issued a warning to teenagers who don't get their diploma: "There's one waiting for you at the office of the medical examiner. It's a death certificate." [...]

I wonder what the Y stands for?

Steevil also sends along this item from a Livejournalist by the handle of "holyoffice," who was so taken aback by a mainstream journalist's inability to grasp basic differences in history and theology that he wrote a very handy (although highly irreverent and sure to cause him to have to do much explaining at the gates of pearl) guide to Christianity for those in the media and the society at large who don't want to have to go to all the trouble to read large books. We wish holyoffice great success in his stated desire of using the guide as a springboard to obtaining a position as a terrible theologian at Harvard Divinity School. It is a crowded field, I have heard.

Finally, Steevil sends along this link to Dr. Helen's discussion on helicopter parents, in which he found this jewel of a quote from one of her commentors:

[…] jaycurrie said...

At the playgroup my wife takes our 2 and 5 year old to there are a lot of sub Gen-X mums wandering about in capris who go nuts if one of our boys goes outside to the fenced playground unattended. They also go nuts if one little boy points a stick at another.

One dear heart, watching her boy playing with ours in a pretty rough and tumble way, remarked to Susan, "I don't know where he gets this energy. We're against the Iraq war."

These are helos on the pad. […]

Heh. Indeed.

I think of myself more as a black helicopter parent--I think everything is a conspiracy by elements of the government to undermine my parental authority.


DING-DING-DING!! LATE BREAKING TOPIC SUGGESTION!! Thank goodness for Jordana, who is not only pregnant with a baby, but with ideas:

Assuming you weren't an architect and were considering putting an addition on your house -- how much would you spend on an architect to make sure you got a useful and attractive addition that didn't look really stupid?

And/or what do you do when you and your spouse disagree about what looks stupid?

OOOoooo--good question, which deserves its own entry. Give me a minute and I'll be right back. I also have to get a heating pad for Chet so he'll stop moaning.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:10 AM | Comments (0)

May 16, 2006

Well, now.

About that time, and in one of those twists that just makes me shiver with disdain, I have to come in early tomorrow for an orientation session with some new members of the regulatory board I help staff. YAY! FUN!

Anyway, blogging will necessarily be delayed because of it.

IN THE MEAN TIME--you are welcome to submit suggestions for topics you'd like to see covered on Possumblog tomorrow. Because, you know, I have no topics left in my brain at the moment. So, it's either make some suggestions, or we'll be stuck with watching that educational filmstrip on gingivitis.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:07 PM | Comments (1)

Pretty!

At the recommendation of the hip, savvy, and actively-lifestyled Megabeth, we shopped among the Fossil brand goods Friday night, and this is the watch we wound up getting for the lovely Miss Reba for Mother's Day.

Except hers has a blue dial.

And the date.

Okay, so it's not the exact one, but it's close.

Ish.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:34 PM | Comments (8)

Well, bless their hearts.

Have you ever gone to an establishment, and been slightly backed up for time, and you'd really like just to get in, find what you need, buy it, and get out again in about five minutes?

And then, when you get to that establishment, you find that the staff is incredibly solicitous, and helpful to a fault, and thoughtful, and dutiful. And not particularly concerned about time per se, except in the concept of time as determined by something such as, oh, maybe a well-crafted sundial, made from a carefully whittled birch twig, but the carving of which first requires a lengthy explanation of the sun, and the earth, and the safety required of whittling, and of finding true north by using a compass and a set of small pebbles and a matchstick (matchsticks which are also made of wood, by the way), and then taking all those constituent parts, and building a device to accurately determine the time of day (within a tolerance of plus or minus two, or possibly two and a half, hours), and by which time as you've built your sundial, you find that the light of the sun is now so low that your sundial can no longer can be read, so you decide to build a cozy campfire and await the dawn to try it out, and in building that fire you must learn about combustion, and wood (of course) and safety with fire (of course) so that it is a good fire, and hot, and not one to cause a roaring forest fire, which would be terrible because it would probably mean not being able to test the sundial the next day because of having to flee the fire.

But, how could anyone be so mean and brusque as to remark about this deliberateness to someone? There's no use pointing out that the shirts are right there, and they have sizes conveniently printed on the label. And on the hanger. And the rack has those little size wheels around the bar. And that the shirts are all neatly arranged, unlike those you might find in a department store. Likewise the shorts. And the socks. And the caps. Why, that would just be crass to even think that possibly you could make your choices more quickly without such helpfully helpful help.

It's best to just allow nature to take its course. Like a mighty glacier rushing headlong down a crevasse at a blinding millimeter per decade, it is best to stand aside and not worry about being a half-hour or hour late back to work.

And just pray that the stuff doesn't have to be returned.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:46 PM | Comments (3)

Now then...

...a return trip to the Scout Store--this time, with measurements in hand and written down on a piece of paper. Of course, it would be easier if I had the actual Boy to try this stuff onto, but we measured him last night and I think we might be able to figure it out this time.

Maybe.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:35 AM | Comments (2)

Pretty Shiny Shelves!

Noted university professor Dr. James Smith comments: "Will you please tell us more about the shelves? I’ll be in the market soon."

Indeed so!

Knowing that I needed something sturdy and of high quality, I nonetheless opted to purchase something flimsy and of a quality so low it could have been manufactured in a Chinese factory making DVD players.

They came from (where else) Wal-Mart. I needed something similar to the ancient set of shelves we already have, so I got a couple 12 inch deep by 58 inch high, five-shelf bolt-together jobs that are to thinness what Jabba the Hut is to fatness. Were I to guess, I'd say they were probably 32 gauge. BUT, due to physics and strength of materials, once they got all bolted together (with help from Jonathan and Catherine) they were more than sturdy enough for what I needed them for. The only bad thing was that they leaned away from the wall, because the garage floor slopes away from the wall at the exact angle at which they were leaning, causing me to have to run to the hardware store for some wood wedge shims. Which really also need to be put under the old set of shelves, too.

SO, there you are!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:15 AM | Comments (2)

In other exciting news....

...I assembled shelves Saturday!

Shiny new shelves, and they have STUFF on them now! The other side of the garage is ALmost cleaned out. Stuff left to do something with include my little homemade workbench constructed of half of a door and the legs from our old picnic table that my mom and dad had at our old OLD house back about 1970 or so. It also has a small bench vise on it, and you know, the legs have great sentimental value, so it's difficult to get rid of it. But it doesn't really fit in the garage. Might have to figure out a different legging strategy.

The other things include my folding drafting table, my portable drafting table, my big tank-style air compressor, a bunch of old pictures, two big ice chests, and two wrought iron mailbox posts my father made by hand. The rest of the heavy iron stuff has once again been squirreled away for safekeeping lest anyone try to steal it, give themselves a hernia, and sue me for damages.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:19 AM | Comments (3)

The President's Speech on Immigration

Well, I missed it. First I had to get Boy's application turned in at the Scout's clubhouse (he missed the meeting because he didn't finish his homework), then had to choke down supper and then run to Wal-Mart to return a cheapo DVD player we'd gotten for Oldest on Saturday to replace the Magnavox DVD player we got her at Christmas that was either A.) defective and gave up after a five month fight, or B.) was the victim of abuse and/or stupidity. The SECOND DVD player (of some Chinese extraction) that we got Saturday quit working Sunday because it was either A.) defective and gave up after a five hour fight, or B.) was the victim of abuse and/or stupidity.

So, I ran up to Wally World last night during a very important presidential address and exchanged the second DVD player for a third one of the same inexpensive Chinesiness.

Got it home, made sure it worked, settled in to watch the Jack Bauer Show, annnnd

"DAAAAD! IT'S NOT! WORKING!"

::sigh::

Not even five minutes of use. I would hate to suppose this was the result of abuse, being that it would be hard to abuse anything that much in only five minutes, so I'm praying it's just bad luck with junky Sinoelectronical machinery.

As for immigration, you have to wonder what sort of cesspool Latin America must be if this many of its citizens find their only alternative is to leave their homes and risk imprisonment, injury or even death to find a menial job hundreds or thousands of miles away to support themselves.

For all the illegal immigrant advocacy groups, have you ever thought about advocating for freedom and prosperity in your constituent's home countries, rather than complaining about the treatment they receive on our shores? Or, maybe, start encouraging your brothers and sisters to emigrate to the new workers' paradises of Venezuela and Bolivia, where they would be welcomed with open arms. Right?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:46 AM | Comments (3)

Hello?

OH! Hello--didn't realize there was anyone left around here. Sorry about yesterday, but it was wall-to-wall and treetop-tall junky junk and it went on all day, and included a system-wide computer outage that kept me from doing what I was supposed to, and I had to make a trip to the Scout Store for Boy's uniform parts (parts of which wound up not fitting, meaning I have to go back today during lunch) and to top it off, I had to leave early to go pick up Oldest from school, because she stayed late to finish up a dissection in her anatomy class and missed the bus. By five minutes. ::sigh::

AND THIS DOESN'T EVEN INCLUDE the past weekend's flare-up of YET MORE teen angst, which is just what you want surrounding Mother's Day. ::sigh::

SO, yet another week has now started off with my thought process divoted up like a muddy polo field, which is either very good for you, in that I might say something really incredibly bizarre and slighly humorous, or, very bad for you, in that I might just sit here and drool. Which is not incredibly bizarre, nor even the slightest bit humorous.

Well, let's see what happens.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:29 AM | Comments (4)

May 15, 2006

And now, Monday.

And I walk in to a bunch of dumb stuff I have to do. IMMEDIATELY!

So, your update of all the weekend happenings at the House of Possum is just going to have to wait a while.

::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:58 AM | Comments (0)

May 12, 2006

To the weekend.

As I noted, Boy has a birthday Sunday, and it is Mother's Day as well, so we will have all sorts of stuff going on for those two occasions, as well as spending part of the day Saturday doing the annual Festival on the Cahaba. Oldest has to work part of the day at that, and Reba wanted to go to it. So, we will.

And then, we also have some very sad business to attend to tomorrow morning--a funeral for one of our fellow church members. I've not mentioned anything about this earlier, out of respect for the family's privacy and because I can scarcely even think about it without tears welling up in my eyes. She was a beautiful, sweet, vivacious, and faithful woman of only 28 years, and she leaves behind a husband, a three year old, and set of twins only a few weeks old.

Such an unimaginable, profound, loss.

Our sojourn here is short. On this weekend when we take time to honor our mothers, be sure to tell your mother how much you care for her, and tell everyone else as well.

Come now, ye that say, To-day or to-morrow we will go into this city, and spend a year there, and trade, and get gain: whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. What is your life? For ye are a vapor, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.

Until Monday, then.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:24 PM | Comments (0)

Cool Breeze

--and now my wife knows why she was suffering from lethealgia this past Saturday.

So, I was sitting here doing actual work stuff when I got a telephone call from Miss Reba.

Okay now, this next part might be a bit, errr, offputting to read, so skip it if you must. Although, if you do, you sorta miss out on some valuable information.

ANYway, sometimes, when you sit, and you're a guy, certain adjustments are occasionally called for in order to rearrange your seating position, as well as the position of various appurtenances and equipment, so that you can have optimal seating comfort while you talk. No one wants to be uncomfortable, right!?

Right.

So, as I leaned back a bit and felt that uncomfortable pain that told me that some of my troops were out of formation, I ordered SSGT R. Hand to go have a talking to and see if he could get everyone back the way they should be. Things seemed to be going well enough, when suddenly Sergeant Hand indicated SOMEthing wasn't right. NOT right at ALL!

"SIR! THE BARRACKS IS ABOUT TO COLLAPSE!"

Wha!? I had him reconnoiter some more, and he reported back that there seemed to be a giant gap in protection that went from just below Fort Zipper, across the summit of Hill 2-1, and very nearly all the way through the Thunder Valley!

In other words, while rearranging myself, I found that have a GIANT split in the seat of my pants. Pants that I have had on all day long. And that I have walked around in all day long. In front of people. People with eyes.

And at that moment when this realization occurred to me, I was still on the phone with Miss Reba.

"REBA! I JUST--I--I put my hand down to move the chair back some and MY PANTS HAVE A GIANT SPLIT IN THEM!"

"Uh, were they your black ones?"

"YES!!"

"Well, I had put those on the bed Saturday to show them to you, and I got sidetracked, and you know how I kept saying there was something I was trying to remember to tell you?"

"Uh, yeah..."

"Well, THAT'S what it was! Your pants have a big split in them! I bet you wondered what that cool breeze was!"

Yes, now that you mention it.

Oh well. At least she finally remembered.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:53 PM | Comments (5)

The Final Update!

There are a lot more pictures in this set, so I'm going to put them in the extended entry.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah!

NEKKID ARMS!

Hooray for sun!

Here's the crowd right before he got here--he had a parade from the tracks all the way up 20th Street, so the parade route had several bunches of people along it, too, which is why it looks a bit sparse at the moment.

Here comes ANOTHER band!

Annnnd, all the hordes from along the parade route--

--annnnd, the FOX6 Mobile Doppler Weather Chaser VIPIR Hummer Truck of WHIRLING DEATH!

AND TAYLOR! EEEEK!!

Now then, all the speeches and gladhanding from our local elected officials--

Here's the gift of the key to the city

--and the presentation of an OFFICIAL proclamation--

--and the presentation of the record, which to me doesn't look quite gold. I think what they meant was it was a regular record upon which is recorded the gold-record-winning song, "In the Ghetto." Or whatever.

Taylor graciously says thanks--

--and works the crowd--

--before SINGING! WHOOO!!

--and performing a dazzling array of physical movements with his arms, legs, torso, and head which we think is DANCING! WHOOO!!

--and playing the HARMONICA! WHOOO!!

--and saying WHOOO! WHOOO!!

and saying THANK YOU VERY MUCH! WHOOO!!

As we know, all good things must eventually come to an end, so the tugboats pulled up the aircraft carrier to take him on to his next stop at the Galleria.

He says good-bye and thanks once more--

--and then rides away out of sight.

All in all, a very fun day, and as these events seem to do, it attracted some rather interesting folks.

Such as, Vulcan, Roman God of the Forge and largest cast iron statue in the world, who Taylor got to meet and shake hands with--

That was neat, and something you'd only see in Birmingham.

AND, what was even more cool, the entire membership of the Greater Birmingham Segway Club showed up en masse to support Taylor, as well as make their case for alternative transportation!

AND THUS, we now conclude our continuing coverage of banal, popular culture. We now return you to our regularly scheduled programming of popular, banal culture.


Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:03 PM | Comments (2)

SOUL PATROL Photos!

UPDATE VIII!

1:09 p.m. Well, they just left a few minutes ago, and it was quite exciting all the way around. Taylor arrived and the crowd went crazy and he got a key to the city and somehow the City Council managed to get a gold record of Elvis's for "In the Ghetto" and gave it to him and he sang with the Little Memphis Blues Orchestra "Go Round in Circles" and then he left in a gigantic Ford Excursion stretch limo/aircraft carrier.

PHOTOS--Starting from slightly before update seven was posted to a bit after noon, the first set of ten. The next set will come along in just a bit.

The Hayes High band was there to welcome him--

Here are the TV folks setting up--

and these are the folks who call themselves the Sweet Ts. There's an amazing amount of symbolism in there--'T' for Taylor, 'Tee it up'; 'Sweet T' for sweet tea, the drink of the South; 'sweety'; "'P' that rhymes with 'T' and that means TROUBLE, TROUBLE with a capital 'T'!"; all that stuff. I would not suggest you go up to them and ask if it means 'tard.'

Fan behavior is an interesting study.

Here one young lady proclaims her, uhh, I'm not sure what.

For those who didn't bring a sign, a PR person went around handing some out. Bill Engvall would be so proud of this picture--

As it got closer to start, the local show folks got up on stage--here are Rick Journey, Janice Rogers, and Mickey Ferguson standing around.

A wider shot to show what a gorgeous day we had today--

--which, as I noted earlier, made for a lovely crop of nekkid arms!

YAY!

Now, off to edit some more photos. Back in a bit.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:36 PM | Comments (7)

Speaking of music...

the band concert last evening was quite nice. Those kids have really worked hard and played quite well.

However, I am about to go red on their jackass parents who can't seem to SHUT UP DURING THE MUSIC! Great Caesar's ghost, people--you made the effort to get there to the auditorium after work, and all you talk to everyone else about is how marvelous your precious child is and how well he plays--SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO THE MUSIC AND SHUT YOUR COLLECTIVE PIEHOLES AND SHUT UP AND DON'T TALK OR SNORT OR RATTLE YOUR PAPERS.

Idjits.

ANYway, kids--good job. The program was "School Spirit" arranged by John Higgins (which sounded like the Wisconsin fight song to me), the theme from Ice Castles called "Ice Castles" arranged by Lester Harris, "Star Wars" also by Mr. Harris, and "Power Rock" arranged by Michael Sweeney.

There was one particular Boy, who will be turning 12 on Mother's Day, who was extraordinarily talented in playing both the snare drum and the bells. Little stinker.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:13 AM | Comments (0)

SOUL PATROL! UPDATED!

updates thruout the day

Well, today's the day, and as promised, I brought my camera to show you what all's going on down in the park in preparation for the arrival of Taylor Hicks.

It's a beautiful Chamber of Commerce day today--bright clear sky, and temperatures in the "warm enough for naked girl arms, but not so hot as to cause fat guys to sweat."

First up, the guys setting up the stage out below my window-

And a bit longer shot that picks up the area around the park-

UPDATE ONE!

Amazing progress in only an hour!

UPDATE 2

9:35 a.m. Oh, lordy me goodness--they're doing sound checks outside my window, and it's louder than anything I've ever heard, even City Stages. Why? Because the speakers are facing the building instead of out toward the park. I might have to go down there and tell them to hush.

UPDATE III

10:49 a.m. The band has set up and they sound very good, and a crowd (of sorts) is starting to gather. They've got the volume adjusted and the band is playing something that sounds very much like what it sounds like when the Saturday Night Live band plays. Picture coming in just a minute. Here we go.

UPDATE 3+1!

11:14 a.m. Bigger crowd out there in just the few minutes since the last update.

Hmm. What's that on the stage? Why, it's a BANNER!

They're having some trouble with it blowing in the breeze. Here's what it says:

Awww. Sorta gets you right here, don't it?

UPDATE 5IVE!

Okay, I realize there are some who REALLY love Taylor, but this is ridiculous--

UPDATE SICKS!

11:39 a.m. Well, as I mentioned yesterday about the influence of the local FOX affiliate, here's a shot of FOX 6 weather dude Mickey Ferguson taking the stage to warm up the crowd--

--with a tune from his mouth harp.

UPDATE 7!

12:00 noon--waiting for the noonday FOX 6 teevee show to start, and THERE THEY GO! Lots of noise folks! Photos will come later. I'm just going to go to the window to watch for now.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:43 AM | Comments (0)

May 11, 2006

Band Concert Night!

Last of the year. Where'd all that year go!?

Anyway, Boy is quite excited. He's really enjoyed band this year, and as opposed to Oldest, hasn't really had to be dinged about not practicing.

And even more interesting, at least to Dad-Who-Can't-Do-Music, over the past year I have noticed that he will occasionally set up his bell kit in his room and just play. Sometimes he plays his sheet music, and sometimes he just likes to improvise, and sometimes he tries to recreate something he's heard somewhere else. Doing something because you enjoy it is always preferable to the alternatives. Ars gratia artis and all.

So, anyway, it'll be interesting to hear how he does tonight.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:50 PM | Comments (0)

May 10, 2006

“Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks!”

I gotta be careful what I wish for! I just now came back from lunch, and was nearly swept up from the sidewalk by southeasterly winds that are just about right up there at hurricane strength!

Or so it seemed.

Anyway, in lieu of the dull boringness of the simple, across-the-street jaunt, I decided to head down a few blocks further and drink in the exciting urban ambiance of the AmSouth-Harbert food court, with all of its ethnic food delights. And, of course, to peoplewatch.

First stop, ethnic food delights, today satisfied by comestibles from a small quaint Mexican place that the locals call “Taco Bell.” Got myself a chicken grilled and stuft into a mush of beans and rice and goo, along with “nachos,” which are small triangular pieces of flavored cardboard which are intended to be taken and dipped into something resembling hot imitation pasteurized process cheese food substitute (yellow). MMMmmmm! I’m FULLLLLLLLLL!

My table beside the escalator atrium gave me a wonderful view of my fellow-diners, and as is my wont, caused me to lapse into my usual Mr. Blackwell mode.

I can’t seem to help it, but it irks me that people make such bad choices in their non-birthday-suit suits. Now, I know I have no business talking about other folks, given my own lack of sartorial competence, but allow me to use an analogy to justify my snark. Back before my Dad went and joined the Navy to fight the Yellow Menace during WWII, he played football at West Jefferson. Now, being that most of the able-bodied men had been drafted or volunteered, the school had to make due with who they could find. Which manifested itself in the hiring of a football coach who was confined to a wheelchair.

Now, you have to remember, this was back before the politically-correct crowd existed, so this guy wasn’t handi-CAPABLE, or differently-abled, or wheel-enhanced--he was crippled, and that was that. HOWever, my father never spoke in anything but the most respectful way about his coach, noting that although his coach couldn’t get down into a stance, or run, or any of the other things football coaches usually do, he DID know how to coach, and to coach well. He might not be able to kick the ball, or throw downfield, but he sure could teach other people how.

SO, when it comes to coaching people on what to wear, I might not be able to do very much with myself, but I promise I can help YOU!

First up--MEN, please don’t wear wigs. If you’re bald, be bald. This is especially true if you look like one of those photos of old 1880s prospectors with a face like a shriveled up potato. Wearing a groovy Bobby Sherman-style wig doesn’t make you look young. Especially if there’s a big gap all around the backside where you can see up your wrinkly nape. If you persist in doing this, I beg you not to come around while I’m eating.

Next, well, sorry, but it’s all advice for women. And trust me, this is difficult, because it’s difficult to look anywhere higher than the floor without it being really REALLY obvious that you’re not just staring off into space, but rather, AT that region you’re not supposed to look at for longer than you can look at the sun. So, the majority of this next stuff is ONCE MORE about shoes.

Saw one tall attractive brunette come walking along and it appeared before she got to me that she was nursing a running injury of some sort, but when she got into shoe-viewing range, I saw that it was nothing more than not being able to walk in the GIGANTIC BLACK PLATFORM OPEN-TOED CLOGS she had on. She looked like she had on Herman Munster shoes. I’m sorry, but this simply is not attractive. And painting your toenails bright red doesn’t help, and that’s saying a LOT, because bright red toenails can cover a multitude of sins. But not Herman Munster shoes.

Second, walking. Another girl came by, and she was in a hurry, but it looked like she was doing the huckabuck as she quick-stomped across the floor because of her inability to walk in high heels. We won’t even go into the fact that they didn’t go with her outfit, but if you don’t know how to walk in high heels, DON’T WEAR HIGH HEELS. They’re bad for your feet, anyway. And they hurt ME if you insist on walking around looking like you’re having a fashion seizure because of them.

Hair. You know, I never really was a fan of the Glenn Close Fatal Attraction mop of ratty blonde curls, but that’s just me. Still, it seems like twenty years on, it would be a good time to go ahead and decide that it would be better not to keep trying to look that way. It never looks good, and looks worse when the blonde color and the curly form are both obviously not the product of nature.

Big girl clothes. Okay, let me say right now, I prefer women with some chunk to them, so this isn’t about having chunk. But there is good chunk, and icky chunk, and wearing clothes that are too tight in the wrong places isn’t good. I realize it probably looked cute on the rack or in the catalog, but if you got your stuff hanging out in a bad way (i.e., you look like the Michelin man), it would be best to cut your losses and not wear that particular outfit anymore.

Now then, I feel better--go out there and win one for the old home team!

Stopped off by Parisian to look at watches for Reba, and I have come to the conclusion that I’m just going to have to take her shopping, because there are simply too many choices. Then I swung by Norton’s Florist on the way out to take advantage of the credit I had due to their delivery mixup on Valentine’s Day, and used it to send some flowers to my Mama. (Don’t worry, I’ll get some for Reba, too, but I’m going to bring them to her instead of having them delivered.) Speaking of fashion, the lady who runs that place is always a joy to look at, as well as to deal with. I have no idea how old she is--at least old enough to where there would be all sorts of gossip where she to take up with a man my age--but she is always nice to see.

So, there you go. And for some reason, I STILL have a bunch of work to do that I don’t want to do.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:26 PM | Comments (2)

You ever made meatloaf?

And I mean the real way, not with a food processor or blender or mixer, but by digging in with both hands and letting the meat and eggs and bread crumbs and ketchup squish between your fingers? That way?

Well, my head feels like that. I blame having to get up and go to an early meeting, combined with it being one of those gulag-gray days here where the threat of rain is worse than the actual rain. And it's not even a good threat, more like someone nagging you not to go swimming until it's been exactly 30 minutes since you last ate, and they start tut-tutting you if you move toward the pool at 29 minutes and 15 seconds. Really, I would kinda LIKE some rain. Check that--some BIG rain. Lots of lightning and thunder and wind. King Lear and cliffs of Dover sorta stuff.

As it is, I have crap to do I don't want to do, and there's the aforementioned mushiness in my brain that makes even random websurfing less fulfilling than it should be.

Maybe a riddle--this was on Scrubs last night, so if you saw the show (or you already know the answer), don't give it away. Reba missed the show so I drove her nuts with it right as we went to bed last night.

There are two coins, and they add up to 30 cents. One is not a nickle. What are the two coins?

Reba went through the exact same set of answers as the janitor guys on the show, and then walloped me on the arm when I finally gave her the answer.

Thank goodness she didn't have a crowbar.

The answer is in the extended entry, so don't peek until you're ready to know the answer.

Now then, all this talk of meatloaf has me hungry. Maybe there's something interesting at Sneaky Pete's.

It's a quarter and a nickle. "But you said one of them wasn't a nickle!" That's right--one's a nickle, and one of them is not a nickle. It's a quarter.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:15 AM | Comments (14)

May 09, 2006

The trouble is...

...not in finding a watch, but in finding ONE watch. I've been doing a little looking, and it is truly stunning just exactly how many different styles of women's wristwatches there are out there. Oh, well. Something to do.

ANYway, I will be out tomorrow morning at our twice-monthly regulatory shindig, so all of you will be on your own and will have to make up your own fun for a while. As usual, there is plenty of leftovers in the refrigerator, although I would stay away from anything that looks like it's growing fur.

See you late tomorrow morning sometime.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:59 PM | Comments (0)

More Advice Sought

Yesterday's quest for canine advice produced such a wonderful stream of comments that I'd like to ask yet another opinion from you, the finest reading audience the world has ever known.

This time, ladies watches.

You see, I have this wife--we'll call her Miss Reba. And she came home yesterday and showed me that her watch stem had been somehow forcefully removed from the case of her relatively nice Seiko.

She needs a new watch--the price to fix this one would be as much as it is to get a new one, but I don't want to get ANYthing as fragile anymore. Why the need for robustness?

Well, you see, my dear wife has a condition.

Several, actually, but the one that causes me to wince most often is her propensity to talk with her hands. [And in yet another fit of neologistism, I have dubbed this condition chiroglossia.] So she's always waving her hands around as she talks, and with great energy, and with the inevitable collision between her hands and anything nearby. Because not only does she have chiroglossia, she also is a very poor judge of spacial distance, and is contantly whacking things with her hands or stubbing her fingers on stuff.

Such is hard on watches.

I told her I was going to give her my plastic Timex sport watch I use while I'm working on the car or cutting grass, but I don't think she appreciated my thoughtful, giving nature or my desire for her to have a sturdy watch.

So, maybe you could help me with something and the children will be able to give it to her for Mother's Day.

It needs to be tough. It probably could be self-winding, but a battery movement would probably be better. It would be better if it had a second hand, but it's not required. It needs to have some sort of protection for the stem crown so it doesn't get hung on everything. I think it would be better if it had a linked metal bracelet, as a leather strap would be too susceptible to getting hooked on something and breaking. It needs to be real pretty, because she it. And cheap, because I am.

So there, what do you think?


[moved to top of page]

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:00 PM | Comments (14)

May 08, 2006

Okay, talk among yourselves.

I have a meeting to attend, and then have to take off early to go take Oldest to the orthodontist, and then as I mentioned, try not to miss the Jack Bauer Show tonight while doing the Scout thing with Jonathan. Details on the morrow, but in my absense, feel free to entertain yourselves. Politely. No eye gouging, no rabbit punches, no hitting below the belt. Oh, okay--eye gouging is okay, but not a lot.

See you all tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:54 PM | Comments (9)

Informed opinions, please.

Need some dog advice.

WHOA! Slow down, now--not for me, for my sister.

Here's the deal. She's been a cat person for years, although when she was at home we had dogs, and after she moved out on her own, she had a couple of others. Neither of which turned out to be good choices--one, a bichon frise, was incredibly high maintenance and eventually contracted a kidney disease of some sort and had to be put down, and then later on she got herself a Siberian husky. YET ANOTHER high maintenance dog, with the added complication of being strong as an ox, and dumb as a stump. She eventually had to give it away to a family who had a farm so it would have room to run and play and be stupid. Since then (good grief--twenty years!) she has been dogless, meeting her companionship needs with a variety of felines.

But, some sort of bug has taken hold of her again, and she's in the market for a pooch.

Now then, here's the deal--she doesn't have a big yard, and what yard she has isn't fenced. Unlike me, she does have money, so that's not the biggest hurdle--she CAN afford a fence. The next thing is the hard part--she works twelve hour shifts, and never in any kind of regular pattern. The cats don't care because they're cats, but it would seem to be a particularly difficult thing to deal with when you have a dog, because they're much more needful of interaction.

The dog she wants? A retired greyhound. "But they have such big soulful eyes!"

To me, this seemed like a bad idea. I like greyhounds, and I think they're pretty dogs, too, but it seems like to me that when you take on ANY animal that is bred to do one thing (unless it's to lay about sleeping), you open yourself to some unforeseen difficulties. As I told her, with as much time as she's away from home and as irregular as her hours are, a dog that has its own owner support group seems to be possibly not the best idea.

"But they don't shed, and they're quiet, and docile!" Sure, but they still need a good bit of attention that I don't think she would be able to provide. BUT WHAT DO I KNOW!?

So, here's my question--have any of you ever had a greyhound, and if so, do they tolerate being left alone for long stretches of time, and being confined to a small suburban backyard? She gets very emotionally attached to her animals, and I would hate for her to have to go through something that she's unprepared for in dealing with this particular breed.

What about it?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:39 PM | Comments (12)

Oh, good--nothing like having something to do in my spare time.

It seems that not too many days past, while Boy was at school signing up for the things boys as school sign up for, such as classes, he took the opportunity to sign a sheet of paper for a particular group activity. He's decided he wants to do Scouting again.

Now, if you've been reading Possumblog for long enough, you know back several years ago he was in Cub Scouts. His pack sorta petered out, and we never got a call saying he'd been reassigned, and frankly, at the time, I wasn't really in the biggest hurry to find out, because that was when he and Catherine and Rebecca were all playing soccer, too, and we were constantly on the go.

But, now that he's been out of soccer and Scouting for a while, he's gotten the hankering to start doing something again, and it would probably do him some good to get away from his sisters a bit--I swear to goodness, there are times when he gets mad about something and I have a hard time telling if it's him or Catherine making all the shrill squeals of indignation.

Anyway, I'm glad he wants to get involved in something again--EXCEPT--the meeting is TONIGHT. And tonight is MONDAY. And on Mondays is when Jack Bauer saves the world. All I got to say is that meeting tonight better not go past about 7:50, or SOMEone is going to be upset.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:59 AM | Comments (4)

"I love the smell of Delaware in the morning afternoon..."

"...it smells like--victory!" Or something.

Funny what you remember as the smell of home, but long ago when Birmingham was still the Pittsburgh of the South and the steel industry was in full, unthrottled, full emissions fury, I recall not being able to go much of anywhere without smelling the acrid, pungent smell of coke ovens. The air's clean now (aside from ground level ozone) so you don't smell all that stuff anymore, except when you drive out to Tarrant. (Or as we old hands call it, Tarrant City.) Despite the smell, there is still something sorta comforting about once again getting a whiff of your childhood. For a little while.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:31 AM | Comments (4)

Well, as I said Saturday night...

...Saturday was spent--from early Saturmorning to late Saturnight--with a continuation of the Garage Cleaning Project. The only nice thing is that this week I had on different shoes, so my feet don't hurt so bad. Well, that's not exactly true. There is more than only one nice thing. I did actually get more stuff thrown away, and another load of things taken to the thrift store and did get more stuff organized. I am very close to having room to put another car in there. I think I need some more shelves to put the rest of the junk, and I'll be set.

How in the world did I collect so much stuff? I blame my parents, obviously. They both grew up in the Depression, and their families were pretty much left destitute.

They were so dumb--they didn't realize they were supposed to riot and burn down all they little bit they had left to protest their lot in life, or alternatively, turn to crime as a way of making ends meet. Silly people. They just worked hard and saved everything they could. Which translated into saving EVERYTHING they could, even after they'd gotten past the point of having to save leftover screws and bent nails out of economic necessity.

So, I grew up watching them carefully put away any little thing that still had some use, and so I absorbed that, as well as the idea that I should save stuff for which there would be NO possible use, on the off chance that I could FIND a use for it, or that a use would miraculously be invented for it, and then I would have it an not need to buy it.

SO, you must realize how very, VERY difficult it was for me to let go of all those small loops of old baling wire. I must have had twenty or thirty small rolls that I have accumulated over the years. I think I can remember using a piece to fix something exactly one time. So, into the can with all of it.

Well, all except for two short rolls.

I figure one more week, and a couple of sets of inexpensive shelves, and it'll be ready for its intended use.

I hope.

As for everything else that happened this weekend, there actually was quite a bit, including the always entertaining teen angst. But I'm so tired I just can't get up the necessary head of steam to jabber about all that. Maybe another time.

ANYway, time for work.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:24 AM | Comments (3)

May 05, 2006

LETHEALGIA RELIEF! Updated!

As you ALL no doubt recall (since all of you have good memories), I had a peculiar nagging feeling I had forgotten something important yesterday. Rather than spend time trying to figure out what it was, I spent time trying to come up with a word to describe the feeling.

Which I think turned out quite nicely--lethealgia is a neologism I coined, derived from the Greek Lethe, the River of Oblivion in Hades, which is sometimes used to indicate forgetfulness, and algia from the Greek word algos, pain. (And not to be confused with algore, a painfully dull human simulacrum.) Therefore (at least according to me) we now have lethealgia, the unpleasant feeling associated with having forgotten something.

The only cure for lethealgia?

Remembering either what it was you had forgotten, or figuring out you hadn't actually forgotten anything in the first place.

In my case, I DID forget something yesterday. It was Mailout Thursday, and I usually also send out an e-mail version of the same stuff I put in the mailbox to a smaller list of people. And I forgot all about it until THIS MORNING.

The relief from that feeling is hard to describe, but it is a relief. And now, I go to do my forgotten task.


UPDATE: 11:32 a.m. I HAVE HIT A HOMER, BABY! So self-satisfied was I in my too-clever-by-halfness, I thought I would send along my invention to Astoria, New York's own Grant Barrett, editor of the always entertaining Double-Tongued Word Wrester.

And he ACCEPTED IT!

Well, it's your lucky day. I usually don't record nonce submissions like this for fear of being deluged with words that will never last, but I like this one. So I've recorded it as a cite:
http://www.dtww.org/index.php/citations/lethealgia_1/

Thanks!
Grant Barrett

Happiness all around! And, obviously, thanks greatly to Mr. Barrett.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:52 AM | Comments (6)

Probably because I am a moron.

Despite the fact that is was raining yesterday afternoon, and despite the fact that I still had on my tie and nice shoes, for some reason I felt compelled to get out and change out the broken taillight on the van.

As for cost, I bought an aftermarket one off of eBay that totalled around $50, which is about half the price of a factory one. Knowing how these things usually work, I figured the replacement would be a hunk of crap, but I was very pleasantly surprised at the good quality, and the seller was quick and courteous.

SO, maybe I'm not as big a moron as I claim!

Nah.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:00 AM | Comments (0)

May 04, 2006

Okay, word-people.

Is there a word for that peculiar feeling you get when you think you might be forgetting something important that you were supposed to do, but you're not really sure if you really ARE forgetting something, or just feeling weird?

All morning I've had that feeling that I was supposed to do something, but I have no idea what it might be. Or even if there really IS something I'm forgetting.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:34 PM | Comments (11)

May 03, 2006

Electives

Had a thing to attend last night with Jonathan and Rebecca--an orientation meeting of sorts in the middle school gym, intended to inform parents about the elective class choices for 7th and 8th graders in the upcoming year.

Jonathan already had his filled out--he wants to take band for sure, and then either art, or piano/guitar. I'm not sure how you play a piano/guitar, but it still amazes me that anyone can play any sort of musical instrument, period, and even more amazing that I have kids who can do it. I just never could figure all that stuff out--I like to sing and all, and actually can figure out (if given enough time to look at it) how to read music. I guess the kids get it from their mama.

Rebecca didn't quite know what to take, until we were driving over and she started going down the list of stuff she DIDN'T want to take. After she'd eliminated those, she only had three choices left. Made the decision easier, to say the least. She finally decided to put down art as her second choice, yearbook as her third choice. First choice, foreign language.

Which is going to be interesting, in that they haven't hired the teacher for the class yet, and therefore no one knows what language will be taught.

Could be Spanish. Or French.

Or Urdu.

Although the former is more likely.

What will be funny is if it turns out to be a Latin teacher, and if that teacher also teaches it at the high school. Oldest is about to split a seam to take Latin, mainly because she already knows all about Latin from reading all the Harry Potter books. I, on the other hand, having watched Life of Brian, know that Latin is fiendishly convoluted. However, far be it from me to dissuade her from her obsessive delusion, because I really would like it if she learned Latin. I also have this selfish desire to witnessing the total shock that will overcome her when she realizes that there's more to it than "expecto patronum." But the funniest thing will be if Rebecca is taking it as well--the sibling competitiveness should make for quite the combustible household.

Good grief, what am I wishing for!?

Anyway, we pulled up to the gym and a herd of tanned, willowy, coltish, and incredibly attractive young maidens came pouring out of the building after cheerleading practice. Jonathan piped up, "Hey, that's X!" [Not her real name.] "And there's A! And B over by the door! And there's C and D and E and F and F' and X's cousin L!" He knew every one of them. I pulled in to a parking spot on the curb behind someone in a hulking Expedition, and one of the girls broke from the pack and got in the truck. "Hey, that's M!"

I couldn't help myself--"Good night, Son--she's pretty! How do you know all these girls!?" (Left unasked was how is it that 13 year old girls look like this [i.e., 20 year old supermodels] nowadays!?)

"Aw, I don't know--most of them I have class with."

"They're in your grade!?"

"Mmhm, yes sir."

Fascinating.

ON into the building, which was nice and breezy with the giant wall fans on. Unfortunately, these make more racket than a B-52, so when the program started, they were shut off. And thus the gym became like every other middle school gym you can imagine--hot, stuffy, and smelling of hormonal teenagers, floor wax, and dirty mop water.

And in the end, it really didn't help us any, because my kids had already made out their forms. This was really just to help those people who were undecided about what they wanted.

::sigh::

And it lasted an hour and a half. And included a herky-jerky PowerPoint presentation. And the microphone worked only 42.3% of the time. And despite the fact that I have ample padding, within three minutes of sitting down, my butt ached with an unimaginable intensity due to the shape and material of the hard bleacher seating. And to top it off, it meant that we missed going to hear Oldest in her last choir concert for the year.

Mom said they all did really well.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:47 AM | Comments (8)

May 02, 2006

Maybe I'm just easily entertained.

But you know what I think's fun? When you've ordered something, and it's been packaged and sent, and through the miracle of the Internets, you can plug in the tracking number and see it go across the country and then right to your door.

I am excited all over because my new taillight is on the truck this morning, meaning I should have it pretty soon, and I'll be able to replace it tonight!

Hmm?

What?

Why have I ordered a new taillight?

Well, you see, two weeks ago when we had a get-together for the little kids over at the house of one of the parents, I was trying to back out of their narrow and multi-angled gravel driveway, and was trying to swing into a small clearing between two trees.

I missed one of the trees.

The other one?

WHUMPscreeeeeech.

Passenger side, a glancing blow that not only broke the taillight, but left some nice scratches on the sliding door mechanism's cover, and a big goose-egg sized dent in it as well.

And then I had to pull away, which made more scratches.

::sigh::

When it happened, Rebecca, who sits on that side in the back, piped up and said, "I was thinking to myself, 'boy, I sure hope Daddy doesn't hit that tree because it's real close.'"

::sigh::

But, through the other miracle known as eBay, I was able to find a replacement that I hope will fit and work right. Because nothing is LESS entertaining than having to send BACK something that's the wrong part.

UPDATE: 9:55 a.m., the box arrived, and it's the right part and looks like a very nice piece of work! Hooray!

Sometimes you never know what you'll get, but this one looks good. Of course, I just now remembered that we've got a thing at the middle school tonight to get the Middle Girl and Boy ready for next year, so that means I probably won't get to have fun and get the tools out tonight. And doggone it, that means I'll be missing American Idol, too! Hmph.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:34 AM | Comments (4)

May 01, 2006

Oops.

Gotta leave early to go home and take Oldest back over to the school for a rehearsal of some sort. See you all in the morning.

(If this causes me to miss 24, I am going to be mightily peeved at a particular teacher who decided tonight would be a good one for a rehearsal.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:19 PM | Comments (2)

Most poignant thing gotten rid of?

Well, it was red, and had the number 60 on the side of it.

Worn for three season, and full of the scars of three years of headbutting.

My old football helmet.

When we moved in, I had it in a box over back behind some stuff. One day several years back something fell on it, and the face mask's little plastic clips--having been turned to hard brittle chunks--gave way and the face mask popped off. Oh well.

Finally got to it Saturday, back in behind all that junk. ::sigh:: Full of mouse turds, the cheek and cranium pads gnawed, and all the inside yellowed with murine micturition.

That was the only helmet I ever had, and it was one that my dad had purchased because none of the helmets we had at school were any good. Its red paint and black and white stripes and white numerals had been put on fresh the first year, and then repeatedly bashed off for the next three years. This was back before schools got so high-falutin' as they are nowadays and helmets didn't get painted after every game. Or even after every season. Anyway, I kind of liked the look of the scars. I seem to recall some of the junior high bench warmers (not that we had that many--maybe only five or so) who'd take it upon themselves to knock their helmets around so as not to look like such bench warmers.

I had intended to keep the old thing. It reminded me of a certain time in my life about which I don't have an awful lot of glowing warm memories, and I always imagined myself telling the kids about my time on the field. But I stood there looking at it, full of droppings and dirt, and I just had to throw it away. Stuffed it in the garbage can, dropped a pile of other junk on top, and that was it. Rebecca had been out helping me all morning, and what aghast that I'd thrown it away--"DADDY! That was your FOOTBALL HELMET!"--but I told her it was old and filthy dirty, and there just wasn't much reason to keep it anymore.

Anyway, I do still have my cleats--nice pair of REALLY old-style black hightops made out of kangaroo hide that have managed not to get torn up or mousebitten.

I figure they've still got some stories to tell.

And anyway, I do still have the pictures--

terry1977.jpg

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:13 PM | Comments (6)

Most surprising find?

Also the most disconcerting--even moreso than the dessicated mouse I found with its tail stuck to a glue trap.

On the back and side wall of the garage is a high shelf that was put there by the previous owner. They'd left a bunch of junk up there, but again, I had so much junk of my own blocking that side of the garage that I had never been able to get up there and get that stuff down.

FINALLY did so Saturday.

Some cans of paint. A rubber toilet plunger. A tarp. The little red plastic gas can? I thought it was empty, but it actually had a few ounces of two-stroke gas/oil mix in the bottom of it. Hmm--what's this beside it in the Wal-Mart sack?

Fireworks.

Yep--for the past eight years, there has been a plastic bag bulging with fireworks in my garage, right next to a jug of gasoline.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:44 AM | Comments (6)

And just what is the deal with people--

--who want to haggle over crap!?

I don't know how many people came by and would see something out in the yard, ask how much it was (everything was nearly free), act very interested, and then would ask if I would take any less, and when I would say no (seeing as how I was practically giving this stuff away) they'd just leave.

There was one old woman who came up while Catherine was sitting out there selling soccer balls. Catherine also had a computer toy that still looked new and still worked just fine that she wanted to sell, mainly because it was too "little kid" for her. We figured 5 bucks was a fair price. The old lady who came by looked and looked around, and Catherine told her the prices on the stuff we had out there, and the woman spied the computer toy. She looked it over, turned it on, Cat showed her how it worked. I was cleaning out the garage while this was going on, but they must have spent fifteen minutes with the thing.

"Dad?" Cat came padding into the garage. "She wants to know if we'd take any less for the little computer."

"Uh, no, sugar--it's $5."

She went back out and told the lady, and that was it--she up and left. I guess we should have said it was $100, but we'd take $10 for it, then let her beat us down to five. Or something.

Another guy came up while his driver buddy was getting a speeding ticket two doors down. (Thank you VERY much, Trussville PD!) I explained how the stuff on the front was for sale, the stuff by the garage was just my garage cleanings. He spotted my half-ton chain hoist lying there on the ground. "How much is that right there!?"

"Uh, well, I had kinda wanted to keep that," (it was, after all, not in the 'to sell' stack, but since I didn't have a use for it...) "but I suppose I would take twenty for it."

He decided he didn't want that, even though that was practically free, too. Which is fine--I'm glad I still have it, even though I don't need it.

Same thing with my air compressor--it wasn't in the sale, but every guy wanted to know how much it was. "I hadn't intended on selling it, but I suppose a hundred dollars." Which is pretty good, considering it would cost around $600 new. Nope. No one wanted it for that. (Which was fine by me.)

Then there was the cedar chest.

It's probably over 60 years old--it was actually my aunt's, although I think there was some sort of strongarm swapping done with my mother long ago, because we wound up with it, and my aunt wound up with my mother's (which is actually MUCH nicer). It was plain--just a basic cedar box with a diamond-shaped lozenge on the front. It really needed to be refinished, but it was appropriately distressed looking, although in good shape considering how many times it's been moved all over the place. Forty bucks. OH! EVERYone wanted to know how much it was. EVERYone thought that was a STEAL! EVERYone wanted it.

No one would buy it.

But, they'll be able to visit it at the thrift store now, I suppose.

At least the old feller who bought my vise knew he'd gotten a good deal. I just wonder how he's got it out of the back of his pickup once he got home with it...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:43 AM | Comments (8)

Done been beat with a shovel, Part II

Yet another long, long weekend, eleven hours of it spent Saturday cleaning out the other side of the garage. And then packing it back up with all the stuff I couldn’t haul off or find a place to put. Or sell.

Our neighborhood was having our big annual yard sale, which I never participate in. Until Saturday, when I started dragging stuff out of the garage at 9, and people started pulling up, getting out, and wandering around my driveway. After telling the first few folks that I was only cleaning out, I figured I might as well start stacking stuff that I knew I didn’t want out closer to the sidewalk. Believe it or not, I managed to sell close to 50 bucks! I sold the big giant iron vise for $20, and an old wooden school desk for $15, and six Bear Bryant commemorative Coke bottles to my neighbor for 6 bucks, and then Catherine got in on the act and sold five of her old #3 sized soccer balls for $5. (She got to keep that for herself.)

Still, I wound up taking off two vanloads of stuff to the thrift store, and gave one more load to the thrift store truck that came through the neighborhood around 5:00 that evening. And managed to get another huge pile of garbage to take off to the dump next weekend.

As for the job itself, I uncovered all kinds of stuff I’d forgotten I had, and after cleaning off the countertop of mouse poop and pee, I actually had a place to put a lot of it. There’s still a bunch of stuff I need to put away, but at least the volume of crap has been reduced significantly. Not enough to get a car in there, but close. Of course, if I hadn’t have had to start hurriedly putting away things off the driveway when it started RAINING, I might could have gotten more put away. But I was doing all I could to keep the junk from becoming dampened. Oh, well--something to work on next weekend.

Of even greater significance was the fact that the garage door opener on that side FINALLY WORKS AGAIN! About five or six years ago, we had a lightning strike on the house that fried a bunch of stuff, notably one of the garage door openers. We bought a new one with the insurance money, but until this past weekend, that side of the garage was so full of junk, I couldn’t get enough room to work to change it out. Until Saturday. Or, I should say, Saturday night. After I’d gotten everything put back inside, there was still a nice seam of open floor I had left so that I could once and for all change out the silly thing and get it off my list. Despite the fact that I had eaten neither breakfast nor lunch, and despite the fact that supper was about to be a memory, I stayed out there with the near insane desire to get that final bit of work done.

The new unit was slightly different from the old one, but thankfully not in a way that mattered, which meant that all I really had to do was change out the motor unit, not redo everything. I struggled mightily to unbolt it from its mounting, swung it down to the floor, disconnected the rail, and nearly tore my finger off trying to get the old unit out of the way. That done, the new one was put into position, and I heaved and hoed and grunted and finally managed to reconnect the rail and the chain and the necessary bolts to that it was again one unit. Swung it back up into position, bolted it back to its moorings, reconnected the various control wires, plugged it up, and…

IT WORKS!

Yay me!

That was it for the night--I went in, ate a hot dog, then showered and went to bed.

Next morning, got up and put the lasagna on. We were having dinner at church, and then an early evening service, which meant after it was over, I could come home and have the rest of the afternoon to play.

But it was very IMPORTANT play. Fixing the garage door remote controls.

Our two old ones were just about dead, having been broken and taped together to the point that they were more tape than polystyrene. But the new opener came with new remotes, so I went back and forth on my stepladder reprogramming the various receivers and the buttons. SUCCESS! Each one can control both doors, so that was very nice. Next--the hateful keyless entry pad on the outside. This one has NEVER worked, mainly because the nice couple we bought the house from refused to give the code to us. I thought maybe I could get the thing to work, but alas, it was a button too far. There are, however, people who sell new button pads.

TO THE HOME DESPOT!

And while I was out, I decided I would take one of the remote controls with me in the van--it has its own HomeLink system in the overhead console, and I’d never been able to get it to work right. While I sat in the parking lot, I reprogrammed THOSE buttons, too, which hopefully meant that when I got home I would be very, VERY happy, with all THREE cars having operable remote controls. But first, the keypad had to be purchased. Time to make selection? About five minutes. Time to check out? About THIRTY minutes. One lane was stopped up with some kind of cash register outage. One was stopped up with someone buying an entire nursery of plants. Mine was stopped up with people who seemed intent on trying to scam the cashier out of a plastic swingset seat. ::sigh::

I have never seen anything that takes so long. (Until later on in the evening.)

Got home, and hooray! The van’s remote control WORKS! Very sweet. Next, the keypad, which for some unknown reason would not work on the old opener, but WOULD work on the newer one. Fine. At least one of them will open, and at least now I know I won’t get locked out of the house. Unless the power goes out.

Then, time to try to work on my stuff for work. Typed for a little while, made minor headway, then got stopped so we could go use our $25 Cracker Barrel gift certificate I’d been given. I have decided I’m not ever going back to Cracker Barrel to eat. We used to occasionally go there, but the service became so terrible and slow that it’s just not worth it. But, the lure of a gift certificate caused us to take the plunge once more. Got there, and although the parking lot was only half full, there was a forty-five minute wait. Fine.

Finally got called back and seated. Waitress began the evening by getting the drink order wrong, and it went downhill from there. The food came out in incomplete dribs and drabs, some of it was stone cold, none of it was particularly good, and it took nearly an HOUR to get it. By the time we finished, the place was closing up, and we’d gotten there around 7:30, and it WASN’T THAT BUSY.

To make it worse, when I went to pay the check, the cashier said it was $25 more than what it actually was. “No, the gift certificate is mine--I’m not buying it, I’m using it to pay for part of the food.”

“THAT NOT WHAT IT IS--your ticket be ringing up wrong.”

Well, fine. She called for a manager, who never showed up.

Even though she never would admit she had done it, she finally did take the gift certificate off of my bill and fixed it to where I was being charged what I was supposed to be charged.

“Fitty-fitty-figh.”

She stood there with her hand out. “Uh, okay--my gift certificate? Over on the counter behind you? I want to use that for $25 of my bill.”

“Hmph.”

Indeed.

Anyway, Trussville Cracker Barrel--you won’t have to worry about figuring out a check for me ever again.

Home, worked on my typing some more, sent it to myself, and went to bed.

And now? I have a BUNCH of junk to get written up, and to top it all off, my feet and ankles hurt. Feels like they’ve been snapped off and put on backwards. I think I might have overdone it this weekend.

Now then--to work.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:42 AM | Comments (0)

April 28, 2006

The plan for tonight.

Go home, probably order some pizza, eat it, finish reading my Road & Track, nod off while reading it and wake up to find I've been drooling again, then decide to turn around and go to sleep.

The plan for tomorrow.

Once more back up the vehicles on the driveway, and this time start cleaning out the other side of the garage. This will take all day, mainly because I found out last week that if I stay out of the house, I manage to avoid doing any laundry. Of course, cleaning out the garage makes me hurt all over, and laundry never does, but at least with the garage cleaned out I could possibly have room to put stuff.

Speaking of which, you remember those two sets of super rare alloy Volvo wheels I snagged a couple of months back for dirt cheap off of Ebay? The ones I drove around with for a while then had to sneak into the garage so as not to arouse suspicion? Last weekend in the midst of The Big 1st Round of Cleaning, I managed to get every single one of them--all eight--around into the Giant Plastic Not-a-Storage-Shed, But a Plastic Playhouse full of Lawn Implements, WITHOUT BEING CAUGHT!

I stacked them up in one corner by the door like a stack of quarters, put a burlap bag on top and a pair of boots, and it looks like they've been there forever. Proof of this came when Miss Reba came around while I was wrestling to get something else crammed in there that had been in the garage, and she didn't even notice them! I'm not sure I dare to put anything else in there, though. I'm pretty sure a 2-times-life-size poster of Jane Russell wouldn't do at all.

At least right now.

The plan for the day after tomorrow.

Wake up early and be very sore, then go to church, then come home and sleep the rest of the afternoon. Somehow, I think this particular plan will not survive past the first shot fired.

The plan for the day after the day after tomorrow.

Wake up and go to work, silly!

Now then, all of you go have a great weekend, and I'll see you back here on Monday, okay?

Okay!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:00 PM | Comments (2)

The plan for today.

Work, go to lunch and take pictures of the artsy people in the park, show the pictures to you, then work some more.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:57 AM | Comments (8)

April 27, 2006

You better get it while you can.

The desk, that is.

Last Saturday, Reba set up a pickup time for today with the folks from the thrift store to come out and pick up the mouse-pee-and-teeny-turd-filled sofa, the one that I eventually carried over to the thrift store myself.

But, the pickup call was not cancelled, and this morning she asked me if I was going to put the desk out on the driveway instead, so the truck will have something to get when it comes by.

Being that I was in my nice tie and polyester slacks, I would really have been satisfied just to frustrate the truck with a lack of pickup material, but in the end, I figured it would be easier to move it out the couple of feet required to get it onto the driveway than to try on the upcoming Saturday to load it into the van and take it off myself.

SO, I got out there this morning and exerted myself and got all mussed, but I did get it ready for being sent away, including a nicely hand-scrawled sign with the name of the charity on it, so they wouldn't by mistake take away the van or the house.

Now, if you really were wanting that desk but were just too shy to say it, you need to run over to my house right now before the truck gets there and load it up.

Remember to leave your check for $50,795 under the front door mat.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:02 AM | Comments (0)

April 26, 2006

FIRST!

Wait--I don't think I'm supposed to do that unless I'm commenting.

Oh well.

Anyway, I am back now after an invigorating early morning spent furiously scribbling notes. Seeing as how I have a lot to do today, and seeing as how a picture is worth a thousand words, I figured at least for this morning I could substitute some nice photos taken yesterday for my usual stream of bilge.

I had gotten home and gotten all comfortable in my shorts when I found out from my lovely wife that she wasn't certain of our supper choices. When she is uncertain, it usually means I have to go make a grocery run. "Do you want me to go to the store?"

"Oh, no, that's okay--we have hot dogs. But..."

Here it comes.

"...I do need gas in my car."

"Would you like me to go to the store AFTER I go get gas in your car?"

That worked just fine. But it meant I had to get re-dressed again, seeing as how my shorts were of the cotton jersey workout variety that look more like pajama bottoms than wearing-to-go-to-the-store attire. ::sigh::

And my jeans were in the hamper and filthy from cutting grass and moving the garage. I used to have two pair, but the other pair finally wore through in the seat, and I really don't think the public is clamoring to see my nether regions.

I didn't want to put on my office clothes, and I didn't want to wear my wrinkled pair of khakis, nor my big baggy swim trunks that sometimes double as wearing-to-go-to-the-store attire when I'm at the beach.

Which left my overhalls.

So, I put those on, but while I was doing THAT, I looked out the window into the back yard and saw Rebecca and Catherine sitting together deep in conversation in the middle of the yard. Awwww--how SWEET! So, one thing led to another, and I got my camera to take their picture, and I decided you haven't had a picture of me to commit Photoshop abuse on in a while, and then when I looked around I saw there were all sorts of pretty stuff blooming, so you've got something to look at today in lieu of silly Possumblogginess.

First up, the picture that got this all started of the girls sitting in the yard.

Catherine has taken the opportunity of a camera being present to fall over onto Rebecca. Next, I figured I'd wander around the yard and show you what's growing. These are the irises in the middle of the yard. The sundial got placed in the birdbath when it kept blowing off the pedestal we had for it. I don't really like it because it's not a REAL sundial with the gnomon adjusted to the proper angle, and it's made of really light aluminum, but I didn't have a choice--it showed up one day after one of Miss Reba's excursions to Target, and I figured it best to keep my opinion of it to myself. So, anyway, Irises--

Next is the big patch of jasmine we have back behind the wisteria arbor. For some reason, our wisteria blooms very late. Of course, it could have something to do with the fact that I keep cutting it back so severely every year so that it doesn't take over the entire yard.

Yes, I know I need to pull up that pine weed that's in the middle of it.

As for the girls, they still seemed deep in concentration about something. What was it? The autograph section of Rebecca's yearbook from last school year.

Next, over on the side of the yard is the stone planter bed I built several years ago when I still had a truck to haul rocks in. It's got irises, too, and some Mexican heather, and some things that grow big and bloom, and occasionally some pokesalad, and some poison ivy, and some honeysuckle, and a water oak that we thought was going to die when we moved in because the top had been torn off of it, and there's also the big green blooming thing you see in the middle. I don't remember what that is, but it grows like a weed.

Now then, over to the house, where we have this lovely azalea that has been moved all over the place before being dumped here beside the stone bench and the froggy fountain. Yes, this is the same frog I found myself sucking and blowing on several weeks back. The blooms have gotten a bit bedraggled--they were at their peak about a week back. The frog, however, is quite satisfied.

The flower bed at the house is home to about a billion lizards, including this one trying to figure out a way to sneak into our house by squeezing through the siding boards.

Lotsa luck, dude. As I was busily snapping away, I did manage to get a quick photo of the lovely Miss Reba, who was really not in the mood to be photographed. Don't let her slight smile fool you--she's about ready to wallop me for taking her picture. Of course, I was bothering her by also trying to photograph other portions of her in addition to her winsome face. Those would have been for my private collection, however, and would not have been shared with YOU people. However, she was very mean to me and told me to stop it and slapped me on the arm, so I quit. Or so she thinks. ANYway, here's Miss Reba--

AND FINALLY, what you've all been waiting for, my impression of a Shoney's Big Boy statue. And yes, I just now realized that one of my galluses was twisted around. I figure it just adds to the effect.

So there you go. An afternoon at Maisson d'Possum.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:56 AM | Comments (13)

April 25, 2006

Tomorrow.

Work.

Blech.

My usual excursion to the off-campus venue, where I will be forced to sit and take notes and stuff such as that for several hours.

Meaning, there will be NO Possumblog for you tomorrow morning. You can, however, get the same effect by eating a big spoonful of butterbeans and then spinning around and around until you tump over.

SO, all of you have fun, and I'll see you sometime on the morrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:49 PM | Comments (2)

April 24, 2006

So as not to miss out on anyone else who might want something from my garage...

...I have a desk you might want. Nate mentioned this morning that if he'd known I had acetylene welding hose and regulators, he might would have been interested in adding them to his own collection of junk, so I thought I might see if anyone would be willing to take away something else of mine.

Namely, an office desk. This was purchased about eight years ago, used for two, and has since been stored in our garage. Reba had it when she was running the daycare office--the school wouldn't buy her any furniture, so we had to buy it ourselves. I don't want to get rid of it, and tried to give it to my in-laws and to my mom, and I can't get anyone of them to consider it. I also don't want to have to load it in the van and carry it off, because it's so incredibly huge and heavy. At least for one guy.

ANYway, it's a Sauder Fruitwood Executive Desk from their Mission Collection. (See a bigger picture of it here.) It has a few small dings on the edges, but for the most part looks brand new. And is remarkably free of mouse droppings, since there was nothing stored in it that mice like.

Now, here's the thing--if you want it, you have to come get it yourself. The whole idea of this thing is to save myself some backbreaking labor to haul it off. I will help you put it on your truck or trailer or lash it to the top of your Jetta, but that's about it.

Cost? Well, as we have all been made aware by Mr. Anderson's fruitless efforts to GIVE AWAY a Mercedes-Benz, people seem to think free things are worthless and therefore refuse to take them when offered. Therefore, the cost for this lovely bit of medium density fiberboard with melamine overlay is $50,795. Yes, that's exactly 100 times the manufacturer's suggested retail price. But you're not just buying a desk, you're buying a small chunk of Possumiana, and surely that's worth a whole lot.

I am, however, open to reasonable offers, as long as they do not require me to take in something else in trade. I AM trying to clean out, after all, not collect more stuff. Even if it's a free Mercedes.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:21 PM | Comments (8)

Good news, bad news sort of things.

Good news? I can park the Focus in the garage!

Bad news? As predicted, I feel as though I have been beaten with a shovel!

My big plan of pulling everything out of the garage onto the driveway was a bit overambitious, but we did manage to get the side closest to the kitchen door cleaned out, and the other side, although still pretty packed, at least has the advantage of having been neatened up a bit.

Final tally--twelve cardboard boxes of articles taken to the thrift store, along with a circa 1989 fax machine, an inoperative plastic laminator, a wooden hutch, and a small sleeper loveseat that had at one time been in a dorm at UAB, was then sold for a dollar as surplus, wound up in Reba's office when she was working at the daycare, then has sat for the past six years in our garage, where it became home to (from all appearances) a huge gang of filthy mice, thus completing the circle of repulsiveness. In addition to the things that can be deducted from the tax bill, there were also three garbage cans full of stuff.

The time involved? Well, first I had to run to the store for some groceries, and after that, we got started in earnest around 10:30. I finally ate supper at 8:00 that evening. In between was constant motion, including the necessity of toting massive amounts of heavy iron objects. My father was a welder, and quite a craftsman--he made mailbox posts, and sets of andirons, and jack stands for cars, and wood splitting wedges. Literally tons of stuff. And a lot of it is stored all around our garage. I can't bear to part with it, since the things he made remind me of him, and they give me some comfort as I look at them and remember back. But, I do sort of wish he'd been a craftsman in lightweight foam, because these solid steel things sure are cumbersome. Then there are the various tools of the ironsmith's trade that I've moved around to three different houses, including one bench vise that probably weighs close to eighty pounds. Just can't bear to part with that, either.

One thing I finally did let go of were the old set of hoses and regulators I had kept that were his. I really don't know why those held so much import to me--he taught me to weld, both gas and electric, but only in the most basic sense, so it's not like I would ever have been able to make a living doing it, or actually even be able to make any kind of repairs for which I would be willing to stake my life. But, I still kept the nasty old hose and junk around in a big box in the floor. I hauled those off Saturday as well. I had a pang of doubt, and thought maybe I should have at least tried to sell them, but in the end, I was just tired enough not to worry about it. Into the van they went, and to the thrift store with the other collected bricabrac.

I will say that a garage cleaning does tend to be quite a draw to the curious. I was deep in the middle of hauling stuff out when a car pulled up at the curb. Reba had come into the garage and I asked if she knew who it was, and she didn't. The car door opened, and some dark-haired woman got out and started walking up the driveway, slowly perusing our junk. "Can I help you ma'am?"

"I'm just looking."

"Uh, well, we're not having a garage sale--I'm just trying to get my garage cleaned out."

"Oh. Sorry."

I could tell she was disappointed.

Anyway, after a long hard day of lifting barges and toting bales, we finally did get anough jetsam cleared out to be able to park Reba's car inside. This is a rare occurence--we've lived there about eight years now, and for the vast majority of that time, the garage has been too filled up to get a vehicle in. When we moved from the last house, we did it in such a rushed manner that we never really did move in, we just moved. The stuff that got put in the garage never did get put away properly, and it's been accumulating ever since. So, it was nice to finally be able to use the space as intended, rather than as a ministorage unit. I might even get energetic and clean out the other side next weekend.

If I can get over being sore.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:44 AM | Comments (17)

April 21, 2006

Some people wish for a sunny weekend.

Then again, some people don't have a wife who has decided that the garage must be cleaned out. ::sigh::

Yes, it needs to be done. It's the biggest pile of messiness I've ever seen, and there's that issue of rodent invaders that keeps coming up, and it would be nice to get rid of some of the junk so I could have room to put more junk, but I don't look forward to having to do this. Mainly because although the idea of cleaning originated with one party, the actual task of cleaning will fall almost entirely to another party. Namely, me.

I imagine I will feel as though I've been beaten with a shovel come Sunday morning.

Oh, well. That's the way things go.

So, until I see you again on Monday (assuming I am not crushed under a pile of stuff too valuable to part with, but too crappy to keep in the house) all of you have a fun weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:51 PM | Comments (0)

Time for a nap.

It's been a very long morning already--Reba had a doctor's appointment, so I had to get the kids to school, including one rather recalcitrant young lady who doesn't mind making everyone else late. Managed to get out of the driveway by 7:00, then dropped Middle Girl at Middle School, then Oldest at the high school, then Youngest at elementary school, and then it was over to Clay to take Boy for his orthodontist checkup.

Which had extra-special urgency this morning, of all mornings, because today is Earth Day. (Well, Earth Day, Observed. The people entrusted with wasting my money tell me that tomorrow is actually Earth Day.) Shiny Pretty Sparkly Earth Day! And it seems he and his cadre are wrapped up in some Commie feel-good envirowacko deal where they journey over to the elementary school (in school buses, of course, since it's too far to walk) to discuss with the littler children the virtues of environmentalistism. He even got a tee-shirt with the words "Green Team" emblazoned on the front, and "Staff" on the back. They're supposed to do demonstrations about pollution, and recycling, and reducing resource usage, and conservation, and all that there stuff. And give away plastic bags full of plastic gimcracks and geegaws to remind the littler kids to love the Earth.

Which is all well and good--I think people should reduce, reuse, and recycle. Saves more for me to use.

ANYway, he was very worried that he wouldn't make it before everyone left school, seeing as how his appointment was at 8:15. We did get to the office early, though, and sat around listening to the radio and waving at ourselves in the reflection on the window of the office. His wire doctor also got there early, so thankfully we were in and out by 8:00. I also found out it's time for Boy to have his real REAL braces put on--tops and bottoms. ::sigh:: Goodbye, money.

ON back to the middle school then, spewing a lovely trail of hydrocarbons all the way, ran in, checked him in, and saw that he had indeed made it back in time to leave with his class. Which is good, otherwise I would have had to make a special trip to take him over to the elementary school. Hooty the Owl would not have approved.

That done, I stopped and got some grease and carbohydrates at Sonic and headed off toward downtown, happily throwing wrappers out my window as I went so the prisoners would have something to do. (Not really.)

BUT, before work, a side trip over to the county hospital to drop off a volunteer application for Oldest. She's decided she wants to get some experience doing that, since she still thinks that she can make Cs in her science classes and go to med school. I do hope she finds something that suits her--she really wanted to work at Children's, but their program for the summer closed out taking applications in January, so she's now having to just see if there's anything else available. Or, rather, we're having to HELP her see if there's anything else available, because she's rather put-out that her first choice was so cruelly taken from her by others. SO, I picked her up a volunteer application from Cooper Green, and she did fill it out, and I did drop it off for her. (After getting severely turned around in the parking deck and wasting yet more gas and pumping yet more CO into the air.) Cooper Green is a rough place to work, even if you're getting paid. I know she won't like it, but she seems to think service means helping someone when and where YOU want to, rather than helping them in the way THEY need it. If she does get it, it might be a good eye-opener for her as to exactly how good she has it in life.

Or not.

Back out to the parking deck, then back across town to my lovely office, where the oceanlike tide of paperwork has finally ebbed.

HEY! PRETTY SHELLS!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:20 AM | Comments (0)

April 20, 2006

Did I mention...

...that today is Mailout Thursday? And that unlike other Mailout Thursdays when I have only to finish stuffing envelopes, today I just now got finished with all that foolish typing gunk I've been working on since last Wednesday and am only now able to make copies? And have I mentioned that all I have left to do before I can come out and play is to put all the copies into envelopes and leave them in the mailbox?

Well, consider it mentioned.

By the way, I want to thank the folks who invented the digital copier. It's one of the most amazing things in the world. I was at a meeting in another building a few months back and had to make copies on their machines--one of the older style copiers with the big rotating drum. Even though it was probably the state of the art in 2000, all I could do was stand there hopping from one foot to the other screaming at it to HURRY UP!

Since it's been a while since I offered any overt political commentary, I think the world would be a much nicer place if those Peaceful Religionists who spend so much time thinking up ways to blow themselves up could maybe set that aside, and work on cool inventions like digital copiers. Or, you know, if creativity really isn't that high on the list, maybe take up farming. The Amish seem to like it, and you hardly ever hear of the need for an Amish Jihad.

Just a thought.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:43 AM | Comments (0)

April 19, 2006

Not since the Clinton Administration

No, really.

I couldn't believe it either.

Seems we had a server outage earlier this morning. I could occasionally get online, but couldn't even begin to access my worky-worky stuff--particularly hard was that there was no Word and no Outlook.

What to do?

Well, I looked to my left and saw the giant pile of garbage that I've been accumulating over the years. Old vacation leave slips, business cards, Dillon Blue Press catalogs. Honestly, I measured it and it was as stack of junk over 11 inches high.

Hmm.

So, I cleaned that off, and culled all the junk and kept the few essential things needed to do business. Still no intranet connection, though.

I looked just to the right of the previous stack at the OTHER stack of stuff that sat right in front of my monitor between it and my phone and mouse. Dangitall, might as well get that, too. I got it all the way down to the actual faux woodgrain plastic laminate on the top of the desk.

An ACTUAL DESKTOP!

The papers on the very bottom of both stacks dated to 1998.

EIGHT YEARS of JUNK! Where's Sandy Berger and his Magical Pants when you need him!?

I wish that was all of it--there's a in-out box full of the same kind of junk, and the vast area over on the right hand side of my desk, and then there's that previously mentioned pile of stuff on my window sills. But, now that I've finished lunch and the server's back up, I have to see if I can finish my work now.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:43 PM | Comments (16)

April 18, 2006

Well, now--lunchtime, and I’m almost halfway done.

Which is pretty good, considering EVERY SINGLE PERSON IN BIRMINGHAM has called me this morning. Some of them twice. And one of them came by instead of calling. And people keep putting stuff on my desk, despite the fact that I hiss at them. Silly persons.

Anyway, I’m going to eat lunch and type this, so please excuse the grease stains and crumbs. Since this is so long, I'll put it in the extended entry for your ease of reading or to make it easier to ignore, or something.



So, the weekend? It actually started Thursday night. Seems that Jonathan needed a suit. He had a little blazer, but when we tried it on him, the sleeves hit him halfway up his forearms. Sometime in there the little stinker grew. Anyway, since he was going to be participating in a competition on Saturday, our congregation’s rule is that you need to dress up for it. I can kinda see this when it’s something like song leading or speech, but his event was going to be Bible Bowl, and it would seem there would be less need to put on a dressy appearance for that. I suppose it’s best to not have any exceptions--such things lead to time wasted trying to explain why one is one thing and not another thing. Or something.

In addition to a boysuit, Reba said that Catherine and Rebecca needed some shoes. I don’t know about that--they seem to have plenty of them scattered all over the house, but I am not one to quibble. In any event, we decided to make a run Thursday separately. We usually all go together, but there was so much to get done that I didn’t want to have to stand there shoe shopping with a bunch of girls and wind up with no time to get anything done.

So, Boy with me, Girls with Mom.

Plan?

We’d go to JC Penney’s and find him something, mainly because Penney’s is just about the only place that sells suits for kids anymore. Apparently there’s a big demand for looking like a street urchin no matter the social setting. Whatever.

SO, on to Penney’s…but, wait. Hmm--what about… Say, down at the foot of the hill in the big shopping center, there’s an Old Navy. Maybe they have little kid blazers! So we stopped there first. Nope. Just thin cheap crap. Everything--all thin, all cheap, all crap. Next best thing to disposable. Well, poop. BUT WAIT--say, there’s a TJ Maxx nearby, too! (Twice the Quality Because We Have Twice the X!) Try that! Nope, not there, either. At least not in anything larger than a 4 Toddler. Wait just a minute--there’s an S&K Menswear right down from TJ Maxx! GO THERE! “Do you have anything in his [pointing at Boy as if a prize beef] size?” The saleslady shook her head and said sadly that they did not. “Well, is there any place close that might have something his size?”

“You should try Penney’s. That’s where we tell everyone to go when it’s for young men.”

::sigh::

What a great idea.

AFTER WASTING ONLY THIRTY MINUTES, we set out for the moribund Century Plaza over on the eastern edge of Birmingham. The place was once one of the grand malls in the area and always seemed packed, but now, not so much so. Even less on a Thursday night.

BUT, they did have suits.

Tried on one, but it was a double-breasted one. Boy like it, but I explained that a double-breasted suit was supposed to stay buttoned all the time. You don’t let it hang open DESPITE THE SLOB DAVID LETTERMAN’S CURIOUS AFFECTATION TO THE CONTRARY.

I think Letterman always wears some wonderful suits, and double-breasted suits really complement the frame of a tall thin man. But his stupid insistence on leaving them gapping open just makes him look like a goober, especially with that gap-toothed grin. Wear a single-breasted suit, ya big goof! And quit wearing those #$@^ light colored socks with loafers! You look like you’re channeling Cliff Claven!

ANYway, I guided Boy to something else, and we happened to find ONE nice dark charcoal suit with the stylish three-button coat and pleated pants. He looked very sharp--and then it was time for the shirt--white, button-down--of course! And finally, the tie. “Awww, Daddy, do I HAVE to wear a TIE!?”

“Oh, no, son--you don’t HAVE to, but if you don’t, Satan will rise up from the underworld and smite you and drag you kicking and screaming down into the uttermost pits of Sheol.”

I didn’t really say that. Although I think he probably thought that would have been a worthy alternative to actually wearing a tie. IN ANY EVENT, he found one he liked--a nice geometric pattern of grays and blacks and other colors, and one that you actually have to tie! What a man!

Flew home, and as I predicted, the girls were still not back. And, in fact, would not be back for hours. They got four pairs of shoes. In the interim, I packed. One undershirt, one pair of grippies, one shirt, one pair of socks. I don’t know why I only pack one change of clothes--even though we’re only being gone one day, everyone else seems to pack as though their moving away from home.

Next day, I got to be a home body!

Which meant that I didn’t get to stay at home at all, but rather spent the entire day running back and forth to the stores assembling junk food for the long, long road to Atlanta, because, as we all know, in the space of slightly over two hours, minivanloads of children have been known to starve completely to death.

And then there was the matter of Easter baskets.

Obviously, Rebecca and Ashley are getting too old for such things, but I knew I couldn’t exclude them or else they’d get their feelings hurt, so I bought four baskets, some small egg-motifed candy stuff that would be the same for all of them, and set about trying to find small presents that each one of them would like, and likewise would be small enough for an Easter Bunny to actually be able to carry, seeing as how the Easter Bunny does not have a magical sleigh or eight caribou to help him carry junk. So, Cat got a floppy stuffed duck and a travel checker set and some books; Jonathan got some Hot Wheels and a stuffed blue Peep (he’s too old for stuffed toys, too, but hasn’t quite figured it out) and some books; Rebecca got a stuffed bunny (although sadly it did not come with sauce piquant) and some books and a nice little manicure set; and Ashley got a small cute stuffed rabbit in an egg and a DVD (the Liz and Dick version of Cleopatra) and some books and a slightly different manicure set. Then I had to hide all this stuff in the closet until Saturday night when we got back.

Did all that, finished packing the van, and then set about to go get the children from school. The plan was to pick them up and then get Reba from the house (she was supposed to get off from work a few hours early) and then head out. First, check out Oldest, then run to the elementary school for Cat, then to the middle school for the Middle Two. Got them all, got them home, then we waited for Mom, who didn’t quite get off from work when she wanted. Left home about 4:15. Which, all things considered, was pretty darned good. And we didn’t leave anything behind, AND we didn’t leave the garage door standing open.

TO ATLANTA THEN.

Made it by 7:30, and was promptly highly annoyed that there was no parking space in the hotel parking deck. And hadn’t been since Thursday. Went around to the lobby, dropped off the personnel and their impedimenta, and went looking for the parking deck I’d been assigned. Thankfully, it was not far away, and doubly thankfully, was not staffed by attendants intent on ripping me off. There were several folks who’d been forced to park in lots where the keepers demanded a 20 or 30 dollar ransom BEFORE letting them in the lot, despite postings of a $17 per day maximum charge. Thanks, friendly Atlanta!

Back to the lobby, got our keys, got upstairs, and unpacked. We’d missed two different award ceremonies, so the kids were a bit disappointed that they didn’t get to go pick up their medals for Good Samaritan (they all got the highest level on that), and Rebecca got a trophy for achieving the highest rating for oral Bible reading, and one of the biggest surprises, Ashley got a second place trophy for her scrapbook. Surprising, mainly because of the amount of time that was actually put into it, which, as you recall, was tiny, and done all at the last minute. No prize for the banner I worked so hard on, alas.

Anyway, I was sorta glad we'd missed it, because it allowed me to immediately go to the room, take off my clothes, turn the A/C down to “meatlocker” and watch cable television. The downside? Well, Jonathan was rooming with me, so cable television was light on news and information, and heavy on Disney Channel.

To bed at a decent hour, and due to the fact that our rooms did not interconnect with Reba and the girls’, we actually got some peace and quiet without having to deal with people traipsing through unannounced.

Up early, got our stuff repacked--since we have to check out, there’s no keeping the room as a base of operations after 12 noon, so all the effort expended to get everyone’s junk upstairs and unpacked has to be undone the very next morning and all the stuff put back into the van so we’ll be ready to go after the last award ceremony that night.

Blah.

Dressed in our nice clothes--again, with no way to come back and change, if the kids had to be in something requiring nice clothes, it was just easier to wear them all day long. I had to give Boy a couple of pointers on suit-wearing: “You leave it unbuttoned when you sit down so it doesn’t bunch up, and then when you stand up, you button the middle button. On a two-button, you button the top one. And this is the way you tie your tie…”

Followed by one of those passing-of-the-torch moments that fathers and sons share, in which the man-lore of strangling one’s self with a brightly colored fabric garrote is passed down from one generation to the next. I don’t know if he could do it again without some help, but after he was all dressed and neat looking, I actually think he enjoyed wearing his suit and tie, protestations to the contrary. I noticed him several time throughout the day, making sure to properly unbutton and button his coat as he sat or stood.

Anyway, all of us grabbed a load of stuff and headed for the lobby, and after we got there, I proceeded on and walked to the van, stuffed in one of the rolling cases I’d brought with me, drove back around to the lobby, reloaded everything, then went and reparked, then walked back to the hotel. Which seemed to be uphill both ways, for some reason.

Breakfast, then. Or brunch. Tried to decide: food court, or lavishly overpriced breakfast buffet in the lobby? Since it was almost 11 and Oldest had her song leading competition at noon, it was decided to eat the buffet. The children made sure we got our money’s worth. You’d think we never feed them. I’d just about finished my big plate of scrambled eggs and sausage when Reba suddenly turned and asked Ashley if she had her sheet music. “Uh, no--it’s in my Bible Bowl book.” Which just happened to be one of those things that got packed away in the van when I brought it around. Which wouldn’t have been quite so galling had she not told the location in that way that indicates it was not her responsibility to keep up with such things. Grr.

SO, time for me to hoof it BACK over to the parking deck at the lovely SunTrust Plaza--“Soon as I get back, y’all leave and I’ll finish up breakfast with the rest of the kids.”

Out the door, with a big pile of sausage and eggs agitating in my gullet, at a near run to get to the deck and back in time. To the van, up with the door, find music, head back up the hill. Got there nearly purple with apoplexy, handed music to Oldest, who barely even acknowledged the stupid old sweaty fat man cluttering up the area with his presence. “You’re WELCOME, Ashley.” “Uh, thanks.”

GAH!

She and Reba went on off and took Catherine with them, while I stayed behind with Bec and Boy. After allowing my churning stomach and pounding heart to regularize themselves, we finished up our food before going downstairs to wait.

Waited. They studied some of their Bible Bowl stuff and I watched people. Not too closely, though. Reba and Oldest and Youngest finally got out of their session and came and we waited for the next thing. “Do you want to go with us to do some shopping?”

That was probably on my list right above being pressed to death by anvils.

I told them to go on and Boy and Bec stayed behind with me. We waited.

Finally got time for the Q & A session, so we migrated back to the big ballroom, which, in a break from years past, held ALL the contestants, from 3rd grade to high school. Each team had its own judge, and the questions were called out an shown on two big screens at the front of the room. Still seems like it would be easy for the more mischief-prone team members to get a case of wandering eyes, but it went remarkably well except for one glitch when the question-caller forgot to ask everyone for their answers before revealing the answer on the screen. Boos seemed to be something of an inappropriate response to such a thing, but he handled it with aplomb.

As for parents, this setup meant that we were all pushed over to the sides of the room, but apparently this still didn’t stop people from playing along with the game. Unfortunately, instead of holding up a card with the letter of the answer, this seemed to make people want to call out the answers like they were on the Price is Right. That got an admonition from the emcee. Of course, that didn’t stop the COMPLETE IGNORAMUS who sat a few chairs down from me, who was either brain damaged or never completely grew up. The very first question, this stupid git started stamping his feet like a little kid and raising his hand like he knew the answer. AND CONTINUED DOING IT for the next sixty questions. Doof, it wasn’t funny the first time, and it got progressively less funny THE MORE YOU DID IT. To make matters even worse, I think he was with the same group that had the Angelina Jolie lookalike mom in it. She needs to watch who she hangs out with, or people will think she’s as weird as the real one.

Anyway, that got over with, and then it was time to wait. And eat supper. Then go back and attend the final award ceremony. Say, whaddya know! Oldest got another award--second place in girls song leading! So, overall, it was a pretty good convention, even with the parking situation. I had to pay to get out and come get the luggage, so I figured after the final ceremony was over, I’d have to pay again. Just the way things are. So, imagine my surprise after I sneaked out a bit early to go make the final trek to the deck that when I got to the exit, the attendant was on break, and the guard was there to let people out, and I DIDN’T HAVE TO PAY! YIPPEE!

To make matters even better, I finally had a map to look at of the surrounding area, and we were able to make it to the Interstate in about five minutes. For some reason, for all of the past years, it seems like we’ve had different directions on how to get out, but none so simple as taking one left and going straight. Go figure.

Home, pulled into Casa de Possum around 11 pm, unloaded, sent the children to bed, then went to bed myself. The Easter Bunny was just going to have to wait until in the morning--I felt like I had rocks in my eyesockets.

SUNDAY, the Easter Possum arose early and set about his task of leaving surprises for all the good little boys and girls, as well as my children. They all were awakened, and seemed quite taken with their gifts, even if Boy broached the subject that some kids at school believed parents were behind the treasure trove, which brought out a rabid and forceful denial from Catherine, who took the presence of baskets of goodies as prima fascia evidence of a gift-bearing mammal having been in the house.

On to church, then to Reba’s mom and dad’s house, where we had lunch, and afterwards I collapsed on the couch. Home, where I really REALLY wanted to collapse on the couch, but instead decided to have fun by doing laundry and disposing of another mouse I’d caught in the garage. Strange, but this time not only was there a mouse (making the total an even dozen now) but there was also a blue-tailed skink stuck on the trap with it. Boy, I bet they had a story to tell, if I could speak either mouse or skink.

Back to church that night, led singing, coughed through half of the songs, then on back home, more laundry, then to bed.

MONDAY, and yet another OFF-DAY! For some reason, the kids were out of school, and so I took off as well, with the intention of doing work, as I mentioned in the first post of this morning. Didn’t do any paying work, although I did manage to actually finish the laundry.

Which I think is pretty good.

Now then, time to get back to that paying work.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:19 PM | Comments (4)

NEVER take a four day weekend.

It just makes you tired, and even further behind in all your work. I had good intentions--I thought maybe I could get some work done Friday in between running around getting last minute stuff for our jaunt. No. From the time I woke up, until we got to the hotel in Atlanta at 7:30 pm, I did not stop. Then, of course, Saturday was filled up with convention stuff and Sunday with church stuff, and then Monday--oh, Monday. "Finally," I thought, "some time to catch up on work stuff." I thought this because I am a moron.

From sunup to the late local news last night, a continual process of laundry, refereeing brawls, cooking food, yardwork, and not doing my paying work. Well, okay, not exactly--I actually did manage to get one paragraph written. ::sigh::

Meaning, for the next two days I have to do nothing else but type in order to get this mess finished, meaning further that you'll have to wait a bit before you hear all about our trip (which thankfully was much less eventful than in years past, and was once again marked by the appearance of the Angelina Jolie lookalike mom) and about all my other various gaddings-about (which were full of moronitude).

SO, as has become all too regular an occurence around here, I beg your patience and ask you to check back in sometime later to see if I manage to burrow my way out of this pile of garbage.

IN THE MEAN TIME, I got an e-mail from Kenny Smith this past weekend in he sent along a link to a highly entertaining website that is great fun for all of you obscuro-facto-philes.

Have a fun day, and pass the gasoline and matches and let's get this paperwork cleared up.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:26 AM | Comments (8)

April 13, 2006

A four-day weekend!?

You better believe it! We get tomorrow off as a holiday, although the kids are in school. They get Monday off since it wasn't used as an inclement weather day. I have to take a day of vacation that day to stay home with them, because frankly, I am very tired right now, and after this weekend, I can guarantee you I will be even more tirededer.

As usual, and as forewarned, we have our annual pilgrimage to the holy city of Atlanta this weekend for our convention and award ceremony stuff that our congregation participates in, and we won't be getting there until late Friday since the kids have school, and then we're driving back Saturday night because I'm too cheap to stay an extra night, and I also have to teach a class Sunday morning, and between Friday night and Saturday night is a constant running around to various meeting rooms and tending to whiney, ravenous children. Along with several thousands of our closest friends.

So, Monday will come as a relief. Although I bet I wind up having to do laundry all day.

ANYway, no possum for you tomorrow or the day after Sunday, so as usual you will have to entertain yourselves, or play the Home Version of Possumblog.

All of you have a blessed weekend, and I'll see you on Tuesday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:48 PM | Comments (2)

Another Late Night

Seems Oldest had a paper due today for her anatomy class. And a brochure describing a dread disease.

I went to bed, only to be awakened at 12:39 a.m. by a whiney person complaining that a part of the paragraph was on the wrong part of the brochure.

OH NO!

"Ugghhhhh! Dad!?"

::blip::

"UHhhhhgghh! DAD!"

"Mrrljhs? Mphephelplmc."

"::SIGGGGGHHHHHH:: Awoougghhh! DAD!"

"WHAT DO YOU WANT!"

I do not react well to be awakened from a sound slumber.

::whines:: "I TRIED to put THIS (pointing at bit of text) on HERE (points in general direction of screen) and it was over HERE (points to the first panel of the second page of the brochure) and now it's back up HERE!" (points to the last panel of the first page)

Resisting the nearly-overwhelming urge to tell her, 'Hey, I thought you knew so much about computers that you didn't need to take any computer classes,' I instructed her to click to the left of the line of text she wanted moved, then I hit the return key three times. Amazing! It moved down to the second page.

Then I went and peed and went back to bed.

I understand that she went to bed around 1:30, probably blaming everyone in the world--other than herself, of course--for making her stay up so late.

Mom and I had a big sturm-und-drang session with her a couple of weeks ago when she was signing up for her classes for next year--I've been trying for three years to get her to take a basic computing class to learn at least a little bit about it. She finally relented and put it down, but not before many tears were shed by her over this indignity--after all, she already KNOWS all she will EVER need to know about computers. And that's a direct quote.

Add to this the incredible hostility she radiates whenever I make a suggestion of how to do something, and doggone it, I just didn't feel like telling her that the photos she printed out of her assigned dread disease could much more easily have been simply inserted into her document, rather than actually cut out with scissors and taped in. Likewise, I figured since she was so up on her computing that she'd know how to get everything printed off. I came downstairs this morning to leave, and she was at the kitchen table busily taping two sheets of paper back-to-back. "Whatcha doing?"

"IT PRINTED OUT ON TWO SHEETS OF PAPER!"

"Mm, well, yeah--the printer only prints on one side." I reckon I'll let her figure out the way to get it to print on the front and back, seeing as how she already knows it all.

I guess I'm a mean daddy for not wanting to engage such behavior on her part in a more constructive manner. My hope is that if she won't listen now, she might at least realize later she might should have. Possibly, she will turn out to be like Mark Twain (or at least the apocryphal version of Twain): 'When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years.'

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:44 AM | Comments (9)

April 11, 2006

WORK FUN!

Not really. The regular ol' bimonthly meeting beckons, so tomorrow morning the usual fare of stupid possum-flavored things will be interrupted so I can sit around and take notes for half the morning. And then come back and type them up.

Whee.

See you all tomorrow sometime.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:30 PM | Comments (0)

I realize now what a sheltered life I have led--

--seeing as how there is a dog who's peed on more states than I could ever hope to visit.

It does remind me, however, of the book Go, Dog, Go!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:12 PM | Comments (2)

April 10, 2006

So, anyway.

Up early Sunday, sore, dressed, tried to get everyone else up and out of bed and dressed. Aww. Poor family is so tired! Daddy Drill Instructor keeps disturbing their sleep!

Finally got everyone up, dressed, fed, and to the church building. Taught my class, were the youngsters learned that Simon should have quit while he was ahead. On to worship, where we were once again blessed with an invigorating sermon, as well as constantly being kicked in the back of the pew by the children behind us. I think it’s time to change seats.

Afterwards, time to stay.

::sigh::

Seems Reba had a meeting, although her fellow worker on the project was not going to be back in town for it. And by now, the whole project consists of our kids and one other set of kids, and they weren’t there. So, basically, we were having a meeting with ourselves.

Why? Well, see, we’ve got this big church-related convention coming up this weekend that we go to every year (the thing where the kids compete at various things such as Bible Bowl and stuff), and Reba somehow got saddled with helping to coordinate the making of what is quaintly called a “banner,” and is used to identify each congregation participating. For some reason, there is an “eclectic” class, which is intended to encompass every other single thing that can be used to identify a group of persons OTHER than by using a swatch of fabric with their name on it, and every year, we enter this category. These things can get to be quite elaborate. On the other hand, we only have until Wednesday to finish it, and on Sunday, nothing had been done to it. So we had a lot of work to do. By ourselves.

After several minutes of arguing about which purveyor of fast food I was going to go to in order to get lunch, I took off and bought it and brought it back to the building. We ate, and then there was the time to figure things out with the “banner.”

Now, up until this point, I had assiduously avoided having anything whatsoever to do with any of this process. I have enough to do without having to get wrung in with something like this. No sirreebob. “Well, we’re supposed to have a piece of black plywood she said she found somewhere," ("she" being the other person who was running the show) "but I don’t know where it is.”

::sigh:: A signal for me to start looking.

I looked, but they found it without me.

“And we’re supposed to have some little white lights somewhere.”

The idea, as I understood it, was that there would be lights around the perimeter, or something, since the theme of the convention has to do with letting your light shine, and then there'd be pictures of the kids from church on there, and then a mirror in the middle, with the idea that you’d look into it and see YOUR light shining, too!

Or something. I was baffled.

Anyway, they managed to find the white twinkly lights. Only half the string worked. And there was the issue of how to get the lights attached to the board. Drills were mentioned. “Don’t we have a drill?”

Yes, of course we do.

::sigh::

I know I’m going to get roped into this.

They finished up printing off some photos of various folks, and we figured we’d swing by Michael’s and see what sort of crafty stuff we could find, and see if we could find a mirror to stick on the small piece of black plywood. OFF TO MICHAEL’S!

Found a rectangular mirror, then found another one that was round. Hmm. Round better--because it has to have the theme statement somehow written on it, and if it’s round, I--who have now been volunteered to write the slogan in some medium--will find it easier because I won’t have to figure out where all the lettering should stop and start.

But, what to write with?

Reba kept saying paint, which is a bad thing to do on a mirror, especially if done by a large, impatient, angry man. Rub on letters. Bingo! Found some, in a girly-looking script. Stick those babies on the glass and yer done.

Need to affix the mirror. Reba kept saying hot glue. Bad idea--doesn’t do well with non-porous stuff--need something quick and easy. Double-sided foam tape. Got it.

Now then--those lights aren’t gonna cut it. Too bulky, to much drilling, too many lights. Need dollhouse lights. They don’t have any, but they DO have the coolest thing in the world--a fiber optic decoration that goes in flower arrangements! I figure you drill some small holes, and poke the fibers through, and it begins to look less like a theater marquee and more like a constellation of twinkly stars! CLEVER ME!

Me not moron!

Well, me am a moron, but let’s just keep that between us, okay?

Anyway, an added benefit is that it’s battery powered, meaning no troublesome electrical cord. Which is just as well, seeing as how late Sunday I finally decided if I was going to do this, I probably needed to read the rules. No plugs allowed. Whew. Glad I found out.

Got the kids together, who’d been strung out all over the store touching things they oughtn’t, paid, and headed toward home. I got to the top of the hill, and despite knowing better, I said, “You know what would be better than that hunk of plywood?”

“Foam core board?”

“BLACK foam core board--that way, I could just stick a pin through it to feed the fiber optics through and we wouldn’t have to drill anything, and it’d be a lot lighter.”

Thus guaranteeing I’d have to run back to the craft store after I dropped everyone out at the house.

::sigh::

Dropped the family off, ran back, got a nice flat, slick, black-through-and-through sheet of foam core and ran home again--thankfully, it’s not that far of a run.

NOW THEN--running out of time, because I had to be back at church for a 4:30 meeting. Get mirror, get letters, start applying. I might not be good at anything else, but by doggies I can do press-on letters! Back in the olden days before you whippersnappers with your computers came along, that’s the way we professionals would do presentation boards--one sticky letter at a time. Too fast for you? Try doing rub-on letters! And those were extra-hatefilled when it came time to fix the inevitable spelling errors. Nothing like trying to use a bit of Scotch tape to gently take up the word “Elevevation” to make the word “Elevation.”

This with the glass was pretty hard, in that the only guideline I had was the bevel on the edge of the mirror, and I was working in a circle. But, it turned out looking very spiffy. Probably will wind up being TOO spiffy, since they seem to like stuff that was obviously done by kids. Whatever. Pressed the letters down for good, then flipped the mirror over to apply the foam tape. Done. “FOAM CORE!” Foam core on the table. Centered the mirror by eyeball method and held it mere millimeters above the surface. “YARDSTICK!” Eyeball precision still working at high level--no adjustment needed. Drop mirror final fraction, and SUCCESS!

All that’s left are to attach the pictures, and run the little twinkly fibers. Somehow, I sense impending disaster…

On back to the building, had my meeting, had our evening service, then on back toward home. We still had laundry to do, after all. LOTS of laundry. And there was this matter of supper the children kept bugging me about.

I suggested pizza.

I am a hero.

Call Domino’s after we get home. Two large, one meat lover, one supreme, one order of cheese bread. “That’ll be $42.”

WHAT!?

Which is exactly what I nearly shouted into the phone.

“WHAT!? FORTY TWO BUCKS for TWO PIZZAS!?”

“Well, sir, you ordered one large Extravaganza, which is what we call our supreme, and it’s $21, but if you hold on a moment I’m sure we can offer you a lower price on that…”

That’s still nearly twenty bucks for just a plain old NON-supreme pizza and some pizza dough--who’s this guy kidding!?

“No, that’s okay, I think we can just cancel the order right now and-”

“Okay, thank you, sir.”

Click.

::blink::

I think whoever answered the telephone at the Domino’s on Main Street in Trussville at approximately 7:45 last evening must ENJOY KNOWING HE CAN PULL DOWN A PAYCHECK even if he ACTIVELY ALIENATES CUSTOMERS!

Way to go, dude!

Well, fart.

Even though I had gotten all my church clothes off and was in my usual lounge attire of ratty shorts and tee-shirt, I was about ready just to go to the grocery store and get some pizza. “What about Pizza Hut?”

Well. Eh. They’re slow, and the usual delivery guy makes me highly uncomfortable. I really didn’t want to wait another hour for a pizza.

“What about Papa John’s?”

Hmm. For some reason, we never call them. Could be because their number’s not in our little crappy CenturyTel phone book. What about if I...

SAY--them there Internets can look up phone numbers for you!

Not only that, I found out you can order online, too. AND I DID!

How is this happening? How have I gone from being so backward to ordering pizza online? I don’t know. Thankfully, lest I become too enamored of technology for the sake of technology, although my pizza arrived in thirty minutes, the delivery driver had to call me twice for directions.

If they can get pizza orders from the Internet, it seems like a logical solution for their software to spit out a map to the person’s house attached to the order. Slap it on top of the box with tape and away with ye! I guess not. I might suggest that to them.

Anyway, two big pizzas, an order of garlic bread, $22. And the driver got a $3 tip because she was cute.

Mmm. That’s good pizza. It’s funny, too, because Domino’s is right down at the foot of the hill, and it always takes them at least 45 minutes to deliver, and Papa John’s is way over by the Interstate, and even with a bad sense of direction, they still got the food there in 30 minutes. Goodbye, Domino’s.

So, more laundry, and other junk, then the kids into bed, then us into bed. It took me a long time to finally get to sleep, though, what with all the events of the weekend still fresh on my mind. I probably tossed and turned for a whole five seconds before dropping off.

AND NOW, here we all are again! I may take a nap.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:41 PM | Comments (14)

"Water, water every where..."

Water. Ceiling of the garage.

Well, this has happened before. Our big swirlpool tub in our bathroom has a peculiar thing--the knob that controls the amount of aeration leaks. It's up high, but if water ever does get there, it seeps underneath and through the knob, and spills out onto the floor inside the tub enclosure, and from there leaks though into the garage below. I found this out the hard way not long after we moved in. Big hunks of drywall material still litter hard-to-reach portions of the garage, and there are still two lines where said material fell from the ceiling joists and has not yet been repaired.

And now, for some reason, it's doing it again.

I couldn't come inside. I stayed near toward the back of the yard, and I made up every reason not to leave that spot. I knew pretty much what had happened, and it would make me blood pressure spike to dangerous levels if I were to witness this myself.

"Is someone in the tub!?

"No, but there's water everwhere on the floor, and it's leaking though the ceiling!"

"Is there water running!?"

"There's just water all over the floor!"

"Get some towels and sop it up--once it's picked up, the leak should stop if there's no water running!"

Pause. I don't know what she wanted me to do--there were four people in the house--surely they could get the water up.

She went inside, and then a minute later came back out.

"Catherine is in the shower!"

::sigh:: "TELL HER TO TURN THE WATER OFF!!"

Why is this so danged hard for everyone to figure out!?

"She did! She had put the washcloth over the drain of the shower, and now there's water everywhere!"

::sigh::

Why did she put the washcloth down there? Why won't they just get the water up? Why does this require me to leave my happy warm fun zone? It is a mystery.

Reba went back in a second time, and I wondered exactly how big of a mess Catherine had just made with her incredible, maddening, insouciance. I didn't wonder enough to actually go inside, but I did wonder some.

Oh well.

Time enough to see after the grass is cut.

As it turned out, Boy did just about all the backyard, and by the time he got to the last strip of grass, he'd gotten to the point where only a few blades had escaped him. Lawnmower up in the shed, and then time for the last bit of yardwork--cleaning out the bird feeders and filling them with seed.

I was lax about this during the winter--it's been several months since they were properly filled and the poor little fat birdies and squirrelies had anything to eat at our house, so time to fix that.

The feeders were taken down and washed, and when Rebecca popped outside to see what was going on, I asked her to go in the garage, where she'd been busily blotting up water, and get me one of the bags of birdseed from the top shelf beside the deep freeze.

Waited. Put the feeders back together. Looked up and saw Catherine standing there. "NEAT! You fixed the frog fountain, Daddy!"

"Yes, I did, Catherine. Why did you put the washcloth over the drain and flood the house?"

"I don't know."

"Did it just fall down there and you didn't know about it!?"

"No, sir."

"So you did put it there?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you don't know why?"

"No, sir. Why are you washing the bird feeder?"

::sigh::

Told her to go back inside and help Mommy clean up some more, and went to go find out what was taking Rebecca so long. She brought the big cardboard box outside--"Mom says she thinks mice got into it."

Grr. I hate those meeces to pieces! (For all you Pixie and Dixie fans.)

I pulled out the top bag, and sure enough, a mouse-sized hole in the side of the bag, and a bag full of empty seed kernels. I took it out to the compost pile to pour it out, just in case any of the filthy vermin were in there. Nope. That's good. Opened the other bag, that had not yet been gnawed upon and finished filling the bird feeders, then locked everything up outside and came in.

Went out to the garage to survey the water damage--looked about the same. Still a few drips, but not nearly so bad as it had been before, and by this time I had calmed down again, so no big deal.

Now then, the matter of the seed. I went over to the deep freeze, and heard a peculiar noise. Something of a scratching. We had a picnic hamper up on top (in addition to a scattering of other stuff--some craft items, a hunk of carpet, a toolbox, a newspaper I'd saved). I lifted up the basket and EEEEKKKKKKK!! MICE EVERWHERE!! RUN AWAY!!

Filthy things.

I took the hamper outside to make sure it was empty, and it was. Went back to the freezer, and the little beasts were peering out from various hidey holes in all that junk up top.

Well, this means war.

Got my billfold and my hat and told everyone (all of whom by now were eating supper) that I would be back shortly. We gonna kill us some mice. Hardware store--closed. Grr. Grocery store--glue traps. Grotesque, but highly effective. And something I'd never heard about before, a mouse killer that was nontoxic to humans. Active ingredient? Corn oil. I had no idea they could be killed with a vanishingly small dosage of corn oil. HURRAY FOR CORN OIL!

Home, and got to clearing off the top of the freezer. Yuck. Moved the tools over to the tool box, threw away some of the junk, got the newspaper. Hmm. I'd saved the paper from the day Clinton was impeached. I had thought about keeping it, but it had the end gnawed off. Probably not by Hillary, though.

I took it over to the garbage can and read what I could through the plastic sleeve. Hmm. How very interesting--attacks on Iraq, Rep. Livingstone resigning, Clinton vowing to fight. Figured I might as well read the thing a bit more--not like I had anything to do. Started pulling the sleeve off WHAEEEEEEKKKKK! Danged stupid rodent! Apparently there had been one who'd stuffed himself up inside the rolled up paper, and decided to scamper out when I started messing with it. He skittered across my forearm with his sharp little disease-ridden claws, leapt to the floor (not shouting sic semper tyrannus, though), and bounded behind the file cabinet.

"Oh, don't run, Mister Mus Musculus. That just means you'll die tired. I'm gonna git you in just a little while, you stupid dimwitted mouse!"

I can't believe I was talking out loud to a mouse, and to make it worse, talking to him as if I was the bad guy from a James Bond film.

The paper was discarded without further reading, and I went to work finishing the cleaning and trap spreading.

Finished up, washed up to get the stench of mouse off of me, and went to work on some stuff I had intended to send our church contractor that morning, THEN finally took a bath. Kids to bed, got my stuff ready for Sunday, and then decided before bed, I'd got downstairs and see if the stupid mice had decided to play in the glue.

BINGO! STUPID MICE!

There was a big fat one in the tray on top of the freezer, a tiny one on the floor beside the freezer, and a midsized on in the tray by the back door. I took them outside so they wouldn't stink up the garage any more, and halfway hoping they'd get carried off by all the various cats that roam the neighborhood. No such luck--the next morning I found them where I'd left them and sealed them up in a plastic bag. In the intervening time, I have checked the rest of the traps and not found anything--either they had just stumbled into what they thought was heaven and hadn't had time to settle in good, or the rest of them decided to go somewhere safer. The only disturbing thing is that one trap is gone. Completely. I'm not sure how that happened--that had to have been one BIG mouse.

Anyway, the garage is still set up as a kill zone, so if any mice are reading this, you'd better just go somewhere else.

NEXT: Creativity, despite myself.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:28 AM | Comments (5)

Fun!

Food!

Frivolity!

Or not.

Anyway, got home Friday and waited for Reba to get home so we could go out to eat. Since we didn't have any kids with us, it seemed like a good thing. She got there, and we gathered together some clothes for Oldest, who'd decided at the last minute to spend the night with Grandmom and Granddad with the rest of the crew.

At that time, we did not know that earlier in the afternoon (and again, they'd been at Grandmom's house for a while, since they'd gotten out early due to the storms moving through), the children had engaged themselves in a slap-fight-laced imbroglio due to an accidental whack with a rubber ball, delivered by one Boy against the noggin of one Oldest. My mistake? Having the nerve to upbraid Oldest for retaliating purposely against her sibling because of an accidental insult on his part, and doing this in the presence of Reba's mom and dad.

For all their good points, my in-laws are of a peculiar mindset that seems to have been quite common amongst their peers, in which any oldest child is afforded near immunity from any sort of repercussions for bad behavior, with the recriminations falling to other children. They were raised like this, and they raised Reba and her brother that way. Allow me to say, the example of Jacob in the Bible should give any parent pause for treating one child as a favorite.

We've tried not to do that--we do our best to be fair to all of them (which is how my parents treated my sister and I), and to punish or reward them consistently. Sure, we fail, but for the most part, the kids at least understand the direction in which we're trying to go.

In any event, it seems that I committed a major faux pas by daring to cut Oldest down a notch, and the temperature in the room became quite chilly rather quickly.

What a grand start to our date night!

We left, with Grandpop silently standing at the door burning holes through me with his laser eyeball rays, and went over to a new place that's opened in our little burg, John's City Diner. John's is one of those downtown institutions from back when there was no such thing as a suburban shopping mall. It's still around, but the owner decided to branch out by opening a location in a suburban shopping mall. Nice place, though, possibly a little too nice. Lots of black and silver accoutrements, all sorts of weird angles and swoops and curves, a big window into the kitchen, wait staff who were simultaneously ubiquitous and unsolicitous, and WOW--those are some PRICES!

I realize I'm a rube and all that, but I do have some sense to know I'm being played a bit when items on the lunch menu are in some cases almost half what the same thing is priced on the dinner menu. Second, although a rube, I have managed to sneak into some really fancy places, and so I am less impressed than I should be with all the decorations and frills and precious twee details intended to tell me exactly how suave and cool I should feel.

As it was, I got a reuben (which should have been on rye) and Reba got a salad. I have to say the sandwich was quite good, although I didn't enjoy it as much as I could have due to the familial-induced indigestion. Probably not a good idea to have ordered something with sauerkraut and spicy mustard.

Afterwards, we headed back over to the in-laws' place to more calmly talk to all four of the children at once to encourage them to act like humans. As usual, 3/4 of the children were contrite and properly chagrined for having acted up and genuinely apologetic. The remaining 1/4 portion of the children was quite willing to let the other 3/4 apologize, seeing as how she believes that her actions were quite justified and that she is smarter than all people in the world combined and therefore does not have to listen to anything anyone else says to her.

Oh well. One day, reality will knock on the door and sit down and have a talk with her.

After we'd gotten that put away, we bade them goodbye and told them to get some sleep, and we'd be back for them Saturday afternoon.

Home, bed. It appeared we'd been spared all of the horrifying weather that hit Tennessee and Kentucky, until 1:30 a.m. when the tornado siren sounded. I really needed to be woken up anyway. Put on a pair of jeans just in case something bad did happen that would require me to later be in front of a television crew. I really don't want to be interviewed in my underwear and asked to describe the sound of a tornado. Turned on the news and saw the lurid red and yellow swirlies of storms headed our way and the salivating weather guy pronouncing dire direness about to overcome us all.

Went downstairs, made sure there was nothing in the floor of the laundry room in case we had to sleep there, and watched the television some more. The storms were really honking along moving east, which made me feel better since it meant they weren't going to sit and spin on top of us for hours. Reba piled up on the couch, and I did my usual thing of looking out the back and front of the house to make sure I still had a back and a front of the house. The leading edge of the storm arrived, the wind blew, it rained, and then that was it.

Back upstairs, sleep.

Wake up--it's UAB DAY! Hooray!

Now, I had been thinking this was going to be an early morning sit and chat deal and we'd be home by lunch. I believed this because I am a moron.

Started at 10:30--didn't get home until FIVE.

We got dressed and went and picked up Ashley and got to hear about their journey to the basement the night before. Seems Rebecca was the only one to hear the sirens going off and was the one who went and woke up everyone. For her conscientiousness, she was made to sleep in the floor for the rest of the night.

Off then to UAB, parked, walked back to the rec center. Which was to be the first of many walks. Got the schedule of the day's events and WOW--that's a lot of junk to do. The first thing was wandering around the huge gymnasium visiting the booths of the various schools, and then there was a breakout tour for each of them as they took groups of students to various buildings. We followed our tour guide over several blocks away to a meat locker lecture room, where we had a brief speech from one of the physics profs, who apologized that we'd been taken to the wrong building. I thought something was funny when it said we were supposed to be in Room 101 of the Chem building, and we'd been taken, up four flights of stairs, to the top floor of the Math and Science building. It seems all the muckety mucks were over in Room 101. I whispered to Reba that those guys had better get to walking, when in one of those decisions that can only be made at an institude of higher learning, the room full of students and parents--possibly sixty strong--were going to go back downstairs and go to the building where the department heads were.

Which sounded pretty stupid to me, but hey.

We decamped and followed our tour guide back downstairs and out onto the sidewalk (it was a beautiful day, by the way) and had just started down the street when we met the muckety-mucks coming our way. They had figured out it was easier for them to meet us, than for us to come to them. So, we turned around, and went back inside, and back up those four hateful flights of steps. Well, some of them. WE took the elevator.

The presentation--after it got going--was very good. UAB is justly proud of the huge strides they've made in research, and listening to the presentation almost made me wish I was a college freshman again. Almost. All that learning stuff really is neat and even in their presentation, I managed to learn something. Did you know that 8% of the freshwater in the United States flows through the state of Alabama? Did you know that's more than any other state? Pretty cool, eh? Did you know that sea urchins are prized by sushi fans for their scrumptious gonads? I didn't either, and I could have done without knowing any of that. So, there was all that kind of stuff, and then there was all the junk about atoms and molecules and computers and stuff, and then it was time for lunch. Followed our tour guide back over to the rec center, got a tepid shrivelled hot dog and some chips, and then it was time for the NEXT set of stuff--another presentation from the Pre-Health Specialties person.

The room was over in the old part of Volker Hall, and I swear to goodness, getting to the lecture room was EXACTLY like the bad college dream I have on a recurring basis where I am wandering through a basement and there are various lecture rooms off the corridor, and I can never find the right one, so I just go find one and sit down. The room this time wasn't in the basement, but up on one of the upper floors, yet the corridor to get to it was still low, and dim, and full of exposed conduit and concrete block and stained ceiling tile. UAB has some of the finest facilities I have ever seen, but getting to that lecture room could use a little work.

Good presentation--as were all of them. The high morale of the people associated with the university really is infectious. I realize they're trying to recruit students (and parents), but if you've been to enough campuses, you can tell a difference when you're at a place that's actually working at something.

After that, it was time for the walking tour of campus. Now, I work downtown, and am pretty familiar with the campus, and I even attended UAB for a couple of years before I transferred to Auburn, but it's still amazing to me exactly how much there is to it, and how much it has grown since I was there as a student. Luckily, we only covered the high points, because--since I am a moron--I had worn my regular work wing-tip shoes, not knowing I was going to be hoofing it all across blocks and blocks of campus.

Anyway, we finally got back to the parking deck close to 5:00, and I was a scosh on the tired side. AND I STILL HAD TO GO HOME AND CUT GRASS.

Home, picked up the kids, and set in to work on the yard. Nothing like the steady drone of a 6.5 hp Briggs and Stratton to wash away the cares of the world. Did the front yard as Boy and Cat rode their bikes up and down the sidewalks, spread out a little weedkiller, then moved to the backyard. I called them back and sent Cat inside to start getting her bath, and after a few minutes of instruction, got Jonathan hitched up to the lawn mower. He didn't help at all last year, and that's going to change this year!

He was glad to be doing it, though. He's bigger now, and the new lawnmower is easier to use than the old one. Lovely afternoon, cool, breezy, still lots of daylight, and the calming influence of being outside in the lush green of early spring, and now with the added fun of Son. Ahhhhh.

While he gapped up the yard (thankfully, it was the back and not visible from the street), I tended to other things. I got the frog fountain working right again, by putting the frog I had bussed right in the center of the water, sitting on a little pedestal. I figure if it was going to leak all the water out, the best thing to do was to put it so it leaked back into the fountain. Which turned out to be exactly the right thing--this morning it's still merrily splashing along.

Such a nice afternoon. Jonathan was still having a bit of trouble getting some of the strips of grass cut, but that was okay--do it over enough, and you learn not to miss anything. And then, the announcement.

Reba was at the door--"Can you come here and help me?"

"What's wrong?"

"There's water coming through the ceiling of the garage!"

::sigh::

NEXT: Rime of the Ancient Mariner.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:15 AM | Comments (4)

That was much more involved than I thought it would be.

I thought this weekend would be more relaxing than some past ones. I thought that because I am a moron. No, really.

As it was, there was teen petulance (displayed for the grandparents!), diffident restaurant service, six hours of campus touring, an overflowing shower that showered into the garage, a plague of mice, and forced creativity.

For some reason, I am very tired.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:06 AM | Comments (2)

April 07, 2006

Well, now.

It has been another week, and it's just about time for another weekend, and one that's going to be filled up with all sorts of running around doing things. We have a deal tomorrow where we get to take Oldest over to UAB to do a campus tour. Maybe it was just me, but I don't ever recall colleges marketing so heavily to high school sophomores; we get a near-constant stream of literature from universities all over the place. Hey, folks--stop sending brochures--SEND MONEY!

And there's this whole storm deal. The three younger kids are supposed to be spending the night with their grandparents tonight, and it's bothersome when I can't be simultaneously a mama hen and St. George and have them there at the house. But, at least right now, it doesn't look like it's going to be as bad as the meaty urologists first were fearing--it's clement and sunny and bright, although a tad on the breezish side. Then again, all that could change, and it might be worse. ::sigh:: It would be so much easier if it were a severe dragon warning.

If it doesn't rain, or alternately there are no sulphurous flaming sneezings from the sky, I might get out and cut the grass this evening and put down the weed killer I was supposed to have put out last week. Exciting times in Paris Along the Pinchgut, eh?

ANYway, all of you have a great weekend, and remember to pray for the folks that need it, and even harder for them that don't think they do, and I'll see you all back here bright and early Monday morning.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:54 PM | Comments (0)

Let's hope--

Burger King CEO resigning ahead of IPO

--let's hope he takes the creepy plastic-headed king with him.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:51 AM | Comments (7)

Of course...

...seeing as how we're supposed to be getting hit by a major storm within the next eight hours, we probably won't have a whole lot of electricity later on this afternoon.

I would advise everyone to save as much as you can, put it in a clean bottle or bowl, and put it in a cool dark place in case you need it.

{And if your (danged homphones) kids go to Trussville schools--I have just been informed [9:15 am] that they're being sent home at 1:00 this afternoon.}

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:31 AM | Comments (4)

Dreamy Super 'Lectricity!

Got my new replacement modem yesterday! WOO-HOO! And, actually a bit more than I bargained for--the company had first sent a little kit that had modem, filters, software, and cables with it, but for the replacement I figured they'd just send a modem. Nope--got the same package, so now I have extra filters and cable and a CD. And a new modem.

Hooked it up, turned on the power, power light on. Wait. Wait. DSL SYNCH!!

Hooray for electricity!

After supper, I got back on and figured out quickly that although I had been able to sign on the first night with the old modem before it crapped out, in retrospect (and with the comparison of a new modem) it was obvious even on that first night something was wrong with it. Originally, I kept having problems with staying online, and with accessing the CenturyTel setup page to change my password. Last night, no problems, and I zipped through everything with no problems at all. I even checked my new e-mail (that I won't use--web-based e-mail is a whole lot easier to keep up with) and answered one of the three surveys that they had sent to me asking how my customer service experience had been.

And by the way, as suggested by Mark over at The Conservative Zone, I did a bit of checking yesterday on getting a cable hookup. I had always thought you had to buy cable TV in order to get cable Internet access, but Mark said you didn't, and so I checked out our local provider, Charter, and sure 'nuff, you don't!

But.

Now, I realize the technical superiority of cable when it comes to speed, but for what we use the Internet for at home--simple surfing and occasionally downloading some pictures for class projects and stuff--even the slowest DSL line (I signed up for the 256kbps service) is still way more than we can make fullest use of. We're fortunate to live very close to the switching station (within a half-mile), which I'm sure helps out--if we were further away, I might not be as satisfied.

As for cable, the problem is that although the first three months are $19.99, after that it's 40 bucks a month, and you have to buy your own modem, which, although they are relatively cheap, is still more money out of pocket.

And let's face it--I am a skinflint.

Anyway, it was clicking along nice and quick last night, and so all is bright and fluffy this morning!

Yay!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:09 AM | Comments (2)

April 06, 2006

I went and got my suit coat back.

From the reweaving place. I went about an hour ago, because they weren't going to be open by the time I left work. Got there, got buzzed in, and gave it the ol' once over. Well, there aren't any more moth holes. And the two patches aren't THAT noticeable. I think the lady sensed I might be less than thrilled with the result--"When you have it dry-cleaned, it'll be much harder to see them. The dry cleaning fluid makes the threads shrink up a bit so that the repair is flatter."

I wasn't quite comforted by that, seeing as how it sounded very similar to the admonition that employees of Grace Brothers give to customers--"Don't worry about the sleeves, sir; they'll ride up with wear."

"Well, okay--and it IS better than having holes in it." Which came out a bit less complimentary than I intended it to, and I think I might have hurt her feelings a bit, because she did allow that she did the best she could. I know.

I don't blame her for it. I blame those stupid moths.

Anyway, at least now I have two suits in the Sunday lineup again. Ol' Blue is ready for a week off now.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:14 PM | Comments (2)

April 05, 2006

Dumb Stupid â€Lectricity

::sigh::

A recap--a couple of weeks ago, a certain wife of mine came home late one evening after shopping and seemed miffed that she’d been unable to reach me because I was on the Internet. She didn’t really need me for anything other than to tell me in minute detail everything that came across her mind as she drove from the store to the house, most of which I wouldn’t have remembered anyway, but that did not matter.

It told me I needed to do some checking around and upgrade my computing life so that I would be constantly available should any wife of mine wish to tell me something that simply could not wait. And there was the chafing irritation that I was paying just as much for AOL as I could be paying for superspeedy DSL service from my local phone company.

SO, it was ordered, and only a few days later my shiny new Netopia modem and shiny new CD arrived, and then a couple of days later--Tuesday, March 28, to be exact--the big day arrived when someone in the main office pulled the giant red switch on the wall that let all of the rich, flavorful DSL electrons come cascading into my home. Prior to this, I’d been very conscientious in making sure each of the four telephone jacks in the house had been duly hooked up to the cheap Chinese-made plastic and wire DSL filters, and I had all the various purple and yellow cables routed just so, so that they were actually visible in amongst all the other host of cables laying on the floor beside my computer desk.

Powered up the modem, watched the twinkly lights twinkle, installed the software, and zipped along on the Information Superhighway unencumbered by the hateful 56.6 molasses of dial-up. So excited was I that I called that very evening and fought with the AOL representative in Mumbai to cancel my service.

All well and good and fine and peachy and keen and nice and with big puffy clouds of joy.

Then, we came in Wednesday night, and I powered up the modem, and nothing happened. OH, the power light came on, meaning I had power. And there was a lot of Ethernet traffic that went back and forth between the computer and the modem that told me that I had no connection to the outside world. Well. Hmm. That’s probably a bad thing.

Called the helpful CenturyTel customer service number, told them I was having trouble, went through about thirty minute’s worth of cable swapping, powering up and down, more cable swapping, chanting, dropping chicken blood around the keyboard--nothing worked. The nice young man on the other end said they were awfully sorry, and said they’d send someone out within the next 24-48 hours.

48 hours passed. Friday evening, still no DSL signal.

Grr.

Called the helpful CenturyTel customer service number, told another nice young man I was having trouble because no one had come by to check on my junk. He said they were awfully sorry, and said they’d send someone out the next day. Which was, as you recall, Saturday, and the day of Oldest’s birthd’y party, and the day in which I tried to visit every single store in town looking to purchase every single useless thing I could find. (And nearly succeeded.)

Right before the party started, burly Sammy showed up (after going to the house down and across the street) and tore into the box on the outside of the house. “Hmm,” said he. “It don’t work.”

After apologizing for my inconvenience, he said he’d run to the central office and see if someone had tripped and fallen over the giant red switch labeled “Terry’s DSL” that had made it shut off, or if it was something that would require Waiting Until Monday.

Turns out, I was going to have to Wait Until Monday.

Dern.

In the mean time, a child of mine was desperately in need of plagiarized material from the Internet in order to cut-and-paste it into a report for school, and so I had to swallow a large lump of filthy pride and sign up with AOL again for a few more weeks of temporary service. (Seeing as how I had all those free discs around the house, I figured I might as well use them.)

Come Monday, I got a friendly call from Barry at 10:35, who at that very moment was standing at the little gray box on the side of my house and proudly telling me my DSL service was back in business and everything was working fine now. WOO-HOO!

Got home, and eagerly flew to the Possum Lair to power up my modem and see how well it was working again now.

Power up, no DSL synch light.

Power down.

Power up. Wait. No DSL light.

Power down.

Plug directly into phone jack.

Power up.

Nothing.

Grr.

Called the helpful CenturyTel customer service number, told them I was having trouble, recapped the recap you’ve read above, and the nice young man said they were awfully sorry, and said they’d send someone out within the next 24-48 hours. I asked what I though was a good question--“Since the phone lines work, and they can get it to work from outside, could this not be something wrong with the modem?” “Uh, I don’t think so, because, uhmm, no.”

Fine.

Tuesday, a note left on the door that Benny has come by, and guess what? THE DSL WORKS AT THE OUTSIDE BOX!

Upstairs, power up. Nothing.

This will not stand.

After fixing supper and watching American Idol and getting the kids started on their baths, I vowed to prove one thing--that I have a bad modem.

I unplugged the Ethernet cable, pulled the carefully routed purple phone line and the power cord and power supply out, and went downstairs. Still clad in my office attire, I grabbed a flashlight and my socket driver set, modem, transformer, phone line, a 25ft extension cord, and walked out of the garage to the side of the house.

Opened the cover of the box and flipped open the test cover. Plugged in the modem. Plugged in the phone cable. Turned on the switch.

No DSL signal.

I have a bad modem.

It is blindingly obvious. There is no other alternative--at least none that require vast conspiracies or orgone radiation.

Back inside the house with my junk. Called the helpful CenturyTel customer service number, told them I was having trouble, went though all that you’ve just read, and the young man said, “Uhh, hold on, sir.” After about ten minutes, another guy came on the phone. I explained all of this to him, and with no small amount of pride, told him of my simple experiment of hooking up the silly modem to the outside box, and it still not working. “I have a bad modem.”

“Well, sir, do all of your other phone jacks have filters?”

Yes, dunce. It worked once, and then quit, and the guys get a signal outside at the box, and I did the same thing, and don’t get a signal, and so I must have a bad modem. “Yes, I have all the filters installed, but I have already plugged it straight into the wall jack inside, and took it outside and it still doesn’t work, and if it was a bad filter, the service tech would be having the same trouble I am.”

“Well, sir, if you’re having trouble inside, that can be causing the modem not to synch properly.”

Which, duncy-wuncy, is why I TOOK IT OUTSIDE IN THE DARK AND HOOKED IT UP--it DOES NOT WORK. IT IS A DEAD PARROT! “It’s not a problem in the house--all of the phone lines are working, and the modem worked right before, and I hooked up the modem outside in the same test jack the technician did, and I don’t get a signal. If he gets a signal with his modem, and I don’t get one with mine, it means that my modem is bad.” I think he finally figured it out.

“Sir, what happens when you turn the power on to the modem?”

Maybe not. Dunce, all the rest of the power in town goes off and I hear transformers exploding. “The power light comes on, and when the Ethernet cable is hooked up, I get Ethernet traffic, but the DSL synch light does not come on. ”

“What color is the light on the modem?”

IT’S THE COLOR OF A NORWEGIAN BLUE! LOVELY TO LOOK AT!”Um, well, I don’t know--it’s kind of an ambery-greeny-yellowy color.” You ignorant putz.

“OH, well, sir--if you had a bad modem, it really should be having a red light.”

Grr.

“Sir, what I can do is put in a repair ticket and one of out service technicians can come and do a test on your modem. I’d hate to send you a modem if that’s not the real problem.”

’E’s not dead, gov--â€e’s pinin’ for the fjords!

Fine.

I ask him to be sure and have the tech call me and I would be sure to be there when they came today.

TODAY--I make a mad dash to the bank this morning first thing, and then get back and am happily working away when I get a note from the Person Who Hallucinates and Who Screeches and Hoots All Day Long Like a Howler She-Monkey In Heat, which says that Benny has been to the house and the DSL is working fine outside.

GAHHHHHHHH!!

CALL FIRST!

Luckily, there was a phone number (and thankfully, not in imaginary numbers), and I called Benny back. Seeing as how the message was now over an HOUR old (being that the person who took it was so consumed with spiders and bats and yellow polka-dotted elephants attached to the ceiling, it was impossible to put the message in the e-mail system and send it to me when it came through) Benny was now across town on another call.

“Please call when you leave and I’ll be there within thirty minutes.”

11:15. Benny. He’s on the way.

So am I.

Drive, drive, drive. Fast.

Pull up and he’s already sitting in the driveway. I apologize for having them come out so much to check a line they know is working--“But I think I’ve figured out I’ve got a bad modem--I hooked into the test outlet and it won’t synch. Did they say anything about a possible bad modem?”

There was some mention of it. But not a lot--because obviously, that’s just crazy talk.

I went and grabbed the modem off the top of the garbage can in the garage where I’d left it the night before--“Do you want me to run the extension cord out to the box, or what?”

“Well, I need to go to where you have the computer so I can check it there.”

AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

I HATE ALL HUMANKIND AND ALL OF ITS FIENDISH DEVICES!

Why? What conceivable test would need to be run INSIDE, when it’s been established--BY BENNY, that very morning--that I had DSL at the box on the outside of the house. JUST GO PLUG IT IN THERE! But no, we must traipse inside.

Folks, I have four kids and a wife. I do my best to try to be neat, but I am sorely pressed by a family who does not share my obsession with putting things away. And it’s not just in one or two rooms--they live all over the house. There is not a neat corner anywhere, except the small space where my underwear is, and my gun cabinet. The rest is, and usually remains, a wreck. I am sorry I am not a better father, and cannot convince them to pick up their junk. But, that is but one of my many failings.

HOWEVER, must I bring tradesmen into my domestic sty!? Must they be made witnesses also of our slovenliness!? CAN THEY NOT JUST HAVE A SIMPLE MACHINE TO CHECK THE NORWEGIAN BLUE MODEM THERE ON THE DRIVEWAY!?

Apparently, not.

So, after profuse apologies to Benny for the mess he was about to enter, we went upstairs to the Possum Lair. “Please, Benny, close your eyes.”

The modem is once more plugged up to the power strip and to the phone jack.

Power up.

No DSL synch.

“See?”

Benny gets out his little laptop and the tiny modem. I give him the phone cord. He plugs it in.

Lights flash.

DSL synch.

“Well, looks like you’ve got a bad modem.”

AND THE HEAVENS OPENED, and shouts of joy were heard throughout the land, and angels proclaimed loudly with angelic loudness that the modem was dead, with a sound and thorough deadness.

“Yep, I know.”

And then started the next process--phoning the helpful CenturyTel customer service number to tell them that I was having trouble--BECAUSE MY MODEM WAS DEAD--and they needed to get off their duffs and send me a new one. “Benny, y’all got any supersecret phone number to call to get better service?”

“Nope--we have to call the same one you do. Y’know, I don’t know why we keep sending out these Netopia modems--we’ve had a lot of problems with â€em lately. I wish they’d just give us a few to keep on the truck so we can swap â€em out so you don’t have to wait on them.”

I’d like it if they not have so many dunces who don’t understand basic wiring. “Yep, that’d be nic--HELLO, yes, I’ve been having trouble with my DSL service [recap above recited to Allison, the helpful young woman who was on the other end of the line].”

“Is the service tech still at the house?”

Why yes he is! I let them speak to each other, and he gave out his employee number and his actual name (oddly enough, I think they must all have aliases or something), and I heard him say, “And he should have the replacement by tomorrow? Good--thank you, Allison.”

So, now--I still don’t have a way to access my DSL line. I’m still with AOL.

But at least I finally have some satisfaction in knowing I was right, dadgummit.

That, and a buck, will get you a cup of coffee, my friends.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:50 PM | Comments (14)

April 03, 2006

Loose Ends

Stuff I forgot: I locked my keys in the Focus when I got home to pick up the building plans. Luckily, I had a spare key in my old wallet upstairs.

I did finally remember to get a battery for Jonathan's metronome. It works fine now.

I also made a stop at Wal-Mart Sunday evening on the way home from church to get an ink cartridge for the printer and a newspaper. I have no idea why I thought I needed a newspaper--I can't even get through the comics anymore without being assaulted by breathtaking moral cowardice.

The dogwoods are in bloom. There is nothing I enjoy more about spring (botanically speaking, at least) than the ridges and valleys sprinkled with dogwoods.

I still did not get the grass cut, nor the weed killer spread out, which is probably just as well since it rained last night.

Hans Blix = Alfred E. Neuman

Despite all the grousing about having to get ready for the party, I'm still glad that the back porch looks tidy again.

Rebecca got up this morning and said she was sick, but I made her go to school anyway, but then she felt so bad still that after she turned in her class assignment, she called and asked for Grandmom to come pick her up and take her home. Of all of them, she's the one I know isn't faking when she says she's unwell.

Yet another weekend without a trip to the junkyard to explore for old Volvo parts. ::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:02 PM | Comments (2)

Part Four

Forgot one thing--before bathtime on Saturday night, after we’d gotten all the food put away, I made the dash through the house resetting all the clocks. There’s one thing I like about setting the clocks up early like that--it’s a further inducement to get the kids ready for bed. They were already tired anyway, so it wasn’t that hard, but it was much easier after they saw how VERY LATE it had suddenly gotten.

And then, there was the issue of homework. Seems Middle Girl had an assignment she’d gotten on Monday, and it was due today. And by Saturday, she’d done exactly none of it, because it required Internet access to find information, and we’d been down since Wednesday, and she hasn’t been able to get anything done at school. The project? For Social Studies, she was tasked with coming up with a travel itinerary describing a three-day European trip--locations, travel times, events, information about the countries, finding lodging, all that crap. And now it was bedtime on Saturday. Which meant Sunday was going to be quite fun, trying to get all that done between church services. We thought maybe, possibly, she could use Grandad’s computer.

So, there was that, and then scrubbing off the day’s grime, and then sleep, and then time to get right back up again.

Up, take another quick shower just to wet my hair (it’s at that stage of growth where it’s long enough so that it stands up in all sorts of stupid-looking ways when I get up in the mornings, but too grizzled and short to be forced to lay down without getting it all wet again and starting over). Dress, breakfast, load the van with Bibles and class books, leave almost on time, which seemed to delight Rebecca for some reason. I think she might be coming down my obsession with punctuality.

It’s good for her--the letdown caused by the constant non-punctuality from other members of her family will build deep wells of character in her and make her a stronger person. Just like it’s done for me.

Off to church. New quarter started Sunday, so I had to scurry around and make sure that everyone was in place, which was a bit harder than usual since I had a class to teach as well. Got Reba to watch them for a while until I got back. Thankfully, everyone showed up, including our youth minister, who I was afraid had overslept like he’d done two years ago when the time changed.

Class time. I have Catherine’s class of 3rd to 5th graders again. They’re a pretty good group, although my teaching style might be a bit overwhelming for them--I tend to offer a lot of commentary, and like to draw explanatory drawings on the board, and teach them stuff about some of the hard words they come across. They listen pretty well, though, all things considered. The bell rang, and I wasn’t even close to being through, but unlike some kids who bolt for the door, they hung around for a while and asked questions until I got things wrapped up and stapled their papers together.

On to the auditorium, and a good lesson which was made all the better by the fact that the people who usually sit behind us and allow their three children to constantly kick the back of our pew were sitting elsewhere.

Somewhere close to the end of the sermon, the thought occurred to me--with all that Rebecca had to do on her report, and the fact that Grandad’s computer still doesn’t have a printer hooked up to it, and with all the time that would be wasted going back and forth over there to their house, what we really needed was for me to get our dial-up service working again, at least temporarily, so she could do her work at home and not have to worry about moving around.

Yes, that means what you think it means.

I had another AOL free trial disc around the house, and despite the fact that I had just cancelled it and uninstalled the last program from the computer, I needed it again. ::sigh::

We got home, and I got the new access set up. Again.

We worked on it for the next three hours or so--found train and airline prices and schedules, found hotels, found information. She decided (after I talked her into it) of visiting Milan, Geneva, and Lyon. For some reason, her teacher had asked them to visit a country in three of the five different regions they were discussing in their textbooks, and with only three days, it seemed best to try to find a border area where three different regions came together. Worked out pretty well, although you’d have to be crazy to really try to do it.

Had to stop to go to evening services and an early meeting--during this time, Reba and Ashley and Catherine had gone to the store to return some things, and they weren’t back yet. The phone rang the moment I shut down AOL, and it was them. ::sigh:: Told them to meet us at the church building.

Jumped in the van, headed out, got to the building just in time for our meeting, and about 20 minutes ahead of Mom and the other girls. And then I remembered something--our treasurer is meeting with the bank about a loan for our new addition to the church, and I was supposed to bring the drawings and specs, and I’d left them at home. Grr.

We live 25 minutes from church. If I am a bad person and drive over the speed limit in certain areas, I can make it in 20. It was now exactly 40 minutes before church was supposed to start. I made it back in 40 minutes. I must admit that it constituted a highly sinful 40 minutes, in that a large portion of it was devoted to being a scofflaw. BUT I GOT THOSE DRAWINGS TO THE TREASURER!

Another good sermon that evening, and then, the next event--the teenagers were having a meal and devotional at someone’s house. Rebecca wanted to go to it, but couldn’t because of all the work she still had to do, but Ashley still wanted to go. Which, of course, meant that SOMEone would have to come back and pick her up, since she still does not have her license.

I blame myself.

So, on to the house with us. Everyone else ate supper while I did a bit more information gathering, then got Rebecca upstairs so she could start putting it in order. Then I got the call to come be chauffeur and went back the same way I’d already come three times previously that day.

Home, work some more on the title page and dividers, started printing it out and sent Middle Girl to bed.

Finally got to bed about 11:30. Sometime in there, a storm came through, and I think it hailed, and I know it thundered because one of them sounded like a bomb going off and it actually woke me up. One second later, I was sound asleep again.

And now?

It’s lunchtime!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:59 AM | Comments (4)

Part Three

I still wasn’t quite sure how many people were going to show up to this thing--sixteen had been invited, and we couldn’t get a straight answer out of the birthday girl as to how many had confirmed they’d be coming, and then we kept getting word that others had invited themselves, and so by the time the early arrivals started coming in, I was rather nervous.

Part of it was just the normal desire to be a good host (i.e., a control freak) and make sure everything runs smoothly, and then part of it is I just have a hearty dislike of people invading my space who might not have the same ideas as I do about the proper manner in which one is to comport one's self in someone else’s house.

Especially, it seems, for several of the kids who finally did show up who seemed as though they were being raised by wolves. And not even by nice wolves, but wolves with interpersonal and interfamilial issues that appear to require the intervention of various judicial processes.

It’s hard to blame the kids, really. It just hurts me, because I remember when teenagers would do anything to try act like grownups. It was usually unsuccessful, but at least they tried. Nowadays, they don’t even try, and I think it’s because they have parents who are doing everything THEY can to act like teenagers. There’s a lot to be said for being child-like. Much less so for being childish.

So, there was the one kid in his black long sk8t4 shorts and black toboggan and black socks and black shirt and black shoes who thought it would be real fun to play keep-away with one of Catherine’s videotapes, and there was the kid who threw his trash in the yard, and the kid who thought it would be funny to make off-color remarks while the old fat guy was standing nearby, and then the idea that it would be fun to start messing with the lamps while they’re burning.

Approximately a half-hour into it, I was ready for the lot of them to leave. AND IT WAS ONLY FIVE KIDS WHO EVENTUALLY SHOWED UP! One girl, four guys, and precious little in the way of manners. And yes, this includes Oldest, who HAS been taught better, but prefers not to employ her knowledge in any sort of way that might indicate she has any parental influence in her upbringing.

Or, maybe I just don’t like people.

IN ANY EVENT, they devoured the shrimp and ate varying amounts of the other carefully marinated and grilled meats--well, except for the portions they threw away or left on the ground. They hung around talking in the yard for a long time, got bored, briefly discussed leaving and going and bothering someone else in the neighborhood, decided to stay for cake, got bored again, got a soccer ball and started kicking it all into the neighbors’ yards, and finally started drifting on back home as their parents came and got them. I started the process of shutting down the shindig at a bit before 6:00, because I thought that last kid’s parents were coming for him soon. He called his parents and finally left at close to 7:00.

The oil went back into the jug--only used a little bit, it turns out. Figures. The bikes were brought back around, the shed was locked up, the garbage was picked up, the chairs were folded and stacked back inside the garage, while inside the house, the meat and fruit--so laboriously stuck onto bamboo sticks--was unceremoniously deskewered so we could get it into the refrigerator.

Never have I been so glad anything was over--and that includes last month’s 50th anniversary party for my in-laws.

And never has a shower been so welcome.

And then, Sunday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:08 AM | Comments (2)

Part Two

Frog fixed--what next?

Well, how about this--how’s about I get the long box that had our new tent awning in it and get it assembled! YEA ME!

Got the box, opened her up, and looked for the instructions. Good--it has some. And they weren’t even written in Chinese! Got the bundle of thin tubing out, got the plastic fittings out, got the fabric out. All laid out in front of me as I sat on the stone bench, Boy patiently waiting instructions on how to help his dear old Dad.

The pictogram said I needed (4) Part A. Got it. Those were the corner pieces of plastic into which everything else clicked. Now, I should have (8) Tube 7. One #7, click into Part A; two #7, click into Part A. Get another Part A, click a #7, then click another #7. Third Part A, and…hmm. I need another Tube 7. They all had nice little number stickers on them. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12. I should have (8) Tube 7s, right? Uhm, yeah, need 8. But--but I only have FOUR! “Jonathan! Go through that sack full of tubes and all those other ones you’ve pulled out and see if you can find the other four tubes that have a number 7 on them!”

We looked and looked. Nope, no other #7s. BUT, we had four too many #2s! Not that it helped. Well, crap.

All that promise, all that WASTED EFFORT! Bundled everything back up and ran it back over to Winn-Dixie and got my money back, and when I got back sometime after 1:00, I learned that two of Oldest’s invitees had decided to come to the party at 2:00 instead of 3:00. I’m still not sure why. ::sigh:: Like it matters.

AND THEN, as I was scurrying around trying to set up lawn chairs in the yard and fill up the lamps with oil, there was the phone call from the telephone repair guy.

You see, my DSL service I was SOOOO bragging on last week? Well, it worked fine Tuesday, but Wednesday night I tried to use it, and it was MIA. Couldn’t get the modem to synch, and I tried everything, INCLUDING calling customer “service.” Went through the usual routine of turning things off and turning them back on again, plugged the modem directly to the wall without the filter, plugged the phone into the modem, did every conceivable unplugging and plugging thing the guy could think of, and then he gave up and said he’d put in a service request. Thursday, maybe, or more likely, Friday. GRRRR!

Friday came and went, and I called and they said they’d have someone out on Saturday. “Well, can it be the morning? My daughter’s having a party in the afternoon and we need to be able to do that.” “No problem!”

Which brings us back again to Saturday afternoon, 1:00 pm, with party preparations about three hours behind, and two kids showing up an hour early, when Rebecca comes out the door and tells me I need to go around to the front of the house to help the telephone guy find the right wire. Huh!?

I walk around there, and there’s no one there.

What the!?

Walk back inside and Reba is hanging up on him--“Where is he? I thought he was in the front yard!”

“He pulled up to the wrong house--he’s at 3112, and I told him we’re at 3121. He sounded really embarrassed.”

Yeah, well, he should be! Not nearly so much as someone who’d been giving a two-ended liplock to a plastic spitting frog, but still maybe a little bit.

I went back outside and then noticed the big white boom truck up and across the street, with a burly fellow taking up yellow cones and placing them on his truck. He finally got turned around and made it back down the street to the front of Casa de Possum. Took out his yellow cones and put them in the street. He looked a lot like Larry the Cable Guy, except with sleeves.

All kinds of cool equipment, including his lineman’s handset, which I’ve always wanted, and he got hooked up, plugged up a minimodem, annnnd--nothing. “Well, I can’t get it to synch.” Amazing, I couldn’t either! He figured it was something at the main office, which he’d have to go check, but he couldn’t do one part of it, and if the trouble was in that part, I’d have to wait until Monday for them to fix it. ::sigh:: Stupid DSL.

He called after he got back to the office--it was going to be Monday. Grr.

(And, in an odd coincidence, Barry just called at 10:35 and said he was there at the house, and the DSL was working just fine now. It better be when I get home tonight, Barry, or I shall taunt you mercilessly. Of course, Barry didn’t sound nearly as big as Sammy, which is the guy who came out Saturday.)

Oh, well--bigger fish to fry at the moment. The girls had managed to get a lot done in the kitchen--there was a huge pile of fruit they’d put on skewers, and the junk in the den had been mostly cleaned up, and the meat kebobs were just about finished, and the punch bowl had nothing in it except punch.

I went back outside to fill up the torches. And discovered that there might just be a reason that a company is able to make a profit on something even at the ridiculously low price of $2.97. Well, you figure the bamboo is basically free, since it grows like kudzu over there. But you do have to have a little labor added to split it just so, and tie some stuff around it to hold the oil cans. But those oil cans--now THOSE are marvels of ingenuity. They looked like old brake fluid cans, painted yellow. And not good old brake fluid cans, but brake fluid cans that were probably reclaimed from a giant burning trash dump on the outskirts of some Chinese industrial gulag. The yellow paint, it seems, not only was intended to add a festive touch, but also was intended to cover over tiny imperfections in the cans where they had rusted through.

I didn’t realize this until I was filling up one particular lamp and kept getting a tiny stream of lamp oil running down my hand. I though I was missing the spout, but upon closer examination, there was an open rusty seam near the top of the can that was allowing the oil to dribble out. Such wacky pranksters!

Eh. Whatever. I figure they’d fit right in with the blasting caps and the cool set of lawn darts we were going to let the guests play with.

Planted the lamps strategically around the patio and the chairs, and the kids started arriving. Cranked up the grille, and got to cooking.

NEXT: Party, dude!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:50 AM | Comments (3)

Part One

Well, Friday night was Cleanup Night for some, and Go to Sam’s Club and Get Foodstuff for one particular pater familias. For some reason, Reba thought it would be good if we all went to Sam’s. I dissuaded her of that notion as quickly as possible. The kids are generally past the grabby-whiny phase, but they still aren’t up to the point of actually being helpful, either, such that we could give them a couple of carts and expect them to go get stuff. And there’s always the problem of one particular child of ours who thinks it her job to hector the others.

Friday had been long enough without all that, so I finagled a solo trip to the store for the food items, which was nice, even though I didn’t get there until 8:00 pm, which is just about when I would have preferred to be going to sleep.

Let’s see--Simple Green, soft drinks, premade spinach dip (thus eliminating the need to get all the junk that goes in it), shrimp, chicken, pork, watermelon, grapes, cake--did not get ginger ale, did not want to get sherbet for fear of it melting, and forgot to get a battery for Jonathan’s metronome. Got in line sometime past closing time, and every checkout (not like it was that many--there were only three open) was four deep with convenience store owners loaded down with big flatbed carts full of candy. Or it seemed that way. Probably just me being impatient.

Load up, go to the next store to pick up the remaining items--ginger ale, pineapple juice, sherbet, some biscuits for breakfast (not frozen, thank you for asking). Forgot to get the battery again.

Home, unload, see that remarkably little progress has been made by the children in cleaning up the scattering of toys and paper and backpacks and junk they like to wallow in. Let out heavy sigh and decide to not worry about it.

UP EARLY SATURDAY--somewhat. I really wanted to sleep a bit longer, but once Reba gets up and I can hear her brushing her hair, I know she’s not about to get back in bed and wriggle around any, so it’s best just to go ahead and get up.

Went over my mental checklist of things to do for the morning--get tiki torches, citronella oil, clean off the back patio, cut the grass, throw out some weedkiller. Say, and I might fix the pump for the little water fountain outside. It had run dry so many times, the pump motor had given up. Or so I thought. I figured I would be finished up around 1:00 or so, which would give me plenty of time to get the food ready and get it cooked before people started showing up at 3:00.

Dress, head on out to the first stop, found out I was supposed to get something else--a punch bowl. We couldn’t find our other one. And a melon baller. Okay--no problem. Off then to the hardware store--Marvin’s down at the foot of the hill. Found a new pond pump--a bit bigger than what we had, but it had a cool upward spraying spout feature. Just like me! Got some dandelion killer, and it was out the door to the next stop.

Winn-Dixie--they had cheap torches bamboo-and-recycled tin can lamps for $2.97 each. Got four. Oil? Uhhh, hmm. Well, you’d think they’d have citronella oil by the lamps. No. No oil at all. So don’t tell me we’re fighting a war for it! BUT, they did have a nice big tent awning--we’d tried to figure out what to have for people to sit on--originally we’d thought about just having blankets, but it had rained Friday night and the ground was wet, so I thought maybe a nice cover would be good and have everyone sit in lawn chairs. Got one of the boxes that didn’t look particularly crushed or damaged and stuck it in the cart. PUNCH BOWL! They have all kinds of small appliances and cookware and glassware, but for some reason, no punch bowls. Of any sort, nice or otherwise.

Dang.

Melon baller? It took me a solid ten minutes of searching for one in the rack upon rack of tiny kitchen implements, but I DID find it! YAY ME!

Hmm--we need a new colander, too. Seems some big idiot left the plastic one that we used to drain spaghetti with on top of an empty aluminum pressure cooker, and for some reason had turned the wrong stove element on, which heated up the empty aluminum pressure cooker to the exact melting point of plastic, causing the previous plastic colander to wilt and adhere to the pressure cooker, as well as a goodly portion of spaghetti.

So, I got a colander.

And a meat hammer. Seems some big idiot broke the last one while trying to break apart frozen biscuit dough. So I got a replacement for that.

Now then--punch bowl, and lamp oil.

Hmm--I wonder if the Dollar Tree has that junk? Grab a soft drink out of the machine, waste valuable minutes chatting with the Pepsi delivery guy about his missing the Auburn A-Day game on Saturday, put away my purchases into the car, went next door to 100 Penny Paradise.

No punch bowls. No oil. Plenty of melon ballers, though.

Poop.

Got back to the car, which by now was overwhelmingly redolent of Scott’s TurfBuilder Plus Dandelion Control, and headed out for the next-most-likely place to have a cheap punchbowl and citronella oil, Target. It’s just down the road, after all.

No punch bowl, no lamp oil. But an absence that was made much more palatable by all the other chic, yet affordable, merchandise, and store clerks all wearing khaki pants and red shirts.

Grr.

It’s getting way on up in the day, and I’m wasting a LOT of time looking for stuff. The thought occurs to me that if I’d just gone to Wal-Mart in the first place, I could have saved a lot of time and found everything all at once. But I am a moron.

Well, let’s try Bed, Bath, and Beyond. “Beyond” apparently is inclusive of punch bowls, because I DID find one--a bowl of clear plastic bowliness that was shatterproof and able to hold five quarts of icky pineapple juice, pineapple sherbet, and ginger ale punch. Hooray. “Beyond” does NOT, though, extend to the selling of citronella oil. ::sigh::

ON TO HOME DEPOT!

By now desperate, I raced in, and [cue angelic chorus] FOUND THE OIL FOR THE LAMPS! PRAISE BE! Got two gallons, because I had no idea how long it would last, and because I am stupid.

Got to the checkout. Studiously ignored by the clerk, who’d torn up her register, and was trying her best not to call attention to herself, lest the register be fixed and she’d have to do something. I don’t know what she was thinking, but it would have been nice if she’d just turned around and said, “Sir, I’m sorry, but my register’s not working right now, and I’m trying to get if fixed.” Instead, she just kept her back turned to me, and after it became apparent that the cashiers can’t get any better service than the customers walking around in the store, I moved to another line that had just opened up.

Paid, left, got home. ELEVEN AM!

Two solid hours of chasing around after stupid crap. And I still had to clean the patio off, and cut the grass. Oh, and I forgot Jonathan’s battery again.

Got outside and got Boy to start helping me move bicycles around to the side of the house, sweeping, hosing, moving--good enough. Now then--what next? Say, how about that pump!

Ick. The little pond outside the kitchen window hasn’t been operational for several months, and as I said, I suspected the pump motor had burned out. So, in order for the proper mood to be set for the party, I really wanted the soothing sound of trickling water. Pulled the old pump out, set it aside, got out the new pump. Assembled it, put on the sprayer head, plugged it in. Nothing. Say, wait just a minute! Oh. Seems that some stupid guy had tripped the ground fault breaker on the outlet. Reset it and WHOA! That’s a very energetic pump! (Which probably meant that the old pump was just fine.) Anyway, too much water, so for the next too many minutes, I tried to devise ways of throttling down the flow. I put stuff in the tube, I put stuff in the spray head, I tried putting a piece of plastic with a tiny hole in it over the tube, and nothing I did worked quite right. To make matters worse, the little tube that would have created an umbrella-shaped, gentle shower could not be connected to the pump, because it was missing the unique coupler that was shown in the instructions. GRR! I tried all different kinds of ways of rigging the thing to work without the Magic Coupling, but created nothing but anger. I knew if I only had a bit more time, I could either cobble something workable together or go get the right thing, but I just didn’t have the time.

SO, in frustration, I picked up the old pump, and as expected, it still worked fine. Except the little frog where the water comes out seemed to be stopped up. YET MORE PRECIOUS MOMENTS spent cleaning out accumulated muck from the inside of a polyresin spitting frog. Seems as though it had a giant clot of dirt in it, which had to be cleaned out. For some reason, I thought I could possibly just blow it out, because I am stupid.

But not nearly so stupid, as stupid-looking, as I took the polyresin spitting frog and placed it to my lips and tried to play it like a trumpet. This probably looked comical--me, kissing a frog. I will wager it was not nearly so comical, though, as when I refused to be defeated by not getting a clear passageway by blowing on the front end of the polyresin frog, and so turned it around and tried blowing on the brass fitting on the BACK end of the frog.

That, my friends, takes a special kind of stupid.

IN either case, the stoppage would not come out, so I had to grab a twig and ram it down the polyresin frog’s gullet, until it pushed a disgusting lump of peat moss out of its threaded brass fundament.

After that, the frog worked just fine.

NEXT: More frustration! (Believe It or Not!)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:01 AM | Comments (8)

Well, we have a lot of skewered fruit left over.

But no shrimp.

At least the house is still standing, and so am I. Well, figuratively speaking--I'm sitting down right now.

ANYway, that was a very, very long couple of days--once I get good and woken up, you'll get to hear all about it. Or the parts that I can still recall without affecting my blood pressure.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 06:59 AM | Comments (2)

March 31, 2006

Time to close up shop for the weekend.

I realize there hasn't been much in the way of content today, but I've been terribly sleepy, so I haven't been able to fill the afterlunch time with meaningless tripe as is my usual routine. To make matters worse, my desk isn't very comfortable, so a nap has just been out of the question.

ANYway, as mentioned previously, yet another weekend filled with potential for disaster awaits, so wish me luck and we'll see what happens. All of you have a great weekend, and Lord willing, I'll see you bright and early Monday morning.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:03 PM | Comments (0)

Because I'm a glutton for punishment, that's why.

Tomorrow; our yard; beach/luau themed birthday party; at which I will be required to cook things on the grille for a bunch of flighty teenaged girls and hulking idiot teenaged boys; for the benefit of one highly embarrassed and unappreciative 16 year old daughter.

George Bush might not have taken his Speedo with him to Mexico, but doggone it, I'm going to make sure I have mine on tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:07 PM | Comments (2)

Heard just now outside my office.

Uttered by the Guy Who Always Burns His Toast, who is apparently trying to heat up something in the toaster oven wrapped in parchment paper.

When confronted about the burning paper smell by The Person Who Is Mentally Unstable, he says, "it's parchment paper--it's not really burning, it's just scorching."

::blink::blink::

At least he has managed to find something that smells worse than burning toast.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:55 PM | Comments (2)

Back from the D&PS!

That is, the Dog and Pony Show. And no, no actual dogs nor ponies were used in the show.

Three hour meeting, in which my portion came near the front, and consisted of approximately 4 minutes of expository matter, after which I sat back down and waited to leave. Which I couldn't do until the meeting was over.

Got here just in time to go to the bank and to lunch, so I strolled over to the AmSouth Harbert Center, went to the bank, saw that it was full to capacity with other people who'd come to the bank, and decided it would be best to eat lunch first, then try the bank later.

So, I ate lunch. It's always a bad thing when I sit down and stay awhile to eat, because I invariably find myself being highly critical of everyone's fashion choices.

Yes, I realize I have absolutely no room to criticize.

But doggone it, I say you shouldn't wear cheap rubber sandles and clamdiggers to the office if you want people to think of you as a professional.

I think that if you look like the Unabomber you probably should try for a slightly different look. Maybe shave the beard, or comb your hair different, or quit staring at people with your weird, spaced out eyes.

Those tiny little Peter Rabbit coats that the gals are wearing aren't really attractive, but even less so on women who are well past their teen years.

Guys shouldn't wear "product" in their hair.

If you're a girl, and your legs are pasty, ashy, pocky, veiny, lumpy, bulgy, stubbly, saggy, scratched, scarred, bruised, or any combination thereof, it would really look better if you wore hose of some sort. Sorry--I know it might seem like a double standard, but everyone pretty much expects guy's legs to be hideous looking. Of course, this doesn't mean guys should have free rein to wear shorts. Or skirts, for that matter.

If you are a woman and simply MUST have a tattoo, could you at least make it something nice-looking? Something that works with your body's normal bilateral symmetry? Something remotely feminine? I mean, you might like giant block letter prison tats covering your ham-like arms and your wallowing, uncontrolled, watermelon-sized bosoms, but really, it doesn't do a lot to convince people you aspire to greatness.

I realize the current fashion is for closely fitted clothing, but ladies, there's a difference between fitted and looking like your being squeezed out of a Play-Doh Fun Factory.

Men should not wear hibiscus-print Hawaiian motif fleece pullovers anywhere in the continental United States.

There now. I feel all better now.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:06 PM | Comments (5)

Playtime Suspended.

Off-campus today for what will probably turn out to be a very, very long meeting, so you're on your own today and will have to search elsewhere for your meaningless drivel.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:00 AM | Comments (0)

March 30, 2006

Actually...

...that went pretty well.

A meeting populated by people with better things to do than being stuck in a meeting tends to make for a very efficient meeting.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:15 PM | Comments (2)

::sigh::

Yet another meeting to attend, this time as my supervisor's proxy on a committee about which I know absolutely nothing.

Allons enfants de la Patrie
Le jour de gloire est arrivé.
Contre nous, de la tyrannie,
L'étandard sanglant est levé,
SLAM!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:56 PM | Comments (0)

Yay!

Time for lunch with My Friend Jeff!

Be back after while with all sorts of boring stories, and some CAR MAGAZINES!

UPDATE: Well, that was fun, although I think both of us need a vacation or something. We couldn't even work up enough crankiness to complain (for long) about stupid people. Probably because we were stupid enough to sit in the smoking area--believe it or not, people SMOKE in there! Even after we moved back to the non-smoking area (both of which are outside, by the way), we still couldn't work up much dudgeon about anything.

Probably time for a new eating place or something.

Thank goodness he at least remembered to bring his magazines!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:38 AM | Comments (2)

March 29, 2006

Yet another hour gone I'll never get back.

Not that I don't love meetings--I do so love them.

Much like I love repeatedly slamming my naughty parts in a car door while singing La Marseillaise at the top of my lungs.

::sigh::

I really need to get with it and learn to love wasting time talking about the same things over and over, without ever reaching any sort of resolution. I mean, I need the exercise, and there's no exercise like exercises in futility.

ANYway, I think it's about time to go home for the evening.

And do my exercises there instead.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:39 PM | Comments (3)

Oh, yeah.

Had to take Oldest to the orthodontist/cash-extractor first thing this morning.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:03 AM | Comments (0)

March 28, 2006

A nice little jaunt!

Took my lunch hour for to go ahunting to see if I could find the elusive Homelite primer bulb.

I had the foresight (for once) to call the place in Trussvegas to inquire if they had one of these jewels, and surprisingly (to me, at least) they didn't. They did say that maybe Chalkville Small Engine Service had one, so I called, and the feller on the phone said they did.

OFF TO THE WILDS OF THE EASTERN SUBURBS!

Stopped first to get gas and get the Volvo washed (it's been awhile), then went and got my free meal from Captain D's (I filled out an online survey while I was off), THEN headed out for Chalkville.

Remember Sling Blade? Remember the place where Karl went to work fixin them engines, mmhm? Well, that place was REALLY nice!

Let me say this, though--there is much to recommend a place that sits hard on the road, in a decrepit old house, that looks like most of the support is provided by equipment leaned up against the walls. The inside were cram packed with shiny new belts and blades and parts and stuff and junk and tools and guys with their names on their pockets, and thank heavens, a Homelite primer bulb for the princely sum of $2.26 plus tax.

Thanks, guys!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:53 PM | Comments (12)

Oh, by the way...

...moths are EXPENSIVE!

I forgot what day it was, but one day last week while I was off, I took my suit coat into the local reweaving place that had been recommended by my dry cleaner.

After buzzing Catherine and me in (it's not in the nicest part of town), the lady behind the counter took a look at the three tiny holes, and then carefully chalked a small box around each one. Next, she took a slim metal ruler and measured the precise dimensions of each chalk box, looked at a chart, then did some figuring on a calculator. "One hundred ten dollars."

::jaw hits floor::

Stupid moths! All sorts of junk they COULD eat, but they have to snack on my only other suit!

Well, there was really nothing I could do--they don't sell the coat separately, and I surely didn't want to pay for another suit. ::sigh::

She said it would be ready around April 3 or so. "Oh, and I need the pants to go with it--that's where we take the material from."

Grr. Had to go all the way back home, get my pants, then go all the way back there.

Stupid moths.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:44 AM | Comments (0)

March 27, 2006

Sunday! SUNDAY!! SUNDAYYYYY!!

Well, obviously, there was church, which was just as it should have been, and there was a get-together for the elementary kids afterwards, which was also just as it should have been.

It was what happened when we got home that was so far out of the ordinary that it defies all expectations.

I did my taxes.




WITH THE COMPUTER!!

Yes, believe it or not, I actually broke down and finally bought one of them there new-fangledy eeelectronical doohickeys that you do your taxes with. I chose the H&R Block version, mainly because it was cheaper on the front end versus the TurboTax version. A long-time devotee of paper and pencil, I just got tired of fighting it, and wanted something I could sit down and do quickly, without nearly so much fighting with paperwork and my own propensity for forgetting important math skills such as adding and subtracting.

Mine have always been straightforward, and really, it's not that much trouble to do, but the lure of getting both the Alabama and Federal forms done at once, and not having to worry about mailing stuff in, and then the even better incentive of getting my refund back in only a couple of weeks just made me say, "Eh, whatever."

Anyway, it was very easy. I had to break off so we could go to evening services, but after I got back to it after supper, it only took a bit over an hour and a half to finish up both returns and send them off over the wire for processing.

I'm not sure why this week was the Week of Technology, but the rapid pace of change--RAM upgrade, DSL, and computerized tax preparation and filing--why, it almost makes my head spin! Next thing you know, I'll be doing podcasts like all the cool kids!


Nah.

Anyway, it has been an interesting week.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:46 PM | Comments (4)

Saturday!

YARDWORK!

After the requisite large breakfast, it was outside with the ol' edger to get things spiffed up for NEXT Saturday's party. But in a departure from the usual way of things, I actually had some help this time. Cat decided she wanted to be outside, so I had her go get the broom and start sweeping up the edge clippings. And in a minor miracle, she actually stayed after it until we'd swept everything up in to nice neat piles! Which I then blew everywhere with the lawnmower. Silly me.

I was just glad to get the lawnmower started--seems SOMEone left gas in it last season, and didn't put any fuel stabilizer in it, and it was VERY hard to crank. Stupid person, who shall remain nameless!

But before THAT bit of motorized mayhem, it was time to get the fearsome two-stroke whirling fury of death out of the shed and cut down some of the weeds popping up everywhere.

For some reason, that baby fired right off.

Blu.Bluah.BluEWah.BLAHWHAAAAA AAA AAA AAAAAuhhhh WHA AAAAA AAAAA AAA AAuhhhh WHAuhWAAAHuhhhWHAA AA AA AAA AAAAAA!

Man, I love that thing. Even if attempting to replicate its sound screws up the formatting.

And totally wrecked the cutter head on it. Several seasons back I'd gotten one of those heads with the three nylon swinging blades on it, and while great for cutting big brush, they have turned out to be a bit delicate in actual use. Two of them sheared off, and the mounting plate got a huge crack in it.

Hmm.

No fun!

Well, might as well put back on the string trimmer head, which had been buried under several season's worth of junk in the garage. I did find it, however! Although it was all out of string, which is one of the reasons why I'd gotten the other thing to begin with. ::sigh::

Well, poop.

Off to the hardware store!

String, bright yellow, full of deadly cutting edges.

Home, wrap, insert into end of machinery, and then go to restart the high-pitched drone of destruction, and--

Uh-oh.

GRRR!

If it's not one thing...

The little clear squishy plastic primer bulb on the carburetor had deteriorated, and was now cracked, meaning it couldn't be squished in any possible way to bring fuel up, and even if there was fuel in it, it couldn't hold it.

BAH!

TO THE HARDWARE STORE AGAIN!

All this time, I'm fighting the clock, because we'd agreed to meet Reba's mom and dad and Ashley's other grandparents over at the Olive Garden in Irondale so they could treat her to supper for her birthday. We had to be there at 5, and it was 1:30, and I still had to cut the grass. GRR!

Oh, wait, already said that.

ANYWAY, off to the local yard tool emporium down on Main Street at the foot of the hill, who have all sorts of parts and junk for stuff like string trimmers. They've been in business for a LONG time, although how they manage to do that AND CLOSE AT NOON ON SATURDAYS, I'll never be able to figure out! ARGGHHH!!

Off to Home Despot. GAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

No primer bulbs. In fact, few parts of any kind.

Off to Lowe's. GA--oh, wait! PRIMER BULBS! But--but these are the WRONG KIND! And they only have ONE KIND IN STOCK! AARRGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!

Dang it all. Dingderndangintall.

Well, crap.

Back to the house, put away the weed whacker, and get to work on the lawn mowing. Get the front done, but only the front, before it's time to come inside and clean up.

Grumble.

DINNER, on the other hand, was quite nice. Long wait, but the service was very good, and the food was pretty darned okay as well. And we managed not to have to pay for anything.

Home, bed.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:31 PM | Comments (0)

Friday!

Anytime Reba is home, Reba believes it necessary to get up early and cook a big breakfast, even if there are some in the house who'd like to sleep late THEN eat a big breakfast. Beggars can't be choosers, however.

So, a big breakfast, cooked up nice and hot and very early. Downstairs, with the younger three of the children begging mom to come outside and watch them ride their bicycles all day long. As events would have it, though, there was other stuff to get done, most of which involved planning for Oldest to have her 16th birthday party this upcoming weekend.

The 16 year old was then asked by the children if SHE would like to come ride bicycles with them. Despite the fact that she had been hibernating the entire week.

"I don't have a bicycle."

HUH!? Since when!? Although she rode it exactly one time, she had indeed received a brand new bicycle on her 13th birthday. After that one ride, she did not even mention the bike again after that. She'd complained and complained about her old bike, that it was too small, that she was too old for it, that she couldn't ride it, on and on with excuses, so we thought it would be nice to get her one that was more suited for her age. After she found out that it required effort to steer, balance, and ride it, I suppose the charm fell off faster than she did.

"Ashley, you have a bicycle."

"NO, I DON'T. YOU said you were NEVER going to get me another one."

"Ashley, we got you one for your birthday."

"NO, you DIDN'T!"

::sigh:: I got up, went to the cabinet, got the key to the storage shed (that's not a storage shed but a big plastic playhouse), went outside, unlocked it, and pulled out her shiny red rode-once bicycle and helmet, wheeled it in front of the big kitchen window where everyone was sitting eating breakfast, and came inside. "You have a bicycle. You've had a bicycle for three years--we bought if for you for your 13th birthday. You have ridden it once. But you do have one."

It is my firm belief that she would still deny it existed if there was any way she thought she could get away with it. In fact, I'm not completely certain she would admit it even now. Talk about the human capacity for self-delusion.

Or, hey, maybe it's just me.

Anyway, breakfast (and crow) was finished up and the dishes put away. Reba got ready to go shopping (::sigh::) and as I was doing something I turned around and there was Rebecca right behind me.

"Daddy? Would it be okay if today I rode Ashley's bike? It's smaller than Mom's, and she's already told me she doesn't want to ride it."

::sigh::

I know how these things go--Oldest will say she doesn't want something, until someone else does, or alternately will let someone use something and then complain that it was taken from her by force. Always. Without fail.

"Rebecca, you KNOW that won't work--she'd say you took her bicycle away from her. Just don't worry about it and ride your own."

"Ooookaaaay." She was disappointed, but she would still have gone and had fun on her little bike no matter what.

For all you "nature vs. nurture" debaters, have I got a case study for you.

Anyway, Reba got ready to go, but before she left I ran an idea by her--how about getting Rebecca a similar bike to Ashley's. She still has money left over from Christmas, after all, and she really has outgrown her other one, which could then be passed down to Catherine. And Oldest couldn't be jealous, because she has a brand new one still anyway.

Fair enough, we figured.

Off they went, and then the other three and I did a bit of online looking around for bikes, then went on our own excursion--first to Academy, because Reba said they usually had some on sale, and then to Wallyworld, because I am cheap. Found this one, and she still has money left over.

The only problem was getting it back to the house. For some reason, I thought that it would fit in the trunk of the Focus, which we had taken because it needed gas. I folded down one side of the back seat, which was just enough for Catherine to reach through and hold onto the wheel. Fortunately, the ride back to the house is slow speed all the way.

To the house, then, and after a bit of lunch and some owner's manual reading, it was time to try it out. And, believe it or not, they finally wore me down enough to convince me to get MY bicycle off the back porch, spray it full of Liquid Wrench, air up the (quite dry-rotted) tires, replace the (quite dry-rotted) cushiony seat, and actually climb on it and ride around with them. Boy, it's been a long time since I did that--we had such good intentions several years back of trying to ride around the neighborhood some ever afternoon, but long work hours pretty much did in those intentions.

But, not on Friday.

I rode and rode until I was sore all up and down my legs--I think it must have been 2, or even 3 minutes later.

Despite this, I stayed out with them for many MANY more minutes that was actually prudent given my overall lousy physical condition, which made all the yardwork I did on Saturday even more of a chore. But it was fun, nonetheless.

Reba got home, asked if I'd done anything productive like put another load of clothes in the dryer, and I proudly said I absolutely had not, and then went and put some clothes in the dryer.

The rest of the evening was spent doing more such housework, and then it was MOVIE TIME!

We'd wanted to go see a movie at the theater, but frankly, there's nothing worth going to see right now. So, we popped popcorn and watched that great movie classic, Herbie Goes to Monte Carlo.

Boy, special effects sure have come a long way in the past 30 years.

The kids enjoyed it, however, and for me, it was nice to see and try to identify all the old new cars. It seems this particular "Trans-France" Paris to Monte Carlo road race had no class structure of any kind--sort of a high-zoot, Cannonball Rally, run-what-you-brung affair. Lots of Porsches, including the Bad Guy's 917, and some older Fiats, and a Triumph, and a surprising amount of Ferrari Daytonas. And an inexplicable Pantera. I will give them points for properly pronouncing Lancia all the way through the movie. Mostly.

SPOILER ALERT!!






Herbie wins the race, and gets the Lancia. Frankly, however, there was a Stratos in the race who was a lot better looking--I've always thought the Montecarlos had a bit too much front overhang, almost to the point of looking like a Saab Sonnet.


Anyway, bedtime then.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:53 PM | Comments (0)

Thursday!

Typing! And MORE biking!

I managed to hold Catherine off throughout most of the day due to the cold wind--it was gorgeous all week, but that cold wind just didn't do it for me. Anyway, at least that allowed me to completely finish all of my minute-writing tasks, so at least that part of my workweek is nicely laid by.

THEN COMES THE BIKE RIDING.

My original intent had been to get the kids outside to the kiddy park all week so they could play, but this turned out to be even better since it didn't require me to go anywhere.

Thursday, Rebecca got her bike out and she and Boy and Cat all three had a several-hour long game of tag on the street in front of the house. Rebecca has gotten so tall now that her little bike looks lost underneath her, so I decided I'd get Reba's bike off the back porch, air up the (quite dry-rotted) tires, change out the (quite-dry rotted cushioned seat) and see if Rebecca could use it any better. After a great deal of Liquid Wrench had been sprayed to break up the huge amount of rust on the moving parts, I finally got it moving again and let Rebecca try it. She wasn't very comfortable, and all the gears and such made her confused. So, back to their regular bikes.

Ride, ride, ride, ride. "Hey, aren't y'all tired yet?"

"NOOOOOOO!"

::sigh::

They did very well, though, aside from one minor mishap where Jonathan decided to cross the street in front of an oncoming car. Luckily, they were going slow, but he got a good chewing out about it from Dad. He did better the next day.

WHICH, surprise of surprises, Reba got to take off as well! Seems that although her boss had been on vacation all week, she burned up Reba's phone line with near-constant micromanagement updates. But, out of some sense of shame or obligation, she decided to let Reba have Friday off to make up for it, so that was just fine.

Although I knew it would create actual work for me.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:19 PM | Comments (0)

Wednesday!

WORK!

Yes, despite the fact that I was on "vacation," we still had our biweekly regulatory meeting, and seeing as how I am the designated scrivener/roll taker/clerk/table arranger for the event, I had to show up. Which created no small amount of problems at the house, in that Reba's mom and dad were supposed to be off in the mountains on vacation (they actually didn't leave until Thursday), and although the three older kids could be trusted to stay home by themselves, the addition of a certain youngest child created MUCH more potential for mayhem than we were willing to endure. So, the plan was for Reba to take her to work with her at the nursing home, and then I'd come get her after my meeting.

Which is exactly what we did--thankfully, my meeting didn't go too long this time and was over by 8:30, so I scooted over and picked up Cat, and scooted right back to the office to sign off on a bunch of permits, catch up on my work e-mail, transfer a bunch of note-taking/minute-transcribing junk to my thumb drive, and all the while, Catherine quietly sat at my drafting table and colored me a gigantic picture of a dolphin (or a duck-billed plesiosaur) jumping out of the water.

Got my notes together, grabbed the girl, and headed home for the day. Not much bike riding, unfortunately, because we had to get ready for Bible study at church, and I had to get a jump on doing my meeting minutes so I could have time to play with all of you kids today.

Supper, church, home, bed.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:35 AM | Comments (2)

Tuesday!

Was better. Went and picked up Rebecca from her overnight stay, then came back and did some cleaning up and stuff, and then it was time to take Catherine for her annual shearing.

She's been pestering us for over a month now to get her hair cut short again, and after FINALLY figuring out where Alisha the Stylist had gone, we made an appointment for Tuesday. It seems that she DID leave her previous place of haircuttery, and all of the confusion was caused by the fact that they had someone else with a similar name who'd come in after her. I finally got someone at HeadStart who didn't mind telling me where she'd gone afterwards, so we tracked her down and made Cat an appointment. Whew.

Fed the kids and took Kat over the hill to the ultra-kute hair-kuttin' place where Alisha works now. Sat. Waited. HEY! No hair! Not really--she has the same turned-under bob that she got on her birthday last year, and she's just as cute as a cute thing.

Home, and almost immediately, she wanted to get outside and ride her bike. Seems one of the things I forgot about Monday was that after a several-month layoff, she'd gotten her little bike back out (sans training wheels) that afternoon and had managed in the span of about fifteen minutes to get the hang of pedalling and balancing and had begun zipping up and down the sidewalk. Boy had contented himself with riding the scooter, but I think he might have been a tad jealous of the fun she was having, witnessed by her maniacal laughter.

Anyway, despite having freshly shampooed and styled tresses, come Tuesday Cat was ready again to put on her helmet and play on her bike again, and Jonathan was, too. She immediately started pedalling as fast as she could up and down the sidewalk, and after I was convinced she had it well under control, I let her get into the street. Boy, seeing all the fun, also got to where he was able to zip around almost as well, but for the time being, he stayed up on the sidewalk. It got toward evening and the wind (which blew constantly--and cold--all week) was getting to be too much for me, so we stopped for the afternoon. They were both red-cheeked and runny-nosed after their efforts, but they seemed to have worked off a good deal of what my mother used to call "silly energy."

Suppertime (and no, I can't remember anything I fixed over the past week, although I do remember we had some spaghetti in there somewhere, and some soup, and some chicken), baths, bedtime.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:11 AM | Comments (0)

Monday--Just what everyone wants to start off spring break...

...teen angst.

::sigh::

Monday was the designated day for the kids from church to meet up at the building and do some clean-up and some painting. Rebecca was all excited about going, but Oldest kept whining about it on Sunday. But, hey, whatever.

Then comes Monday, and she got progressively worse and worse as the time to go got closer, she began demonstrating all of the hatred and bitterness and, frankly, delusional idiocy, that makes living under the same roof with her something of a trial.

Sorry.

But what can you say about someone who is convinced everyone--every single person in the world--hates her with the same passion with which she hates everyone else? People go out of their way to try to be nice to her at church, but they also have the nerve to talk to other people, too--you know, normal social interaction.

Let me just say, I have learned that some people dislike not being the constant center of attention.

And dislike the idea that to have friends, you have to be friendly. And that if you mistreat other people, it really shouldn't be a big surprise when people don't want to be around you constantly.

Be that as it may, she and Rebecca were taken to the building where we arrived promptly at 9:00 a.m., and despite Oldest's crying and moaning and general ass-making-of-herself in the lobby, she was made to stay. Her (surprisingly, much more mature) younger sister was put in charge of her to make sure that she had someone who would talk to her and take care of her if anyone had the audacity to actually go off and try to get some work done rather than shower her with attention and adulation.

Of course, the entire time Oldest treated said sister like dirt, and from what I heard in the after-action report, pretty much did the same to everyone else, as well.

Around about 3 or so, Oldest called and demanded to be picked up, although Rebecca was still having fun painting and cleaning and being part of the group. Oldest had managed to do a few piddly things in between her bouts of running to the bathroom to hide in an effort to create a greater spectacle of herself. In the times that she wasn't avoiding work, she'd pretty much made it clear to anyone who she could find to talk from 9:01 that morning that she had been FORCED to be there and could not WAIT to go home.

I got there and she had that purse of hers strapped on and was clomping around ready to go, but Rebecca was still a bit pouty about having to quit. "Can I stay until we're done, and you can come back and get me?"

I really wasn't in the mood to take another trip across the county, and no one seemed to have a good handle on just how much longer all the painting was going to last. We were standing there discussing the alternatives when the mom of one of her friends (and, by extension, since we all know everyone, one of Oldest's friends) said she could stay and then go home with them afterwards. "But, you don't have pajamas, and your clothes are dirty, and..."

Said Mom, "Well, we'll find her something to sleep in, and I'll wash her stuff along with my girls'."

"Oooo, pleeeease, Daddy!? Please?"

How could I resist?

I kissed her goodbye and told her to be good, and turned around to see Oldest stalking off with her usual highly exaggerated foot stomping towards the door. ::sigh::

Got in the van, and she starts trying to yank the seat belt out of the roof pillar. Apparently, she'd been under the mistaken impression that if you complain all day about having to be around a certain group of people, and had acted like you hated the very ground they walked on, and told them all you could not wait to leave, and how you wished you were at home alone reading in your room, and all you could talk about was how smart you were and how stupid everyone else is, and HOW YOU COULD NOT WAIT TO LEAVE, and you constantly wondered why you had been forced to stay, and how you HATED it and wanted to LEAVE--well, gee, the mom of your friend might not be all that wrong to have let you GO ON HOME rather than subject you to further humiliation of having to be around people you hate.

Imagine.

In a very sharp exchange, Oldest was told that she couldn't have it both ways. You can't be hateful and expect people to fawn all over you. You can't say how much you want to leave because you hate it there, then have them beg you to stay.

As usual, common sense had no effect.

::sigh::

Monday was not a pleasant day.

EXCEPT!

Ever since I'd installed Windows XP, my HP Pavilion had been running like a rat in a glue trap. It had 64MB of RAM, but it obviously needed more--a LOT more. I'd shopped around for some in the past year, but I, being cheap, just couldn't see paying $80 for a 128 card, despite the mouth-breathing kid at the hole-in-the-wall computer store telling me that it was a good deal and I'd better buy it now before they were all gone. Seems the PC100/133 hardware was going the way of the dodo or something.

ANYway, Staples had an ad in the paper on the previous Sunday, so after the girls had been delivered that morning to the church building, Boy and Cat and I drove back to the Easy Button Store and picked up two 128MB cards for the princely sum of 40 bucks. Yep--20 dollars apiece. Pretty hard to beat that.

And BOY, what a difference 256MB makes over 64! I got home and after much tearing apart and dustbunny blowing out, I clicked the cards in and buttoned 'er back up, and it was startling how much faster it worked. Even AOL worked better, almost as fast as I'm used to at work!

BUT NOT TO BE OUTDONE--in yet ANOTHER technological leap forward, I actually went and took the plunge of ordering DSL through our local phone company! Goodbye, buggy whips! Goodbye, whale oil lamps!

I figure if it's the same price as dial-up, why not? The service starts tomorrow, but the modem and wires and all came some time during the week, so it's all ready except for the install and plugging in the Ethernet cable. WOO-HOO!

It better be good, or I'm gonna be awfully put out.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:27 AM | Comments (9)

The Return of Maudlin Marsupial Mewling and Mawkishness!

Good morning, everyone!

Now that I'm firmly back in place behind my desk, I can FINALLY get some sleep!

But not before you get the Executive Version Week in Review Recapitulation and Terms of Surrender.

Which will be coming in the next few hours in dribs and drabs, being that I'm going to be trying to reconstruct the events of the past seven days and frankly can't remember anything anyway. Therefore, some of it may turn out to be much more colorful than what actually happened.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:44 AM | Comments (0)

March 17, 2006

Guess what!

No.


Nope, not that either.

Close, but not it.

Uh-uh--not that.

Oh, let me just tell you--I'm on vacation next week! Yay! One solid week of Spring Break, spent at home with the kiddies!

::sigh::

Can't go anywhere because Reba has to work. Which is probably just as well, since money goes flying out of our house like it's being sucked into a giant vacuum cleaner. I figure we'll go to the park a bunch and they can all play and run and whoop and holler, and I can vegetate. Of course, if I were REALLY interested in it, I probably could cut the grass. The wild violets and the clover are already popping up everywhere. I'm just glad that I'll get to sleep later than usual. Maybe.

ANYWAY, since I'm going to be incommunibloggo for the next few days (I really doubt I'll have much free time to blog, although I will have Chet the E-Mail Boy keeping up with e-mail in case you have something too hot to wait) someone is going to HAVE to volunteer to host the Thursday Three, lest the not-having of it for a whole week will make everyone forget all about it, which must not be allowed to happen!

So, volunteers! Leave a note in the comments below if you're a'willing.

As for other stuff, well, there's a lot of it. Which just figures, doesn't it?

Whatever--I'm going to shut 'er down for now, and give you my wishes for a fun time in my absence--remember, it's a big blog world out there, so there's plenty to read other than silly old Possumblog. JUST BE SURE AND COME BACK AGAIN!

See you all again on the 27th.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:53 PM | Comments (4)

Why, yes!

I HAVE only had four hours of sleep!

Had a building committee meeting at church last night that lasted from 6:30 to 9:00, then I went home and found a house full of children who had not bathed nor done their homwork, and one particular oldest child of mine was on the computer vainly trying to find photographs of anemia and print them out, and who had very nearly torn the printer up trying to make it work, and another child who was supposed to be finding information on who easy or difficult it might be to travel in Russia, and a wife who was telling me in minute--as in minute-by-minute--details of her day as well as approximately four hundred other topics sprinkled in lest I get too unconfused.

First things first--Boy and Cat to the showers. Next, me into some loungewear. Next, figure out why printer is not printing. Ahh. I see. 13 jobs in the print queue, each one of them something like 40MB. Cancel all. Takes forever to cancel. Try to ascertain just how much information has been gleaned. Between nothing and next to nothing. Oldest needs a title for poster. "Anemia" Takes her nearly thirty minutes of constant fidgeting and screwing around with text color and font. Finally settles on the horrid Jokerman font (quite possibly the ugliest in the whole set of fonts) in red. "IT WON'T PRINT!" Send Oldest downstairs to start working on poster with the information she already has, and print out title. She had a bunch of dialogue boxes in the background that she'd not closed--most likely because she didn't know they were there. Even though she knows EVERY. SINGLE. THING. about computers.

Closed completely out of everything, and started the Internet back up. She'd been blindly searching through AOL for something about anemia, and had wasted hours upon hours not doing anything. Went to Google Images, typed in anemia, and found what I expected--thousands of pictures related to anemia.

Let me just say--Ick. Blech. Ewww. And, oddly enough, Rrowwl.

Obviously, that last one didn't make the cut.

Trouble printing again--seems the thing that causes loud, internal, plastic-on-plastic-on-metal grinding noises had been activated. After much heavy sighing and noncussing cuss word creation, I finally got it functioning again.

Kissed younger two kids and sent them to bed, got Middle One to go bathe, gave other photos to Oldest, who was complaining about all the work she had to do.

Middle Girl out, drag information out of her about what she wanted.

Seems they have a group project on Russia.

They're going to do a presentation.

She had been assigned something.

It was something about something.

Something about movement.

She wanted it on a disc.

She wanted it on a disc so she could take it in today.

She wanted to take it in today so she wouldn't be the only one without something.

Something about if it was hard to move.

In Russia.

She had a sheet of paper.

She went and got it.

I read it--her part was to find out about barriers to movement, or things that made getting around easier. Oh. No problem.

Sent her on to bed, since it was now past 11:00, then Oldest soon afterwards.

Started looking in the likely places, and managed to find some interesting sites--obviously the best place for official information was the Consular Information Sheet from the State Department travel site. Another that was worth checking out was Fielding's DangerFinder. Aside from the self-loathing political commentary (a tip--freedom is not what causes poverty and crime, you ignorant twit) it does offer some good information.

Wrapped up the cut-and-paste work around 1:00 this morning.

Which might explain why I feel rather woozy.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:20 AM | Comments (10)

March 15, 2006

Confidence!

Nothing like it.

Well, the plan was this--I meet Reba at her mom's house, get her and Catherine and go to the after-hours clinic. At 5:00 when I left, she was still waiting for the clinic to call back with our appointment time. Did she want me to meet them at the clinic? No, just come by the house and pick them up and we'd go all together.

No worries.

If you think so, you've obviously not read anything I've ever written.

(This one will be longish, so if your browser cuts off too soon, press F11 twice to get it to work right.)

I get to the Trussville exit right at 5:30 (good considering I didn't leave work until 5:10 due to having Reba on the line), when the phone starts buzzing in my shirt pocket.

The voice on the other end says, "Where are you right now?"

Resisting the urge to say, 'in the car,' I told my bride that I was at the bottom of the exit ramp and would be there in about ten minutes.

"Could you stop and get Ashley some poster board? She has that project that's due Thursday and she won't be able to work on it after school tomorrow, so she needs a sheet now--maybe just stop at Target or someplace and get a piece and then bring it over here, then we can take her over to the house and leave from there and leave the other two here at Mom's house."

We have poster board at the house, but I figured if I didn't get some, a certain teenager would swear I hated her. No problem--zip into Michael's and get a couple of sheets, just a few minutes extra.

"Okay. Did the clinic ever call and tell you what time the appointment was?"

"I TOLD YOU--they said that she could come in either at 5:45 or 6:00, so I knew we wouldn't be able to get there at 5:45, so I told them 6:00!"

Uh, well, no, I had not been informed of the time.

No use trying to plead my case.

"Okay, be there in a minute."

But, as I got into the store and picked out my poster board (one full size, one half, just to be safe), it dawned on me that it was now 5:45, and by the time I paid for my poster board, and got to her mom's house, got everyone loaded up, and then drove back over to our house to drop off the student portion of the package, THEN went to the clinic, it would be about 6:45. ::sigh::

Why didn't she just meet me there?

It is a mystery.

Anyway, I figured I might better try to cut some time off this little escapade, so I called her back while I was racing back to the front of Michael's through the dried flower aisle and told her to get Oldest and Youngest and get herself over to the house and I'd be there shortly and we'd go.

I figure we'd probably cut about 20 minutes out of the equation if we did that. It's not that great a distance, it's just all the wasted time getting stuff together and getting people in the cars and out of the cars. Because, you see, as we have often discussed, I am the only one who has a real appreciation for travel time.

I'm so spectacularly smart that way, you know.

Anyway, I paid, rushed out of the store, hopped into the sturdy Volvo, careened through the parking lot, sped down to the foot of the driveway to the traffic signal, and waited. Waited. Waited. You know, Highway 11 is REALLY busy in the evenings.

Light changed, turned left, sped down the road, turned right onto Mary Taylor Road to make the charge up to the top of Talladega Hill, annnnnd--a train.

Long one, too, full of FEMA trailers headed south, and moving slow. Could be five minutes, could be an hour--they sometimes stop and block the crossing. Grr.

And I thought maybe Reba was in front of me, or maybe she even made it across the tracks before the gates closed. Then I saw her back down the road behind me. Time to take the alternate route.

Hung a U-ey, waved to Reba to follow me, blasted back out to Highway 11, turned right, beat the light at Tutwiler Farms, then got stuck in the long line of cars taking the Watterson Parkway detour around the closed bridge on Chalkville Road.

Well, this is just working out great.

FINALLY got home, dumped the poster board in the house, left the garage door open, ran back out to get the mail (since Reba was still somewhere far behind me, apparently). She eventually got there, hopped out and took some stuff inside, Oldest got her stuff and went inside, I got in the driver's seat, Reba went BACK inside for something--ahh--a coat for Cat--then we were on our way.

"Daddy, are we late?"

The clock on the dash said 6:03.

"Mmmyeah, Sugar, but it'll be okay--we'll be there in just little while."

Took the back way through the neighboring subdivision, bombed down Alton Road, turned through the industrial park, and finally wound up at the Birmingham International Raceway, aka, I-459. Hopped on, and started toward Acton Road (yes, "Alton" and "Acton" can be confusing).

Drive. Drive. Drive. Discussed the rash on Cat's back and chest. Dodged slower moving traffic (i.e., everything else). Drive.

"You know, I thought it was a lot closer than this."

Well, it was when we lived in Irondale.

"Yep, it's pretty far away," said me. Listened to the radio, which was replaying the Rick and Bubba morning show. Bubba was telling a story about something. "He's so funny--he really IS a good storyteller, I bet their new book is a hoot."

"Mmm, probably s--,"--had to maneuverate around a slow-moving semi--"...probably so. They DO like to tell stories."

I wonder what Reba will say when she finally finds all this stuff?

Finally got to the exit, turned, zoomed up to the top of the hill where the clinic is located (could it BE any harder to get to!?). Pulled into a space, jumped out, ran in--6:20.

Signed in, then saw the sign that said rash sufferers were to be escorted back and were not to touch anyone (well, in so many words). Reba took her on back and I stayed to fill out the forms.

Did that, gave the clipboard back with my driver's license and insurance card so they could make copies.

Sat. Waited. Looked around.

DISCUSSION OF ARCHITECTURE ENSUES

This building was built just a few years ago, and it's a marvel of that style of faux '50s Modernist Revival that insists on the insertion of various curves and swoops and whoopti-dos into stern concrete structural systems.

The ol' juxtaposition of forms.

OoooooooOOOoo. You are expected to appreciate the playful interplay of space and mass, with the curves setting off and creating a dialogue with the rectilinear skeleton--one complements the other, and creates an exciting synergy that is lively, and yet speaks to an underlying sense of restrained order and precision.

Inside, you are greeted with textures, colors, and forms that speak to a child's understanding of the world, with interactivity and details that are tailored to appeal not only to parents, but children as well. Going to the doctor can sometimes be frightening and therefore it is important to create a soothing space that seems homey and inviting.

In theory.

In practice, a high-traffic clinic like this is akin to a bus station. You have huge amounts of people coming through, very nearly non-stop. But, unlike bus travellers, half of the people coming through are sick kids. Kids are hard enough to accomodate, but sick ones even more so.

Everyone has this unfavorable image of cold, sterile hospitals and clinics, but let me tell you what--I'd rather have a clean, if uninvolving, place to wait if the alternative is a several-year-old ultra-modern place not designed to actually be used by grubby, puking, sneezing, feral children.

All the lovely carpeting, the mood lighting, the swanky seating that looks like it could have been designed while listening to Henry Mancini records, the scattering of highly edutaining toys--all the things that look so great in the product catalogs, that make you feel so hip and jazzy when you pull them out of the box, that win you awards when the slick photos show up in the magazines--those things look so much worse when they are used and not taken care of.

The carpet--a wonderful earthtone pattern of lines and swoops that could be at home in the swankiest restaurants?

It can't hide where forceful bodily fluid ejections occurred.

Those lowslung overstuffed chairs with the restrained exposed ash frames that might be found in the finest clubs?

When they've been pounded and jumped on by a billion baby apes, those carefully French-sewn seams split and the stuffing comes out and it looks like trailer furniture.

Those nifty toys scattered about?

Three days in, they have a sheen of grime on them that 409 can't cut.

Those magnificent plastered walls, with the carefully detailed joint reveals?

That continuous smudge at 2 feet-6 inches is probably not what you thought would happen.

That spectacular full length tubular lighting fixture down the main waiting room, suspended ever so gracefully by the thinnest of wires?

When the maintenance guy sticks in whatever bulb he has, that constant even glow you designed to wash smoothly across the waveform ceiling becomes mottled with alternating yellow and white light--or shadows when the bulbs aren't replaced.

It's all very lovely in theory, but I think very few clients are aware of just exactly how much maintenance is required to keep that smooth jazzy vibe intact. It takes a LOT of effort. There is much to be said for simplicity and durable, easy to clean materials.

[/soapbox]

The receptionist called me back up to the (fingerprint besmutted, stainless steel sheet clad) counter to finalize our information.

"You still got HealthPartners?"

::sigh::

Not for about five years, which explains why the insurance card I gave her and she had just gone and made a Xerox of was a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT COMPANY.

Sign here. Sign here. Sign here. Here's this. And this.

FINALLY got to go back. They had her down at the end of the hallway since she was being so rash. I walked in and some kid who looked like a cross between Doogie Howser and Opie Taylor was taking her vitals. I realize that male nurses don't get a lot of respect, but it would help if you look like Opie Howser that perhaps you shouldn't wear a grungy sports tee-shirt and if your scrub pants weren't HANGING HALFWAY DOWN YOUR SKINNY BUTT so that your checkered boxer shorts were showing. Gee whiz, Junior!

Wait. Took her to the pot.

Heard American Idol on a television. HEY! TEEVEE!! I went back to her exam room, and sure nuff, they had a television bolted to the wall! THAT'S THE WAY TO DESIGN AN EXAM ROOM! Turned it on and watched everyone. KelliEEE has tooranchlers on her face. I wish!

Doctor finally came in. Slightly older than Doogie.

He looked at her rash.

"When did you start noticing something?"

I started to say that morning, but Catherine piped up, "Yesterdaaaay."

What!?

Hmm.

"Well, it doesn't really look like chicken pox..."

Hmm. Looked some more.

"Any different soaps? Detergents?"

No. Hmm. He looked at her back.

Hmm.

"Well, I'm not quite sure what that might be--but it's not chicken pox."

I had an idea--"Catherine--did you by chance play outside at Grandmom's yesterday?"

Mm-hm.

"Did you play in the woods?"

Not really. Uh-huh.

"Did you fall down or get into any vines or anything?"

Well, kinda.

The woods behind the grandparents' house is full of poison ivy, oak, and sumac--knowing that, I kinda believe she must have gotten into that stuff by accident.

The doctor concurred with my opinion and wrote a prescription for ointment.

Nice to know he had such a good handle on skin problems.

Checked out, went and got a bite to eat at McDoodie's, went and grabbed Boy and Middle Girl, and finally got home about ten minutes until 9. Where I saw that Oldest had not moved the poster board from the kitchen table.

It was still there this morning, as well.

She did, however, waste two hours typing a one page paper and pretending not to be watching the TV while she was at home by herself.

::sigh::

Anyway, this morning, Cat's rash on her back is gone, and the front rash looks a bit better.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:21 AM | Comments (8)

March 14, 2006

Speaking of conspiracies...

...the other day someone at the hair cutting place told me my favorite hair cutter had gone on somewhere else. Not that big a deal to me, but Catherine has been wanting to get her hair cut again, and Miss Alisha did such a fantastic job on it the first time that I wanted her to cut it again. I decided yesterday to call and ask for her again, as if I didn't know she was gone, and then ask where she had gone. (I don't know why I could just ask in the first place, other than it provides some much needed sense of excitement to be all sleuthy-like.)

Anyway, I called, asked if she'd be working last night, and the girl who answered said she'd be there TONIGHT! WHA!? I just wonder if the person I talked to the last time was maybe deliberately telling me wrong, out of spite or something. I'll have to get to the bottom of this tonight, because now that I know Miss Alisha's there, I can take Cat and get her fur trimmed without as much trepidation.

And Catherine can show off her earrings, which I think is why she's wanting to get her hair cut in the first place.

UPDATE: Or not. Just got a call from Reba, and it seems the odd rash Cattypoo had on her chest this morning has spread all over the place, and we might be making a run to the doctor's office to get her checked out.

If it's not one thing, it's a dozen others.

UPDATE II: HEY! Great fun--time to visit Children's Hospital After Hours Clinic!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:41 PM | Comments (4)

Now then, time for some...

LUNCH! Yay.

My little drawing exercise is now at a close, and after I eat my sammich, the next phase starts, in which I will lovingly bring the lines to life with a splash of color. Or, in the jargon of the trade, "throw some markers on it and get it out the door."

Thankfully, peeve-inducing interruptions have been scarce today, which made it all go much quicker. And there was the smell of 3M Spray Mount in the air, which, just like napalm in the mornings, smells like victory. And although equally flammable, unlike napalm, it is quite handy for sticking paper to paper.

Now then, time to slap on some color.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:47 PM | Comments (7)

March 13, 2006

How to peeve me.

1) Don't do anything on the stuff we were supposed to be working on together.

2) When I come to help you do it, I'd rather you not just give it all to me.

3) When the boss starts hyperventilating because he told his boss we'd have it done tomorrow, don't decide then that you might need to act busy on it.

4) By "acting busy," I mean hanging around and watching over my shoulder and chitchatting as I draw which, frankly, does nothing but slow me down, and reminds me that you didn't do anything in the first place, and that all you want now you want to act like you're involved. I'd rather not be reminded, thank you.

5) Continue to hang around asking if there's something you can do. Day late, dollar short. It's mine now. And there's only room for one on my board.

See? I told you I was very peculiar about having hangers-on when I'm working. Good thing I'm a nice person.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:12 PM | Comments (2)

Okay, so I lied.

No Chutes and Ladders. I know, I know--I shouldn't have said anything at all, but I wanted you to come back, and I was afraid if I didn't bring out the big guns, you'd go next door and then I'd be here all alone, looking out the window while I did my homework.

Sorry.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:45 PM | Comments (0)

March 12, 2006

Oh, you knew I’d make it.

I’m big on exaggeration, you know.

The shindig went off without a hitch. The food showed up where it was supposed to, when it was supposed to, the guests all came and had what sounded like a great time, the kids were relatively well-behaved (especially considering what they’ve been known to do), and Grandmom and Pop seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed seeing everyone.

Worst familial faux pas? (This is aside from one of the honorees calling and bothering everyone on the guest list.)

I would say it was probably early on, after Jonathan had gone through the buffet line (the first time) and had gotten a stuffed mushroom. I thought they were very tasty, although they were a bit on the tepid-ish side before the steam tray with the Sterno underneath got really good and hot, but otherwise, pretty darned good. Anyway, Boy had gotten his plate full of goodies (and a stuffed mushroom) and come over to the table where I was standing and plopped down. The table was occupied by about six other older folks, including one very nice lady I did not know, but who seemed to know me.

“Son, aren’t you going to eat that?!”

“It tastes weird!”

“Oh, come on! It’s good!”

“No, it’s not--it tastes gross!”

“Jonathan, it’s just a stuffed mushroom.”

“I KNOW, Dad! It nearly made me PUKE!”

::sigh::

Quickly gathered him up and took him over to the corner and explained that in semi-polite company, one does not scream out that the food is liable to cause puking, and, in fact, one should not use the word “puke” in the company of ladies and gentlemen, especially when using our outside voice. (I prefer a quietly uttered “spew chunks,” but I realize this is but one alternative.)

And then there toward the end, Catherine pulled off her shoes and spent a goodly portion of time running around showing people she had no shoes on.

::sigh::

Overall, though, I’d have to give it good marks. Probably had a bit more than a hundred there, and they came early and stayed late. Luckily, the caterer started breaking things down promptly at 8:30 (it started at 6:30--weird hours, I know) which tended to chase everyone out. Got to take home a goodly amount of food, too, which has been nice to have the past couple of days. Had a bunch of little biscuits with cheese and roast beef and ham, which have been quite handy for breakfast. And lunch.

The only drawback was that I had to get out the tiny rechargeable carpet sweeper to gather up some crumbs. I hate to vacuum. And I was kind of thinking the caterer was supposed to have gotten that. I suppose not, eh? Thankfully, it wasn’t much, and then we got to go home.

Up late Saturday, woken by Grandmom wanting to know if we were awake yet. “Uhm ::hack:: yesma’amRebais.” Blech.

Laundry out the wazoo, so that was most of Saturday. Reba took the girls off to spend money sometime in there, which seems to becoming a regular occurrence on Saturdays. They came back with groceries, and a bunch of plants for me to do something with, which means they’ll probably still be sitting in exactly the same place next spring. Some people seem to think that I have spare time to go plant things. And build a fence. And add a room onto the house. Hard to do that when one is also required to do laundry. And when I can’t even get the taxes done. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Heaven forbid! I’d NEVER do that. But, dangitall, I’ll get to the plants when I can, and not a moment sooner. Because not only did I have all that to do, I also had a bunch of work I brought home with me to get done, because I was off Friday, and this week I’ve got to pour on the coal and get some drawings done. Which wouldn’t be quite so bad except, well, I don’t work well with others, and this requires others.

I have my own way about me when it comes to drawing. I don’t like people getting in the way, and I don’t like people asking me questions about obvious things. Oh well.

Anyway, Sunday was our usual churching-up, with the added excitement of Bible Bowl that afternoon. Tried to find some time before or after to get Jonathan a haircut, but it was not to be. He’s looking a bit too much like one of those groovy lads from Liverpool, circa 1963. It’s actually sorta cute, in a raffish sort of way, but he looks better when he’s not quite so raffish. Maybe we can visit the sheep shearer sometime Monday afternoon after work, but before Jack Bauer Time. We’ll see.

As for Bible Bowl, we had to leave early before it finished (and it ran WAY too long due to "technical difficulties," to be charitable) so we could get back to our church building for Reba to have a meeting with some of the kids.

Sat around and waited for a bit since we were a bit early for the meeting, when suddenly the back door came open and a lumpy red-haired woman came briskly striding in. She looked like she knew exactly where she was going, and as if she just belonged there.

Hmm.

“Ma’am, can we help you?”

I came out from inside the kitchen as she was charging by which caught her up short. She limped a bit and came over to me--“I sure hope so. I’m from Brookwood, and we’re trying to get back home and I my brother and me, we’re about out of gas, and I ain’t got a bit of money on me and I ain’t got nobody at home I can call to come get us and maybe someone could go with us over to the gas station and --”

::sigh::

No, I didn’t believe her--everything about it was just all wrong. If you’re really asking for a handout, you don’t just come charging through like you own the place. We call them circuit riders--they make their living going around to churches mooching, and occasionally sneaking in when no one’s looking and helping themselves to what they can run out with. I asked Reba if she had five dollars (since I was flat broke) and I gave it to the woman more or less just to get rid of her as fast as I could. It’s impossible to tell what she might have had planned, or if she was armed, or if she had someone outside ready to come in and help out. And I certainly wasn’t about to go to the gas station with them. A dollar or two would only encourage her to try to bargain for more, but five seems to be enough to get folks like this on their way.

“Thank y’all so much--we really do appreciate it. Oh, hey--by the way--could you give me a cup of water? I’m just real hot and all.”

Oh, you betcha. Made her a cup full of ice water and sent her on her way. After she got out the door, I walked around to the front lobby and watched her and some man drive off in a late model Explorer. Wearing Jefferson County plates--Brookwood’s in Tuscaloosa County. And rather than turning toward the interstate, they went back toward downtown Leeds.

Well, cast your bread upon the waters, I suppose. Maybe they’ll get tired of panhandling and get actual jobs.

I’m an optimist, you know.

A bit later, the folks finally showed up for Reba’s meeting and as usual, Catherine was not interested in listening and being still, so I took her outside and we flew paper airplanes, which she enjoyed with an enjoyment that’s hard to put into words. Like a wild pony. Or a rabid squirrel. She’s a handful, no matter what. But enjoys running after the wind.

We played for a long time and then walked around the building and looked at trees and birds and stuff, then went and sat down inside on the big leather couch in the foyer for about five minutes, which was interrupted by my being sent to the store for a small notebook so Oldest could take notes.

Why just a sheet of paper wouldn’t do, I don’t know. I’m just glad she’s stopped falling asleep during church and snoring.

Home, supper, baths, bedtime, then time for me to finish those minutes, and time to tap out a few words before bedtime for me.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:57 PM | Comments (12)

March 09, 2006

CLOSED!? What the--?!

Well, as you know, we've got this little anniversary soiree to tend to tomorrow, so in a fit of idiocy I intend to take the whole day off to make sure stuff gets to where it's supposed to go, and that we get the various bits and pieces of impedimenta installed correctly, and to be there to pick up the kids the moment they get off the bus so we can run them home and get them to slip into something uncomfortable, and then make the mad rush BACK to the reception room before the party gets swinging. After which will be much tumult, I am certain.

Due to familial interference, what I had originally thought might be somewhat fun little affair is one that I now look forward to with the intense longing one might feel for being repeately punched in the crotch. It wouldn't be so bad if I could use Saturday and Sunday to recuperate, but we know how THOSE days go.

Anyway, though, I've got stuff to finish here, so I can be off tomorrow. LOTS of stuff. Stuff that looks serious, if you look at it just right.

So, I now turn around the "Closed" sign, and invite you to come back around Monday and see if I managed to make it through without insulting every in-law I have back five generations, or crying in a corner.

CHEERS!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:13 PM | Comments (2)

March 08, 2006

Lot going on today.

Long meeting, as usual, and then I come in and find out they've arrested a couple of yutes here in town who have been accused of the church arsons of late.

Amazing what you can learn from the Internet. Although details are kinda sketchy on the news reports, I looked through the Birmingham-Southern website and found that the two suspects in custody were both theater students, which strikes me as kinda odd. And the other guy who's still on the loose been caught this morning did go to Southern last year before transferring to UAB. B-SC must be getting a lot of hits right now, because they've taken down the school directory, but there's always the Google cache of things.

As I've speculated before, given the way in which the events surrounding the fires unfolded I suspected it was going to be a bunch of stupid kids. However, I don't think I would have figured it would have been a bunch of theater students from a private, Methodist-affiliated liberal arts college.

If these young men are responsible for these crimes, I hope they receive sufficient jail time to make them understand the gravity of the acts, rather than just getting a slap on the wrist.

Idjits.

And then, I heard this story on the news last night

TRUSSVILLE, Ala. -- Trussville police are searching for two men who they said robbed a woman and then abducted her Tuesday evening.

Two men took the woman, her purse and her truck at about 7:30 p.m. at Food World on Main Street, police said. [...]

--that's the store right down at the foot of the hill from my house. And it happened at 7:30 at night. I'm not incredibly freaked out by it, since I have long known that bad things can happen anywhere (which explains why I was so put out with myself a couple of months ago when I was getting gas at Sam's Club and got snuck up on by the attendant while I was daydreaming), but obviously it does concern me. Our little downtown area isn't easily accessed from the Interstate, so it's not like this could have been as much a crime of opportunity where escape would be quick--it seems much more planned, and that's for some reason more worrisome to me. I don't feel any more unsafe than before, but I can guarantee you I'll be looking around a whole lot better.

AND, I got my hairs cut last night. Without incident.

Now, back to work.

UPDATE: Criminal complaint filed by US Attorney of the Northern District of Alabama in church arsons here (.pdf file).

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:16 PM | Comments (10)

March 07, 2006

What's that sound?

Why, I believe it is the sound of a rapidly approaching second Wednesday of the month, thus heralding the arrival of YET MORE NON-POSSUMBLOGGINESS!

Off campus tomorrow morning, doing my part to make the city prettier, so there will be no posting here until much later. Which all of you should be used to by now.

Low expectations can be such a trap.

Anyway, see you all sometime tomorrow, maybe.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:47 PM | Comments (0)

::sigh::

Well, poop. It's time to get my hairs cut again, and I just found out my favorite haircutting girl has gone away, which means that I'll have to find someone else.

I tell you what--life is just so darned tough out in the suburbs!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:57 PM | Comments (1)

Just another day at work.

Walked down 19th Street to the corner of 4th Avenue. Two toughs loitering--both had clipboards. Not good. I think one even had elbow patches on his tweed blazer.

I got closer, then one raised his hand, as if to wave a greeting. Without thinking, I quickly withdrew my service pencil, dropped into a modified Weaver stance, and shouted at the miscreants, "FREEZE--I AM A MUNICIPAL AGENT! I HAVE A PENCIL, AND I WILL USE IT!"

After making sure the area was secure and they were sufficiently scared of my scariness, I roughed them up a bit just for sport--"Who ARE you!?" that pleaded as I fanned them with a deck of color samples. "Me? I'm the Pretty Police--NOW SHUT UP!"

I poked one of them with my pencil for effect.

Not really.

We had a sign go up in the wrong place on a building, and I was there to offer suggestions for fixing it, and to offer veiled threats of the consequences of noncompliance. Which theoretically are pretty high, in that they can result in some hefty fines levied by a city judge, and possibly a tardy note that will be placed on the person's permanent record. Luckily, the owner was there, and he was ticked off at the installer, who was not the most careful person, it turns out.

One word of advice to folks--be sure you have your documentation. The big fellow who was most likely to be losing some money on the deal (i.e., the contractor) seemed as though he might be reaching out to see if he could slide some slices of blame onto someone else's plate. But you see, when I have the drawing right there with me, and when I can remind you that I called and TOLD you the day of the installation it was wrong and you needed to stop but you went ahead and did it anyway, and when your client is standing there tapping his foot, well, not only do you not get to put that slice of blame off on anyone else, you also wind up with an extra serving of gristle. Gristle is bad, and is best avoided.

And remember, although I am nothing more than a menial civil servant, I have learnt at the feet of masters in the art of CYA.

Anyway, we got it worked out and it'll be better than before, so that's nice, and it makes little kittens purr. Awww. Kittens!

Now then, more work to do.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:35 AM | Comments (0)

Jack Bauer Update!

SPECIAL TWO HOUR BLOCKBUSTER!

Of which I missed approximately 100 minutes.

SO, I have no idea what's going on. The school board had a special recognition meeting last night to honor kids from the various schools and Oldest had a recognition for doing well at the DECA regionals several weeks ago, so we went to that, which I think in the greater scheme of things is much more beneficial.

BUT, for those who might have missed it, just do what I always do and trot over to see what the perky Sarah K has to say.

Now then, I have to go meet with a bunch of sign guys off-campus, so you're on your own for a while.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:31 AM | Comments (0)

March 06, 2006

Lunchtime!

See! And something else I forgot about that I think about all the time--money! Gotta run to the bank, and when I get back, I'm gonna have me a fiery Szechuan combo platter.

Mmmm--spicy!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:09 PM | Comments (0)

Obviously...

...Valerie Bertinelli is just too much for some guys.

Yikes. You know you're in bad shape when Keith Richards looks better than you.

And is it just me, or does anyone else think that Nicole Kidman looks very unhealthy?

On the other hand, Salma Hayek looks quite well fed. Rrowll.

And for Miss Janis, one of Ms. Lopez. I like everything except the color, which seems odd.

Funniest caption? This one attached to a photo of Michael Bolton and Nicorette Sheridan: "Actress Nicollette Sheridan, right, and singer Michael Bolton arrive, etc."

Hard to figure out who should be more insulted that they had to say who was on the right of whom.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:08 AM | Comments (16)

What am I doing here!?

No orthodontist appointment this morning for Oldest! Yay!

I only wish now that I could curl up under my desk and go to sleep. But I can't.

IN OTHER NEWS, the weekend was full of non-recreation and fitful sleep! Got our bids in Friday on our new addition at church, and they're still higher than what we wanted, so we've got some rasslin' to do with everyone about that. Caterer? Had to go see her at 7:30 Friday night with Reba, and stayed around there until nearly 9:00.

Saturday was spent poring over the various bid packages and typing up a tabulation while doing laundry. Reba took the girls shopping so any excess money we might have had was disposed of as expeditiously as possible. Boy and I later on went to get some late lunch and go to the store for him to dispose of a little more of his Christmas money from various relatives. And I finally found some cedar blocks at Bed, Bath and Beyonce, so let me tell Dave Helton to stop sawing up that big old stump of his right now.

Also made a stop at the grocery store to pick up some sugar-free sweet tea. I realize such a concoction might be anathema maranatha to true devotees of Southern sweet tea, but I know I sure do like it, and we seem to go through about fifty gallons of it a day.

Home again, more laundry, Boy took his bath, waited for the return of the girls. And waited. They'd left around 3:30 or so, and I expected them to be back before dark. As if. 'Silly daddy.' Silly husband!

Anyway, Jonathan got out of the tub and we watched some television and he mentioned that the tub was leaking. "You know, where the water comes out of the wall?" Hmm. Well, it's actually been dribbling for a while, but I just tell them to close the drain plug and they've got a good start for baths the next night.

I walked into the bathroom and rather than a dripply drip ever ten seconds or so, there was a constant dripdripdripdripdripdrip. Hmm. After I stopped to relieve myself (such was the strength of the visual and audible water cues), I grabbed the big single Dagwood-button knob in the middle of the wall and tried to see if there was any position I could move it so that the dribbling stopped.

Nope. In fact, the last little "hmphr" I used to move it in and around made it start flowing as if it wasn't leaking, but was actually being used to run water. Uh-oh. Unscrewed the knob, took off the cover plate, turned off the valves, pulled the valve. Yep.

Those two little rubber cups that fit in the end of the valve were stuck down and wouldn't offer the springy rubberiness needed to fully close the flow. And this was discovered at 7:40 at night. A quick call to the hardware store at the foot of the hill confirmed that they were still open, so I got Boy to throw on some more clothes and we sped off in search of rubber grommetry.

Got there, found my parts, paid, back home, and for once Jonathan was actually interested in helping me, so I showed him the pipes in the wall and the valve and the rubber grommets and plugged it all back in while he handed me various tools.

Taaa-daaa.

Success!

Buttoned it back up, put the tools away, and the girls finally got home at nearly 8:30. I looked at the stuff they'd purchased, but by this time I was about tuckered out, so after we ate (they'd stopped to pick up some barbecue for supper--mmm--piggy!) they went on and got cleaned up, I folded a few more clothes, and then collapsed in the bed.

Sunday, had to take separate cars because my whole afternoon was meetings. After morning worship, there was the teenage devotional at someone's house, so we all went to that, then I had a meeting at 2:30, 3:30, 4:30, and a brief one at 6:05 which is five minutes after evening services started. That was a lot of jabbering.

Supper, then home, where there was yet more laundry to fold, and more sleep to not get. Meaning, I missed the entirety of the Oscars.

It makes me want to weep that I was not able to see the most socially conscious group of human beings ever to walk the face of planet Earth engage in the social consciousness of a most overwhelmingly conscious sort, and do it socially, and to be able then to watch them as they congratulate themselves for being on such a higher plain of existence. And yes, I'm speaking of George Clooney's fatuous little speech about how forward thinking the Academy was by awarding Hattie McDaniel and Oscar in 1939. Not mentioning it would be 24 more years before another black person got another one. And then 19 more after that before another black person got one. There's only 18 in all. Not really much to hang your hat on there, George.

Twit.

Anyway, I got a raft of junk to do today, as in weeks past, so bear with me as I try to clear some of it away.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:13 AM | Comments (8)

March 03, 2006

Well, now.

Since I've lulled you into thinking I'm back to regular posting, it's time to yank the plug again!

Time to head out to the church building and see what sorts of bids we get back on the fellowship hall addition. The process to get here has been a year long, which is rather hard to believe. I'm just hoping we can pay for it now that we've spent all this time messing with it.

Much like the anniversary dinner next weekend. Thankfully, Reba's brother has come through with some major financial support for the victuals, so I am particularly grateful for that. But I sure will be glad when it's over. My mother-in-law, God love her (and I most certainly do), has not made this particularly pleasant, either for her children or for the invitees.

Tomorrow? Shopping. Which I'd really rather not get involved in, but I think a certain wife of mine is needing some decompression time.

Sunday? Meetings, meetings, meetings, in amongst all the ecclesiastical necessities of the day.

Monday? Early morning orthodontist appointment, meaning that I won't be posting until much later on in the day.

But you know what?

It's springtime.

When I cooked in the rain last weekend, I noticed that Jonathan's pear tree was in full bloom. Saw a robin hopping through someone's yard on Tuesday when I was taking Catherine to school. The forsythia's all yellowed up, and the daffodils are out, and the non-flowery trees all have that green knobbiness to their branches that signals it's almost time to bust out some leaves again, and the afternoons are light enough now for the kids to spend 10 or 15 minutes outside when we get home to burn off some excess steam, and I didn't have to wear a jacket at all yesterday.

Springtime's pretty nice, I think.

All of you have a wonderful weekend and I'll see you Monday sometime.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:38 AM | Comments (0)

March 02, 2006

Well, at least not EVERYONE thinks I'm old.

Got home last night from church and set in to do some computing stuff for Rebecca, so we'd flipped the television on and were watching the tailend of American Idol Guy Night, and they had the recap with Taylor Hicks singing "Easy" and I launched into my own version. Although I make fun of the way I sing, I actually can sing well enough to keep from getting killed if sometime in the future I was captured by Islamic terrorist who threatened to hack me to pieces if I didn't sing "Easy" the way Lionel does, may peace be upon him. So, anyway, I sang a bit and Rebecca, who was sitting in the floor watching the television (instead of helping me do all her work for her) piped up and said, "Daddy! YOU should be on American Idol, not those guys!"

"Nowww, Bec, you know I'm too ol--"

"YES, I know, you say 'I'm too old' but I don't think you are!"

Awwww.

Makes having to do a travel brochure on New Mexico for her social studies class much more bearable.

Hmm. You don't think she was just trying to butter me up, do you?

Nah.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:29 PM | Comments (0)

More lint!

Speaking of lunch, something else has been bugging me--the cashier at the Sneaky Pete's wears a little thin string necklace around her throat, and it really disturbs me, because it looks like someone has snuck up behind her and is trying to strangle her.

Second--Steevil just sent me this link to this Ann Althouse post on heinie augmentation for th' ladies. Since we were talking about cuteness in the previous post, I have to admit I think those very-much-lower back dimples are cute, so I might change my new cliche to "cute as very-much-lower back dimples."

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:16 PM | Comments (0)

Finally, a break.

Although not really--it’s lunchtime, and I’m choking down some Stuff That’s Bad For You, so I have to concentrate really hard on not letting it make me die or anything. Food can do that, you know.

As I have laboriously belabored the point, ad nauseum and ad infinitum, for the past few days I have been up to my armpits in junk to do, and none of it really important in the greater scheme of things. I mean, it’s not like I’m coming up with a cure for cancer or Stuff That’s Bad For You or a way to make lobsters cook themselves--it’s just silly junk. But, by gum, it’s silly junk that MUST BE DONE!

And who better to do it?

Anyway, all sorts of lint has been accumulating in my mind. Such as, buttons. I’m sure out there on the Internets there are plenty of people who’ve opined on this before, but I haven’t thought about it until now, and I don’t really want to go to all the trouble of looking it up.

I have on numerous occasions said one girl or another is “just as cute as a button,” but I got to thinking about it the last few days and I can’t think of a single button I’ve ever seen that I thought, “Boy howdy, that sure is a CUTE button!” In fact, most buttons I’ve seen are utilitarian and plain. And circular. And have four holes punched in them. And are held (barely) to my shirt with thread. I have to say that I can’t think of a single girl who looks like that. Therefore, I intend from now on to never use that phrase again. I shall use “cute as a cute thing.”

Moths. I guess I got â€em. I noticed several weeks ago that there was a tiny hole in the sleeve of my nearly almost new gray suit coat.

“Hmm,” I thought. “That is a hole.”

Being rather clever, I tried to camouflage what looked like a bit of white lint on the sleeve (the result of the suit lining shining through the tiny hole) with a dot of black ink. That did not work. Poop.

Whatever.

Then Sunday, I pulled it out and noticed that there were TWO holes, and this time they were in the SHOULDER of the coat.

“Hey,” I thought. “Those are TWO holes, and they’re in the SHOULDER.” As I have often said, I am quite smart like that there.

I had to go ahead and wear it to church because we were ready to leave and there was no changing, but I decided to take it to the dry cleaners and see if they could fix it. All along, I thought these mysterious holes were being caused by careless snags or something. Moths!? Oh, please. Not MY suits! (Which are made of sheepy stuff.)

“I’ve got a couple of small holes here, and they almost look like scissor nips or something--can y’all reweave this?”

“Uh, sir, I think--hmm, yes sir, this is moth damage, not a cut. And no, we don’t have any way to reweave them here. We send them to a lady who has a small shop over in East Lake. She’s, probably, oh, gosh, about ninety by now, but she does good work, and as far as we’ve found, she’s the only one in town who still does it.”

I HAVE MOTHS! AIEEEEEE! Now I know why Mothra is so scary.

Anyway, I stopped on the way home to pick up some cedar planks or balls or cones or hangers or something to hang in the armoire so moths would go somewhere else in the house and quit eating up all my two suits. Except they didn’t have anything with cedar.

Just those plain old stinkin’ naphtha cakes. With either lemon or cedar scent!

Let me say this RIGHT now. There is no way to make naphtha smell like lemon. Or cedar. I put the thing in the wardrobe, but only so long as it will take to kill the little buggers, and until I can find something actually made from a cedar tree to go in there.

The downside is that I smell even more like an old man.

Just need me a splash of Old Spice to go with the naphtha, maybe a touch of Brylcreem, hitch my pants under my armpits, and I’m all set.

Stupid moths.

By the way--did the Japanese ever figure out how to shoot Mothra with great big moth cannonballs? I bet that would have worked good.

Let’s see, what else was there? I’ll get back to you in a minute or two.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:24 PM | Comments (6)

March 01, 2006

Wednesday!? Already!?

Okay, whoever keeps messing with the time machine needs to just cut it out RIGHT NOW!

Interesting happenings of late?

Well, let me ask you this--do you know how to make a minor bureaucrat exceedingly happy?


Give him a BRAND NEW PLASTIC SLEEVE for his identity badge, that's what! Got one yesterday and I am quite proud of it. The last one I had finally split where the clippy thing goes on, so I was deathly afraid of losing it, lest I not be able to get into the building and not be able to get to w-...hmm.

I sense a missed opportunity.

In other news, dental appointments yesterday afternoon for three-quarters of the kids. Read a Time magazine, which I haven't done in years. And now I remember why. Although I'm sure that Time's editorial board would vigorously deny it, Entertainment Weekly is actually better written, and serves up more actual news. If nothing else, it's much less self-congratulatory and self-absorbed.

Anyway, back to work.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:45 AM | Comments (4)

February 27, 2006

Still Hibernating

Charrette went well, although it created yet more work for me that I don't have time to do; weekend was spent cooking hamburgers and hotdogs in the rain for three little squealy girls because Cat had a playdate/post-birthday shindig that required flambéed meat products. The rain was just a secondary annoyance, and one that lasted the entirety of Saturday without respite. It's very difficult to cook meat on a grille and hold an umbrella, let me just say. Interspersed with this smoke-filled fun, I had an emergency phone call from the architect for our building to look at some addendum questions before the bid opening, which will be Friday. Dial-up is not the way to deal with emergency questions. Sunday--church, and then later on, an education meeting.

Today? I got to work at 8:45. I left home at 6:55. It seems that well-known motivational speaker Zig Ziglar is in town, and apparently through nefarious mind-control ray beams, caused all of his acolytes to materialize downtown during morning rush hour, causing an ungodly amount of gridlock. It was bumper-to-bumper, 20 mile per hour traffic all the way from Trussville. You want some motivationalism? Don't waste your time in traffic! How bout that!?

Anyway, I have so much to do that I probably won't even get a nap for the rest of the week, much less play on here. SO, all of you go do other things, and check back next week and let's see what happens then.

UPDATE: Oh, I am so ignert of the goings on around here! I found out just now when I went to get a bite of lunch that not only was Zig here, but Hizzoner Rudy Giuliani, and a bunch of other bigshots like that Forbes guy and the Monster.com developer guy.


And seems Birmingham shares something with Sacramento and Baltimore (a few years back) when it comes to star-induced traffic jams.

Anyway, just remember--there's no such thing as a free lunch.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:00 AM | Comments (5)

February 23, 2006

Hibernation

I just got out of a meeting that lasted from 9 this morning to 1:45 this afternoon, without a stop in the middle for lunch. And tomorrow I'll be having an all-day design charrette related to what I just got through meeting about.

And then there is all the regular bunch of silly crap I'm not able to get done because I've been dragooned into spending all my time today and tomorrow in yet another round of death-by-pencil. All of that to say I have a WHOLE BUNCH of stuff to do that will mean I won't have time to play for the next SEVERAL DAYS! EEEK!

All I can say is that as with everything else that goes around here, I will be back to regular posting pretty soon. I guess. Anyway, all of you have fun out there in the blogosphere, and I'll see you when I see you.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:16 PM | Comments (6)

February 22, 2006

Wow.

That was one more sort of meeting. Nearly three hours. I think this is the first one where I have had to get up and run go pee during the proceedings. The only bright spot is that Big Boss did not see fit to castigate our incompetence in front of everyone. It's so much less embarrassing when it's done only around other staff members.

Anyway, I have a whole lot of actual paying work to get done, so no more play for me today. Although I would like to say that I sure wish that Becky O'Donahue girl could sing better, because she looks really, REALLY good.

SO, all of you go off and amuse yourselves with selections from the blogroll, or for you fans of advertising ephemera, you might want to peruse this site recommended by Stan the Government Man. Pretty nifty, if you ask me.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:50 AM | Comments (0)

February 21, 2006

Mushhead!

My whole head feels like a bowl of oatmeal, or possibly cream of wheat. Long day, full of fun bureaucratic finaglesomeness, and I have my regular off-campus meeting tomorrow morning, and I just spent an hour in a meeting that was half-consumed with three guys trying to get a laptop to work.

So, that's why not much fun today, and why there won't be much tomorrow. BUT THERE'S THE REST OF THE INTERNET TO PLAY ON, so everyone else will just have to take up the slack for me.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:13 PM | Comments (0)

February 20, 2006

Time for Lunch!

Or, leftovers, as the case may be--i.e., stuff I forgot about earlier.

Just got back from going next door to get something to eat. You know, if it's going to be chilly, at least it could be sunshiney. Worst thing in the world is that cold gray rainy garbage. Although, I do have to say that such weather does have the nice side effect of making the panhandlers disappear. Only one guy today, with a shopping cart and apparently an invisible person with whom he was quite angry.

For those who wondered, I did want to let you know that the Fish and Grits special is $2.55 + tax. No, I did not get any today, either.

Let's see, what else? Well, Catherine did get her ears repierced Saturday night at Wally World. She was quite, quite pleased with herself, and this time they were actually the same height relative to each other. The last time (we think she was around seven), they were ever so slightly out of alignment, and although no one else could probably tell, it drove me nuts every time I saw them.

This time, they consulted Dad before boring holes in her head. I made the lady redraw the dot on one side, and after that and much holding Cat's head and swiveling it backandforth, I was satisfied. Now, they might still be misaligned, but since I can't tell, at least it won't bother me. It being, after all, all about me.

Anyway, she got a Certificate of Bravery, which she was very proud of, and which she showed (along with the ear decorations) to the older lady she's become buddies with at church. I'm not sure why, but Catherine has really taken to her, and makes a point of sitting with the lady and her sisters and brothers-in-law during church on Sunday mornings. I looked back there this past Sunday and Catherine had leaned her head on the lady's shoulder, and with mouth agape, was sound asleep. Such a kid.

OTHER THINGS--Olympic FEVER!

I managed to watch women's speed skating last night. Why didn't someone tell me about this!? I tell you what--those costumes the Netherlandesian women wear, the ones that are orange with the black legs--wooo, goodness, they are quite fetching, for some reason. I think it's because they remind me of the boots Julia Roberts wore in Pretty Woman.

Second, last night before I collapsed in heap of exhausted blubber, I watched ice dancing. Yes, I know I've said I don't like this stuff, and I don't--it's just that I figure I should not like for a good reason, and not just out of laziness.

ANYWAY, I realize that the whole thing is supposed to be all graceful and whispy and all that mess, and I further realize that there is a limit to how much meat a person can have on him and still skate with some fluidity. That is, I don't think you're gonna see any guys built like an NFL lineman doing this. Meaning further, that although I'm sure these guys are strong, they still aren't quite the strongest guys in the world, so their female partners have to be pretty darned lightweight themselves in order to properly flit and flutter about the ice, and be heisted all over the place like rag dolls. (Even the scrawniest ones still have problems holding on, it seems.)

HAVING SAID ALL THAT, when I saw that American girl, all I could think of was someone needs to hold her down and get some cheeseburgers and milkshakes in her before she crumbled into a pile of bones.

FINALLY--it's "Jack Bauer Night," and I have but one thing to say. If it's not any better than it was last week, I am gonna boycott it. Someone needs to tie that stupid fat hobbit kid in a chair and stuff a sock in his mouth.

That's all I can think of right now.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:18 PM | Comments (2)

And now it's time for...

...MEETINGS!

Just got through with a half-hour staff meeting which I am proud to say I stayed awake for in its entirety, and in a few minutes I have a whole bunch of stuff to do until lunchtime. Including a meeting with a developer.

Blech.

Anyway, the endless supply of meaningless jibberjabber will be somewhat less endless for the next few hours.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:33 AM | Comments (0)

Today would have been a very nice day...

...to stay home and sleep.

BUT NOW THAT I'M HERE, I might as well lull YOU to sleep with more boisterous, rowdy tales of a riotous suburban weekend!

Let's see--Friday afternoon I picked up the napkins for the anniversary party, while Reba took the two older girls over to the church building for a night of loving fellowship amongst the teen girls, then after Reba got back, she packed some clothes for Rebecca, who got invited to spend the night (and no, Oldest didn't, which, of course, meant hours of drama upon her return), but before that, we went back out to Target to do a little bit of birthday shopping for Catherine, who picked out a couple of video games and some movies, then we went to eat supper at Arby's, and then we went home and started doing some laundry.

At 9:30, it got time for me to go pick up Oldest and take Middle Girl's sleeping essentials (pillow, sleeping bag, pajamas, change of clothes, etc.), so I roused myself from an Arby's induced stupor and made the drive over to the building, gathered up Oldest who was in quite a state, swapped the luggage with the mom who was taking Rebecca home, then drove home in silence.

Got home, and I collapsed, while Mom and Oldest stayed up to have a long talk about why jealousy makes you no friends. Neither does being a know-it-all, a buttinski, or any combination of prideful, mean, hateful, rude, insensitive, tactless, etc., etc. Seems she made quite a show. And can't figure out why some people avoid her.

Up early Saturday, to the din of Boy watching television. Couldn't drag myself out of bed to make him be quiet, so after some great effort on my part, I finally got up and got some clothes on. Oh, and look--it's almost time to go get Rebecca. The first of two trips to the lovely wilds of St. Clair county that day.

Grabbed some leftovers out of the refrigerator and headed out. Got there at the prescribed time, she was still in her pajamas. ::sigh:: Waited, talked to Hostess Mom for a while and tried not to doze off, finally gathered up Middle Girl and her stuff, headed home, heard more about the unhinged antics of a certain other child of mine exhibited the night before. Sighed heavily.

Stopped by Dairy Queen on the return trip to pick up a cake for Cat, then to home. Laundry, then time to head BACK to the church building for the contractor meeting at 1:00. The main meeting didn't take that long, but one of our committee members was about to split a seam to talk to one group of guys, and I felt compelled to stay around after the big meeting to make sure he didn't go off on a tangent and say something he shouldn't. It's been very difficult for me to keep everyone herded in one direction over the past year, and some are worse than others, I suppose because they aren't used to following someone else's lead. But now's not the time to mess ourselves up on this.

Back home, laundry still being done, and the added bonus of a certain wife of mine seeming to be in the foulest, blackest mood imaginable, and none of the kids ready to GO SEE THE MOVIE!

Catherine wanted to go see something for her birthday, so I told them to get ready so we could go, and I called and found out what was playing. I wanted to go to something early so we could get back so they could get ready for church on Sunday.

Heh. Right.

ANYway, it looked like about the only thing that was playing close to the same time that we'd actually be able to make it to the theater was The Pink Panther.

MOVIE REVIEW TIME!

Well, remembering fondly the Pink Panther movies of my youth, I was quite ready to be thoroughly disappointed. I really do like Steve Martin very much, but the idea of him as Inspector Clouseau just seems like a very bad bit of casting. Of course, when you're the guy who helped write the screenplay, I suppose there is some latitude granted in casting.

Overall, though, it really wasn't so bad. Martin is a very physical comedian, but in the Jim Carrey mode, not in the Buster Keaton mode. However, Clouseau really calls for underplaying the wild gesticulation and rubber-face things--he thinks he's suave and debonair and in control, and there's a good way and a bad way of doing physical comedy with that in mind. The young Chevy Chase had it. The old Steve Martin doesn't. Then again, the young one wouldn't have, either. Clouseau is not Navin Johnson, you know.

Anyway, aside from that bit of visual distraction, and the incomprehensible appearance of Kevin Kline, and the fact that Cato does not even merit a mention (his work being taken over by a policeman that Dreyfus assigns to shadow Clouseau), and the fact that the plot is even stupider than any of the Blake Edwards Panthers, it was still not so bad. I think it was the scenery and cinematography, which in both cases was wonderfully well done. Speaking of scenery, the lovely musical star Bouncy Knolls was in this movie--she's very attractive, although her acting ability ranks right up there with a squash.

The movie is basically a strung-together series of sight gags, and the kids, most especially Jonathan, thought they were funny. I did, too, although there were a couple of silly scenes of double-entendre visuals--one where Clouseau is helping the secretary off a credenza and winds up with her crotch in his face, and another one later where he is helping to dislodge an egg from her throat by using a variation of the Heimlich maneuver he seemed to have learned from watching badly done online video--that were really unneccesary. They were silly and over the top enough to where kids would just think the grown-ups were goofy, but for adults, it was a bit much if you've got your kids with you.

In the end, Clouseau does manage to redeem himself, and make things right, and in a twist from the usual Pink Panther movies, finds love. And of all the scenes, those are actually the best. There is actually a tenderness and sweetness that isn't masked by spastic arm movements and trouble speaking English.

Overally, an okay movie, but don't worry if you don't get to see it. I give it 2 1/2 curly possum tails out of 5.

THEN, on back home?

NOOoooo. To Wal-Mart. Where we spent the next three hours. Got home late, kids tired, ME tired, and ready to collapse. Which I did, sometime later.

And then got up early Sunday. Shower, dress, get everyone else up, get everyone fed, get everyone in the van, and then have to wait while Reba changes clothes completely in order to put on a slip that doesn't hang down below the hem of her skirt. ::sigh::

ON to church, made it with 15 seconds to spare, class, preaching, then across the county to go eat lunch with Ashley's grandparents, then across the county SOUTHWARD this time to go see my mom at her church, the ulterior motive being to let Reba see the reception room where the anniversary party is going to be.

Because I am a moron, I decided to go get my mom at her house so she could ride with us. And by making Catherine move to the back, I guaranteed that there would be a) fights, b) crying, c) tumult, d) more crying, e) intense embarrassment. ::sigh:: Yes, I sigh a lot.

On to the building, looked around, then went and sat down in the auditorium and met all the people whose seats we'd stolen. People are very territorial about their pews, you know. Good thing my mom was there to run interference for us.

Afterwards, down the hill and across the highway to eat at the lovely and swanky Backyard Burger place. My mom found out that they'd give you a discount if you brought your church bulletin. This created quite a disturbance, in that there were seven of us, and the deal was that if you ordered a combo, you got a free sandwich. NOT another free combo. But, my mother, bless her, was quite certain that it was another combo, and was prepared to create a scene. By the time we got everything sorted out, the line was backed out the door. (The place was deserted when we first arrived.)

Ate, then took her home, then we headed home. Folded some clothes, then collapsed.

I am very tired today, for some reason.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:21 AM | Comments (10)

February 17, 2006

Well, now--

I think it's almost time to get outta here!

Long weekend, again. Birthday, prebid meeting at church, laundry, Fermat's Last Theorem, and I think we might go see my mom Sunday night so Reba can look at the reception room. Or something. I have no idea, really; I just go where I'm pointed, sorta like the wolf (Charles M. Wolf, it seems) in the old Bugs Bunny cartoon who never could remember what he was hunting for.

Anyway, all of you have a good weekend, and I'll see you Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:40 PM | Comments (0)

Hello, British Columbia!

Just had a visitor drop by from there--hey, eh!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:13 PM | Comments (0)

Nine years?!

Oh, that's just impossible.

I mean, she's only just been born, right?

So it seems. But, nine years ago tomorrow morning, the last and wiggliest of my offspring entered the world, in full song, ready to take on the world. It has been an interesting nine years full of bruises and peewet sheets and about a billion hugs and kisses.

She's growing up--she can do multiplication tables, although she does still have a bit of trouble saying "multiplication," and she's gotten to the point where she wonders why some people act the way they do, and she likes it when she's dressed up cute, and she seems to not be able to say anything school-related without also mentioning a little boy named Malachi. "He plays football!" she tells me. I just hope he doesn't try anything with her--she'll squash him like a bug.

Where do all those years go?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:31 PM | Comments (9)

Paging Dr. Howard; Dr. Possum; Dr. Howard--

In all of my vast medical experience, I have never heard of such a tale.

It is, however, true. So all of you be sure to wish Dr. Smith a speedy recovery from his bout of coughitational rib breakius.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:30 AM | Comments (1)

Probably not what was intended.

I imagine it probably meant she was a grandma three times over, but when I saw a red Miata pulling into a parking space at the Downtown Main branch of the post office this morning, all I could think of when I saw the personalized license plate that said "3X NANA," was that she was either Triple X's grandmother or an elderly porn star.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:38 AM | Comments (2)

February 16, 2006

Okay, I may be a moron, but I ain't crazy.

You know how you sorta plan things in your mind, and in your mind things look a certain way, and they're done in a certain way, at a certain place and pace?

That?

Well, this anniversary party deal--we picked up the invitations Tuesday evening, and although they aren't expensive engraved ones (they're ones printed in the printer's own shop) they still look nice--simple buff-colored panelled cards, with a neatly composed set of instructions done up in French Script font.

I had thought to myself that we needed to sit down Tuesday and get some of them addressed, but there was the usual turmoil, and we were dead tired. Last night? Usual turmoil, PLUS Bible study at church, PLUS Reba having to work late and thus making us have to wait to eat until we were on the way home to eat and so we had to grab something at McDoodies, PLUS children with homework, PLUS Reba's mom has been driving her nuts lately with interference and just plain ol' crazy-acting. BUT, there are some of those invitations that had to go to her corporate office so the big cheeses Reba's dad works with will have it in their hand TODAY. Meaning, despite being dead tired, we still had to address some envelopes last night.

Now then, the way I had conceived of this going was that we'd clear a spot on the kitchen table, get a couple of nice smooth pens, and neatly address the envelopes so they looked, well, neatly addressed.

Before I knew it, last night Reba had gotten the envelopes, hopped onto the bed with the Fall/Winter JC Penney catalog, found herself a scratchy black ballpoint and had gone to work on them. I looked down at the ones she'd done--quickly scrawled in her "quickscrawl" handwriting that she used for shopping lists, names curving down the page to match the curvature of the catalog upon her knee, some crowding all the way to the end of the envelope, some with big ink blobs where she'd had to go back over a letter. I don't know if it was the constant pressure from her mom, or the pressure of knowing she had to get the important ones addressed IMMEDIATELY, or what exactly, but it was obvious she just wanted to get them done, no matter what.

I started stuffing the cards in, and as the envelopes piled up--"Do you think I can just mark a line through this and write the correct street name?"--I very nearly told her I would be glad to take them downstairs and do them for her.

However, in her state of mind, I know that would have been A Very Bad Idea.

So, for once, I let my idea go unsaid. And if you happen to be on the mailing list, I'd warn you against asking who addressed your envelope.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:48 AM | Comments (2)

February 15, 2006

Short Day?

Yep--have to take Cat back for her ear checkup this afternoon, so I'm going to sign off for now. See you all tomorrow, which is THURSDAY, which usually means something special!

Or not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:28 PM | Comments (0)

Not again.

Well, yes.

Once more, had that dream last night that we all have, of being back in school. The only update this time was that the school was very nice, and at least a couple of my kids were there as well. I was walking through a big sunshiney lobby area where a bunch of kids were hanging around, and here came Catherine with her little backpack on her shoulder. She ran up and hugged me and I kissed her head, then I went on just a bit further, and found Jonathan coming toward me as well. Said hey to him, then found myself at a long counter like the once at the driver's license department, and I was asking the lady just exactly how many more classes I had to take to graduate.

Stupid ol' dream.

And no, I never did get a straight answer.

Figures.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:44 PM | Comments (3)

Now THAT'S service!

I got a call a few minutes ago from Miss Reba. Seems the flowers I ordered the first part of the week have STILL not arrived.

She had to leave early yesterday, and I was a bit concerned that they hadn't arrived then, but I didn't think too much about it since I've never had bad luck with the florist over in the AmSouth building. I figured they'd be there today--all fifteen little buds. (It being the 15th anniversary of our engagement and all.)

Anyway, not there yesterday. Or today.

::sigh::

I hate this. I have always liked using this particular florist because the lovely lady who works there is so darned nice, but as those of you who know me know, once a place disappoints me, I simply don't ever use them again.

I tried to call the main number first--on hold. Grr.

So, off to shop. I really did NOT want to have to be mean to this lady. Got there and she asked how I was today.

"Well, not good."

I told her the delivery didn't get made, and without the least bit of hesitation, she offered profuse apology, and without hesitating said she would credit the cost of the order back to my account, make sure it was delivered today, AND give me a $50 gift certificate for my next order. No questions, no trying to make excuses, and genuine concern that they'd messed up.

THAT is the way to stay in business. Thanks, Norton's. And thanks most especially to your downtown manager--she's a peach.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:38 AM | Comments (4)

February 14, 2006

"Love is in the air..."

Happy Valentine's Day to you all!

I got two very sweet cards and a big ol' sack of peanut butter and chocolate hearts from Miss Reba. I would have gotten an even better gift last night, except for having to find a bunch of junk on the computer for Jonathan about skating, and a list of simple Italian phrases, AND if Miss Reba had not had to go out to the Dollar Tree last night at 9:00 to buy a bag of lil' kid Valentines for Catherine to give to the kids in her class today. And if a certain mother of Reba's would leave her alone about a certain upcoming anniversary.

Such a combination doesn't make for a highly charged romantic atmosphere, let me tell you.

ANYway, it is still quite a nice day, and marks the 15th anniversary of my engagement to my lovely bride. Many years ago now, I wrote a long post that details how our lives became entwined, and every year since I have reposted it (with the necessary update to mark the number of years), for the simple reason that I can't think of anything I would say any different.

She's a keeper, that's for sure.

For those who've not read it, if you will indulge me, the post is in the extended entry.


I never really remember meeting my wife. We more or less grew up going to church together, so I’ve sorta always known her. We went to different grade schools and high schools, and we never socialized outside of church, but we always were friends. She is two years older than me, and with my immense adolescent awkwardness and shyness, I never worked up the nerve to ask her out on a date. But she would always save me a seat in Sunday school. And I would always sit with her. Her name is Reba.

The first time I ever had one of those pubescent rush-of-hormone moments was because of her. One Sunday when we were waiting for class to start, she was standing at the door talking to her dad. She had on a sleeveless blue dress. Just a plain, A-line, to the knee, homemade, God-fearing polyester church dress. But I couldn’t look away from those soft, pale, naked arms. I can still feel my ears turning red, and trying to make sure my Bible was firmly placed across my lap to cover the embarrassing results of my wandering eyes and the machinations of my limbic system.

We grew up together, through junior high and high school, and my mom would pester me to ask her out. I always scoffed and said it would be like dating my sister. Reba went off to college at Jacksonville, and then I graduated a couple of years later and eventually went off to Auburn to study architecture. Whenever we would meet up again in those years, it was always at church. We would talk, although I can’t remember any of our conversations. She would always sit on the pew behind my mother and me. In my third year at Auburn, I got to spend a quarter studying in Europe, and my mom told me that she would ask about me every week. But, I was still in school, and semi-stalking another girl, and well, you know.

I finally made it out of Auburn with two degrees and a minor in business, after going to school for five straight years—twenty complete quarters, breaking only for a two week respite in my very first quarter there, due to my father’s death. I moved back home; bone-tired and lonesome.

I started my first job two weeks after I got back and started the next chunk of my life, which was centered on passing my licensing exam. Not much time for socializing, although some of my well-meaning coworkers would allow their wives to use me as a test case for their unmarried girlfriends. There had to be something better.

Since I was back home, I had started going back to our old church again with my mom. My wife-to-be had gotten a job at a local hospital, and wasn’t around a lot. But I had finally decided that I even though I was still awkward and shy, dadgummit, I was going to ask her out. Then I learned why she had not been around much.

Seems she had starting dating an acquaintance of mine, and he had asked her to marry him.

I went to their wedding, which was held right there at our old church. I have no remembrance of it at all; even watching the video of it I cannot remember anything of it. I guess I was trying hard to forget it. She and her husband left and went on their honeymoon. When they got back, they moved to the other side of the county and moved to another church. A few months later, she was pregnant.

I was at work one day when I got a call from my best friend in high school. “Rick died.” I couldn’t say anything except to keep saying â€no.’ 29 years old. Married six months. Baby due in five months. Dropped dead of a heart attack.

The funeral, I do remember. There was a group of us who had all run around together in high school, and Rick had been one of the group. When I got there, all of the rest of the guys were just standing there, silent and somber. Reba sat back behind a curtain with her girlfriends on either side of her. She had a wad of tissue in her hands, which were crossed across her small pregnant belly. I didn’t really know what to say—what came out was something like “This may sound stupid, but no matter how bad you think this is, it will get better.” I reminded her of her family, and the folks at church, and that I would help watch out for her, too.

Some time passed, and she started coming back to church at our old place. She grew and grew, and I made a point of finding her every Sunday she was there at church to talk to her. And to flirt. She tells me now that she thought I was crazy for telling her she looked good pregnant. Despite all that had gone on over the years, to me she was still that girl in the blue dress, leaned up against the door of the classroom. And whether I had ever wanted to admit it to myself or not, I was, and had always been, very deeply in love with her.

On March 27, 1990 her baby was born. From then on, I had to flirt with both of them. Which I did, rather shamelessly.

In December of that year, the moment finally arrived. It was time for my office Christmas party. A couple of weeks before time, I sidled up to Reba at the card rack at church and pretended to be looking for something. I asked her to the party. She said yes. We went, and had wonderful time. A week later, we had a second date, ostensibly to look for a kitchen table for me. After that, we have rarely been apart for longer than a day.

15 years ago today, I asked Reba to be my wife. Since then, we’ve been through a lot. Another wedding. Passing my registration exam. Three more kids. Two houses. Eleven vehicles. Moved to three different school systems. Five job changes between us. More college for both of us. More deaths in the family, and more births. A couple of wars. Three presidents. We even moved to a different church. 15 years, but it seems like only yesterday.

And to this day, I still have to be very careful when I see that she is wearing a sleeveless dress.

So Mrs. Oglesby, Happy Valentine’s Day. And thank you for saying yes.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:18 AM | Comments (8)

February 13, 2006

Fund Raising

Can't stand it. Worse is when the kids want to take their stuff to church to try to raise money--people don't want to say no, and some might even feel obligated, and so for the most part we try to discourage our kids from using that as a venue.

Catherine, being one of those who's rather more mulish about such things, managed to sneak out of the house Sunday with her Jump Rope For Heart envelope. She had already gotten $5 from both Grandma and Grandpa, and she'd gotten another $5 from her great aunt. Which I thought was pretty good.

Came back Sunday with nearly 80 bucks.

I might just have to recruit her to do a little fundraising for me.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:43 AM | Comments (8)

BLACKOUT!

I had a pithy post for you, and about halfway through writing it, we had a building-wide power outage. Supposedly, we have an uninterruptable power system. If we do, waiting for more than a minute to kick in probably doesn't do much good.

Anyway, I had a whole diatribe about the meetings I've had to sit through this morning and this weekend. The main point of contention being that the Guy Who Likes to Talk to Me at the Urinal always sits beside me in our staff meetings, and he won't shut up, and to make matters worse, he has coffee breath that smells like a dung-besmeared dead skunk. And he thinks he's funny.

Thankfully, the other meetings this weekend (printer, caterer, building committee, Sunday school) were devoid of such things. Although I still could have done without them. At least there was cake at the caterer's.

Mmm. Cake.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:09 AM | Comments (2)

AGGHHHHHH!!! SNOW!! SNOWWWWW!!

Nothing causes children in the Deep South to come unhinged quicker than snow. Or the sight of snow. Or even the promise of snow.

Saturday after Rebecca and I got back from her taking her test, Reba took her to go do some shopping. They didn't get back until nearly 4:00. In the intervening time, I did the clothes and stuff, and didn't really pay that much attention to the weather, mainly because I was pretty certain that there wasn't going to BE any weather--that intermittent sunshine during the day had kinda made me think that. The rest of the kids occupied themselves by piling up in their rooms to play, so if nothing else, the house was quiet.

After Reba got back, though--whoo-boy. They came in the door with a blast of cold air--"Hey, it SNOWED outside!"

"Hm."

"No, really--there's a layer like THIS on the trunk of the Volvo!" She held her thumbnail to the first joint of her pinky finger--which to most people would indicate a half-inch or so.

"Hm."

By this time, the other three kids came down the steps--Oldest: "IT SNOWED!? IEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!" Imagine those ultrasonic noises dolphins and whales make. Then Boy and Cat started in, too, wanting to see the SNOWWWWW!

The garage door was still open so we could spend a couple more dollars trying to heat the neighborhood, and so I went out to the driveway to see this blanket of white. Which was awfully hard to spot amongst all the green grass and gray concrete and black asphalt. I looked at the trunk lid of the Volvo--being that this was the only place there was anything on it. There was a light glaze of frost on there, thin enough to where even the faded silver paint of the trunk was easily seen. A few tiny knots--minimoguls, maybe--dotted the trunk lid.

"Reba, I thought you said it had a layer like this on there!"

"WELL, AROUND HERE, THAT'S A LAYER!"

I suppose I can overlook a bit of the kid in her, so I figured it best not to tell her I've seen heavier frosts. In April.

The rest of the kids took turns running to every door in the house to look outside. "SNOWWWWW!"

As for those of you up there where it really DID snow, you have my permission to keep it up there for safekeeping. We're not used to it, and if you let us have it, we might tear it up or break it.

ANYway, there was a bunch of other stuff that went on this weekend, and I suppose I will get around to talking about it, if I ever get good and woken up.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:35 AM | Comments (16)

February 10, 2006

Band Concert!

In amongst all the other stuff to be done, Boy had a band concert last night. He's been somewhat nervous about it, at least according to what he kept telling us all the way up until the night before.

Adding to the level of familial stress was the fact that he had to be on stage at the high school at 5:30 so both classes of the beginner band could practice together--there are two separate beginner groups, taught at two separate class periods, and they hadn't practiced the program together. Talk about a faith-based initiative!

Anyway, since Reba has worked so late the first part of the week, she managed to convince her boss to let her off early yesterday so she could go get him, get him home, let him bathe and change clothes, and get back up to the auditorium by 5:30, and I would meet them at the school as soon as I got there after work, which would have also been about 5:30 or so, depending on traffic.

Surely, you see where this is going.

Reba got off at 3:00 and headed home. Plenty of time. Got to Trussville around 3:30 or so, and decided to stop at the bakery to check on cake prices for the anniversary party. Tick tick tick.

Got to her mom's house sometime after 4:00. Exasperatedly told her mom to quit bothering everyone about the anniversary party, and moping, and pining, and hinting, and fuming, and fussing, and acting forgotten, and every other thing she's been doing, because we had been planning the party, and have a room,and invitations ordered, and it was supposed to be a surprise, but we'd gotten so tired of her acting like a pouting child (not in those exact words, but close) that we'd just decided to go ahead and tell her and spoil the surprise just to shut her up about it. Her mood has not been helped by people where they go to church who ask about it, and by Reba's STUPID BROTHER who had first called us several weeks back to find out about what was going on, and then who turned around and called his mom this week and ASKED HER ABOUT WHEN HER ANNIVERSARY WAS, just to get her more upset.

Not that it matters, but such childishness on everyone's part makes me want to get all Old Testament on some folks.

Anyway, rather than being relieved that something was indeed being planned, and no one had forgotten about her, Reba's mom was perturbed about the time and place. GAAGHHHHHARRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's like living in a damned Faulkner novel.

Anyway, Reba left there with the kids around 4:30 or so and went on home to get Boy ready. I left at 5:00, and right at 5:30 was getting off at the exit when my shirt pocket started buzzing.

"Where are you?!"

"Uh, well, I'm just now getting off the Interstate--I should be there in about five minutes."

"Well, we're just now pulling out of the driveway--we got ready to go and left and then I had to turn around and go back to get his music book, so we're just now leaving, and we're probably going to get stuck trying to get out onto Watterson, so we'll see you as soon as we can."

There's a lot of traffic now that the the main north-south route is closed for them to replace that bridge I talked about a while back. And no traffic signal where our subdivision dumps out onto the detour route. ::sigh::

I went on and parked, went in, bought my ticket, and waited. And waited. The kids were already up on stage and warming up when I got there.

5:40, my pocket buzzed again--"We just now got onto Watterson!" A good 15 minutes away. I asked if I should go tell the director why Jonathan was late, and she said yes, but as I was walking down there, they started up again on a new warmup. ::sigh:: Oh, well.

Right at 5:55, Boy came charging into the lobby with his drumsticks and his music book, "Go on, Bud--they're about to start!"

I watched him run down and take his place--if he was nervous before, I wondered how he must be feeling now. At six on the nose, Reba and Catherine came in (the other two girls had to stay home and do homework) and we went and sat down. And waved at Jonathan.

The show started, and doggone it, the little fellow did just fine--not a missed lick. They played five songs--being the beginner band, they were of the slow-tempoed oompah variety--but still, it's amazing how quickly kids learn this stuff.

Concert over, kids off the stage, and I asked Reba if she thought she should go tell the director why Jonathan was late and apologize. "Well, I..." A little too much hesitation, which signaled a change in plans.

"Tell you what, you take Catherine and wait in the lobby, and I'll go tell him what happened."

Which I did. The director was very gracious about the whole thing, which is something profuse abject apology will sometimes lead to, and said he was just glad he got there before it started since Boy had a couple of important parts. "He did great, though--he's a very good student, and he does very well in class."

Hard to make Daddy much prouder than to hear something like that. Boy finally made his way out the door and I gave him a quick hug and asked him if he was still nervous.

"Daaaaad. It's OVER now!"

"Hey, you did a good job, son--and your teacher said so, too."

"Thanks!"

And he really did just fine.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:11 AM | Comments (3)

February 08, 2006

Well, hello there!

Yes, I AM breathing! And my heart IS beating! And I CAN walk!

And wouldn't you know it, but those things have tended to make me a highly sought-after person today at work!

What FUN!

Obviously, not quite so much fun as repeatedly smashing myself in the groin with a 10 pound dumbbell. But pretty darned close!

Maybe tomorrow I can have not quite so much fun, and be able to hang around here a bit more.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:59 PM | Comments (0)

February 07, 2006

And on the morrow...

...there will be my usual enjoyable biweekly off-campus meeting to attend, and therefore there will be little in the way of silliness for several of the morning hours tomorrow. Do be sure to check all the other fine folks in the blogroll, and I will see you when I see you.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:37 PM | Comments (0)

Rainwater + 32Âş Fahrenheit =

Ice.

Ice + Southerners =

SLIDEY FUN TIME!

What a derned mess out there this morning. Every Interstate had at least one major tie-up due to someone stuffing themselves into a guardrail, and I even got into a bit of fun on Highway 11 in front of the elementary school. Not nearly so much, however, as the young woman piloting the Chevy Tahoe several cars in front of me, who did a nifty 193Âş pirouette right at the entrance drive. Luckily nothing was coming the opposite direction when she spun, and she did manage to stay in the lane, although going the wrong way from where she had been going.

Just a reminder--a tall, tippy, full-size, short wheelbase truck on big hard truck tires is really not that good when conditions get icy.

Then again, a small rear drive sedan ain't so hot, either, but despite the right rear breaking loose several times (and this despite having a very light touch on the accelerator and only a few very spavined horses under the hood) there was little in the way of upset in the handling--just a slight sideways whoops each time, and nothing that felt scary. But then again, I rarely scare myself--it's all those other people who scare me.

But, we're here now, and it's time to get to work. Or a reasonable facsimile thereof.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:33 AM | Comments (5)

February 06, 2006

Okay.

My brain is now sloshy with a 40 of chilled Diet Crack, I've been to the bank and the credit union, I've had lunch of warm greasy carbohydrates, I've talked to eleventy-nine people on the phone, and it's raining.

I figure once I get another hundred ounces or so of caffeinated cola beverage inside me, I should be about ready to launch forth with a windy, foul-tempered, vitriolic rant about just about anything. Or go pee. Probably the latter.

For now, a quick weekend recap: Cat's ears? Still full of paste, but the infection seems to have subsided, at least whatever you might be able to measure based upon the absence or presence of a fever. End result: a generally happy child, who seems quite hard of hearing. Or hard of WANTING to hear. "I SAID GO BATHE--NOW!!" "Me!?"

Saturday morning? No sleep. Awakened about dawn by cartoon show emanating from Boy's room. Stumbled to Boy's room and quietly begged for television to be muted. Got back in bed. Five minutes later, Reba got up and went to the bathroom. Sound of her brushing her hair a few moments later meant it was time to get up. ::sigh::

Saturday's main activity? Done with a minimum of fuss. Thank heavens.

Finding Oldest's Halloween costume from two years ago that was supposedly put in the costume box in the attic, in order that Oldest might wear it as a costume to a movie-themed Valentine's dinner at church on Saturday night? Unsuccessful, sparking a running verbal gunbattle that still simmers, due to the fact that a) the garment in question could not be found, b) obviously the lack of finding meaning that everyone hates her, c) the unwillingness on the part of her father to go out and purchase a pair of white pants solely to wear as part of another costume means that I wish she were dead, d) it is impossible to go to any sort of function dressed as a normal person, e) no other clothing could possibly be worn and still be considered a costume, f) going and looking in the attic for herself and being unsuccessful must mean there exists a great conspiracy by her hateful father to secretly sneak into the attic, steal the garment, hide it, and thus keep her from going anywhere.

You think I'm kidding?

That last item, f)--after the first burst of fire and petulant door-slamming brought on by a) - e), a comment was fired off to the effect that she did not believe I had actually been up to the attic (twice) that morning to look for her costume, and anyway, "YOU are the only one allowed UP THERE!"

Obviously, the only response worth giving, "Go look yourself, if you think you can find it!"

Down came the folding ladder once more, up she went (with no small amount of trepidation--and remember, all the while she is running further and further behind in her need to get ready to go to the fool party in the first place). After she was up, I followed. She started digging back through the same big plastic boxes I had already pawed through myself that morning. Then she went on to the cardboard boxes. To the wrapping paper. Everything. No costume. Of course.

She turned around, eyes glaring with the sort of hate you see in Arab flag-burners, arms akimbo. "Well?"

She just stood there and fumed. Suddenly doing the smart-ass head bob favored by the good ladies on BET, she started in again--"Well, NO, it's not UP HERE, but I put it IN that BOX and YOU are the only one who GETS UP HERE!"

::blink::

"Ashley, are you going to stand there, and imply that for some reason, I would come up here, take that costume out, and do something with it?!"

::arms akimbo::headbobbing:: "You ARE the only one who puts stuff UP HERE!"

"Ashley, that is just not rational--it would be just as stupid for ME to say YOU snuck up here and took it out, just so you could go buy a pair of white pants! I KNOW you didn't sneak up here, could you at least admit that I would have no reason to do something like that!?"

"YOU put stuff up here!"

Follows a long paragraph explaining that I have better things to do than sneak around my own house, that I put stuff in the attic when I am told to by her mother, that I don't know what's in ANY of the boxes up there, because I just put things away, and don't really care what's in them, that even if I KNEW what was in the boxes, it still wouldn't matter because there would be no reason to get up there and remove it, and in the end, it doesn't matter where the costume is, or was, she was STILL not going to go to the store just to waste money on a pair of pants for the sole purpose of playing dress-up for a party.

Wailing, gnashing of teeth, ululation, etc. upon her descent down the stairs.

After verifying with Reba that she had not entered into some sort of unholy Pant Alliance, which would have served only to provide Oldest excuse to further express her spoiled brattiness, (a confirmation which was met with the same look of puzzlement I initially gave the whole situation, along with the statement, "I'M not taking her to buy pants--she's already told me before she HATES white pants!"), Reba bravely went back into the lair of now-copiously weeping Oldest--without body armor, I might add!--and managed to find a perfectly acceptable costume, namely the one that she just HAD! TO! HAVE! TO! DRESS! UP! FOR! HAL! LO! WEEN! Amazing, huh? And after loudly declaiming there was "Not a thing to wear! NOTHING!"

Reba also had a long talk with her about her inability to think rationally, not taking out her enmity on her family (or anyone else, for that matter) and actually got her to admit that I probably didn't have very much at all to do with the other costume not being where it was supposed to be. I made the mistake of expecting an apology from Oldest, of course. It was a very long, and quiet, ride to the party.

And back again. Made even worse by the fact that when I arrived to pick her up, I asked one of the kids who was leaving if he would run back in and tell her I was outside (since I was dressed in embarrassing Dadclothes). He came back out, I thanked him, and waited. And waited. Now, the only reason I was there is because she had called thirty minutes earlier and said she was ready to go, and I got there as soon as I could to get her. So I waited some more.

Grr.

Got out, went in, asked the youth minister, who was hanging around in the sound room, if the kid had come in for Ashley, and he said, "Well, yeah, he came in and went in there, I figured he'd forgotten something," so I walked in and found them all in the auditorium watching the movie, and found her sitting there planted firmly in her seat. ::whispered:: "Ashley, time to go."

::TSSSSSIGH::

Grr. Again.

I wonder if she thought I was just going to sit in the parking lot until the movie was over--which was probably another 40 minutes or so. I did not ask, though, because I did not really want to know the answer that bad. My head was hurting enough as it was.

So, a long quiet ride home as well.

Sunday was only slightly better--although she seemed to have decided not to snipe about pants, she spent the rest of the day and evening burning down various embassies and setting off IADs (Improvised Argument Devices) against innocent bystanders.

I sure hope it's only a phase.

In more happy news, I got to watch exactly two sets of downs in the Super Bowl! The one where the Seahawks intercepted in the 3rd quarter when the Steelers were threatening to score, and the one where the Steelers scored on the long pass out of the reverse! From what I hear, that was about it as far as excitement.

Now then, off now to think happy fun pretty birdie in the sky with rainbow clown thoughts! Yay!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:37 PM | Comments (8)

You know...

...I really think there are times in one's life when, if given the alternative of either being tied in a sack and beaten with a shovel or of simply being allowed to continue on with the course of your life, that it might sometimes be a relief to choose the former rather than the latter.

It has been an exceedingly wearisome weekend, not so much for physical effort as for strain upon my mental health. I am tired, and my head hurts, and about the only thing that gives me any comfort in the behavior of a certain 15 year old child in my family is the idea that although we have only one to deal with, God has several billion kids who act the same way, so, you know, in comparison I don't guess we have it quite so bad.

Anyway, a lot to get done today, and few active brain cells able to process any information, and I haven't had my morning libation of 20 ounces of magically delicious Diet Coke, and so the usually stellar quality and abounding quantity that you all have come to expect from Possumblog might be slightly off today.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:32 AM | Comments (10)

February 03, 2006

The Weekend?

Just like last weekend, I have no idea what's supposed to be going on, aside from the usual domestic cleaning chores, and going to church, and trying my best to get some sleep.

Every night this week has been something different when it comes to sleep disturbance--there was the Tiny Earache Child (who seems to be doing better now, although you can tell her ears are still stopped up, or that she's deliberately ignoring me), and there were not one but TWO brochures for TWO classes.

There was the Middle Girl one Tuesday and Wednesday for Bahrain, and then last night Oldest had one for her Anatomy class to be done, on the rather icky subject of xeroderma pigmentosa. And she was quite adamant about not wanting to get started on it, because it would require effort on her part.

And for some reason, my injunction--my plea--my desperate begging plea--that she simply type up her information and not worry about formatting it, and making it pretty colored, and attempting to make every single letter a different font (I exaggerate--slightly) was met with a most profound indifference.

"HOW DO I MAKE IT A BROCHURE!?"

"Look, I already said don't worry about that--just type it and we'll get if formatted later."

"HOW DO YOU MAKE THE WORDS A DIFFERENT COLOR!?"

"Just type it and we can do that later. But you have to start typing it, or else it won't get done."

"DAAAD! HOW DO I MAKE IT LOOK LIKE A BROCHURE!?"

"Just type it up and don't worry about font size, or font color, or paragraphs, or bullets, or borders, or columns--just type the words."

::sigh::

She finally finished sometime toward 9:00 last night. "Here!"

She handed me the disk, and I pulled it up on our computer upstairs. Probably about a hundred words. And a like number of colors. All centered on the page. And with the words separated by a wide range of spaces, tabs, indents, margin shifts, and more spaces.

::sigh::

That took forever to fix.

But it turned out looking okay, aside from having to use a picture glued onto it instead of being able to steal one from the Internet. For some reason, when I download pictures, they don't save in any sort of usable format. They can be printed, but not saved. Very odd.

But, anyway, that took as long to format as it did to type with all the extraneous frippery added in, and so by the time I finally did get to bed last night, I was very very tired, and was very very tired when I woke up this morning.

The only bright spot of such fatigue is that the dreams produced by it are pretty interesting. Last night I was in an office--a real one, not like the dump where I work now--with quiet music and professional-looking sorts doing Important Things. And we had a fire drill. It was nice, because the drill alarm was a pleasant beeping tone instead of the actual fire alarm--I keep wondering what ambient noise it really was, if it was the microwave, or the answering machine, beeping back to life after having the power cut off. In any event, a nice pleasant beep, and all the nice professionals eased down the corridor and for some reason we all sat down on the floor of a small lobby. I really don't think that's right. I think you're supposed to leave a burning building, even when it's just a drill.

ANYway, I sat down and then this gorgeous tall Chinese girl came around the corner, stood in front of me, and in mock seriousness asked, "Can you see me!?" I think we were supposed to be joking about something we saw on that stupid Jennifer Love Hewitt ghost show, but I was so taken aback by this incredible Sino-Amazon that I was momentarily deprived of my usual gift of stupid repartee. When I finally realized that in this dream I actually KNEW her, and we were COWORKERS, well, everything was fine!

I said, "No, you're invisible, and I don't know why I'm talking to you," and then she laughed and sat down on the floor beside me and we discussed, in rather vague terms, the general health of the company over the past 12 month period, and then the clock went off.

GRR! Stupid clock!

ANYwho, speaking of the clock, I am just about off of it, and so I'll tell all of you to have a good evening, and wish you all a wonderful weekend, and ask you to come back again next week and let's see what happens.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:32 PM | Comments (2)

February 01, 2006

If it's not one thing, it's another, redux.

First I have to cover the phone for the lone secretary so she could go eat lunch or Librium or whatever she's on, and then had to endure 15 full minutes of chitchat with the Guy Who Talks to Me at the Urinal, who had an appointment to go to, but wanted instead to stand there and talk to me since I was captive.

AND THEN, just now when I got back to my desk and started sorting back through all of the stuff I had to put on hold, I checked my e-mail and found a message from NASA's own Steevil, who felt compelled to let me in on this little gem of information:

[...] BTW, Terry, I have a Ralph Lauren bathrobe. I noticed this morning that it has a pocket, just where the pocket on a shirt should be. The little polo player dude is on the pocket.

Oh, sure, Mr. Elitist Polo Playin' Ralph Lauren can put a pocket on a BATHROBE for rich swells to sit around drinking gin rickeys in while they beat their Honduran houseboy with a 9-iron, but can't see fit to put one on a SHIRT so a WORKING MAN can have a place to put a pen and a PEZ dispenser and that wheat penny he found on the sidewalk! NOOOO!

I tell you what, it's enough to make me want to go take a nap or something!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:09 PM | Comments (5)

If it's not one thing, it's another.

Or, in our case, it's one thing AND another, and then three more, and then there's a clown on a unicycle juggling two live rattlesnakes and a stick of dynamite.

First thing, found out Catherine's previous ear, nose, and throat guy had started his own practice, so we had to see a different doc, which was okay because he's a nice guy, but we had to catch him up on what all had been done before, so there was that. Fever of 100.6, and found out that both of her ears are infected, but one is a more or less common-looking type, and the right ear appears to be a completely different kind. Got a script for Zithromax which is supposed to clear up both. "Supposed to" being the operative words. Follow up in ten days.

Got back to home and stopped in to get her medicine, and found out the prescription for my medicine I had called in last week was still not there, because it was backordered. Oddly enough, they had enough to give me a couple of loaners until the real stuff came in. Why they can't just go ahead and give me a whole bottle of loaners, I don't know. Also got Cat a Yoohoo, because she looked so pitiful.

On then to the print shop to look at invitations--and yes, believe it or not, I left Catherine in the van because I was only going to run in for a minute. Thirty minutes later I got finished up looking and pricing and such and ran back outside to see her fast asleep in her seat.

On to pick up the other kids from Grandma's, on to home, found out Rebecca has an assignment to create a travel brochure for her social studies class on the exciting and beautiful island kingdom of Bahrain. And that she had only just started it, and didn't really know what to do. And we needed supper fixed. And Reba was still stuck in a meeting. And I still had a huge stack of correspondence I had to finish up from work yesterday that didn't get done.

Somehow, most of it got done.

Aside from formatting a travel brochure about Bahrain.

Which someone will get to do in his spare time.

So, anyway, please excuse me if today I appear to be a) distracted, b) unconscious, c) rude, d) crazed, e) unkempt, and/or f) forgetful.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:34 AM | Comments (14)

January 31, 2006

Been there--

don't know WHAT I've done, but I do know that after I got back from going to scope out a possible Golden Anniversary venue, I had a call from the school that Cat's ear was bothering her (as it has been for the past week, and most especially so last night when she climbed in bed with us at 2:00 am and started crying) and that I need to come get her. MEANING--this is it for the day. See you all tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:45 PM | Comments (0)

Yes, I’m here!

I started having to do dumb ol' work the moment I walked in the door this morning. SHEESH! Some people are so inconsiderate.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:56 AM | Comments (0)

January 30, 2006

Transmission Complete.

Took the van in this morning for them to bolt in another transmission, and it appears they have it ready.

And not only that, I also got the deal of the century when they mentioned that I needed a new front motor mount, and they'd replace it for free! If I bought the mount!

::sigh::

It's only money, right?

Right?

Anyway, I'll have to leave in just a moment when the driver comes and picks me up, so I'll see you all tomorrow. And I promise not to fly off the handle about shirt pockets.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:58 PM | Comments (3)

GRaaaAGGHHHHH!

RALPH LAUREN IS NOT A MAN!

There, I said it!

Anyone whose line of "men's" clothing includes an oxford cloth button down dress shirt WITHOUT A POCKET cannot claim to be any sort of real man. Or at least a man who actually has to WORK for a living, who can't afford to hire a team of lackeys to stand beside him to hold PENS and NOTES and LOOSE CHANGE!

I've had a lot of stuff to do today, so I'm already cranky, but the fact that the only nice shirt I had left this morning was this stupid Ralph Lauren shirt that DOESN'T HAVE A POCKET has driven me to distraction all day as I keep trying to put stuff in my non-existent shirt pocket.

It does, however, have a little silhouette of a polo rider, who has up to this point not seen fit to at least hold a pen or two with his tiny upraised arm.

Figures.

Snobby elitist.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:13 PM | Comments (8)

Birthday Fun!

The top was tried on and modelled and looked very fetching (although slightly big around the middle section) and I was almost home free until...

"Hmm."

"What?"

"There's something on here. See?"

::sigh::

Yep--very faint, but in the right light, slightly less faint--a series of small, whitish drops. It looked like it could have been yogurt or some other dairy product that leaves a tell-tale bit of bone-building calcium behind no matter how much you blot it and clean it before hanging it back up on the rack and quickly leaving the store.

Grr.

But, that was Thursday night. I left the box and the receipt on the ironing board in the kitchen so I wouldn't forget it Friday so I could take it back and exchange it.

And forgot it on Friday.

BUT I GOT IT TODAY!

And took it back and begged the cute squishy girl to let me exchange it. Why beg? Because somewhere between the time I left the box and receipt on the ironing board, and the time that I finally got home Friday evening, box and receipt had been moved by various family members. Thus guaranteeing the absolute disappearance of the receipt.

Thank heavens the store is pretty nice about returns, and since the squishy girl remembered me, it was less of a problem than it might otherwise have been.

Except, well, they didn't have any more of the style I got.

And the one that was similar, except with short sleeves, and in a slightly lighter shade of purple? Too big.

::sigh::

I just had them credit the cost back to her credit card.

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart! This credit slip is just for you!

The ice cream cake was universally praised, though, so I guess it wasn't all bad.

AS FOR THE OTHER BIRTHDAY FUN--one of Cat's little friends turned 9 (I guess) and her parents had a party for a few of them over at a place called Club Libby Lu in the Proffit's store at the Galleria. Being that I am an old, unhip, skinflintish, manly male man, I had never heard of such a place or thing, and so had little idea what she would look like when she got back.

It was, to put it delicately, quite surprising--hair done up in the sort of tangled, braided ponytailed mess favored by the likes of Britney Aguilera (or Christina Spears), feathered plastic tiara, wraparound pink sunglasses, sparkly stick-on facial stars, bright pink nail polish. Quite the fashion plate, she was. "I'm a Drama Queen, Dad!"

Yeah, well, tell me something new. At least she's still at the age where it's all in jest, and done without guile or bile. Anyway, she was quite the little hotsy-totsy thing. Even moreso when she got up and went to church with her hair all still done up that way.

Sorta.

See, she has the sort of hair that does not predispose itself to straightness or kemptness. The only time it's really nice and neat is right after she washes it and it's brushed through with a paddle brush. Five minutes after that, she has a wild tangle of kinky curly curls all over. Sleeping on it makes it much more wooly and underbrushlike. Having all sorts of competing and clashing twists and braids and loops from one side to the other and THEN sleeping on it makes it even more of a study in randomness.

But, by gum, she was so proud of her Drama Queen hair, she was bound and determined to go show everyone at church. We managed to get it somewhat less disorganized, but she still had a headful of fuzz all over that indicated either a night of hard partying at the Golden Globes after-party, or a total lack of regard for the finer details of hair styling.

She was quite the conversation piece.

She finally got tired of all the bobby pins and stuff and took it down Sunday night before evening worship. She kept those pink glasses and stars on, though.

The public comes to expect certain things, you know.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:36 PM | Comments (6)

ICE CREAM!

YAY! Which was pretty much the high point of the weekend. Well, that, and actually getting a few moments of time where I could crawl under my lovely lumpy hunk of Swedish iron and change the oil.

You know how long it's been since I actually changed my own oil? Nope--I don't either. Long time, though. It sure was satisfying. I was waiting on Catherine to get her bath Saturday afternoon so I could take her over to the house of one of her little friends for a birthday party, and there were no baskets of clothes to fold or to put in the washer, and the dishes were in the dishwasher washing, and no one was pulling anyone's hair, and Reba was upstairs cleaning out the nest of magazines on her side of the bed, and so I snuck out the door and got to work.

Wow. There sure is a lot of oil on the underside of my car.

Turned it on and steered all the way to the right to give myself room to ooch under there and pull the plug, shoved my new oil recycling jug under there to catch the outflow, shoved my massive bulk behind the wheel (hoping I had remembered to set the parking brake, just in case the transmission decided to let go), fiddled with the plug, SUCCESS!, wiped it off, flipped the crush washer (not a good idea if you really value all that oil staying in place, but hey), plugged it back up, moved the jug over to the area where the filter lives, ooched back out from under the thing, ran over to the topside and grabbed the filter with my patented oil filter removal tools (i.e., my grubby hands) and thankfully it came loose with no cursing. Primed the new one, put it on, replaced the filter magnet (couldn't hurt, you know), spun it back on, cinched it down, pulled the jug out and let the old filter drain, and poured in the new juice.

Fifteen minutes. Not bad, if I do say so myself.

And quite a nice change of pace from the remainder of the weekend, which consisted of alternately spending huge amounts of money and hauling people everywhere and making sure each family member was appropriately slaved over. BUT, at least there was some ice cream in there, too. And seafood!

Anyway, I have 156 things to get done this morning, so you'll all just have to entertain yourselves for a while so I can get those whittled down to something below a hundred and have time to play.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:53 AM | Comments (3)

January 27, 2006

And now?

Almost time for the weekend, it is, and I have only a very slight idea about what I am supposed to do, or where I am supposed to go, or who I am supposed to carry there, and how long I am to stay, and for what I will be expected to pay.

HEY! Just like EVERY weekend!

All of you have a great weekend, and I'll see you all on Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:34 PM | Comments (4)

Open House? Oh, yeah.

Maybe I was just trying to avoid the subject.

Got there right at 5:30, where the first hour was spent in the auditorium with a parent meeting about changing from block schedule back to seven periods.

My only question (which had to remain shouted inside my head) was WHY CAN'T YOU GO AHEAD AND DO IT NOW!

For those who aren't familiar with the concept, block scheduling is a bit like college, where you take four courses in a semester, two semesters in a year. It does have some advantages, or so I'm told. But none of them have anything to do with making sure surly, time-wasting, hormonal high school students actually learn anything. They were the last school to adopt it when the county made the changeover several years back, and now that we're an independent system, there's a lot of sentiment for a return to the traditional schedule. Fine by me, and the sooner the better.

Next hour was spent going to the various classes. I missed the first one (choir) since I was waiting on Miss Reba to get to the building (she having had to work late), so we just went on to the next one a bit early. Speech class--the teacher seems like the perfect person to teach it. Witty and full of life, and thankfully she seems to enjoy having opinionated students in class who are not afraid to speak out. Meaning that's one where Oldest is in her element, since being opinionated and willing to speak out do not require a basic command of factual information but merely style and volume.

Next up, Honors Geometry. Very sweet girl who seems to be highly capable and willing to help anyone willing to put in the effort to learn. "Effort," however, seeming to induce a reaction in Oldest similar to that exhibited by Maynerd G. Krebs whenever he heard the word "work."

Hard to believe it, but according to our source, this attractive young teacher is apparently an ogre of the highest order and hates everyone with a white-hot passion and is mean and cruel and unfair and barbaric and most especially toward Oldest.

::sigh::

Next up, Honors Anatomy and Physiology. I thought this one would be a pretty good one for us, seeing as how Oldest has now taken to telling everyone she will be going to med school. What better place to get a leg-up (so to speak) on the intricacies of the human machine, to plumb its depths in detail with a teacher who has enough experience to teach college!

A very nice woman who seems to enjoy her work and her students. And afterwards as we met her, one who expressed sincere words of concern that Oldest seems to miss out on so much of class--even when she's IN class--for the most transparently absurd excuses. "I know she has problems with her health--she's told me, several times, but, well..." Her voice trailed off, signalling that same disappointed tone we've heard before that indicates a good teacher who sees tremendous promise squandered.

Come to find out, though (again according to a source close to the situation), this teacher is mean and hard and unkind and brutal and hateful and unfair and selfish and harsh and evil and expects too much, and hates Oldest more than all other children in the world.

::sigh::

Thank heavens med school will be so much easier.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:22 PM | Comments (0)

January 26, 2006

Let's go talk to the teachers, shall we?

As I mentioned, it's open house night tonight at the high school. For some reason, Oldest made a point of telling us we didn't have to go. "None of the other parents ever go!" "We could go do something for Mom's birthday!"

It had rather the opposite effect on the two parents most central to this tale.

Heh.

See you all tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:49 PM | Comments (0)

Let's go!

If you notice, I did not get the ice cream cake I thought I was going to have time to get last night. Nor am I going to have time to pick one up tonight, seeing as how we have open house at the high school that simply MUST be attended. Therefore, I will now make a run to Trussvegas--yes, wasting precious natural resources in the process!--to go purchase my sweetie some sweets from Dairy Queen, then run home and pop it in the freezer, then come back here and do some actual paying work.

Maybe.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:23 PM | Comments (5)

I am a moron.

Got home last night and immediately set in to try and get SOMEthing cooked for supper before time to go. Luckily, we had frozen quesadillas (rolled flour tortillas filled with cheese, salsa, and armadillo) and some other stuff, so I threw that in the microwave and started scurrying around like a madman to get it on the table. Which I actually managed to do, with approximately 12 minutes left to consume said food.

I was able to accomplish this quite handily, because after it was all said and done, I only actually got to eat one of them. On the other hand, everyone else got plenty, but they were all seeming to eat with the leisure of people who DID NOT KNOW WE HAD TO LEAVE AT 6:00 TO GET TO CHURCH!

Nothing is more top-blowing to me than to be trying to get everyone out of the house, and for them to sit there carefully picking at small bits of food. "We're LEAVING. We need to put the plates in the SINK and LEAVE. NOW. I'm opening the garage door NOW. We need to GO now. All the rest of you kids get your STUFF and let's GO now. PLEASE"

The only thing that made last night bearable was the fact that for once, I could leave in my own vehicle since we were taking both cars. 6:30 rolled around, Rebecca was the only one ready, so we hit the door and left.

Got in, buckled up, fired up the mighty thundering 115 horses of the anvil-like B230F engine, backed out, and headed toward Leeds. We always take the back way up South Chalkville Mountain Road/Roper Road/White's Chapel Parkway (all the same road, by the way, but changes names several times), but when we got close to the stop sign to make the turn, we were at the tail end of a long line of completely immobile cars. It was pretty obvious that at the end of the line must have been a wreck of some sort.

Hmm.

Grr.

HURRY!

Nope.

Nothing like being someone who is irrationally concerned with being on time, who managed to leave at the very last possible minute to be somewhere without being late, and then to be stopped in your effort to take the time-saving shortcut. AGONY! I tell you.

I sat there for a minute or two, waiting on something to move or to be magically teleported to my destination, neither of which happened. Alternate route time.

I calculated that I could go back down Queenstown Road, jump on I-459 at Derby Parkway, hit I-20, and be to Leeds almost on time. SO, hung a Uey there in the middle of the street, and took off in a fog of slightly oily smelling exhaust, bombing down the 25 mph limited two lane road at a velocity slightly greater than the statutory limit, but not nearly at the velocity that would cause the tires to complain.

GRRRRR!

Got stuck behind somebody in a Ford Expedition who obviously was not NEARLY in so big of a hurry to get to Leeds as I was. GRR. GRR. CURSES. DRAT. FIE! BEELZEBUB'S KNEES! (Or, words to that effect.)

All the time, Rebecca is sitting calmly in the passenger seat--probably because she is not aware of the raging internal monologue going on inside of her father's tiny cranium.

"Bec, this guy's turning the way I wanted to go--I think we're going to have to go the back BACK way, you know, back around through Irondale like the way Mommy used to go to work at the daycare."

This way goes past the turnoff through the industrial park, and heads over the bridge over I-459, where you take a left onto Alton Road and follow that all the way to Highway 78, where you take another left and then hook up at the top of the hill with I-20.

SO, the truck does turn, and the pedal gets mashed down with extreme prejudice. My passenger did not seem to notice the velocity building up, which either means I drive like a maniac all the time, or that I make haste with great aplomb. Or that she was too frightened to mention it.

She didn't seem concerned, though, and we talked about all the stuff she remembered from when she used to ride this way with Mom. Of course, Alton Road in this area is narrow, winding, pitch black, and to complicate things further, various trailer parks edge right up to the pavement--especially the one right past the bridge, where the Bent and Dent store is.

It is at this point I realized, once again, that I am a moron. We come across the bridge, engine thrumming and breathing hard, the various front porches of mobile homes seeming to close in on each side, when my headlights glint off of an object in the deep shadows to my left...

It is unmistakable.

"Hey, look! It's a '70 Torino GT!"

Yep--despite being so distracted by being late, by having to find another route, by all the things I had to do when I got to church, by having to find a banquet hall for my inlaw's anniversary, by all the crap that goes on at work, by traveling above the posted speed limits, by life, I still managed to notice something so silly.

It was pulled up behind a carport at one of the trailers on the left side of the road--it was white, like this one, but not quite in such spiffy shape. "A what?"

"Oh, uh, oh, just an old car parked back there. Daddy gets easily distracted."

She just giggled. On we went, and managed to hit the door at exactly 7:00. Reba and the rest got there about ten minutes later--they turned around and went the same way I did--she had called when she got stuck and I told her what I was doing.

Somehow, I don't think she noticed the Torino on her way. Which is probably a good thing.


Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:31 AM | Comments (7)

January 25, 2006

See!?

There IS more!

It's just not very good, nor will it really be worth your time to have come back. BUT!

Uh, well--well, nope--I was hoping for a sudden burst of inspiration there and it just didn't come through.

Went to lunch and got some cute birthday cards, and then went to Parisian and found a cute silk/nylon 3/4 sleeve top in dark purple, and then had it wrapped by the same cute round blonde who waited on me at Christmas, and then went out in the food court and stopped at Taco Bell for one of their Fiesta Chicken Taco Salads, which was not the least bit cute. All I can say is if this is what constitutes a fiesta in Mexico, no wonder everyone's leaving.

Tonight, a stop at The DQ (and yes, nowadays all things have to have a two-initial name preceded by a definite article--shortly, this blog will be renamed The PB) for an ice cream birthday cake for Miss Reba. It's not much, and we might be able to get out and do more sometime, but as I mentioned in the comments in the first post of the morning, we have so much other stuff to get done in the next few days, there's not going to be a lot of time for pony rides and Pin the Tail on the Donkey. That wouldn't be nearly so bad but for the fact that all that busy-ness also means that there probably won't be time for all the other fun birthday games such as Randy Pizza Delivery Guy Who Walks in on Unsuspecting Housewife in the Shower, or Randy Pirate Who Walks in on an Unsuspecting Housewife Lounging in the Poop Deck, or Randy Civil Servant Who Walks in on Unsuspecting Housewife and Cites Her for Failure to Comply with City Ordinance 87-108.12(c).

Which is probably a nice present for Miss Reba, when you think about it.

Anyway, in honor of my dear longsuffering wife, I present to you a little thing stolen from the cradle-robbing Mrs. Adams, in which I will present to you a listing of amazing random facts about my better half. And no, Miss Reba is not shy about telling her age, mainly because she's hot.

1. She's hot.
2. Reba is the most orderly woman I have ever been married to.
3. She still has to wear a retainer once a month.
4. She is afraid of firearms.
5. She played the clarinet in her high school band.
6. She is a voracious reader of Harlequin romance novels.
7. She would not eat Milo's hamburgers when we first started dating because her mother would not eat Milo's hamburgers because she thought the sauce that Milo's uses looked like pigeon poop, which is ridiculous since pigeon poop looks like pigeon poop and Milo's sauce looks like A-1 Sauce.
8. She tends to like and dislike the exact same things her mother likes and dislikes, such as black walnuts and blue cheese dressing.
9. She can cross stitch.
10. Her feet are always cold.
11. She is a very poor judge of distance/length.
12. She has worked a paying, full-time job of some sort since she was 16. (Except for about three years when she stayed home with the two older girls.)
13. She and I are distantly related, through two different sides of the family.
14. She has two associate degrees in addition to the bachelor's degree she just earned, and has attended four different colleges.
15. She likes it when the bedsheets are brand new and cold.
16. She has hit a deer with her car.
17. She used to save seats for me in Sunday school.
18. She has a brother.
19. She rides the brake pedal.
20. One time when we were pulling up to a gas station, she exclaimed, "Look at those big jars of mayonnaise!" She didn't realize until a split-second after she said it that she was looking at propane cylinders.
21. She slipped and fell in the parking lot of Olive Garden in Irondale while she was pregnant with Jonathan, carrying Rebecca in one arm, and a takeout box of pasta in the other hand. She still has a small black dot in her kneecap from where a hunk of gravel imbedded itself. (She did not drop food nor child, by the way.)
22. She puts her elbows on the table when she's eating.
23. She has a very pronounced Southern accent.
24. She does not like potato chips with ridges.
25. The first car she ever bought with her own money was an '86 Camaro with a V6.
26. She can swim, but not all that well.
27. She sings beautifully, but not very loud.
28. She once slammed her finger in the door of our van.
29. She thinks she's much better at math than she actually is.
30. Her favorite movie is Gone With the Wind, followed by Pretty Woman. And yet, she fails to see the humor in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
31. She has no gall bladder.
32. Her favorite actor used to be Sean Connery, until we went and saw him in that movie with Catherine Zeta Jones and they kept showing closeups of him slobbering all over Mrs. Douglas, and from that point forward she now gets a little shiver whenever she thinks of Connery, similar to the kind of shiver one gets when seeing a dog clean up after itself.
33. She was once possibly bitten by a spider.
34. She does not like bananas because one time when she was in elementary school, one of her classmates ate a banana that had a giant bruise on it. She does, however, love banana pudding. As long as it has no actual pieces of banana in it.
35. She was baptized when she was 18.
36. She has taken modelling classes.
37. She has visited England, France, Switzerland, and Jamaica.
39. She has a closet full of clothes and nothing to wear.
40. She was the director of a daycare for three years.
41. Her favorite breed of dog are boxers.
42. She only has a very faint idea of what a weblog is, and has never heard of something called "Possumblog."
43. Have I mentioned how hot she is?
44. She once said that she wouldn't have minded having more kids--a LOT more--crazy religious cult more--if we could have afforded them.
45. She is a less than graceful runner.
46. She is my best friend.

SO, there you go. Enough for today--see you all tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:51 PM | Comments (12)

Mr. Oglesby?

Present.

Endearingly clueless?

Not often enough, but I've also been working on being cluelessly endearing, so that takes up some time, too.

Long morning--meeting lasted two hours, and when you add in the time to set up and clean up, it was three. Got here, had to park on the EIGHTH floor! My usual spot on the third was filled, as was the spot that is usually vacant around the ramp on 4th. Fallback position is ALWAYS the eighth floor, so I can remember where I parked. And I can usually always guarantee myself a spot close to the elevator.

So, here now and there's much to do today, and little inclination to do it, other than some odd sense that it should be done. Go figure.

And I need to do some serious shopping during lunch--tomorrow being the birthday of a certain wife of mine. Not sure what to get for the woman who has everything and is married to me. I wonder if a card of sympathy would be in order?

ANYway, time to do more ::shudder:: work--please do check back in later this afternoon. I'm not sure you'll see any more than what you see already, but you never know.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:25 AM | Comments (6)

January 24, 2006

Yet another stunning lack of quantity.

Which, when that's all you have to offer, is a pretty deadly thing for your blog.

BUT, I have to hie me off to Roebuck to pick up the van and try to get it home without it hurting itself. And then tomorrow, it's another one of those marvelous early-morning meetings that I must needs attend every other week or so, which promises no end of mind-numbing delights.

All of which together mean that the normal level of inanity herein will drop to a low ebb for the next couple dozen hours. In the mean time, there are plenty of other diversions for you, such as a virtual staring contest.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:38 PM | Comments (0)

Now then, time to blatherate!

Got to Granny's, got the kids, went to the drug store, went and got gas, went to the bank, went home, got the kids settled down to finish homework, started the last load of clothes, slobbered on Reba when she got home with Oldest, carefully prepared our evening repast by gently tearing the plastic off of three frozen pizzas and placing them in the oven, ate, continued to urge children to finish homework, went upstairs, found out that we now have (in addition to the other ongoing projects we have) to plan a 50th anniversary party for Reba's mom and dad to be held in six weeks.

It seems that I have been a poor judge of the small signs that surround me.

Reba says her mom has been talking about this for not months, but years , and has mentioned in no small amount of detail the event with great wistfulness and anticipation. This now explains to me why she had their wedding photo blown up to near-poster size at a local photo studio, and why it was suddenly on display on a shiny brass easel in the family room. I'd never known about all the conversations about the party/dinner/reception/event until Reba's brother called a couple of weeks ago and left a cryptic message on our answering machine. "Probably something to do with Mom and Dad's anniversary," said Reba.

Hey, she was right! She finally got a chance to call him back last night, and he will be in town for exactly one night, for around an hour, and "we" need to do something nice.

When I pressed Reba for details--"What, like take them out to eat someplace nice?"--I found out that Mom-in-law wanted a big thing, with people. A reception. And since Brother-in-law lives in New Jersey, it makes it very difficult for him to be involved in the planning, other than to say he doesn't mind the idea of hiring caterers and such. Only problem? This being a half-and-half deal, we don't have the spare change required to uphold our half of the expenses for such an undertaking.

Second, we want it to be not in their house, so they don't have to clean up and get ready for it, and there is the matter of inviting family and church and work people--probably meaning over a hundred people showing up, meaning we have got to find a place to have it. So there goes some money right off the bat. But what's a room without food, so Reba and I figured we're going to have to do this the same way we did our wedding reception--cater it ourselves.

Reba and I have actually done a couple of weddings and receptions for other folks in the past, back before we got so tangled up with so many offspring, so we know what to do and not do. (First rule of what not to do? DON'T DO THIS!) So, after the full realization of what was being expected finally dawned on me last night, we swung back into battle mode once again.

Assemble potential guest list to determine crowd size; get names and phone numbers of possible venues--must be close, must be relatively nice, must have kitchen, must be cheap, must be available at designated date; invitations (from printer down on Main Street); menu (food service items from Sam's Club); cake (Marsh's); decorations; music and sound; photographer; serving help.

::sigh:: Good thing we have so much spare time.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:47 AM | Comments (9)

January 23, 2006

And now, in order to spare you more boring stuff...

...I'm headed home to pick up the young'uns. See you all tomorrow, and there might be something of interest here. Or not!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:57 PM | Comments (0)

SO, to get there by 9:00…

It meant we had to pretend it was just like getting up for Sunday school, and leaving at 8:30. This also included the added bonus of me getting up at 6:00 to start a big pot of chili for lunch--we were having soup-and-sammiches for the lunch break, so that had to be done.

And then the race was on to get everyone up and ready and downstairs and fed and a load of clothes thrown into the washing machine and all of us out the door.

Believe it or not, we actually managed to leave the house at 8:30, although not without several of my bolts blowing off like you see in those submarine movies when they dive too deep. After all, we only had a pot of chili with us, and no crackers or sandwiches or tea or stuff like that.

But, despite that, there was something even better than managing to leave on time.

Got to the building, and the parking lot was empty save for two cars. “Reba--was it supposed to start at nine or ten!?”

She looked defensive and perplexed, and said, “Well, I THOUGHT it was nine!”

Got up there, and in one of those marvelous happy things that never happen, we found out we were THIRTY MINUTES EARLY! It didn’t start until 9:30, meaning that WE WERE EARLY! WOO-HOO! So, I had time to run back to the grocery store up the road and get some sandwiches and crackers and tea and stuff! Oh that we could be early like that all the time! Or, even a majority of the time. Or, maybe 10% of the time. Or, maybe, ever.

Ah, well, one’s pretty nice, no matter what.

As for the topics, it was a bit of a potpourri, the theme of which was something of a how-to guide for a variety of circumstances. The first two were about marriage and about children, then the two after lunch were on grieving and helping others who are in grief. Then, there were two lessons on Sunday about Christianity and Islam, and one about becoming and being a Christian. Sort of an odd mix in one way, but it was still very helpful.

Got home late both days, although Saturday required another trip BACK to the building to drop off Oldest to go ice skating with the other teens while we went and did some shopping for girl clothes for the other two and hair cutting for Boy. And, of course, there was ANOTHER trip back later Saturday night to pick Oldest up. And the Check Engine light came on in the van. And the kid’s bathtub faucet has started leaking. And we’re still only halfway through with the laundry. And Reba’s dad had to go in to the hospital this morning to check on the stents in his heart (they replaced one, might have to do two more). And Catherine has come down with an earache that requires her to constantly whimper. And I have to leave early today to go pick them all up, because Grandmom’s still going to be at the hospital, and Reba has to take Oldest for her orthodontist appointment. And at lunch today I mistakenly threw away the plastic basket my food came in because I got all distracted.

But, I do have two new car magazines to read!

Sometime.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:07 PM | Comments (3)

Well, you're just gonna have to wait for the rest.

I have one of my semiregular luncheon meetings with My Friend Jeff TM to swap magazines and eat lunch and complain about all that bedevils the world while offering no viable solutions to said problems other than hitting people on the head with sticks.

And did I mention lunch?

Mmmm--lunch!

Back in a bit, and you will hear about an occurence so odd that you will almost think it fabricated from whole cloth. BUT IT'S NOT!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:04 AM | Comments (0)

Well, let's see--I've remembered this much so far...

Friday, the school thing was yet another annual pageant that Oldest just HAD to participate in. All part of her PGDS. You know how there is that psychopathy you hear of about people who so totally hate George Bush that they ascribe any bad thing to his influence, and won’t admit anything good he might have done? The pundits call it Bush Derangement Syndrome--well, Oldest has Popular Girl Derangement Syndrome. Absolutely cannot stand it that there are such things as popular girls.

I.e., more popular than she is.

And rather than be popular on her own terms and be her own person, she wants nothing more than to be exactly like the girls she can’t stand. Obviously, this has led to much, much discussion about having the proper attitude and outlook on competitive activities that rely heavily on subjective values, and not getting too caught up in the idea that out of the blue, popularity contests will start awarding prizes to those girls who have PGDS, and who fairly well radiate hate-rays all the time. Logic and the teen mind--not so much like oil and water as like phosphorus and air.

So, anyway, that to do Friday. Reba left work early to make the mad dash home, pick her up, and get her changed and back to the school building at 4:57 for her interview. That’s right, 4:57 p.m.--somehow, they’re able to manage to wrangle these chat sessions in three minute increments.

ON the other hand, I left at my regular time, and got to Grandmom’s to pick up the kids and sometime in there found out from Reba via my cell phone that the doors were now open and they were letting guests in. HOWEVER, Reba had our tickets, meaning she couldn’t go on in and save us a place up front, but rather had to wait in the lobby for us to get there so she could get us in, meaning that the entire auditorium (which was sold out for both Freshman-Sophomore Friday AND the Junior-Senior version on Saturday night) was already packed by the time I managed to get there with the kids, MEANING that we sat in the next-to-last row of seats on the sidewall. Meaning that there was no use in trying to take any pictures. And for some reason, this also meant that we were surrounded by six different sets of restless screeching friends-of-contestants and their dates, all of whom seemed to be able to display both the volume and intensity of oversexed locomotive whistles, and the good manners and taste that would cause them to feel right at home in the finest of warthog mud wallows.

As for the show itself, a special commendation to Wendy Garner’s on-air partner, Ken Lass, who did an excellent job emceeing the event. He had nearly sixty names to keep track of and the whole thing lasted almost three hours, but he did a very good job keeping it moving and not mangling the girls’ names.

Surprises? Amazing amount of girls who want to go to college at Auburn, and two who actually want to study architecture. Get ready to not sleep for five years, ladies. Second--well, none of the popular girls Oldest most wanted to humble won first place. Then again, she didn’t either, but she seemed to take it much better this time than she did last year. Maybe her PGDS is moderating some. Which would be the best surprise, for sure.

ON to home then, got the kids cleaned up and in the bed, so I could get them right back up Saturday morning for our lectureship at church.

Reba said we were supposed to be there at 9:00…

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:43 AM | Comments (0)

Yet another sixty-three hour interlude...

...yet another weekend that managed to leave me bewildered, befuddled, bemused, baffled, and bumfuzzled. Once I manage to collect my thoughts (which seem to have been thrown into a shoebox, shaken vigorously, then tossed into the high grass), I will be back in just a bit to check in and let you know everything you never wanted to know about my weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:33 AM | Comments (0)

January 20, 2006

Weekend?

Oh, I guess if I simply have to. It's certainly not going to be one of the relaxing sorts--tonight is a thing at the high school that'll take up most of the night and is sure to create hurt feelings on the part of one particular child in our family and requires me to leave from here and go straight there without a stop at the house to dewhisker myself, and then this weekend we're having a lectureship at church and it starts at 9 tomorrow morning and ends after lunch (for which we need to find time to make a big vat of soup), and then Sunday the same thing--early start, and go all morning, eat lunch (and find time sometime to fix more food), and then go another hour of talk.

I'm already tired. I'll just go ahead now and ask everyone's patience when my head lolls back and I start snoring during whichever of these activities happens to be ongoing at the time.

SO, all of you have a great (and hopefully less active) weekend, and I'll see you all back again bright and early on Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:39 PM | Comments (0)

I forgot.

And I don't usually do that when it comes to my morning toilet. But today, I got sidetracked, and didn't realize it until I got to the middle school, but I forgot to shave this morning.

It really doesn't look good. It has none of the dashing, devil-may-care attitude of your various young Kevin "I Need to Bathe" Federline-types with their carefully cultivated oh-so-scruffy chin shadow, nor does it look like I'm growing a beard--it just looks like I'm an old forgetful guy. AND WHO WANTS THAT!?

It would be better if it weren't so very gray. I joke about my hair going gray, but it didn't realize just exactly how crotchety I've gotten until a few years ago when I grew a for-real beard in order to portray the Bible hero Gideon for Vacation Bible School. (For as we all know, Gideon was a mighty man, white and chubby, with blue eyes and glasses.) Anyway, I got the idea of trying to be a bit more authentic than the norm, so I let my face grow for about six weeks. First time I've ever grown a beard, and WHOA!

The effect was much less Earthquake McGoon, much more Pappy Yokum.

I looked like a fifty year old man, which there is nothing wrong with, IF you're a fifty year old man. It was quite a shock for someone still in his tender thirty-somethings. I figured then that there'd be no more of that foolishness for me, at least not without some of that goop that Keith Hernandez uses on his luxuriant manhair.

So, anyway, today, there it is, all over my face--patchy and white and itchy and bristly, making me look much more disheveled than usual. I thought about getting one of my X-Acto blades and making an attempt at it, but after that deal with the frozen biscuit dough, I suppose having a razor near my eyes or jugular would probably be courting trouble.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:30 PM | Comments (7)

January 18, 2006

Open wide.

I have a dentist appointment this afternoon! Along with Catherine! I need to brush! And floss! And be sure and find out the dentist's husband's phone number again, which I lost, so I can call him about refinishing at least one of the two sets of spare Volvo alloy wheels I have squirrelled away in the garage! So, I'll see you all tomorrow!

BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE! I just saw this headline, and it's one of those grand ones that simply defy parody: Gore, Nader, Aniston stars at Sundance

Unsafe at any screed.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:23 PM | Comments (0)

What a morning.

Which started last night. Oldest had some kind of stomach distress, which manifested itself in a convenient trash can that Reba had only moments before put beside her at the computer. She'd been typing up some notes for a class, and had earlier mentioned she had to be at school this morning at 7:00 to take a make-up test for having been gone during school on Friday to practice for the honor choir.

For those who've been stopping in for a while, you probably already suspect she had a severe case of malingeritis, but I think this time she might actually have some kind of stomach bug, mainly because after the first trash can heave-arino she actually went back to working on typing her notes.

Onward, then, to the other events of the evening--seemed Reba had to drive to Tuscaloosa today for a meeting, and only had a quarter tank of gas. It was very cold and rainy last night. And windy. And cold. And DARK. And by the time we got through with supper, LATE(ish. Well, late-ish for me, which was actually only about halfway through American Idol.) ANYway, it was cold, rainy, windy, dark, late-ish, AND in my zeal to nest and cocoon last night, as soon as I got home I put on my pajamas. (After taking off my work clothes, of course.) SO, it was cold, dark, rainy, windy, late-ish, and I was in a terrible state of dishabile. ::sigh::

Went upstairs and put on a pair of jeans (leaving on my pajama shirt that almost looks like a regular tee-shirt. Well, all except for the Care Bears.) and got the essentials of travel--car keys, wallet, pocket knife. Put on my shoes, and being that they are of the Rockport mocassin-style deck shoe sort, and being that I am an idiot, I neglected to put on a pair of socks. I mean, you know, how cold and windy and dark could it be!? I'd only be out for a second to fill up, and then back inside!

Grabbed my jacket and off to Sam's Club. Which is on top of a mountain, and in order to place it on top of a mountain, all vegetation within sight was leveled, leaving it exposed to the viscissitudes of rain, wind, cold, and yes, even darkness. And idiocy. Got out and HOLY MOTHER OF SAM WALTON it was cold, etc. Filled up, then drove across the parking lot to Sam's to pick up some soft drinks to help ease someone's roiling gut. It didn't really occur to me until I got home how pitiful I must have looked in my go-get-gas-and-freeze garb.

Eh. Whatever.

Back home, where I found the small trash can that had previously been a receptacle for stomach contents placed neatly on the driveway where I had left it, waiting to be rinsed out. Oh. I forgot I'd done that. And it was so late. And dark. And rainy. ::sigh::

Grabbed the hose, turned on the water, and proceeded to rinse out the bucket while simultaneously making myself eligible for a wet tee-shirt contest. And let's face it--as cold as it was, I think I could have won.

That done, close the garage door, then into the house, where it was warm, and light, and unwindy, and dry, although even more late-ish than it was before. Upstairs, saw that none of the kids had gone to bed yet, although they were close, especially after I told them all to go to bed. Except for Rebecca, who was studying math. And Oldest, who had now migrated from the den to the upstairs with a computer disk that she wanted to use to print out the notes she'd typed.

A disk, I might add, that did not have the file on it. "Did you save it!?" She said yes, which told me it was probably still on the C:\ drive downstairs. As it was. Copied it, printed it, then finished watching Simon make people cry, then remembered after the three younger kids were finally asleep that I had left the soft drinks in the car.

Where it was cold dark rainy windy and the ground was possibly contaminated with stomach germs.

::sigh::

Downstairs, door, trunk, door, upstairs.

Reba went to bed, because she had to go to Tuscaloosa in her freshly filled up Focus this morning, leaving me awake with Oldest to make sure she'd done the rest of her homework. Which she did do--again, one of those signs that she might actually not have been sandbagging.

She finished up, took her shower, I watched Dave interview Tatum O'Neal, who looks like five miles of bad road, Oldest out of shower, came to our bathroom to put her clothes in the hamper, and

HUWAAAAAAHHHHHGGGRRRR.

WHAAGGGGHHHERRRRRRAAAAAUUUGGGH.

SPt.

URRGGGHHUUGGHHHHH--UGGGHUGHUGHGUU.

::sniff::

RUGGGGAA--HOOORFFFFOUGRUGRUGR.

Oh boy. I got up and found her at the pot, but unfortunately standing up, rather than in the preferred bowing-at-the-porcelain-god position that directs ejecta into the receptacle, rather than onto it, and the surrounding floor.

::sigh::

I got her a washcloth, and started reeling off toilet paper to clean the floor. We finally got it clean (and I doused it with a barrel of Lysol just to be sure) and she went and changed pajamas. "You want to sleep in the bathroom just in case?" Well, I guess she's outgrown that. Off to bed.

And this morning?

Well, she was not that perky, but she still went ahead and got up, and I took her on to school so she could take her make-up test, and she didn't protest. I think she really must have had some kind of stomach bug.

The rest of them? Well, Reba got to take the other kids to school this morning, and despite her best efforts to reach Tuscaloosa by 9:00 a.m., she found herself at 8:30 sitting in bumper to bumper traffic just down I-459 at Liberty Park. Which is more than thirty minutes away from Tuscaloosa, even if you travel at the normal prevailing traffic velocity, which is 132 miles per hour.

All that windy dark rainy cold late last night managed to freeze over this morning, so just about every bridge from here to anywhere had a nice crispy glaze on it, making traffic slow to a standstill.

She called me to tell me what was going on, and I don't think I quite gave her the supportiveness she needed in her turmoil. "I'm SUPPOSED TO BE THERE AT NINE!"

"Uh, well, you're not gonna make it. Just call and tell them you're going to be late."

"::silence::"

Aw, good grief. I don't know what she was looking for, but obviously, rational though wasn't it. I KNEW I should have opened with the joke about the groom and the bride's sister!

The rest of the exchange was pretty terse.

Oh well, I had work to do, anyway. Which I did--mailout day today, and so I've been tearing up the copier and the printer and the envelope feeder all morning, and for some reason everyone in town decided I was the only person who could help them, in my Jack Baueresque fashion, negotiate their way through the bureacratic maze around here. Then, right in the middle of one call, yet another from Reba.

What's this!?

Put the guy on hold, went to the front desk, and she said she'd called the office and talked to her supervisor, who was just leaving. Seems the lady who had just been hired within the last month to take over for Reba after she moved up to her new job, passed away suddenly this morning. Asthma attack, they think.

Sort of changes the way you think about your mornings.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:31 AM | Comments (8)

January 17, 2006

Okay, now...

...let's see. Saturday was spent ferrying Oldest back and forth again to UAB for more rehearsals and leaving clothes in the dryer so we could all go back Saturday afternoon for the recital.

Very, very nice, I must say. This was UAB's honor choir presentation, so there were kids here from all over the state. The practice for this one certainly paid off--the last one we went to down in Tuscaloosa was a model of inefficiency, and the hall's acoustics made everything sound like someone drowning in a convenience store restroom.

But Saturday everyone was where they needed to be, and there was little of the uncharming kids'll-be-kids shenanigans. And the sound was very nice--the folks who designed the Jemison Hall at the Alys Stephens Center are to be commended for doing their homework. The room was lively without being harsh, and warm without muffling any of the upper or lower ranges. And the piano accompaniment didn't drown out the singers. AND the doors didn't make loud crashing sounds anytime anyone went out. AND the patrons were a bit better behaved this time, although there was one one right in the front who kept taking pictures during the songs even though an announcement was made at the start not to do that, and it was in the program. There was also someone two rows back who kept "whispering" during various parts. Frankly, I think it's time we start working on a way to fulfill the saying, "if looks could kill."

Anyway, the music was wonderful, and especially that of the hosts of the recital. Their conductor has his own blog (of course--oh, and be sure to check out his blogroll if you think all liberal arts academics are a bunch of fawning, squishy "progressives") and he was a bit tough on them in his comments, but for a rube like me, once you get to that level of talent there's no way I could pick out anything that was out of place. Y'all done good, Doc.

And, of course, so did the junior and senior high kids--it never ceases to amaze me how talented they are and how disciplined they can sound. And how incredible Oldest can sound in a venue like this, compared to how tone-deaf she sounds when she's singing--screeching--along to a CD with her headphones on in the back seat of the van. Oh well--when it counts is what matters, I suppose.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:37 AM | Comments (3)

Coming back for more!

Yet another weekend by the wayside, and not an altogether bad one at that. In fact, a pretty good one, aside from discovering yesterday afternoon a basketful of blue jeans that had not been dried, and a dryer full of permanent press that had been dried Saturday. Funny thing about that wrinkle-free permapress stuff--you leave it in the dryer with a bunch of other permapress clothing, and it manages to get pretty darned wrinkled. And the wrinkles don't want to leave, either--it's permawrinkled.

Anyway, it's staff meeting time right now, so let me go do that, and THEN I will come back and bore you to tears in just a little while with all sorts of luridly bland tales of suburbia.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:30 AM | Comments (4)

January 13, 2006

ENOUGH!

Time to call it for the day. All of you have a great weekend, and I will see you on Tuesday with all sorts of wonderful tales to tell, some of which might even be true!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:12 PM | Comments (2)

Oh, that wasn't so bad.

Really. A lot of driving, but I enjoy driving.

To home, pick up Oldest, then to UAB, drop Oldest in lobby and make sure where she's going to be at the pickup time, back to home, get gas, go to in-laws' house, install computer, leave and go back to UAB, park right in front of building, walk in with five minutes to spare, collect Oldest, listen to her jabber excitedly and complain about being hungry, stop at McDonald's for sustenance for her (but not for me), drive home and listen to her eat, which sounded like a hog at a trough. In fairness to her, I have noticed very few teenaged girls with any sense of table manners, the open-mouthed smackchew seeming to be the default mode.

Heaven knows I've badgered her enough about having some semblance of couthness to her, but she (and other teenaged girls, too) seem to think holding their cutlery like clubs, hunkering over their plates like prison inmates, and devouring their food like ravening kinkajous makes them look mature. ::sigh:: But as I told Reba after we got home, I didn't say anything, because she was excited about how rehearsal went, and further, my resolution for 2006 is to be nice. Nice nice nice. No matter how much my innards seeth in a stew of bile, my outward demeanor will be as sunny as June Cleaver's. Yay me! NICE ME!

Not really.

I just figured it was the wrong place and wrong time to get into the expectations polite society places upon its members. And I was tired and hungry myself, which is never a good way to go into battle.

AS FOR THE COMPUTER--it's a Dell of some sort. I suppose I should have looked on the box so I could tell you all, but you'll have to make do with the description I gave Jonathan and Rebecca--"it's black." It's pretty nice, and has a 17 inch flat screen monitor, and I suppose it must be a higher-end model, because is was more expensive than the HP I bought from Wal-Mart a couple of years ago, and it didn't come with speakers or a printer. WTF!? (I abbreviated to myself); I couldn't believe he'd gotten something without a printer. Speakers are nice to have, but not essential for most of what you do, but you really, REALLY need a printer if you're going to get any use out of the thing.

Anyway, "setup" consisted (as with just about any modern electronic device) of setting it up on his desk. This goes here, this plugs in there, you turn it on. It came with 6 months of AOL, so I got that set up for him, and registered the computer and software, showed him where the icon was for Word and for AOL, and that was it. I imagine the kids will get much more use out of it than he will, which is actually an okay thing, I think. Rebecca wanted to know if she could use it if she had to type any of her homework after school while she's at their house. Sure would cut down on some of the wait time that she has now--we have to get them, get home, eat supper, get baths--all that stuff, and then if she has typing to do, too, it can get late. Of course, for right now at least, she'll have to save it and bring it home to print it, but that's not so bad.

SO, anyway, yet another day gone by without being thrown in the slam for public intoxication or participation in a melee or jaywalking. (One of which I actually DID do last night!)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:25 AM | Comments (9)

January 12, 2006

Just what I want!

A busy night!

::sigh::

Leaving in a bit to go to T'ville to pick up Oldest, then have to turn around and head right back downtown with her for a rehearsal at UAB for a choir concert she has this weekend. Then, seeing as how there is nothing I really want to do by myself on a weeknight downtown for two hours (being that I am a fusty old fart who doesn't drink, smoke, carouse, or consume freelance pharmaceuticals) it's back to home for two hours to wait, then BACK downtown again to pick her up after the rehearsal's all over.

I suppose I could find something to do to keep from going back home, but seeing as how I didn't quite get around to installing my daddy-in-law's computer the other night, tonight's as good a night as any to get that out of the way.

Or, you know, take up drinking, smoking, carousing, and narcoticking.

Anyway, details on the morrow. See you all then.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:59 PM | Comments (4)

Poor kitty.

Just called to check in on Catherine, who's spending the day at Grandmom's house. Seems she (Cat, not Grandma) had some kind of a stomach bug yesterday while at school and had to get checked out early. Some sort of something-or-other that caused double-ended discomfort, and it wiped out her usual full-throttle demeanor.

She stayed home last night from church with Mommy and had noodle soup and a story and went to sleep on a pallet on our bathroom floor at the incredibly on-time time of 8:00. (That's supposed to be everyone's bedtime, but it's honored more in the breach than the observance, something like when the State Legislature unplugs the clock to keep from going beyond their statutory time limit.) Anyway, I managed to only step on her twice during the night.

This morning, she was a bit more perky, although suffering from a bad case of bed-head. Or pallet-on-the-floor-head. She didn't seem to mind. I told her Grandmom would fuss at her for her fur being all out of place (she--Grandmama, not Cat--seems to put great stock in personal upkeep, even when no one would be there to see) but Cat didn't seem to want to have to get out the brush and detanglefy her hair. Fine.

Took her over there early (because I have to leave early today) and from all acounts, she has been okay, if a bit on the uncharacteristically quiet side.

She should be all perked back up tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:32 PM | Comments (2)

January 11, 2006

Because I knew you'd want to know.

Last night's supper: pork roast, black-eyed peas, and turnip greens.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:57 PM | Comments (8)

January 10, 2006

Well, he's no Rubieses, but still...

...maybe there's someone out there who would enjoy a calm and sweet Boston Terrier, courtesy of his foster mommy.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:39 PM | Comments (3)

Even tired...

...I suppose I was still able to do something right. Got in this morning and had a work-related e-mail that has already made my day.

It was a thank-you for some files I e-mailed during my torpor yesterday. The lady it was from is a local contractor who's been working with a client to get some stuff done to his building. As is the normal case with our little fiefdom here, it hasn't been a smooth process. Our regulatory regimen combined with things beyond anyone's control has been frustrating, both for her and her client, but she has taken it in stride and done her best to get the work done. Despite our best efforts to stymie her best efforts.

Anyway, she's a smart and pleasant person to talk to on the phone and knows her business, as well as the pitfalls of dealing with a bunch of bureaucrats and with cranky clients. She called yesterday with some questions about utilities on the project (about which I knew absolutely nothing) and needing some copies of the minutes from some of our previous meetings. After I hung up, I sent those to her, and sometime overnight she replied with an acknowledgement of having received them, as well as thanks "especially for being the happy guy at city hall."

It's hard to make me feel much better than to say something like that. Bureaucracies don't easily lend themselves to creativity, or tact, or humor, or productivity, or joy, but those are the qualities I admire and try to have as I do my work. Despite there being no organizational use for them. And even though in some cases, they create trouble--the ol', "No good deed goes unpunished," maxim.

Anyway, though, it is nice to occasionally hear from someone that I was able to help. I just wish I wasn't the only happy guy here.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:25 AM | Comments (0)

January 09, 2006

I am done whupped.

Folks, I just don't have the wherewithal to do anything but sit and drool today.

When you only have a walnut-sized brain to begin with, and when that small amount is removed from its proper place--and upon the Lord's Day, of all times!--and is reduced to a thimbleful of runny goo by the combined effects of a twenty hour day spent at full tilt (which included a 50 mile road race from Pell City to Sylvan Springs that by any reasonable measure should have taken approximately one hour and fifteen minutes, but which I made in fifty minutes), it means that I simply neither the venom nor the joviality to do anything entertaining today.

Believe it or not, I actually thought about calling in sick this morning--the only reason I didn't is that if I stayed home, I'd have to finish the load of laundry that didn't get done over the weekend.

So, I beg your indulgence for a day to allow me sufficient time to reconstitute and congeal my gray matter. As always, there is actual entertainment available to you up there in the blogroll on top, or over in the Munu blogroll on the sidebar. And if I'm not quite as swift in answering e-mails today as I usually am, well, for that I blame Chet the E-Mail Boy.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:43 AM | Comments (11)

January 06, 2006

Enough Grumpitude!

It's the weekend! Well, almost.

I intend to sleep somewhat later than usual tomorrow, and do other tasks as assigned by my domestic supervisor. Sunday promises to be chock full of activities, meaning I won't get a nap, and probably won't get to read the paper. But I shan't be grouchy at all!

Well, you know, until Monday and all.

ANYway, all of you have a wonderful weekend, and I'll see you all bright and early next week.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:10 PM | Comments (0)

And you know what ELSE I don't like?

The fact that municipal government doesn't seem to attract nubile supermodels as employees; and, in fact, seems to be set up expressly to discourage them from even being considered.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:41 PM | Comments (11)

Annnd another thing...

I do not at all find the winter winds bracing, brisk, invigorating, refreshing, revitalizing, stimulating, snappy, peppy, energizing, restorative, animating, crisp, exhilarative, fortifying, freshening, quickening, reviving, rousing, or stimulative.

I just went out to go get some lunch and my eyes started watering the moment I walked out the door. I can deal with cold when it's just plain old cold (especially since they got the heat turned on in my office so that I'm not shivering at my desk all day like Bob Cratchit), but this blowing cold air is simply too much.

I suppose I'll have to break down and wear a shirt or something.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:00 PM | Comments (4)

You know what I hate?

When you go to your bedroom, and discover someone has come into your house and stolen your mattress. OH, sure--they left the pad-thing that was on top of the mattress, but the mattress itself is GONE! And the SHEETS are still on the bed! How'd they do that?! And when!? And WHY!?

Why? Because it's a stupid STUPID dream, and it carried on with further stupid revelations the longer it went on--I went downstairs and my mother was there in the dark trying to cook something in the microwave, and the display was all weird characters that looked like Klingon poetry, and I asked her if she'd seen anyone stealing our mattress, and she said no, but that someone had taken the coffee pot.

GRR.

It all started because I had to get up and go to the john at 3:57 a.m. An hour and a half to go back to sleep before time to get up again. The absolute WORST 90 minutes you can spend. And wouldn't you know it, but when I got back into bed, my stupid STUPID pneumonia/kennel cough/emphyzema/hair ball hacking started up.

I haven't gotten good rest for the past three nights because I have some kind of sticky chest crud that won't loosen up, and so it's been one of those irritating, "drop off for ten minutes then cough and wake back up," deals to contend with every night. Last night was some better, except when I got up at 3:57 a.m., it brought it back. So I got back into bed tired, and coughing, and only had a little while to get in a few more minutes of shuteye, and when I finally DID go to sleep, I wound up having the stupidest dream possible.

Hmph.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:11 AM | Comments (5)

January 05, 2006

Photos!

I also remembered to bring my camera in with me today so I could show you slides of domestic bliss from over the holidays. Run away now while you can!

To start off the show, this is Catherine's elf doll, clutching the remnants of Santa's Raid on the Icebox.

For some reason, she wanted Santa to have a glass of orange juice and cookies. Santa got some milk and cookies, and then apparently splashed a drop or two of orange juice in the bottom of the glass after it was over with to keep from disappointing anyone.

Biggest hit? Fuzzy socks for the girls.

Biggest twit?

Need you ask?

This is my new Adidas cap, which I will add to my giant stash of ball caps that I wear when I don't feel like combing my hairs. The picture is taken by me, because I realized that when you won't let anyone else hold your camera, you tend not to get your picture taken. However, this tends to lead future generations to believe they were spontaneously generated without assistance from Granpa Terry, an idea I stoutly refuse to facilitate. So, I wind up taking photos of myself, if they get taken at all.

Oh, another thing--it's always a popular thing to festoon yourself with things from the discard pile.

Obviously, there was a lot more to Christmas, but you'd probably be bored looking through all 5,349 photos.

MOVING ON, the last day we spent at the park. I had thought the previous two trips how I should have brought the camera, and Monday I managed to remember it.

Here are Boy--

and Girl--

as we head off to the wilderness. Both photos were taken by just pointing the camera at the back seat, so I'm frankly surprised that they both turned out as they did.

This is Main Street where I live. That CVS is the "drug store at the foot of the hill" I am so fond of referencing, and up ahead you see the Sonic, and the bank on the right, and the furniture store beyond on the left.

There's the city hall--

--and after you turn left onto Parkway Drive (which is how all small town neighborhoods should look),

you pass by the library,

and pull into the parking space at the park. That blonde on the right is the mom who had brought the sweet little Sheltie with her and her kids.

She was just as pleasant as the day itself to talk to, and she knew of a person in town who breeds Shelties (one of the breeds other than a Spitz we have thought about getting). As I looked back through the pictures, I noticed that she wound up in the background of several of them, such as this one with Cat and Jonathan swinging like baboons on the tire swing--

I'm not sure, but I think that makes me a stalker of some sort.

Whatever. Earlier in the sequence, Catherine tries the zip line.

I tried it again, too, but this time I didn't launch myself off the platform and painfully yank both of my arms out of socket. I just gently grabbed hold of the loop and slowly let my weight down on before slowly easing myself across with a push of my feet. And yanked both arms out of socket. But with much less unseemly falling and screaming in agony.

After much playtime there, we went and got our picnic supplies (at CVS) and went back to the park at the river.

Here's the bridge--

and here's the river--

Admittedly, it ain't quite the mighty Mississip', but in fairness, it has been dry lately. That little spit of gravel on the right is where we got down and skipped rocks. Before the rock skipping, however, there was the matter of snacking.

After snacking and skipping, it was time for toy glider flying, about which Catherine was alternately thoughtful--

--and maniacal.

Great fun, and too soon, it was time to go.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:21 AM | Comments (6)

January 04, 2006

How in the world...

...can it get so busy?!

I thought I was going to have some time to play, but every time I start to get going, I have to stop and earn my paycheck. SUCH INJUSTICE!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:29 PM | Comments (0)

Oops.

Forgot to mention I had a meeting this morning.

I managed to allow my vacation to wash away all the pertinent time-saving details of such things, and so I found myself this morning without my usual printout I use for note-taking, and I was forced to tear some sheets out of one of the kid's notebooks before I left. I thought about coming in to the office and quickly printing something out, but then I figured it would be more trouble than it was worth.

And I forgot my new wall calendar for my office, as well. Second day in a row. I keep looking up at the wall and am continually disappointed.

I haven't, however, misdated any checks with an '05. That's about the one thing that I seem not to have problems with. Although I do remember sometime in the near past inexplicably dating a check with "1993."

ANYway, I am back now, and have stupid ol' work stuff to get done at the moment. HOWever, there will be time for some play later. Unless there's something I've forgotten about.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:13 AM | Comments (4)

January 03, 2006

Whither Santa?

Well, another child figures things out.

Little 13 year old Rebecca finally got dosed with the realization of exactly how it is that Santa knows when you're sleeping and if you've been naughty or nice.

Seems this year that the Jolly Fat One (not to be confused with Joey Fatone) managed to shove a small TV/DVD combo down the flue along with the usual treasure trove of gifts and stocking stuffers.

The only problem? Well, when Daddy got the set out of the box and put it upstairs, the television part would work, but not the DVD player part. Meaning, either one of Santa's elves messed up, or one of the underage kids working in a Thai electronics sweatshop messed up. Meaning, Daddy was going to have to take it back to a store--in fact, THE store from which Santa procured it--and exchange it for a more workable unit.

Oh, I think she's been suspicious for a while, but she wanted to keep believing, and frankly, I wanted her to as well. I remember when I figured it out, and although I wasn't quite disappointed, I still realized things were different, and in not an entirely pleasant way. I think she might feel the same way--a little bit more of a comfortable, reassuring childhood is now up on the shelf, and won't be back until she has her own children.

At least there are a couple of young ones left in the house who still have no doubts about such things.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:29 PM | Comments (2)

Movies!

During my time off, I actually got to go to the moving picture show, not once, but TWICE! Good grief, no wonder movies seem to make so much money nowadays--you could feed a family of six for two days on the price of admission, which, of course, doesn't count the equal amount spent on flavored sugar water and a bucket of corn-flavored air. [/grump]

First up was a group effort to go see Cheaper by the Dozen 2, which included all of us, plus meeting Beau #4 at the theater.

The first version was pretty good, although still saddled with a bit too much contrived cuteness. This one, however, kicks it up a notch with even more contrivedness, and little of it directed at the cuteness factor. Somehow Steve Martin is no longer coaching, or he is, but whatever he's doing, it's in Chicago. Piper Perabo is unconvincingly way past pregnant, complete with annoying fake distended belly that keeps poking out from underneath her flouncy non-maternity tops. And she never sweats. Although she holds her back a lot. And when her water breaks, her shorts remain nice and dry.

Anyway, the family goes on vacation for old time's sake to the lake and decide to try to win some sort of stupid trophy from Carmen Electra (who has large breasts) and Earl Camembert (or Stan Schmenge), who doesn't. There is a subplot of one of the girl kids becoming a girly-girl, and the complete waste of film Hilary Duff, who plays a self-centered egotistical teenaged twit. Look, I go to the movie for escapism--not seeing a portrayal of self-centered egotistical teenaged twititude. Get enough of that as it is at home.

The scenes that were contrived to make me tear up and be all weepy worked, although not in a good way. Stuff like that shouldn't make you mad at yourself. It's not a bad movie, but it sure ain't no good, either. I give it two out of five curly possum tails, and I'm being generous.

You want something good? Read the book--the REAL book. (Admittedly, Lil wasn't quite as easy on the eyes as Bonnie Hunt, but then again, Bonnie Hunt hasn't got twelve kids.)

Other movie was one I took Rebecca, Jonathan, and Catherine to, as well as my big sister (detaining her from going home for another day)--The Chronicles of Narnia--The Lion, The Witch, the Wardrobe, and the Goat Man With A Disturbing Lack of Selfconsciousness Regarding his Goatiness, and His Unclothed Nipples.

I have a soft-spot for costume dramas, especially for those involving Jollye Olde, and what's not to like about C.S. Lewis? Overall, I have to say it was a very nice movie, although technical matters tend to keep it from being up in the great movie category. In this day and time, it's possible to do CGI so seamlessly that it's hard to distinguish unless you're just being a pedant, so you really notice it when the lushness of some effects is put into juxtaposition with some really lame-looking green screen stuff that wouldn't have passed muster even in the old Jason and the Argonauts fillum. Ebert's review is pretty much what I would say if I were a puffy movie critic, although I would like right now to call a halt to the use of the term "gob-smacked." It's everywhere nowadays, and really it works only if you tend to use other terms such as "po-faced git" in your usual conversation.

Anyway, the movie is very much okay, and not too scary for anyone younger than about eight or so. Very young kids might be put off by the violence of the battle scenes and the scary White Witch person who has sort of a Midas-like effect on people, in that when she touches them, they turn into mufflers. My kids liked it, and I did, too. With a couple of stupid provisos that deal with matters tactical. Because I can't enjoy anything without nitpicking.

But doggone it, don't insist of fighting a massed infantry on an open field when YOU have the high ground! Make the other side come to you! And if you have griffins who can carry boulders and fly along and bomb the enemy front lines, fly PARALLEL to the lines, NOT perpendicular. And second, unless they have machine guns, DON'T let them fly low enough to get hit by arrows! Stupid flying lion-eagles were just asking for it. And if you've got firebirds that come out of burning arrows, use a LOT of them, not just ONE.

Another thing--the goatman thing is just a little off-putting in more ways than one. Especially given a he-goat's well-known proclivity to vigorously goatify anything that moves, and even some things that don't. And when your goatman's only clothing is a silly SCARF, and he's a MUSICIAN, and he lures children into his lair with a promise of hot tea and scones, well, I mean, come ON! At least get him a nice blazer or something. And some pants, for goodness sake. Either that, or just be sure to have Thomas Mesereau standing by. And we're not even going to get into the minotaur/centaur deal. (Although I will say a couple of the girl centaurs were kinda hot.)

AND another thing--exactly what do people eat in Narnia? I mean, everything has a proper British accent, even the shrubbery. Sure, you can get away with vegetarianism around here, but when your carrots start screaming as they're peeled and boiled, I imagine you'd probably be a bit put off by it. Not me, obviously, but some might be.

Overall, though, despite my stupid nitpicking, I'd have to give it 4 out of 5 curly possum tails.

And those are your movie reviews for now!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:21 PM | Comments (10)

Best Present?

Well, I figure it had to be the combination of the weather and time off. We don't have a lot of just loafing around time, and when the kids asked to go to the park Wednesday, I figured we could do that with no problems. We had a full day planned--go drop Oldest off at her grandparents for a few days' stay, then drop back downtown to pay our property tax at the courthouse, then over to the sheriff's department to renew my pistol permit, then, nothing else, really.

Beautiful day--a bit windy and chilly, but bright sunshine. The kids enjoyed getting to walk around in a real live city with taxicabs and steam coming out of manhole covers (I started to write "and steaming manholes" but thought better of it) and buildings taller than three stories. Did all of our regulatory stuff, then went home to the park, where they played and played and played. Got Cat to lie down on her back on the tire swing and spun her around, and taught her that if she brings her legs in, she twirls faster. She did that for a long time, to the point I figured I might better stop before she had something flying out of her.

Then, we got to go back Friday. Went and got Oldest, who most CERTAINLY did not want to go to the kiddy park upon her return home, so the younger three and I set out for the park again and they swung and ran and screamed and hollered and Boy and I made a sundial out of rocks on top of one of the picnic tables, and I explained about the gnomon having to both point true north and point upwards at the exact same degree as our latitude. I think we must have gotten pretty close on both scores.

And then, there was yesterday. It was a record high--77 real live honest-to-goodness Fahrenheit degrees. Bright blue sky, thin white clouds, absolutely heavenly. Mom was off yesterday, and got involved doing other things with Rebecca and Ashley, so it was just Boy and Tiny Girl and I, but that was fine. We did the whole swing, tag, spin, slide thing, and Catherine got to pet a Sheltie that one of the young moms had brought to the park with her kids. Sweet dog, and Catherine rubbed and petted it so much it probably got thin spots in its hair.

Then, time for a break, and since the community center was closed, we did the next best thing by going to CVS to use their restroom and get some snack picnic supplies--three soft drinks and a can of Pringles. We got back in the car and drove over to the river park. It's just open green space beside the Cahaba, with a wonderful old iron bridge that used to be the Highway 11 span. It's a pedestrian bridge now, and we tromped out onto the middle of the deck and sat down and watched the water and ate chips and plotted our next activity.

Which was stone-skipping. We threw away our trash and made our way down to the gravel bank below the bridge and had a grand time rock-chunkin'. Cat was a bit perturbed by her lack of skill, but she finally got the hang of it. We did that for a while, then we clambered back up to the flat grassy bank and they flew their big white foam glider back and forth until the sun started down below the hill.

It was all so very nice. All together, those three days pretty much make the definition of idyllic.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:49 AM | Comments (2)

Nothing says Christmas like stopped up plumbing.

Else, why would it have figured so greatly in my vacation?

Christmas Eve afternoon, we left Reba's mom and dad's house (after a giant lunch) to run over to my mom's house to visit with her and my sister to swap pleasantries and gift cards. As is the usual case, we wound up in the kitchen while the children pestered each other in the rest of the house. Nice chat, caught up on stuff, and it got to be time to head back toward home. But first, a certain Tiny Girl had to make use of the indoor outhouse.

Wait. Wait. Chat some more. Wait.

Finally, she emerged from the small powder room looking a bit downcast. Mainly because through the clever usage of giant wads of toilet paper, she had managed to keep the porcelain convenience from properly flushing. Which really isn't that big of a deal, except in this case, she had gifted her grandmother with a giant Yule log, which floated serenely in the bowl.

Merry Christmas!

::sigh::

I figured maybe another pull on the flush lever would get things moving, but I succeeded only in moving the water level to the very edge of the rim of the bowl. I prevented an overflow only by the quickest of action to turn off the supply line, which also had the happy side consequence of bringing me that much closer to the chunky deposit Tiny Terror had made.

"Where's your plunger, Mama?"

"I don't have one, Terry--it's just me here."

Quite right--I should have realized that not everyone is as as blessed as I, being outfitted in a home with both low-water-consumption crappers and four girls, who seem to be able to use an entire roll of toilet paper at each sitting, with predictable results. I.e., me, with a force cup, freeing up the passageways.

But, now, what to do--we couldn't very well leave my mother with a pot full of water and the aforementioned Christmas treasure, so it was decided that I would sally forth to the Lowe's hardware store at the bottom of the hill, purchase a plumber's helper, and return to unclog the clog. Which is just what anyone would want to do on Christmas Eve.

Just as we were about to leave, though, there was a sudden chuggling gurgle, and the poop disappeared with a sigh down the hole. IT'S A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE! Laughter and shouts of acclamation and relief filled the holiday air, which was now much more breathable, by the way.

Home then, and all that other stuff.

Fast forward now to Wednesday, December 28, and go with us to church for Wednesday Bible study. For once, we managed to get to the building early, and I set in to make sure all the curriculum was ready for the new quarter, which was scheduled to start January 1. I fidgeted and fussed and fixed and did and was in a tizzy, when suddenly I found Rebecca at my arm.

"Daddy?"

"Hmyeah, what, sugar? Daddy's kinda--uhmmm--Daddy's busy, baby--what do you need?"

"Well, I was wondering--I just walked by the women's bathroom, and it sounded like water running, and I went in there, and one of the toilets was running."

"Jiggle the handle, Bec--wait--is it STILL running?"

"Yes, sir."

'IS IT RUNNING IN THE FLOOR?!"

"I think so--it looked wet when I looked in the door."

I dropped my stuff and went running around to the other hallway, and sure enough, a perfect storm--someone had clogged up the pot, AND the tank hadn't stopped running. By this time, the floodwaters had reached beyond the tile part of the floor and were slowly making their way to the carpeted vestibule.

I tippy-toed over to the offending fixture and shut the water off. What a mess. Although, in retrospect, not nearly so much of a mess as it could have been, seeing as how there were no solids to contend with, and the water wasn't yellow-tinged.

I searched in vain for the plunger, then ran around to the men's bathroom to get that one, ran back around and unblocked the blockage, then gratefully accepted a mop from someone and we started mopping and wringing. Various passersby noted that there sure was a lot of water in the floor. Smart people.

At some point in there, someone else remembered we had a tiny wet-dry vacuum, which was fetched and plugged in. It was a two-gallon model, meaning it would operate for approximately 30 seconds before shutting down because it was full. Must have dumped it out fifteen times, which would be 30 gallons. That, my friends, is a lot of water. I lost my fellowmopper when services started, and the other guy decided to go home and get his great big wet-dry vac. It was not needed by the time he got back. I think he might have planned it that way.

As it was, I managed to get through about halfway through services. I realize it's probably not up there with washing feet like some folks do, but I figure it's close enough.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:43 AM | Comments (5)

Well, Hello There!

Where have YOU been!?

Me? Oh, I've been out and about--and I found out that apparently I have been a very good boy all year. Either that, or I have a good publicist.

Stories? Yep, got several. A lot, in fact. Ten days away from work tends to do that to a person. And I will be sharing some with you in the coming hours, but right now, I have to catch up on ten days of not being at work, which promises to be a Very Bad Thing. Eh, but what of it? It's a new year, and I hope it will be a good'n.

So, to work for a bit, and then back with Wild Tales of Suburbia.

To start off, though--I figure I might as well let you in on some of the presents I snagged this year. As I said, I must have been very good. Reba (and the kids, with her help) got me a stack of things to read, some new, and some from the library old-book sale. In order of increasing physical size, my prizes were:

The Wisdom of Jesus and the Apostles, compiled by Philip Law

Leadership Lessons of Jesus--Timeless Wisdom for Leaders in Today's World Bob Briner, Ray Pritchard

The Golden Tradition--Jewish Live and Thought in Eastern Europe Lucy S. Dawidovicz, 1st Edition, 1967. (This is one from the library sale.)

Military History's Top 10 Lists--Great Commanders, Improbable Victories, Unlikely Heroes, and Other Martial Oddities M. Evan Brooks

The Empire of Reason--How Europe Imagined and America Realized the Enlightenment Henry Steele Commager, 1977. (Another one from the library.)

World War II--4,139 Strange and Fascinating Facts Don McCombs and Fred L. Worth

The Fall of the House of Borgia E.R. Chamberlain 1st Edition, 1974. (From the library sale.)

The Complete Family Bible Reference Foreword by Dr. Lloyd John Ogilvie

Martyrs' Shrine, produced by John G. Roach.

And I got PANTS!!

Anyway, back in a bit.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:05 AM | Comments (12)

December 23, 2005

Another year by the wayside.

I've got a few more hours to kill here, but I figure it's about time to hang up the old Closed sign on Possumblog until next year. I'll be on vacation next week, and won't return to these parts until January 3rd.

I bid you all peace and joy, and I'll see you again in Aught Six.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:24 PM | Comments (2)

"Have yourselllllf..."

"...an abnormally obsessive little Christmaaaaas."

Got home with my precious packages last night, and was able to sneak them into the house without Reba seeing, because she wasn't there, which made it very simple. Yes, I realize they were wrapped, but I still wanted to have something of a surprise for her.

While I was fidgeting trying to get them under the tree, I heard the garage door going up, so I scrambled and put away the bright red shopping bag and ran to the kitchen to start getting stuff out for supper. Wife, kids, cold air all came in at once in a happy tumble, kisses, hugs, immediate start of teen indignation that someone had dared touched something of hers, suggestion from wife that if I would continue with the food prep, she would take Oldest with her to go return some pants, to which I quickly agreed.

Fixed supper, fed kids, told them to go get cleaned up, while they did that, I went back to the Wife Gifts to put her name on them. Big pretty gold one, big pretty gold card; swirly silver on blue, with--nothing. Hmm. Looked at the red polka-dot one--no card, either. Grr. I looked in the shopping bag. Nothing. Grr.

Now, in the great scheme of things, this is probably about the most inconsequential thing you could think of, but doggone it, the presents were so pretty, and I wanted my dingderned matching cards to go with them! None of those plain white ones, or the stick-on Rudolph stuff for kids, or scraps of wrapping paper cut and folded--I wanted the real, matching, embossed with genuine foil, heavy paper stock cards!

(And lest you wish to blame this on Miss Squishy, don't--she didn't wrap them, she only took my order.)

Back today, upstairs, go to counter, nice older lady--"Yes, sir--how may I help you?"

"Uhhh, well, I realize I'm going to sound like a big idiot, but I got three packages wrapped here yesterday, and when I got home, only the one with gold paper had a card with it, and I was just wondering if it would be possible to get the other two cards--one was the blue with silver swirls, and the other was the big red polkda dots."

She looked at my receipt, "OH, yes, I remember--I wrapped these. See? It says here 'pink pjs' and I didn't realize that was supposed to be the little pink gown and so we had to rewrap that one. I think we've run out of cards, though, let me look."

She disappeared, then came back, "Here we are--we've been having to use the white ones for most of them." She neatly folded and handed to me two plain white cards.

Very similar to the plain white cards I saw in the wrapping paper box at home.

Which I realize now I should have just gone ahead and used.

::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:11 PM | Comments (2)

December 22, 2005

As the youngsters say...

..."that's good squishy!" Well, they do, at least according to Lileks. Who am I to argue?

In any event, an entirely appropriate thought as I went over to the Parisian store at the AmSouth-Harbert building at lunch to do some last minute you-know-what. I am really at a loss this year, because a certain wife of mine has just about everything, and the few things she did want were quickly snapped up by the kids as their gifts to her. So I had to think, which is hard, and it makes my head hurt.

First stop was the newsstand/everything-shop, though, just to see if there might be an interesting stocking stuffer. They have everything--cards, cigars in a big humidor, ceramic cats, candles, Spam, newspapers, statuary of Santa playing golf, statuary of Santa in either Alabama or Auburn football jerseys, Precious Moments statuary, Penthouse, pantyhose, Beanie Babies--basically anything a downtown office worker would require to go through the day. But not really anything I wanted to buy for Miss Reba.

On to Parisian, where I browsed the cosmetic counter (she already has a ton of cosmetics), the jewelry cases (ditto), the racks with variations on the scarf theme (promising, but still not quite personal enough), the various leather goods (no comment)...hmm.

Upstairs, which promised Ladies Clothing--and Intimates!

HEY! A sale! Browsed the various racks of suits--she could probably use some more work clothes (ignoring for the moment that she already has more clothes than will fit in her closet), but it's very difficult to buy suits for her because of the Issue of Fit. I figure it's best to stick with stuff I know will fit, and suits must be tried on. ON around the store--too old, too silly, too big, too puffy, too too. Finally got around to some two-piece skirt and sweater sets that caught my eye--now that looks like her! Very nice. Found one that has a dark brown sweater with a light colored ring around the neck and a brown plaid skirt with fringey stuff up the side. Now then. Something else. Again, she has these, but I just couldn't help it--had to get her a nice pair of soft pajamas, and a nightshirt. They just looked like her. What can I say?!

Thus armed with my selections, I went and laid them on the counter for the lady to ring them up. She cast an eye at me very similar to what Aunt Esther might do, and jokingly asked me, "You pick these out all by yourself!?"

"HEY! I can do stuff like that!"

"Well, baby, you did pretty good for yourself! These for your wife?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I think she'll like those just fine."

Well, we'll see, won't we. We continued to banter a bit, and then I took them over to the gift wrap place, which was inhabited by Miss Good Squishy herself. My goodness--just as cute and perky and doe-eyed and blonde and round and firm and fully packed as could be. She apologized for the wait, took down my packaging requests (the gold stuff, the stuff with the big red dots, and the swirly silver things on the blue background) and said it was going to be about 20 minutes to get mine done. She was just so darned nice I couldn't have complained even if I wanted to.

So I went and ate me some lunch. Got a big salad from Wall Street Deli, sat and ate at the tables, and watched the world go by. I sure will be glad when the affectation of gaucho pants with boots fades. Every woman who wears those winds up looking like they're wearing those goofy high-water pants the guys wore in the original Star Trek.

Anyway, finished up, walked back to the store, stood and waited for everyone else to get out of my way, and asked for my goods. "Here you go, sweetie--just be sure to take the tag off the bag so she won't know what's in there!" I am such a sucker for any customer service person who calls me sweetie or sugar or honey or hon or stuff like that. Especially if it's a she-person. It's almost enough to make me like shopping at Parisian again.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:08 PM | Comments (5)

December 21, 2005

Enemy at the gates.

Well, it could have been worse, you know.

Yesterday was the last day of school until sometime in January, and Oldest had been invited to a party at the house of one of her friends. Not that I would ever want to be accused of making value judgments about a fellow human being, but I was a bit leery about this party, based upon who I knew was going to be there. And the fact that other details seemed amorphous at best, and tending toward the deliberately vague.

"Where does this girl live?"

"Uh, somewhere over by Camp Coleman."

Big area. "Can you be more specific?"

"She lives over by Camp Coleman. HER MOM WILL BE THERE!"

::sigh:: Since I had a building committee meeting at church last night, it was going to be Mom's job to chauffeur. I'd let her try to drag the information out.

"Who's going to be there?"

[Actual names will not be used] "Uhmm, Girl Who Got Held Back, Girl Who Dresses Trashy, Shrill Girl, Slacker Boy, Stupid Slacker Boy, Boy Who Got Held Back, and, uhhh, some other people."

Why, such a group of boon companions I cannot imagine outside the Oak Room at the Algonquin!

Oh, but it gets better. "She wants the girls to spend the night--the guys'll leave sometime earlier, and then it'll just be the girls."

Right. When she first started talking this up, they were going to leave at 9:00.

Reba seemed to be okay with the arrangement, and because I am a kind and tenderhearted soul, I acquiesced to it as well, despite all the loud voices in my head screaming at me their disbelief. Several of them even stomped their feet and threw up their hands. One of them even said I was crazy. However, there was that one quiet voice over in the corner who said he thought it would be okay to agree, because he had a feeling this would all fall apart in the end anyway, and it would keep me from looking like a heartless schmuck.

But who listens to voices in their head!? Certainly not me.

So, Oldest got her clothes packed and impromptu gifts were quickly purchased, yesterworkday came and went, Reba left work on time so she could go drive Miss Prissy to the party, I left work and had to run home to pick up the drawings I'd left, I saw that the car was in the driveway when I got there (it was late, so I figured she'd already gone and come home), walked in, got the drawings, told the kids to let Mom know I'd been by, and ran back out to the homely Swedish iron box, cranked it up, and headed out for the church building.

Five minutes later, my cell phone rang and I saw it was coming from Miss Reba. "Hey! Did you get her delivered?"

"No, I still have her with me--that's why the car was in the driveway!" [internal monologue--"And I would have known this HOW exactly?!"]

External dialogue: "Oh! What happened?!" [building sense of relief]

"This chick gave Ashley directions and we tried to find the place and couldn't, so we came back here and got this girl on the telephone, and she's given us three different sets of directions and I have no idea what she's talking about." [barely checked glee--resist urge to tell wife 'why not just get her address and look it up on Internet']

"Hmm--that's weird!"

"Yeah, and not only that, Ashley said now that the boys are supposed to leave at 11, not 9, and she said one of the girls said they might be some stuff going on that she knows shouldn't be going on."

"So she's not going, right?" [begin mentally high-fiving all my imaginary friends]

"Well, I don't think so, let me talk to her some more about it. If she doesn't go, would you mind if Beau #4 comes over and they could watch a movie or something?" [internal monologue--"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! No stinking, conniving, hulking, sheath of hormones in my house!!"]

External dialogue: "I suppose not. Is anyone going to clean the house before he gets there?"

Having an answer in the affirmative, I hang up, go meet, become weary beyond measure at having to deal with architect, breathe sigh of relief it's not ME who's agreed to be the architect, finally wrap up around 8 o'clock, leave, head to Wal-Mart to pick up something Santa wanted to give Boy (and find a few simple stocking stuffers for Miss Reba), on the way over called back to the house to see what the status was.

"Well, did she go?"

"No--we talked about it, and I told her if she didn't want to go, Daddy said it would be okay if Beau #4 came over, so she said okay, and called him, and he'll be here in a bit, and the kids have been cleaning all the stuff off the steps and the table and the floor of the den. And you know what!?"

[dread] "UH, no, what?"

"Ashley called that girl back and apologized and told her she was just going to have to pass on coming to the party, and the girl said, 'Oh, that's okay--just bring my present with you when we get back to school in January.'"

[pick up jaw from floorboard of car] "HAH! As if!"

"Yeah, I was pretty shocked, too."

Anyway, made sure of the list of stuff I was to find, hung up, shopped, found a few things, checked out, heard something in the line behind me CRASH, looked around and saw a shopping cart turned over on its side, then saw tiny blue jean-clad legs sticking out and the heard wailing of child, concerned parents tilted cart back upright, saw that not only had it been tumped over onto an unruly child, the cart also had a baby seat on the handlebars, completely filled with a baby. Apparently no one was worse for the wear. Got in car, came home.

Walk in and am met in the garage by excited wife and three children, all anxious to let me know SOMEone is in the house. I am underwhelmed.

Manage to get inside the kitchen where I can put stuff down and get the garage door closed, because it was freezing cold outside and I'd been cold all day, walked in, see that the den lights aren't on (although the kitchen and foyer lights are) and am instructed to go meet our visitor.

He is sitting on the couch. Next to my daughter. WAY next to her. And they are holding hands. A red mist descends across my field of vision, and in a towering rage I spring upon him like a rabid jungle cat, and my flying fists, trained in the skills of obscure Asian martial arts, come raining down on him--ta-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa-pocketa!

"Y'all are sitting a bit too close there, aren't you!?" Oldest, Beau #4, and Reba exchange nervous laughter, because they can't quite tell from the tone of my voice if I'm serious or not. Which is how it was intended. "I take it you're Beau #4?" I walked over and extended my hand, wondering if he would do what he was supposed to do.

"Yes, sir."

He stood up and shook my hand.

And looked me in the eye.

Well done, young man.

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you, and--" At this point, several children are hanging over the stair railing in the foyer giggling and trying to simultaneously be seen and hide. "Y'all go on away and leave them along!" I told the two on the couch not to get too lovey-dovey, and made my exit to go get the monkeys upstairs in the bed.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, and Beau #4's dad came and got him around 10:30 or so, and then it was time to fall in the bed.

It was a very long night.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:08 AM | Comments (12)

December 19, 2005

And what would photos be...

...without Volvos!?

Well, they'd be photos, that's what.

Anyway, since I was bringing the camera in with me today to experiment, I figured I might as well get some pictures on the way in to work. Sunday and today were as gloriously bright and sunny as Saturday had been dim and dreary, so it's been a nice little picker-upper to see the sunshine as it is meant to be seen.

This is the first part of the jaunt on I-459 out in Truss Vegas--

A particularly lucky catch this morning was this guy I see every once in a while who drives an old Mercedes 240D. As you recall, this was they type of car I had been interested in to kick off the I Am A Moron Project, and this guy's car in particular is one that made me want one. I just took the photo from the rear, though, because people tend to get weirded out when you pull up beside them and take their picture. I mean, I assume they would...

I hit a particularly good seam of traffic this morning--there is about a ten minute window there where you miss the early and the late traffic. It leaves you with a nice open road ahead

--but if you leave five minutes later than normal, and it's bumper to bumper all the way. Like these poor folks behind me:

Anyway, as I said, it's a very pretty day today.


Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:21 AM | Comments (0)

HEY, COOL!

I just figured out how to download pictures from my digital camera without having to first transfer them to the flash drive at the house!

I had to get some photos off of my boss's camera last week, and unlike the first time I tried to do MY camera, when I plugged his in, it read it as a regular USB device. I just copied them onto the hard drive and that was it.

"Hmm," I thought to myself, "I seem to remember trying that with my camera and it wouldn't work before--they must have fixed something!"

I think things like that because I'm not very bright.

Anyway, I had the photos from Reba's graduation on the camera, so I thought I would bring it in today and see if it would work now. Plugged it up, and I got back the message that I couldn't install new hardware because I didn't have sufficient security rights. I'VE BEEN DISENFRANCHISED! Or something.

Well, that's odd that the other camera would work, but mine won't. Then I remembered that Boss's camera had a setting so it could be read as a USB device--I wonder...yep--boy, am I a nidiot. Right there in the menu. Plugged it all back in and HEY, pichers!

SO, thus starts today's photo essay, which includes the graduation of my wife with her degree in human resources management.

First up, Catherine, who slept in squishy rollers on Friday night so her hair would be curly on Saturday. I don't know why this was important, but she wound up looking like a maniacal Shirley Temple clone.

In stark opposition to her usual torpor in getting ready to go to work or church (or anywhere else, for that matter) Reba was beside herself Saturday morning to get out of the house by 10:30. Because she had to be in Montgomery by 1:15. It's about 100 miles from our house to Mungummy, Interstate all the way, and takes about two hours. If you're particularly slow. Meaning, even if we were particularly slow, we'd still have around 45 minutes to kill before she was even suppose to be there. And 45 minutes more until the ceremony started.

Well, we made it in an hour and a half. Noon. And nothing to do for the next two hours. But, by golly, we were on time for something for once, so who am I to complain!?

We walked her over to the Rotunda and found her room and let the kids pee and all that stuff. Now, only an hour and fifty minutes to kill. So, another few sets of pictures. I took several, but it's hard to get a flattering picture in a black robe--just ask Ruth Bader Ginsburg. I think this one is probably the cutest of the bunch--

After all of those, I figured we might as well go on over to the gymnasium to wait, so the kids and Reba's parents and I walked across the courtyard. Of course, SOMEone wanted to stay with Mommy. Or plunder through the vending machines. So SOMEone was pouty and angry and stomping her little cloven hooves precious feet all across the courtyard. I told her I was going to take her picture if she kept acting like that, so, of course, she kept acting like that.

So I took her picture.

It was an awful gray day--cold, rainy, windy. Yes, she had a coat with her. No, she pitched a fit about wearing it. Whatever.

On into the gym, where we staked out a seat in the bleachers. I didn't realize it at the time, but we actually could have sat down in the chairs on the floor. By the time I DID realize it, they'd already started filling up, and I couldn't get my in-laws and dependents to up stakes and move. So there we sat. Which is why the photos aren't all that great of this part of things.

But, here's one where Miss Reba is about to heist herself up onto stage--

And this is where she gets her sheepskin (no sheep were harmed in the making of this document)--

It was very nice--as with my own graduation, I don't remember the speaker, but I do think he was pretty good. The best thing is that sense of relief once it's all over and done with.

And here's the happy gal at the reception before we left to go out for her celebratory dinner at the Japanese hot burning griddle of death restaurant.

Happy Graduation Day, m'dear!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:06 AM | Comments (11)

Well, that went--

--better? Worse? About the same? as I expected. I have no idea. But I suppose we can count it a positive that no one's in jail or anything, so there's that.

GOOD MORNING!

A very long weekend, parts of which I remember with great clarity. Those I will repress so as not to have to continue to relive them; and the others, which left not so great an impression upon my brain cells I will recount, adding generous portions of made-up stuff to fill in what I don't remember.

In a while, though--I have to get woken up enough to be able to press the keys.

IN THE MEAN TIME--this article from yesterday's Birmingham News offers explanation of my oblique mention last week of my sudden desire to change my drive-time radio preferences. Yes--I got a bit of advance info on the change, but at the time it was still confidential so I couldn't be more specific. It's not quite the same as being able to SEE Miss Wendy, but that's what publicity photos are for, I suppose.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:26 AM | Comments (5)

December 16, 2005

Good grief, where has the day gone!?

Nearly 3:00 o'clock, and I haven't hit a lick at a snake all day.

Almost time for the weekend, which promises to be full of stuff, most important of which will be our trip down to Montgomery tomorrow to see Reba pick up her diploma. It's been quite a ride and I am very proud of her. I promise to take pictures.

As for other stuff, I would dearly love to be able to get some sleep. We've been up late all week, either with doing stuff for the kids, or supervising the kids as they do their homework that should have already been done, or making class Non-Specific Celebratory Season party foods or trinkets, or going shopping for things for Santa to give out. I'm worn out, which explains at least a part of why Possumblog has had something of a drowsy (and misspelly) quality to it the last few weeks. I realize it would be much more entertaining if I had that manic, punch-drunk quality going on like I have in the springtime when the sap's rising along with the skirt hems, but it's just been difficult to get quite as slaphappy with the shorter days and even shorter periods of restful sleep. And, of course, the lack of rising sap.

Anyway, I intend to make the best of things this tiring weekend, and promise not to go to sleep while driving. Much. NONE! None at all. At least while anyone else is in the car.

OH, by the way, I did a quick update on Francesca over on her blog--she's doing okay, although as predicted, in a pretty fair tub of hurt at the moment, so do please remember her. AND, in another bit of good news, it looks like our old pal Charles Austin is cranking the ol' "Scourging of Richie the C." machine back up again (along with buying a whole company--and I thought I had a Moron Project going!) Good for him! And you!

SO, all of you have a good weekend, and if I am sufficiently awake come Monday, I figure I'll tell you what all happens.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:13 PM | Comments (4)

December 14, 2005

Just heard outside my door...

"...yeah, it was real good--I saw that Truman Capote Christmas thing. It was touching."

I'll wager so.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:30 PM | Comments (0)

Annnd, good morning!

Back now from the Bundle O'Joy meeting, with one bit of advice from a very wise man named Winston Churchill. When he was a young man in Parliament in 1913, he responded to a critic by saying, "If I valued the honorable gentleman's opinion, I might get angry."

I concur wholeheartedly.

Now then, I have stuff to type, and some woman to meet with at 10:00, and later on I get to have lunch with Pam the Liberal. YAY!

AND, in more serious news, please remember that our good friend Francesca the Yorkie Lady is undergoing surgery at the moment. All of our thoughts and prayers for her and her family at this time.

So now, off to do stuff for a while.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:53 AM | Comments (0)

December 13, 2005

Oh, that wasn't so bad.

At least the meeting part. It went quickly, and no one was impolite.

There was, however, the most odd odor in the outer office--the overpowering smell of cooking onions, with a faint undertone of dog poo.

ANYway, tomorrow you will be spared such mental ima--hmm. Well, not image, since it's not a picture. Mental smellages--yes, that's better. You'll be spared that on the morrow as I have my regular bureaucratic fun day away from the office until later on in the morning.

And THEN I'll come in and do all sorts of puttering about and await news from Miss Francesca on her surgery. She has designated me as the keeper of Yorkie Blog until she's back at it, and so when I hear something from Nick the Gyrene about her condition, I'll post it here and there.

SO, anyway, all of you have a good evening, and I'll see you tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:13 PM | Comments (0)

And now?

Yet another meeting. I promise to restrain myself should anyone speak out of turn.

Of course, your definition of restraint and mine might differ slightly...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:49 PM | Comments (0)

HAIR!

I was going to do a whole riff on the lyrics to "Hair" in honor of my haircut last evening, but let's face it, that song's right up there with Dickey Lee's "Rocky" as one of most idiotic songs ever.

Anyway, I HAVE A NEW HAIRCUT! Yay. Of course, it being so short, and the air being so staticky, it's all standing out like I've grabbed a van de Graf generator.

Shop talk consisted of Miss Alisha fretting about the possibility her cousin might actually consider going to Auburn to play football, which, obviously, would be devastating for the whole family. I laughed my wicked evil laugh, but you know, I probably should have waited until after the haircut.

Also, there was chatter amongst the girls of some woman who recently came into the shop with her pet chihuahua.

And had it stuffed down inside her shirt.

But not in a pocket.

Nope, right there dead center in her cleavage.

I commented that such a cargo would seem, at least upon initial supposition, to be an awfully uncomfortable load. (Especially given how irritable and scratchy and bitey the nasty little things can be. Chihuahuas. Not the chihuahua holders.) "Did she at least take it out while you cut her hair?!"

"Yeah, she did do that."

"I guess it could have been worse, then."

Alisha grimmaced and said quietly, "Well, she still smelled like a chihuahua."

Which I can safely say no one has ever accused me of smelling like.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:35 AM | Comments (3)

Growing up.

Over the weekend, I was putting up some clothes in Catherine and Rebecca's bedroom, and Cat was in there playing with some of her vast zoo of stuffed animals.

"I'm gonna call this one Alexandra," she said. She was holding some sort of squishy thing, and I wasn't really paying attention to what it was.

"Mm. That's a pretty name. Here, put these in your drawer."

"I named her that because I've decided not to call them things like Kacy and Kelli and...and those types of names anymore. I'm gonna call them regular names."

Now, for the past eight years of her life, she's seemed to be stuck on a default of naming most things something with a hard-K sound on the front end--I don't really know why, other than it's kinda cute and I suppose it was easy to say. Even if an animal or doll changed names later on, it usually started out with a K name of some sort. Kristy, Katie, Kelly, Keekee, Kitty (a favorite)--but now, it seems she wants to change that.

"No more K names!? Why'd you decide to do that, Squirt?"

"Mmm, I don't know--just because I got tired of it, I guess."

It all goes by so fast.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:24 AM | Comments (2)

December 12, 2005

Well--

--one reason is that I stayed up until after midnight:30 last night.

Why?

Well, it seems that Rebecca had a project due for school--cutting out a felt Christmas tree decoration, writing a little poem to stick on the back, and putting various bits of sparkly glue on the front.

And also, Ashley had to bring some sort of homemade food item to school to demonstrate...something. I'm still unclear on the reason, but she had to bring the food, and how it was made, and explain how it was made.

And also, Jonathan had to demonstrate a similar food-prep/measurements type thing for bonus points in math class.

Which would have all been done much earlier had someone decided it was worth keeping an eye on the time budget. But I dare not say who that would be.

But when you leave church after evening worship, and you make your husband stop at Wal-Mart on the way home to pick up a) some premade pastry dough, b) some apple pie filling, and c) some green felt, and you spend OVER AN HOUR getting all this stuff (and, of course, more useless junk that was more or less like flushing money down the toilet), and then you get home and eat supper, and then get the kids out of their church clothes, well, it just sorta eats up a lot of time, there.

ADD TO THIS, the insistence of a certain child in doing EVERYTHING else EXCEPT cutting out a piece of green felt, or writing a poem, and the insistence of a certain other child and her mother of making tiny baked apple turnovers in the slowest, most labor-intensive manner possible, and, well, it just turns out that everyone goes to bed late. Except for Tiny Girl and Boy, who went on to bed--way past their bedtimes--but still earlier than everyone else.

Oh, how I wanted to go to bed. But I knew that if I did, I would suffer what the lawyers call "loss of affection." For a time longer than I was willing to endure. And I dared not offer any suggestions on the cooking end of things that might have been construed as a lack of confidence in ANYone's abilities. No, heaven forbid we get things done quickly and cleanly, when it's much harder to do it the slow and messy way! Silly me!

So, I read the paper. I checked my e-mail. I glued decorations on a felt Christmas tree. I gathered up dirty plates and stuff and put them in the sink. And watched the numbers on the clock change and get way up in the high 12s.

Result?

Well, the tree is cut out, pasted onto a piece of stiff construction paper, dotted with dots of colorful glitter glue and festooned with shiny wavy rickrack, and a lovely poem is glued to the back.

Approximately 15,000,023 tiny baked apple turnovers have been made and sealed into buckets to take to classes, along with a written recipe for Boy to take with him, and samples of the various implements and ingredients used for Oldest to perform her demonstration.

And I have this lovely set of indentations in my forehead from resting it on the keyboard.

And THAT was just the stuff we did Sunday night after church--BEFORE THAT, there was ANOTHER trip to the grocery store, and a trip to Wal-Mart, and to the Chinese buffet (which has caused my internal tubing to suddenly be overcome with spasms not unlike those performed in the initial steps in preparing chitlins for cooking) and a trip across the county for Bible Bowl, and a stop at the cemetary where, in one of those odd coincidences, both my father and Reba's first husband are buried, and before all THAT was morning services, and before that Bible school, where I had to sub for Boy and Middle Girl's teacher, and didn't realize we had something like two or three other folks who were running late, causing everyone to rush around in a tizzy AND a panic AND to get their panties in a wad AND get them simultaneously wrapped around an axle. Such a mess! I tell you what, there's just sometimes when you wish that jawbones of donkeys were a bit more easily come by.

And THAT was just SUNDAY.

SATURDAY, Reba had to go to work, so I stayed home and washed clothes all day. What I really wanted was for her to get back at a decent time so I could go play in the junkyard. See, one of the tiny plastic clips that holds the end of the driver's side sun visor had ::snapped:: off one morning several weeks back, and it's bothered me ever since that the end of the visor was adrift. So I wanted to go get another one to fix it (new ones costing the equivalent of a pile of gold, frankincense, myrrh, and a new Escalade).

But I couldn't go until I had some relief. I had at first thought I could get Grandmom to watch them, but I figured Wife would be home around lunchtime.

She got home at 3:30. Which is 2.5 hours before Pull-A-Part closes, and approximately 1.6 hours before sundown. Ever try to pull junk car parts in the dark? Well, me neither, but I really didn't want to find out about it.

Needless to say, Reba, who had not seen me all day, wanted to discuss her day's travails. None of which included being at home with a 15 year old daughter with the emotional maturity of someone a full one-third of that age. Sleeps until 10, then wonders where her breakfast is. And from there the rest was rather downhillish.

SO, we swapped notes as I tried my best to get out of the house without seeming THAT eager to run away. Junkyard, paid my dollar, started the process of trying to find unbroken visor clips. Wound up with three, probably could have found more except, well, you know, dark. Also picked up two headrest pads that I don't need, and a power antenna that I'm not sure works! All for the mighty sum of 8 bucks.

Back home by 5:30, changed out the clip, finished debriefing with Miss Reba on the events of the day, and then just as soon as that was done, she and Oldest were off to meet Beau #4 (of Oldest, not of Wife) at the movie house to watch The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. He's been very much more solicitous of late, for some reason, and had no problems at all with Mom coming along as a chaperone. I suppose he wouldn't have minded if the whole crew had come along, but, well, you know--there was still a pile of laundry to get done, and we all had to get up early the next morning to go to church. And, four of us were able to do that. Two, however, were very sleep from the previous night's date, making us late for church.

Friday? Well, I have a vague recollection of getting Boy's hair cut--since Miss Alisha wasn't there, I skipped it, but thankfully, Catherine was able to remind everyone in the shop that I she thought I was going to get my hair cut, too. "Uh, no, sugar, not tonight."

"BUT I THOUGHT YOU WERE! You SAID you were!"

"Not. Tonight. Sweetheart."

It can wait--I could tell no one in the shop was in the mood to cut hair, and I didn't want the same thing to happen as last time when I didn't get Alisha, in which a very VERY large older woman continually rubbed her parts and pieces all over me. ::shudder::

ANYway, it sure was a long weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:12 AM | Comments (0)

Please, forgive my snoring.

And that loud thump my head makes when it hits the desk. And that heavy thud when I hit the floor like a sack of wet cement. And please, mind that puddle of drool by my mouth.

I'll be awake soon enough--just let me lie there for a while. I'm sure I'll wake up soon. You know what's weird? When you have a dream that you're typing an entry for your blog while you're asleep, that's what. It's all so very realistic! Well, except for Janet Reno lounging around in a sheer body stocking--that's kinda gross.

Anyway, when I wake up, I think I'll do a real post that will discuss everything I did this weekend. None of which included any sleep.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:10 AM | Comments (2)

December 09, 2005

You know what?

It's almost the weekend! That's a very, VERY good thing, because I need to be more jolly, and the weekend is the perfect time to make yourself jolly with all sorts of fun things like laundry and dishwashing and housecleaning! Whee.

ANYway, all of you have a great weekend, and I'll see you bright and early Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:49 PM | Comments (0)

December 07, 2005

A bit lighter fare.

As I mentioned Monday, we went to the Christmas parade Saturday, and I took a billion photos of it. Luckily for you, you will only be forced to see a small sampling!

They're down below in the extended entry, but one word of caution--most are taken from an ant's perspective. I figured there was absolutely no reason to stand up when I could sit down.

Anyway...


Well, before we even get to the parade, I figured you might want to see Catherine's wonderful decorating job she did on the Christmas tree

Here she is
and here is the tree

Actually, she didn't do all of that--she tended to concentrate her efforts on the lower two rows of branches.

AND, before we get to the parade, there was the beginner band concert!

AND, before they played, we had to wait! Which created no small amount of discomfort for Tiny Terror, who decided she didn't like having to wait. And so she got a talking-to.

Here are all the band members on stage, finally--

And where is Boy, you ask? Way in the back. I tried my best to zoom in on him, but none of those pictures are light enough to see. Next best thing? Zoom in on that picture above. I think that's his little head floating there above those two girls in the foreground of this picture--

HEY! There's the little stinker!

NOW THEN--on to the parade. In a minute. We have to wait first. Here are the girls, waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

WAIT NO MORE! It's the fire truck!


and the marching band!

and the cheerleaders High-steppers! (sorry)

and Boy in his hat!

and canine humiliation!


and dune buggy Shriners!

and hillbilly Shriners!

and much consternation!

and karate do!

and famous celebrities!

and beauty queens!

and despite her very best efforts to avoid having her photograph made, Oldest goes elfin'!

She wouldn't look our way when we were over on the start of the parade route, so we had to walk across the mall to the end to be able to snap that one. You can run, but you can't hide, you know.

SO, there was your parade!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:22 AM | Comments (12)

December 06, 2005

Oh, by the way...

...I am still clogged with dumb old work to do. It would help if I would actually do it, rather than trying to figure out ways to stall.

But, your patience will be rewarded, I promise! Although "rewarded" might be a bit too strong...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:39 AM | Comments (4)

Apparently...

...someone had their chair leg on top of the Internet hose and choked off all outside communication. I hate it when that happens. Even worse is when I really don't have anything to say, but feel compelled to post at least a little something so no one will think I got hit by a bus.

Oh, and by the way, I don't know how you Yankees and High Plains and Rocky Mountain dwellers live up there in all that cold weather mess. I went outside this morning and all the doors and locks on both of the cars were frozen shut. Luckily, the sides facing the sunrise were a bit less frozen, and I was able to get the key in and turned enough to be able to get in and crank them up.

So, anyway, no, I wasn't hit by a bus.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:41 AM | Comments (7)

December 05, 2005

Quickie Recap!

Friday--
Plug wires: purchased
Supper: cooked
Laundry: started

Saturday--Wife: awoken at 5:30 a.m. to go in to work to complete tasks left over from Friday
Laundry: continuing
Children: awoken and told to dress so we can get Boy to school for concert
Iron: gotten out along with ironing board to iron a shirt and pair of pants that just came out of the dryer so Boy will look presentable for his debut
Phone: keeps ringing with calls from wife who is 1) about to leave, 2) now leaving, 3) getting on Interstate, 4) miffed that I seem distracted by need to iron clothing and get kids fed before getting Boy to band concert, 5) running over a piece of metal in the road, 6) promising to meet us at school.
Children: Mostly dressed, except for Oldest, who is piled up in bed watching television, even though it is nearly time to leave
Ironing: finished, tell everone we need to leave so we can run go get some breakfast before concert so no one will be whining and dying of starvation
Oldest: asks if she has time to take a shower as I am getting children out the door, is told only if she wants to skip breakfast.
Breakfast: discretion, valor, etc., we all are in car and headed toward McDoodies for slop, pay, pull out to go to school
Cell phone: rings, wife on line to say she's in Trussville, asks if her husband bought her breakfast
Heavy sigh: done
Second breakfast stop: Sonic for a BLT, then on to high school
High school: park, have Oldest escort Boy to band room
Cell phone: rings, wife wants to know if we're at school yet. Yes.
Wife arrives: eats, thankfully does not shoot and leave
Concert: beginner band, lots of slow oompah-type music, but overall very, very good considering three months before no one knew how to play an instrument.
Percussion: finest little bell player in the world has a solo on one number and nails it
High school percussion: these guys are GOOD. Wrapped up the day's events with a few minutes of high-impact thunder. Wow.
Home: install plug wires, test drive car, seems much better, go to dollar store to buy candy to decorate tables at church building, keep encountering woman with large bosom
Laundry: continuing
Christmas parade prelude: load everyone back up and head out to designated area, which is jam packed with people two hours before the thing is supposed to start, wind around through blocked streets to finally get to end of parade route where Oldest is supposed to be, dump her and Wife and Boy and turn around and go back to try to find parking spot, manage to find one behind the library at the park, park, go to library for Middle Girl and Tiny Girl to pee, they come back out and then I have to go, and by this time it's not just a Number 1 stop but the other, finish, then try to grab a minute to check on Ebay purchases, am busted by Middle Girl, who was sent in by Wife to see what was taking so long, log off (so to speak), then we all walk back down to the mall area in front of the middle school.
Christmas parade: small town Christmas parade at its finest--fire trucks, band, local judges, gymnastics teams, dog training school, Shriners, hardware store float, various martial arts, cheerleading, and dance academies, Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, Cub Scouts, beauty queens, pizza joint cars, fire trucks, Hillbilly Shriners, and SANTA!
Home: drop off everyone, get Rebecca back, call guy who's supposed to ride with me, go pick him up to go to the church building to set up tables
Church: arrive and four other folks already hard at work, set up tables, chairs, cover tables with paper, sprinkle candy around, run out of candy, go to dollar store and buy another bag, come back, finish, and leave
Home: attempt to download digital photos, so many that the camera keeps crapping out before they all get transferred, swear silently
Laundry: continuing

Sunday--
Church: make sure food is in place, have to go get a few more diet drinks from the dollar store
Worship: sleepy, very sleepy
Lunch: very nice, and we have enough folks serving and cleaning up so that no one complains (it was our group's turn to do all the setting up and stuff, thus all the previous night's decorating and grunting)
Home: attempt to fix camera shortcomings by transferring all older pictures to CD, then deleting the previous 400 pictures, don't get finished by the time it's time to leave and go back to church for round of afternoon meetings
Church: my meeting starts later, so I take drawings for new addition and start marking them up, people keep stopping and talking, thus making certain I don't get anything done, my meeting finally rolls around, meet, discuss, finish with three minutes to spare
Worship: sleepy, very sleepy, but thankfully was able to get someone else to lead singing in my place--ears clogged with concrete don't allow proper pitch to be used and don't want to drive anyone away
Home: supper of leftovers from lunch, then finally fix camera problem--I have all sorts of pictures of Christmas parade. But they're still at home. Forgot all about bringing them this morning.

Monday--
Work: must do much today to keep up with flow, blogging probably going to take a hit, offer apologies for lack of content

OH! And the laundry? Finished.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:04 AM | Comments (8)

December 02, 2005

The Weekend?

Oh, silly person--you don't know the half of what's in store for me!

Mainly because I haven't said.

Allow me to remedy that--Christmas middle school band concert, requiring Boy to be at school by 10:30 tomorrow. Christmas parade following the concert, requiring Boy and Oldest to be somewhere in town at a staging area by around 1:00 p.m. Saturday, for a parade that doesn't start until 3:00. With Oldest wearing an elf costume. After that, pick up a guy I go to church with (who also has a kid in the parade) and go over to the church building to set up tables for our Christmas dinner on Sunday afternoon. Which will then be followed by cleanup, then by innumerable meetings for the kids, and one big one for me.

In amongst all this joyful seasonal merrymaking, someone will have to do laundry AND someone will have to clean house AND someone will have to finish putting up Christmas decorations AND someone will have to install a new set of plug wires on Reba's Focus, which has been feeling poorly lately. And speaking of feeling poorly, Middle Girl seems to have come down with an indistinct respiratory malady that causes her to mope around and have occasional flashes of fever.

Add all that together, and it sounds like I won't be begging for dreamy sleep so much as a swift blow to the head with a hammer.

SO, here's to hammers!

BUT WAIT--THERE'S MORE!!


Speaking of hammers and car repair, Larry Anderson just sent me the following little bit of information for those of you who want to be more knowledgeable about such things:

Common Tools and their Uses:

DRILL PRESS: A tall upright machine useful for suddenly snatching flat metal bar stock out of your hands so that it smacks you in the chest and flings your beer across the room, splattering it against that freshly painted airplane part you were drying.

WIRE WHEEL: Cleans paint off bolts and then throws them somewhere under the workbench with the speed of light. Also removes fingerprint whorls and hard-earned guitar calluses in about the time it takes you to say, "Ouch...."

ELECTRIC HAND DRILL: Normally used for spinning pop rivets in their holes until you die of old age.

PLIERS: Used to round off bolt heads.

VISE-GRIPS: Also used to round off bolt heads. They can also be used to transfer intense welding heat to the palm of your hand.

HACKSAW: One of a family of cutting tools which transforms human energy into a crooked, unpredictable motion, and the more you attempt to influence its course, the more dismal your future becomes.

AVIATION METAL SNIPS: See hacksaw.

OXYACETYLENE TORCH: Used almost entirely for lighting various flammable objects in your shop on fire. Also handy for igniting the grease inside the wheel hub you want the bearing race out of.

HYDRAULIC FLOOR JACK: Used for re-raising an automobile after you have installed your new disk brake pads, trapping the bumper jack and handle firmly under the bumper.

DOUGLAS FIR 2X4, eight-foot long: Used for levering an automobile upward off a hydraulic jack hopelessly wedged under the automobile.

PHONE: Tool for calling your neighbors to see if he has another hydraulic floor jack.

GASKET SCRAPER: Theoretically useful as a sandwich tool for spreading mayonnaise, but used mainly for getting dog crap off your boot.

TWEEZERS: A tool for removing wood splinters.

E-Z OUT BOLT AND STUD EXTRACTOR: A tool ten times harder than any known drill bit that snaps off in bolt holes you couldn't use anyway.

TWO-TON ENGINE HOIST: A tool for testing the tensile strength of the bolts you forgot to disconnect between the engine and frame.

CRAFTSMAN 1/2 x 16-INCH SCREWDRIVER: A large pry bar that inexplicably has an accurately machined screwdriver tip on the end opposite the handle.

TROUBLE LIGHT: The home mechanic's own tanning booth. Sometimes called a drop light, it is a good source of vitamin D, "the sunshine vitamin," which is not otherwise found under cars at night. Health benefits aside, its main purpose is to consume 100-watt light bulbs at about the same rate that 105-mm howitzer shells were used during the Battle of the Bulge. More often dark than light, its name is somewhat misleading.

PHILLIPS SCREWDRIVER: Normally used to stab the lids of old-style paper-and-tin oil cans and splash oil on your shirt; but can also be used, as the name implies, to strip out Phillips screw heads.

AIR COMPRESSOR: A machine that takes energy produced in a coal-burning power plant 200 miles away and transforms it into compressed air that travels by hose to a Chicago Pneumatic impact wrench that grips rusty bolts last over tightened 58 years ago by someone at General Motors, and neatly rounds off their heads.

PRY BAR: A tool used to crumple the metal surrounding that clip or bracket you needed to remove in order to replace a 50� part.

HOSE CUTTER: A tool used to cut hoses too short.

HAMMER: Originally employed as a weapon of war, the hammer nowadays is used as a kind of divining rod to locate the most expensive parts not far from the object we are trying to hit.

MECHANIC'S KNIFE: Used to open and slice through the contents of cardboard cartons delivered to your front door; works particularly well on contents such as seats, vinyl records, liquids in plastic bottles, collector magazines, refund checks, and rubber or plastic parts.

FLYING TOOL: Any handy tool that you grab and throw across the shop while yelling "dammit" at the top of your lungs. It is also the next tool that you will need.

EXPLETIVE: A balm or salve, usually applied verbally in hindsight, which somehow eases those pains and indignities following our lack of foresight.

Now then, all of you have a fun and safe weekend!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:40 PM | Comments (4)

A Toast

::sigh::

He just put it in and left it again.

I can't bear to tear up the toaster since I helped pay for it.

I don't really want to make a nasty rude sign because he's an old man and I try to be respectful of old coots like him, even if he is a hard-shell Democrat.

I thought about unplugging it, but other people use it, too, and they seem to be smart enough to figure out the magical thing we call electricity.

So, when I smelled the tell-tale whiffs of scorching bread, I went out there and turned it off. And pulled the door open so it would get the bread away from the still hot toaster element. It still got a bit too black, though, and the smell is still hanging around from yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that.

He just now came back (after many, MANY minutes) and didn't seem to think it odd that the door of the oven was open, nor that his toast wasn't in flames. He has this odd under-his-breath mumble that he does all the time, and he just mumbled "oh toast hm toast huh good," then he got it and walked off. Apparently in his world, toaster ovens open themselves and allow toast to escape, or the toast itself pressed against the door with sufficient force to open it.

In any case, being unwilling to make an ass out of myself over something as stupid as toast, I have now backed myself into the corner of being the official toaster oven watcher. And, apparently, official toast blogger.

My life is complete.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:28 AM | Comments (2)

My Body, My Friend

You know, sometimes dreams turn out really, really good.

I'm just saying.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:10 AM | Comments (4)

December 01, 2005

My Body, My Enemy

I seem to have pulled a muscle--quite possibly the adductor magnus in my right thigh. Every time I try to lift my leg, as one needs to do in order to accomplish tasks such as walking up steps, there is a very sharp pain in the front of my hip joint. It's done this for the past two days, and I frankly cannot recall doing ANYthing that might have caused any of my muscles to have been moved, let alone pulled in such a way to create such discomfort.

Although, there WAS that time on Tuesday when I got up quickly from my desk to go to the restroom.

Well, I guess this means it's time to get myself one of those portable toilet chairs.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:17 PM | Comments (2)

Remember the guy?

The guy I mentioned before who always burns his toast? Every day? Because he can't quite seem to grasp the idea of time and temperature? And he turns the toaster oven that sits on the small table outside my office on full power and then leaves for five minutes while the bread burns to a crisp? Every day? Him?

Well, he just did it again, and you know, he's gotten on my last nerve.

Time for a mean-spirited sign on the toaster oven denigrating those who burn their toast as buffoons of the highest order, and suggesting that if the toastor cannot bear to stand watch over the toaster for the minute that it takes to properly brown a single slice of bread, then maybe the person perfoming the toastflagration should buy his own derned toaster and keep it in his office where he's the only one who has to put up with the stench of carbonized flour.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:57 AM | Comments (14)

November 30, 2005

A joy and relief comparable only to that of no longer having to buy baby diapers.

Last night, I found out that both Rebecca and Ashley had papers that needed to be typed. Obviously, they had to be typed and turned in today. Up until now, this would have meant that I was typing this entry with possibly only four hours of sleep the previous night. HOWEVER, such is not the case.

I made them do their own stinkin' papers.

Now for Middle Girl, this isn't that big of a deal now, since she had the good sense to sign up for typing at the middle school. She's comfortable working on a computer now, and has tolerable speed and accuracy, and knows how to format and all that stuff. Hers took a while, even though it was only a few pages, but I'm pretty confident she did okay. The only problem she had was understanding that she DID have to type it last night, because it's due tomorrow, and we have church tonight, and there's no time left to type. She finally figured that out, though.

For Oldest, a somewhat different story, in that she refuses to believe that she cannot type, even though she's never had a class. She also seems to think she knows everything about computers. Fine. Fair enough. Go type it yourself.

Approximately 30 seconds later, "DAAAAAAD!!"

::sigh::

"I CAN'T GET IT TO CENTER ON THE PAGE! IT WON'T! GO! DOWN! THE! PAGE!"

She'd typed her name and the title of the paper, and was trying to use the down arrow key to make it go down the page. I showed her the enter key. "BUT IT WON'T GO DOWN THE PAGE!" Yes, it will. Look. See? Down the page. See?

Obviously she couldn't admit she didn't know how to work the thing, so she switched to complaining that the print preview view of things didn't look right. "It is, sugar. Just type. And remember to save it every few minutes. You don't want to have to type it all over again." (See--I preach a good sermon on salvation! Just because I won't heed my own advice, well...)

Five minutes later--"DAAAAAAD!!"

::sigh:: All this time, I am trying to simultaneously a) get Cat in the tub, b) read her a story while she bathes, c) help fix supper, d) help Rebecca with a math problem, and e) answer Boy's unceasing list of questions about items of concern only to him.

"Yes?"

"IT WON'T! DO! ROMAN! NUMERALS!"

"Okay, hold on." At this point I was mostly involved with items a) and b), so I had to make sure Cat wasn't going to go wandering off around the house nekkid and dripping bathwater, so after I had her suitably tasked, I went downstairs to find that Mom and Rebecca had made the mistake of trying to help Oldest, which only resulted in turmoil.

"Okay. Paragraph. Bullets and Numbering. Hmm."

She was on the downstairs computer, which only has an old version of Works. No quick way to Romanumeralize lists. "Okay, well, just type in an I. and tab over. Simple."

After that, she was on her own.

Took her forever, but she finally did finish up around 11:30 last night and brought it upstairs to print on my printer. She went on off to take her shower before bed and I opened up her file.

"SIMLARTIES BETWEN..."

::sigh:: Apparently the idea that her spelling might be wrong never occurred to her, thus negating the need for running spell check. Did that. Then, the outline--what a mess. Fixed that, and used tabs as I has originally shown her, rather than her use of four, five, six, or seven space bar hits. And this was for each heading--none of them had the same number of spaces. Then on to the body--all single space, which I thought was odd, considering every other paper she seems obsessed with making sure I double spaced it. "Hey, did you need this double spaced?"

"Uhh--I guess. I suppose so."

Double space. Then fixed the citation page, again a mess of untabbed indents. Save, print. The only thing I didn't correct was syntax and grammar, or her specious reasoning--I figure her teacher should bear some of this burden along with me.

All in all, though, much more pleasant than it would have been had I been called upon to do all the typing.

Two down, two to go.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:33 PM | Comments (2)

November 29, 2005

What's worse than a Possumblog filled with meaningless tripe?

A Possumblog with NO meaningless tripe, or anything else, for that matter! Although some might breathe a sigh of relief at the sudden stoppage of fooferall around here, there are probably some hearty souls who will no doubt be in great anguish that the paying gig will take up a goodly portion of tomorrow morning's prime blogging time.

I would like to thank all both of you for your votes of confidence in the vapidity and irrelevance of Possumblog, and I intend to reward your patronage with photos of my recent trip to Lester Ferguson's Museum of Nostril-Hair Paintbrushes!

But, only after I get back into work tomorrow, so stay tuned!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:16 PM | Comments (2)

Don't Call.

I was just informed that I am going to have to sit at the front desk and answer the phone for the next two hours, since both of our secretaries are off today, and there seems to be no one in charge of making sure we have a secretary on duty. So we have to take turns doing it. Not really a hard job, but you'd think that people tasked with city planning would, well, you know, do a bit more planning.

Anyway, no new Possumblog for a while. And as I said, please don't call and make me have to answer the phone.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:37 AM | Comments (3)

November 28, 2005

I will say this...

...buddy, when it rains, it POURS! It's like a monsoon out there. Which will make for quite an enjoyable ride home this afternoon.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:45 PM | Comments (0)

You know what I hate?

Air raid sirens. Well, obviously, now they're called civil defense sirens, or tornado sirens. The ones around here just fired off, meaning that the big line of thunderstorms headed our way has touched off a tornado warning.

No matter what you call them, though, I just hate the sound. It's not a happy sound, and it reminds me of when I was a kid, and the television would go black and then they'd say there was a Special Report. I always just knew the Russians had decided to lob a few our way.

Yep--sure enough--here's the deal:

ALC009-073-282030-
/O.NEW.KBMX.TO.W.0168.051128T1952Z-051128T2030Z/

BULLETIN - EAS ACTIVATION REQUESTED
TORNADO WARNING
NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE BIRMINGHAM AL
152 PM CST MON NOV 28 2005

THE NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE IN BIRMINGHAM HAS ISSUED A

* TORNADO WARNING FOR...
SOUTHWESTERN BLOUNT COUNTY IN CENTRAL ALABAMA
THIS INCLUDES THE AREA OF RICKWOOD CAVERNS
NORTH CENTRAL JEFFERSON COUNTY IN CENTRAL ALABAMA
THIS INCLUDES THE AREA OF WARRIOR

* UNTIL 230 PM CST

* AT 148 PM CST...NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE DOPPLER RADAR INDICATED A
SEVERE THUNDERSTORM CAPABLE OF PRODUCING A TORNADO 17 MILES WEST OF
KIMBERLY...OR ABOUT 7 MILES SOUTHEAST OF CORDOVA...MOVING NORTHEAST
AT 65 MPH.

* THE TORNADO IS EXPECTED TO BE NEAR...
8 MILES NORTHWEST OF KIMBERLY BY 200 PM CST
RICKWOOD CAVERNS...SMOKE RISE...WARRIOR AND 7 MILES NORTHWEST OF
TRAFFORD BY 205 PM CST

This isn't close by anyplace my family is, thank goodness. If it's near you, you probably don't need to be reading Possumblog for the next few minutes or so.

UPDATE: 2:35 pm--the blasted things just went off again, and there's no corresponding tornado warning from the NWS. I am about ready to think that someone just likes listening to them.

UPDATE: 2:59 pm--apparently someone was just psychic. The weather service just issued another warning at 2:54. Of course, no sirens this time, I guess since they already sounded them earlier.

UPDATE: 3:15 pm--well, a little closer this time--the warning was reissued at 3:05, and the sirens just now went off. Well--hold on--there was one at 3:14, so this one was right on the money.

Disconcerting part in all this? We're supposed to go to the ground floor when our building coordinator tells us to, but I just found out someone turned off our emergency use only walkie-talkie. ::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:56 PM | Comments (5)

And speaking of paper and the pleasurable waste of time...

Also over the weekend I finally fulfilled my promise to Jonathan to find him some cars made out of paper. We found this site, and printed out one of each, (with two of the Datsun roadsters, and two trailers.)

My favorite is the Datsun 510 in the BRE livery. I did one of those, and a VW microbus in blue and orange (one of the trailers will go with that), and an old-style Mini Cooper for Boy, and a light blue Datsun 1800 for Catherine, who was quite proud of it. Oddest comment concerned the Lincoln Continental, which two of the kids (at separate times) said looked like my Volvo. Then again, they didn't see this one.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:35 AM | Comments (6)

Well, it was bound to happen.

Rebecca brought home some sudoku games last week she'd gotten in math class. She seems to have become quite the whiz at them, meaning over the weekend I had to print some out for her that I found at Websudoku, and meaning that on a couple of them she got stuck and wound up having to ask me to help.

I had resisted the urge up until then, because you know how obsessive I get about stuff like that, but doggone it, she lured me into playing along by using the "sweet child" ploy, and so I had to see if I could do it, and I can, and I found it oddly fun and relaxing, and so now I'll probably spend way too much time doing that instead of substantive things like searching Ebay for old Volvo parts.

I wound up getting her three books of puzzles for Christmas--at least that way I won't use up all my printer ink.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:26 AM | Comments (2)

Downside of holidays?

There is something important I am supposed to do, or was supposed to remember to do, when I got to work today, and I can't for the life of me remember what it was.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:42 AM | Comments (0)

Well, it's pointless to try.

Then again, I've never been fond of being forced to make a point, so here is the entire list of things I did this past weekend.

Went to Reba's mom and dad's for Thanksgiving with all of Reba's mom's relatives. There were close to 60 people there. I spend most of the time hiding in the basement watching Cartoon Network. Good food, though--all these folks can cook, and they all brought enough to choke a mastadon. And Reba has some fine-looking cousins, too. Probably best I stayed in the basement with the kids.

Friday, Reba had to go back to work, and I stayed home with the kids. We didn't do a thing except vegetate. I do wish they'd allowed me to sleep a bit later.

Saturday, the traditional assembly of the lifelike plastic and metal Yule tree. Cat helped this year, and was actually helpful. She seemed to like bending all the little branch tips out. Then there were the lights. We've had several strands for years that were nothing more than glorified bulb storage strings, being that they had one or another electrical maladies that prevented them from working. I finally pulled the bulbs and discarded the wires. Then it was time to shop. Took Boy and Cat with me to get them some new shoes, then went by myself to get some presents for the other kids (Reba being at home wrapping presents and not really in a mood to shop. Thankfully.)

Oddest thing? As I was leaving Target, I saw a Toyota Sienna minivan with Hawai'i license plates.

That's one long drive just to shop at the Trussville Target.

Anyway, still have some other things to get for Reba from the kids and me.

Sunday, church, then lunch, then to Party City to buy an elf costume. Do not ask why, because I promise you I cannot answer without ranting. And no, it won't be fun. Unlike the drive back to the house, which was quite fun because I saw the biggest flock of turkey vultures I have ever seen!

Must have been over twenty of them--which might not sound like a lot, but when you get twenty of something together that are the size of a cow flying around, it's pretty danged impressive! I don't know what they'd found out in the woods, but whatever it was, it must have been one big ol' dead thing to draw a crowd like that. Maybe it was a mastadon that had choked. (By the way, this article is how I know what kind they were.)

Back to church early so the girls could have a teen get-together with ice cream, during which time I went and took Boy and Cat to Wal-mart so we could do some more shopping for Mommy. They both decided she needed more stuffed animals. ::sigh::

Then back to church, then back home, then some supper, and then to bed, and now I'm here, and I'd like nothing better than to take a nice, long nap.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:12 AM | Comments (6)

Well, now--

THAT was a long weekend! I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving--I know I did. At least, I think I did. It's really all one big blur of intense activity and equally intense torpor. About which, more, as the day goes on.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:33 AM | Comments (0)

November 23, 2005

Okay, I know no one likes to hear about someone else's dreams.

BUT, I had the most disturbing one early this morning.

I had a poster with some kind of landscape scene on it, and for some reason occasional lunch companion Sugarmama had gotten one of the local ABC affiliate's weather guys, John Oldshue, to autograph it for me. And then I went and ruined it by writing on it, "Thank you for getting John Oldshue to autograph this for me, Sugarmama!" and it was all scrawly and ugly, because I was writing it while I was sleepy and propped up in an old iron cot in a tuberculosis sanitarium.

I really must quit eating supper so late.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:40 AM | Comments (4)

November 22, 2005

Flat Tire Tips

I was walking out to my car in the parking deck last night, and noticed as I got closer that there was a car blocking one of the entrance chutes to the big loopy exit helix. People who aren’t familiar with the deck sometimes think they can do that--just get off the down ramp where they want. Nope. Once you’re on it, you’re SUPPOSED to go all the way down. But some people still try it and wind up getting up on the curb or otherwise making a mess. (Worse is when they realize their mistake and try to BACK up the ramp.)

Anyway, there was a woman on up ahead of me going to her car, and I noticed her talking to the person in the car, and then I got a little closer and saw that the person was OUT of her car. A very bad thing, because I could tell the car was probably blocking the exit and it’s a blind loop coming down and some people drive really fast on the helix because it’s like a roller coaster or something.

The other woman got in her car and left and I finally got up to the end of the aisle where I always park. (Saves me from having to remember a different parking place every day.) Anyway, a young lady on the phone, obviously distraught--a damsel in distress! I can do this!

“Do you need some help?”

See, told you I could!

Seems she’d gotten herself a flat tire. “Can it be pushed?”

“I TRIED BUT I COULDN’T! I’VE NEVER HAD A FLAT BEFORE--I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!”

Resisting the urge to ask her to quit typing in all caps, I noticed the back end of the car was indeed sticking out into the path of exit traffic, so I told her I’d push it out of the way for her. Because I’m so stinkin’ nice. “WHAT DO I DO!?”

“Put it in Neutral.”

“OKAY!”

“And release the emergency brake.”

“â€Kay!”

And URRRGGGGFFFFFFFF. Wow. This thing might be small but it’s apparently been glued to the pavement. After much heaving and ho-ing, we started moving, about which time Randy from the comm department came driving up in the department’s van. And she put on the brakes. It was like some kind of slo-mo Roadrunner cartoon with me being Wile E. Coyote, and accordianing myself into the back of the trunk lid. Thankfully, she let off again, and thankfully, Randy parked nearby and got out to assist.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“I’m a’pushing this heeeeeere hmphcar, Randy. She has aarrrrrr-a flat.”

Mr. Smartypants got on the other side and suddenly the car moved a LOT faster. “Dern--you’re STRONG. I’ll let you push it the rest of the way.” And so I quit. Because I’m Mr. Smartypants, too.

After being silly, we both pushed it the rest of the way over to a parking place.

“OOHHHHH, THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANK YOU!” the girl hopped out squealing, and ran back and gave me one of those side-to-side, I-just-won-something hugs. Which was quite awkward, I must say.

“Would you like us to change it?”

“Oh, no--I have a friend coming? And he’s going to change it for me? And like, my dad, OH, he’d be so mad if I drove on it and ruined the rim!? And you guys were so SWEET? I have NO idea what to do! I’ve never had a flat before, you know?”

Well no, but, okeedoke then. Randy walked around to look at the shredded bits of rubber on the rear passenger side, and being curious about the horrible damage, figured I’d look, too.

::sigh::

It was LOW. Going flat, but still with MORE than enough air to have driven the forty feet or so out of the ramp and into a parking spot. I walked on back to my car, and as I drove out of sight, I saw her dragging huge boxes full of junk out of the trunk of her car. I wonder if she was just too embarrassed by the junkiness of her trunkiness to let us in to get the spare tire and jack?

Who knows--ANYWAY--a few tips for anyone with a flat.

1) Move the car out of danger. It does not matter if you ruin the rim. Better that than to be rear-ended by a speeding car. In this case, the girl could have driven safely on down the ramp to the ground floor, but failing that and attempting the exit out the wrong way, at least go ahead and move COMPLETELY out of the way.

2) Learn to change a spare tire. She kept going on and on about not knowing what to do. Just remember, you ain’t Blanche DuBois, and you shouldn’t let yourself get into that situation to where you have to rely upon the kindness of strangers. Because some strangers aren’t avuncular and helpful.

3) Carry a can of spare-tire-in-a-can stuff. Sometimes you might be stuck where you can’t safely change a tire, and just need enough to get back on the road to a place where you can get it fixed or change it. So carry a couple of cans in the trunk along with your other emergency supplies.
4) Carry a cellphone. The one thing she did right was to have a way to contact help.

5) Finally, watch what you’re doing--be aware of where you are and what’s going on and don’t go the wrong way on ramps and stuff. Keep your cool and don’t get your underwear in a wad.

Tips for those HELPING others:

1) Don’t endanger yourself. I could have saved a lot of effort and potential for harm by just going around to the other side of the car BEFORE I started grunting and mooing, and just gotten her to drive it on into a parking spot.

2) If someone has already called for help, it’s probably best to hang around long enough for their help to arrive. I went ahead and left because I felt she was reasonably safe and I did have to get home and pick up the kids from Granny’s house, but it would have been a bit more considerate of me to hang around a while longer.

3) Carry a cellphone. The other person might have forgotten rule number 4 above.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:09 AM | Comments (9)

The Quandary of the Three Day Week

I'm off on Thursday and Friday, so the workweek only has three days in it. If yesterday was Monday, and Wednesday will be like a Friday, does that mean today is more like a Wednesday, since it's the middle of the truncated week, or is it more like a Thursday, since it's the day before make-believe Friday?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:21 AM | Comments (7)

November 21, 2005

Silly old machinery.

I was starting to get myself worked into a lather this afternoon, and all of a sudden the whole works shut down, and it seems the great big pipeline to the outside of the building has had a chair dropped on it or got a hamster in it or something. And now my all I can do is sit here and type this, and wonder when the lifeline will get hooked back up.

Well, maybe not--now it’s back and screaming along as usual. Probably one of those deals like you have with those low-flow toilets that keep backing up. I guess someone found the plunger.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:59 PM | Comments (0)

Windy, rainy, chilly.

Icky. Drippy sloppy, sloshy. Nippy cloudy blowy sneezy. Gloppy watery messy? Bloggy.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:48 PM | Comments (4)

The Recap

Friday: Picked up the kids from Grandmom's and took us all over to Wally World to select a gift for the birthday kid for the party on Saturday, and also tried to take my mind off Reba and the girls' northward excursion. Found a TechDeck dude with accessories, and also got a gift bag and card. And milk. And looked both high and low for one of those little tiny handheld televisions, just in case I needed one. Sadly, none to be found--I assume this is because of the upcoming switch to HDTV or something. I don't know. Leaving there, we decided (this being the royal "we") to swing by Kmart to look there for something--of course, they had NOTHING of interest. So, on to Marconi Hut (not the real name, according to certain aardvarks) and they didn't have anything either. Although I will say if you are an attractive single woman feigning trouble with cell phone reception, you get a LOT better customer service than some old portly dude with two kids.

Gave up on that quest and decided I would be fine with my portable radio. On to home, started "supper." I don't know how they manage it, but my kids absolutely LOVE ramen noodle soup. I had so much of that in college I swore I'd never eat another bite of it after I got out, but the kids just can't seem to get enough. So, we had ramen noodle soup. Yes, I did, too. It's actually not too bad. Heard from Reba while I was cooking it up--they'd made it, although her phobia of crossing bridges kicked in with a hearty gusto. Big long George Houston bridge over Lake Guntersville, in the dark, her driving--she had a panic attack and wasn't certain she was going to be able to make it across. Of course, being REQUIRED to make it across tends to make it a bit harder to give up, so they did make it, and made it to the camp with no further drama.

To bed, then, where I tossed and turned all night.

Saturday: Up early. Not because I wanted to be. Despite my inability to sleep well due to the absence of my better half, the children, although I'm sure pining for their siblings and mother, still managed to overcome their misery through the paliative of the television, turned up loud, and through the time-honored implementation of rough-housing.

I tried my best to sleep through all this stuff, but really just couldn't. Besides, the snot fairy had come in the middle of the night and blessed me with sinuses and upper lungal tubes full of the tenaciously sticky stuff they use to glue perfume samples into magazines.

Dressed, then undressed and decided to take a shower, dried off, dressed, shaved, brushed, and started breakfast and a load of laundry. Fed the kids, did a minor repair on the Volvo (dashboard screw-tightening) and got them dressed for the party. BUT FIRST--a trip to Wal-Mart. Why? WHY NOT! Yippee!!

Actually, Reba had gone to the store before she left, and had bought Cat a couple of pairs of jeans. Without taking her along. Meaning, of course, they didn't fit. I didn't know this until Saturday morning, however. SO, back to Wal-Mart to make the exchange. A complete and utter madhouse. I imagine everyone was doing their pre-game shopping, but the place was packed. Got a refund, went and found a couple of pairs of pants that DID fit, and a couple of phone cards. Seems Oldest didn't understand that she runs out of minutes when someone calls HER! Why, the NERVE! She's very close to losing her phone privilege anyway, so it might not matter. And that's all I'll say about that.

Back to the drug store to pick up my medicine, then on back home for a bit, then down to the foot of the hill for the party. I took Rebecca's little slim portable radio with me, mainly because the big yellow Walkman I have is just a little too obtrusive. Hers had great reception, though, until I went into the building, when it went completely dead. THANK GOODNESS, they had a big projection screen set up in one end of the rink. No sound, though, except for the louder-than-a-B-52 music thumping through the place.

Cat brought along her own skates and put them on and then wanted to go play video games. Boy went on to play with his friends, so after explaining to Cat that she could not play the games in her skates, she took them off. Skeeball is her deal, and she did pretty well at it this time, although her aim was a bit off. Then, finally, I was able to pick up the station again after much fidgeting and worry, so as she did her thing, I eased over to the doorway so I could see the action way over on the big television. I only lost her a couple of times.

Then, time for the laser tag session--woo-hoo! I hadn't realized it, but the parents had unlimited access to the place, and I had gotten Catherine a wristband anyway. Oops. But they were very gracious and gave one of the all-access ones to her, so she got to go place tag with the rest of them. While they did that, I walked back out to the main floor to watch the game some more, and became something of a prophet of doom to the poor guy standing beside me who was rooting for Alabama. The CBS feed was on a five second delay--since I was listening to an undelayed radio broadcast, I was reacting to sacks and touchdowns before they took place on screen. Poor guy.

Sometime in there Catherine came and found me and was upset that she'd not known how to play with the new model laser tag guns, so she skated for a minute or two, then we ate pizza and cake and she was fine again. AND THEN IT WAS TIME FOR GO-KARTS!

Out to the track with them all, and Catherine right in the middle. She was determined to drive a go-kart, and I had more important things to do to keep up with the score, so I let them strap her in one and she took off. She had a pretty good time, although she hit the rails a couple of times, and the bouncy surface made her little legs hurt, so she had to whimper about that.

Back inside to spend the rest of their tokens, then cash in the tickets for worthless trinkets, and then to the house again, where I could watch AND listen to the game without interruption. Except for a couple of wrong numbers, which I usually don't mind that much.

Post-game, time for supper, then baths and to bed. Another long night, and another morning yesterday where I woke up being suffocated by tightly-packed sinuses.

SUNDAY: Homecoming day--they were scheduled to arrive at 12:30, didn't get home until 2:30. I was not surprised. Services were lonesome, but at least the two kids I had DID sit with me instead of running off elsewhere. Lunch at the Chinese buffed place, then to home to await the arrival of Mom and Girls. Greeted Mom and Girls when they got home and heard all about their experiences, which from all accounts turned out pretty well.

And I slept much better last night.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:46 AM | Comments (4)

Good Morning!

What a weekend. But, all in all, it turned out about as well as could be expected--got to watch a pretty good game on a big television (even though my head is still ringing from the odd confluence of turned-up-to-11-volume Molly Hatchet and Outkast played from the skating rink speakers), Cat learned to drive, and the girls made it up to Guntersville and back without incident.

Aside from the fact that my head has over the past five days or so become clogged with rubber cement, things are pretty good.

More details later--right now I have something to do...


...I have to find a place to put all of these:

sack.jpgsack.jpgsack.jpgsack.jpgsack.jpgsack.jpgsack.jpgsack.jpgsack.jpgsack.jpgsack.jpg

Sorry about that--the Time for Merciless Taunting of the Opponent is supposed to be over with the close of the game, but I just couldn't help myself.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:42 AM | Comments (5)

November 18, 2005

Looking at the clock on the wall...

...I see that I still have an hour to go before I go. BUT, it's probably a good time to take a moment to wish you all a happy weekend and tell you that I look forward to all of you coming by again on Monday morning, no matter whether it's to gloat with me, or at me.

See you then.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:55 PM | Comments (0)

And where will I be watching the Iron Bowl?

Luxury skybox high above Jordan-Hare, with an endless buffet?

No.

A fifty-yard-line seat on the home bench side?

No.

In the corner behind a column in the Alabama section?

No.

Oh, wait--at someone's house with a nice big television and cable?

No.

Hmm. At home, with your kids, folding clothes in front of your uncabled television?

No.

On the radio, doing yardwork!?

No.

I will be at the skating rink, tending to Boy, who has been invited to a birthday party by one of his classmates, said party being held from 2 to 4 p.m. DURING THE GAME. Obviously, I should be grateful Jonathan has friends, and that they think enough of him to invite him to a party at the skating rink with all the free food and game tokens such things have. But, obviously this family is from some other planet, where the third Saturday in November is, I don't know, the third Saturday in November or something equally bizarre.

"Well, surely," you might ask, "couldn't Reba take him down to the foot of lovely Talladega Hill to the skating rink, and thus relieve you of having to miss out on this spectacle, as well as keep you from having to endure loud, thumping '70s redneck-rock blasting from the speakers and hordes of hormonal squealing teenagers on foot-wheels?"

Oh, yes, one might think things like that--EXCEPT.

Except there is a Part II to my misery. It seems this is the weekend when Reba, and Ashley, and Rebecca, will be going with a bunch of people from church to a retreat up at Camp Ney-A-Ti in Guntersville. They leave today, and come back Sunday, and Reba will be following along in her car. Meaning A) From the time they leave today until they arrive, I will worry incessantly, B) from the time they leave Sunday until the get home, I will worry incessantly, and C) in between time I will wander around the house and mope.

Reba and I have not spent very much time apart over the course of our fourteen years and three months together, and when we do, I don't really get that wild-eyed, school's-out, cat's-away-mice-will-play, "I'M A BACHELOR!" sort of thing that some guys get, mainly because I remember being a bachelor, which was very boring and mostly spent wishing I had a really hot girlfriend. Now that I've got one, and managed to convince her to marry me, it's not fun when she's not around.

AND DARNED INCONVENIENT, in that I have to go to the skating rink!

OH, and not just go with Boy, but take Catherine with me, too, because she wants to go, and pooched out her bottom lip and acted sad, just in case I said no. As if I could.

So, I'm hoping they have a television around there somewhere that I can catch a glimpse of every now and again. Or, maybe this is some sort of sign, telling me that I've found a good excuse to buy one of those pocket teevees...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:53 PM | Comments (12)

November 16, 2005

Time to hitch those pants up under yer armpits, codger!

Doc Joyner turned 40 today, AND got a lovely gift from the IT folks!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:28 PM | Comments (0)

Opening Scene:

EARLY MORNING: It is a chilly and overcast fall morning in a small town. A old silver Volvo sedan putters around the formal square in front of the town's antique middle school building.

DRIVER'S POV: The driver, a father with four children in the car, eases toward the side of the drive, slowing to let two of the children out beside the bandroom--a classroom built underneath the stands of the venerable old stadium. A van is parked perpendicular to the sidewalk, right at the steps the children usually use to mount the sidewalk. In front of the driver, a woman, walking toward him in the street.

DESCRIPTION OF WOMAN: Fiftiesh, approximately spherical, or maybe something of a rounded cube, or possibly the shape 600 pounds of wet sand would be if dropped from a height of 3 feet. Wearing a bright orange jogging suit, and orange visor pulled down low over tiny, piggish eyes. Likewise, has snout and jowls to match eyes. Woman walks with great energy, although without nearly so much forward motion as would be suggested by the energy expended.

DRIVER POV: Driver hesitates slightly as he continues to slow, noticing that the woman in front of him seems to want to continue walking directly into his path. He veers slightly toward the sidewalk and then back out slightly so that the front fender of the car clears the van parked perpendicular to the steps.

WOMAN: Her original pathway, which would have taken her in front of the bumper of the van, is now cut off. She scowls angrily at the Volvo and driver, and seems flummoxed by this intrusion in her path. Shakes head and continues to scowl, as if she is cannot believe anyone would ever use a street to drive upon, nor have the temerity to pull an automobile in front of her. Applying right full rudder, she manages to alter the path of her massive bulk and continues her morning routine of gouging divots in the asphalt as she heaves to and fro. As she passes the side of the Volvo, she studiously maintains her forward gaze, with imperious disdain for the impertinent driver and his beastly vehicle.

DRIVER: Sensing that he might have angered this poor woman, and ever-mindful of various admonitions heard while watching nature programs on television about how dangerous angry water buffalos can be, he maintains careful eye contact with the woman as she walks by, hoping against hope she will turn his way.

At the very last moment, the woman turns her piggish eyes and upturned snout toward the driver to cast one final haughty and hateful glance his way.

Driver smiles broadly, and gives a vigorous, childlike wave of his hand.

Woman quickly turns back forward and gives one more disgusted shake of head before wallowing on toward the corner.

Driver dissolves into peals of laughter.

FADE TO BLACK.

EPILOGUE: Look, you ugly old battle axe--there's sidewalks all over the flippin' town--USE THEM--and quit walking in the road as if you own it. Yes, I realize you're the size of one of those small Hummers they have out now, but if you insist on pretending to be a truck, AT LEAST GO THE RIGHT DIRECTION.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:31 AM | Comments (0)

November 15, 2005

Tonight's Fun?

Well, I can almost guarantee it won't be watching My Name is Earl and The Office. It's audition night for Oldest, who is trying out for another choir competition spot, and for some reason instead of picking her up from Grandmom's and taking her directly to the venue, I have to pick her up from Grandmom's, take her BACK to the high school (where she is right now, rehearsing) and THEN take her to the venue, thus guaranteeing that she will not be on time.

And for once, I can only marvel at the adults who are putatively in charge of these things, who have decided this is the most logical way of handling things.

Oh well. At least my dashboard lights are working now.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:59 PM | Comments (0)

Condition Red

I was in the van yesterday morning and decided, since it was nearly out of gas, to stop at Sam's Club on the way in after dropping the kids at school and fill up before going on to work.

I pulled in, and the place looked deserted, but the pumps were on, so I knew it was open. I undid the cap, stuck my card in the pump, put the nozzle in the filler tube, locked the handle on, noticed way over on the other side of the parking lot the attendant guy picking up trash, and turned around to relax a bit.

Sam's is up on a hill, and you can see for a long way. It was foggy and cool, and it was very peaceful to look back over toward the hill where I live and see all the trees and the low-slung clouds, and listen to the still quietness. I would like to live up high like this, where you could wake up and look out over a valley of green. So very pretty, even if might be a bit chill and rainy. And it just smelled good--we hadn't had a rain in a while, and so the mist made everything smell alive and fresh agai--"HEY THERE!"

I whirled around in a near panic and standing there right by the door of the van was the chubby little old guy who'd been picking up trash. He'd gotten the drop on me. I stammered and for some reason said "OH, hey, sorry!" and he stood there as impassive as an old heifer, "Looks like we're gonna get some rain today."

I relaxed a bit, and finished out the "conversation" which pretty much went like this: "Yep. But we needed it." "Yeah, it had gotten real dry." "Mmhm. We sure needed some rain." On and on. The pump finally clicked off and I had to make my way over and undo the pump handle and get my receipt, and he continued on chewing his cud and talking about the rain, pretty much seeming to me that he would have continued in this vein the rest of the morning if I'd not had to leave.

The whole thing really spooked me, though. Not the guy--he was just a lonely old guy who has to find someone to talk to or go crazy working at Sam's. But it was the fact that I had been so utterly and completely surprised.

I know some people think it's being paranoid to always have some sense of your surroundings when you're out in public and to be ready to react if necessary, but it's just always the way that I've been. I don't go looking for trouble to get into--I want to stay out of it, and the best way is to know where you are, what's going on around you, how to get away from trouble if you have to, and how to defend yourself if need be. Some defense folks teach a three-color system of awareness--green for when you're totally safe in your home, yellow for anytime you're out in public when you are actively searching for danger, and red, for when the poop hits the blower.

But yesterday, there I was--off wandering in the clouds. I had forgotten my surroundings. I had moved away from safety--out in front of the van instead of beside it. I had turned my back on a wide area behind me. And I had fallen into a deep reverie, ignoring everything.

I was just lucky it was a kindly old gent with a ball cap and a gift of gab--it could just as easily have been someone there to do mischief.

AND ANOTHER THING--don't go sneaking up on folks! You never know who might be packing.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:46 AM | Comments (8)

November 14, 2005

And to wrap up.

Odds and ends--I forgot one of the things we did Saturday. Looking at houses, again. Always makes for tense conversations. Reba loves to look at house books, and cannot quite seem to understand that we cannot afford anything pricier than what we have. And me, being stupid, had to say that I didn't mind going and looking, but we needed to remember our price range. Again, I am an idiot. Because this statement inevitably leads to pouting. As does my insistence that instead of looking at large expensive house that have fewer bedrooms than what we have now, we should possibly concentrate on the ones that have a greater number.

Yeah, I know, silly me.

While I was busily driving nails in my own coffin, I decided to go on and finish the job by noting that just driving by was pretty worthless, since none of the houses would be open on a Saturday. "BUT WE'RE GOING TO BE AT CHURCH ALL DAY TOMORROW!"

I knew that.

However, after establishing that logic is no longer in residence, I decided that I was up for wasting gas driving around and looking at houses from the outside. Which we did. Finally came to the conclusion that we'd be better off just adding on to the back of our house. Which also takes money. ::sigh::

Let's see, what else? OH, yeah, after we got back, and after lunch sometime, it was time to help Rebecca build a model of DNA for science class. She didn't know what to use, and I suggested using the gummy and otherwise useless Dots candy we had left over from Halloween. These would be the crosswise ladder rungs, and then, hmm. What to use for the long parts? At first, we were going to toothpick some tiny Tootsie-Rolls together, and then toothpick them into the Dots. Then we decided the multi-colored Gummi worms would work better. But we didn't have any of those. ON TO THE STORE, where I had to buy another box of Dots because I ate the only three yellow Dots there were.

BACK TO HOME, where it became increasingly obvious that Gummi worms don't work. I'd gotten the sour kind that have granules on the outside, and after washing all that off of the required colors of worms, they were so sticky they were unusable. So, the phosphate and sugar sides got made out of poster board, colored in alternating blue and white colors. Holes were made with an Xacto blade, opened up a bit with a toothpick, and then the toothpick-conjoined A-T G-C pairs inserted into the holes. After that, the pointy ends of the toothpicks were lopped off with wire cutters, the whole shebang was given the magical twist, and suddenly Watson and Crick appeared in the room to give us a round of polite applause. Not really.

A base was made to hang the thing from, seeing as how DNA is remarkably floppy, and she carefully took it to school today, promising to be careful with it and keep it in her locker.

!!

I remember my locker from school. Somehow, I doubt it will survive for very long. But it was fun. And chewy.

Other things--well, church, and the kids had Bible Bowl, but we sent them on without us. Reba's guts had gotten gutitis and she was feeling poorly all day Sunday, so I stayed home with her and the two younger house demolishers.

OH, and I fixed our home Internet connection--I had an AOL disc and used that to get back online. Yes, I know. But it's better than that People PC crap I was using, and not that much more expensiver. That big ol' cable in the wall sure does look tempting, though...

ANYWAY, that's about it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:29 PM | Comments (3)

Oh, yeah--Shopping

Still on Friday--gathered Boy and Tiny Terror with me and left the older girls at home with the idea that if they got hungry, we had plenty of things to make sandwiches out of, and that I would be back pretty soon, and not to answer the door, and to call me if they needed help.

Out the door, and on to Sam's for bulk dry goods, condiments, and canned items, of which, we bought much. And it took forever. Catherine was hungry when we got there and continued to be so, because the sample ladies weren't set up with samples. (Apparently the bit of food she had to begin with didn't count as anything.) Out to the van with everything, loaded, called home, girls had not eaten for some reason. Reminded them that they could. Called Reba, found out I had forgotten something, so had to go back in the store, past the HIGHLY ANNOYING guy shilling newspapers for the band boosters. Grr. Asked me to buy one on the way out, AND on the way back in five minutes later.

Didn't have the forgotten item (that being, Schick Intuition shaver head) so it was off to the actual grocery store for frozen and fresh items. With a stop for breakfast-lunch. Which is nigh unto inexcusable to kids--they could have all the food in the world for lunch, and then whine about having missed breakfast. Or, you can feed them a late "breakfast" with breakfasty foods, and they think they HAVE to eat again at lunch. "You HAD breakfast! Remember? The stuff you got into this morning before we left?!" "No, sir"

"Dad?" said Boy, "I didn't have breakfast."

::sigh:: "Son, I told you to fix yourself something, did you not?"

"No sir."

So, in order for them not to attract Sally Struthers with their withered condition, I stopped at Burger King and got us some lunch. I hadn't had anything, either, so I was hungry, too. Enough to risk getting jumped by the plastic-headed creep who owns the place.

Thus replenished, we went back down the hill, over the interstate, back over another hill, and down it, to Main Street, turned right, and stopped at Winn Dixie, mainly because they have really good NutraSweet sweetened sweet tea already made up in big gallon jugs. MMmm. Shopped, bought stuff, loaded it all up, and to home. Pretty good--back by noon:30.

Unloaded with our usual teamwork, put stuff away, found out that Oldest was intensely jealous that we had stopped to buy lunch, even though she slept until after 11, and had managed to make herself an egg and toast and could have made several varieties of sandwiches. Seems that having to actually MAKE the lunch is almost more than she could tolerate. I very nearly asked her if she's so put-out by ALL THAT EFFORT if next time she'd like one of us to chew her food up for her.

I said "nearly"--you have to pick your battles.

As it was, her being miffed meant that she stayed locked up in her room that much longer, delaying the inevitable time before she would emerge to pick fights with her siblings.

::sigh::

You may have noticed I don't post about these struggles as I used to--I can't help it. It just presses all my angry buttons again, and I'd rather not have them pushed continually. And I can't really say what I'd like to say and still stay within the bounds I have set for this venue. I might have to start an anonymous blog...

ANYWAY, the other part of the afternoon was spent urging the children to clean their rooms--the incentive being that Mom had promised a movie night, contingent upon all the driftjunk being cleaned up.

Which is was, eventually, with no time to spare, but enough to allow MOVIE TIME!

Next: Possumovie Reviews!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:43 PM | Comments (8)

My mother!

Gets me to look all that stuff up for her (even though she could do it from her desk, seeing as how she has that Internet stuff at work just like I do) and in the middle of all this, I find out she's going to be at my SISTER'S house in MOBILE for THANKSGIVING! The NERVE of her running away like that!

We might just have to make the drive down, just to foil her evil plan of avoiding us.

As for roofing, it's hard to do over the phone, but basically, she just needs a nice, basic, 25 year, three-tab 225# fiberglass type. So many different people make them that I told her she needs to just call several roofers, get them to give her a price, and give her the product information on the type of shingle they intend on nailing down, and then we can compare them after we know what they want to use.

And with her trying to skip out on the bill like that, I'm gonna add in a pecan pie. That'll show her.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:49 PM | Comments (3)

Friday.

A day off? Oh, you! Silly person!

I had the day off, and the kids were out of school, but Reba had to go in. Meaning, I had to wake her up and make sure she got out of bed. But I was tired, you know?

Clock went off at 6:00, I rolled over and smashed it with my pins-and-needles inflamed arm that I had been crushing underneath my body, then flopped back over and told Reba it was time to get up, sweetie.

I think she got up--there was certainly a lot of bounding and slapping of the mattress, and pulling of blankets and noises and other things designed to make the remaining few minutes of near-sleepfulness as unrestful as possible for me. Being that a certain wife of mine seems to think it unthinkable that I would want to go back to sleep.

I did anyway. Until it was time for her to leave, when she loudly woke up the children to tell them goodbye, and then came back in the room to tell me goodbye, which I'm not angry that she did, because it DID mean I got some sugar, but still, it would have been nice for all the kids not to be up and rummaging through things as I drifted back off to sleep. Never know what sort of trouble they could gesnnxxxxxx.

I vaguely remember the garage door going up, and floating back somewhere warm. Until I heard the wakeup call again--"Terry? TERRY!"

"Uhuw? Blan?"

"You're left front tire on the Volvo looks low."

::sigh::

"Thanks--it was running low last night when I went to my meeting, and I guess it's got something in it. I'll fix it when I get up."

I sure would like to have been able to go back to sleep, but she was just trying to be helpful, so it's not nice to have wished for more sleep.

I finally got up when Catherine or Jonathan came in and said they were hungry. Up, dress, shave, brush, downstairs, and--hmm. We need to go grocery shopping. I fixed them what we had left in the way of breakfasty type things, and sat down to make a list whilst watching Regis Lee and Kelli Lee. Ick.

While the kids finished up breakfast, I ran and grabbed my rubber fixing stuff and the car keys.

Yep, it was flat alright.

Thankfully, only on the bottom.

[Cue laff track!]

I cranked it up and rolled it forward--nothing--then backwards--BINGO! Big ol' screw right down into the tread. Actually, a good thing. Nothing worse than trying to track down a hole when the hole-making thing is no longer in place.

Got the rasp, pliers, hook and strip. Put some glue on the rasp and laid it on top of the tire, pulled the screw out, ran the rasp in and out, then jammed the sticky strip in, twisted, and pulled it back out. Aired it up, and done. I may put up a sign at the street advertising my tire-mending skills.

Then, while the kids were still scrounging for Cheerios in the floor of the cupboard, I thought I would go ahead and fix the dashboard lights while I had a moment. I had thought I could snake my hand up behind there and pull the two bulbs that "illuminate" the dashboard. Even under the best of circumstances, these things put out about as much light as a squished lightning bug. I had gotten two higher wattage bulbs on the way home the night before (upon the recommendation of a frequent Volvo bulletin board poster named Volvodad--I mean, how could he be wrong!?) but it looked as though the only way to really get the thing done would be to once more pull the cluster out of the dash.

Practice makes perfect, I suppose. I had it out, the bulbs changed, and it back in and wired up again in about ten minutes. I may put up a sign at the street advertising my Volvo instrument cluster removal skills. Of course, I couldn't SEE if it was working, since it was blazing bright sunshine. So, I went inside and got my jacket and pretended the whole thing was one of those old cameras where the guy hides under the black sheet. HEY! THEY WORK! I think. Still a bit hard to tell, but I think it did work. Later on Friday evening, I went out and checked, and sure enough, the dashboard lit up like brand new! Only, now the clock won't light up. It was working fine, until I fixed the dashboard lights.

::sigh::

Oh well, I guess it's better to know how fast you're going at night than how late you are.

NOW, that's all done, so it's time to go a'shopping!

Next: Going A'shopping!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:33 PM | Comments (4)

Well--

I just now tried calling her back, and she'd gotten busy on something at work. SO, Tales of the Building Committee!

It was fine--they'd gotten a contractor to work up a budget price, and other than it being way more than we thought, everything else continues apace. The drawings should be finished by the end of the month, which is, of course, almost here. Yikes. Someone needs to get busy getting stuff together to take bids.

The process has been relatively easy--after settling on a floor plan. That took some doing, mainly because of the occasional lack of focus on what we're trying to get done. I would have liked a bit more forcefulness from the architect to keep the thing going, but he's usually willing to do whatever he's told. Which is good in some ways, but if you're being told eleventy-hundred different things, it makes it a bit harder. The other thing is trying to make people understand how big something is. I know, because I do it all the time, but if you tell someone a room's 600 square feet, and they have no frame of reference, you might as well be telling them it's 600 bleeg flinbs. One fellow in particular seems obsessed with the size of certain rooms, even after having us point out exactly how big something is by marking it off in comparison to an actual room. It'll be bigger than anyone can believe.

We also had a nice meeting with them after church last night. They came and showed a PowerPoint presentation of the site plan and floor plans and talked a bit about it, and either everyone was more or less pleased, or just didn't really care that much, because there were only a few questions. I am hoping this is because we have bent over backwards to get input on this thing all along and have tried to make sure as many of the concerns are met as best we can ahead of time, rather than waiting until the last minute. I hope. (Boy, I hope.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:31 AM | Comments (2)

BUT WAIT!

You're just gonna have to set a spell--my mother just called before I had to go to my staff meeting, and she's needing expert advice on roof replacement for her house. I told her to call an expert, but I suppose she thinks she should get SOMETHING for all that money she spent on me to send me to school. So I have to do some looking for shingles for her.

I also have to get my invoice typed up for her, too.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:44 AM | Comments (4)

Well, now, THAT was a weekend!

Stay tuned throughout the day for scintillating tales of suburban intrigue, with shocking tales from Paradise Along the Pinchgut such as The Building Committee Meeting; Don't Let Me Sleep; Car Repair; Grocerying; AOL Again; Movie Review Time; House Looking; What Is It With LSU and Overtime?; DNA and Candy!; Hunker All You Want, You Hairy Dogs; More Building Committee Fun; and I am Very Sleepy.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:45 AM | Comments (0)

November 09, 2005

Hmph!

People can be SO cruel! All I got was a penny, and I found that myself on the ground!

::sigh::

I wish I could find some initiative to do something to this pile of junk on my desk. Or in the chair. Or on the table.

But, if nothing else, at least gasoline is back down to something approaching reason--filled up last night at Sam's for $2.299 a gallon. Although with my lunch of a leftover-from-last-night homemade chicken burrito with rice and beans, I believe I will be making plenty of gas for free. You probably didn't want to know that, though, did you? Sorry. Forget I said it.

Now then, after wasting several minutes, it's time to get back to staring at the mountain of silly crap on my desk and trying to figure out which of it can be safely ignored.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:37 PM | Comments (0)

What? A morning?

My brain hurts real bad like.

Long meeting, lots of notes, walked in to the office to a sheaf of papers in my real in-box and crowds of pixels in my electronic in-box, and Members of the Public wanting to chat for a while, and I would really just like to take off from work today and go sit on a park bench and accost passers-by for small change.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:00 AM | Comments (4)

November 08, 2005

Dern it all!

Every time I start getting ready to play, someone keeps coming in here wanting me to do something. And it's never anything cool, like, "Say, put this million dollars in your bank account," or, or, uhh, "Say, put this TWO million dollars in your bank account!" It's always something stupid and menial, because I have a reputation as being someone who won't mock and curse people when they can't figure out how to COPY A BLEEDIN' DOCUMENT FROM ONE FOLDER TO ANOTHER!

And then, there's the paperwork. Mindless, meaningless, but required so that some other mindless meaningless paperwork doesn't get jammed up and cause everyone to ::piff:: disappear into a cloud of bureaucratic smoke.

In other words, today seems as though it's going to be completely devoted to fulfilling my drone-like job duties rather than getting to play. I have a meeting in fifteen minutes, and then have to get ready for my twice-monthly obstructionists meeting tomorrow, and there's this, and that, and two of those, and some of these.

BUT, just in case I don't get a chance to get back to blogging later on this afternoon, I want to give an extra special thank-you to Jordana Adams for sending me a spiffy Iomega ZipCD 650 USB compatible CD burner. She said a while back that she and Justin have had it forever and never used it much, and that she was terribly tired of my constant harping about not having one. (I'm paraphrasing on that last part--she'd never be so unkind as to say it, but I know it's intended as an electronic "shut-UP!" to get me to stop being such a whiny baby.) I want to thank her and Justin and all the kiddies for the wonderful gift, and I promise to start filling up CDs with all sorts of worthless junk as soon as possible!

Anyway, time to go meet for a while.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:15 PM | Comments (11)

You know, this is pretty darned hard to beat.

Fall, with all its suddenly vibrant colors (as I told you about last week) and to top it off, a record-setting 82 degrees yesterday. And more of the same today.

Certainly beats gray, damp, and cold.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:42 AM | Comments (13)

Silly old work.

I have some stuff to get done this morning, but will be through in a relatively short amount of time so I can come and play.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:43 AM | Comments (0)

November 07, 2005

Paradise by the Dashboard Light, Part II

Danger blah blah Volvo blah DON'T READ blah blah.

So, anyway, to bed Saturday night, where I had a long fitful night wondering how to fix that dumb ol' dashboard, and trying to remind myself NOT to forget to reattach the two tiny rubber teats on each of the defroster vents that hold the vents in place on the metal hangy-downy brace.

Up early Sunday, blech. Found out that Good Morning, America is now broadcasting in high definition. Blah. But I also came to the conclusion that Marysol Castro is very attractive. And to think up until now I'd been watching the early morning huntin' and feeshin' show. No more.

Finally got out of bed and started getting dressed when I had an entire thought cross my mind. After making sure that I had not been harmed by it, I analyzed what I'd just thought--you know when I said it always helps to have a digital camera standing by when you do any sort of destruction? Well, as I was putting on my socks, it occurred to me that I might just have taken a snapshot of the exact thing I was having trouble with. I hurriedly finished dressing then went through and rousted the kids and told them to start getting ready. I went downstairs to "go put the Bibles in the van for church" and after doing that unlocked the car, grabbed the camera and went back through my pictures, and BINGO! Sure enough, big as day, this--

That cable DID run outside and underneath! I loosened the screws again and pulled the cable back out and through to its intended place, shoved the dash back into place, screwed it in, and PRESTO! PERFECT! I also remembered the four rubber nibs and pulled them back into place and then--

Whoa. Wait just a minute. Glovebox light wire. Hanging down. Between the dashboard support and the dashboard. In my haste, I hadn't quite moved it out of the way, and now it was wedged in there without a way out. The wire had a big connector on one end, and the light on the other.

::sigh::

::vows to self to hunt down this Murphy fellow and beat him with a brick::

I looked it over, and loosened the screws again to see if I could get enough space. Nope.

Reached over, got the wire cutters, and snipped it into. I'd splice it later.

Having successfully avoided getting my church clothes dirty, I thought it best to quit while I was ahead and finish getting everyone ready for church.

Off to church, which was very nice, then on to lunch at the Chinese place. "We've really got to hurry, because I want to finish getting the car fixed."

"Is it still not finished?"

::ghost of Ralph Kramden enters my body, is quickly escorted out lest my body become dead as well due to ill-thought-out rash comment::

"Um, no--I still have to get the instrument panel back in and everything fixed back."

Luckily, Reba and Ashley and Rebecca had a trip to the library planned, so as soon as we got home, I jumped out and ran and put on my work clothes as they went and did something else. I had about three hours to work.

Reinstalled the vents, hooked the gauges back up (another tip--always mark the bundle of wires with the appropriate gauge using a piece of tape and a marker)

Put in the instrument panel, carefully hooking everything up again, and got it just about ready to go. Figured I'd drive down to the foot of the hill to pick up a wire nut and some vacuum tubing and check and make sure the odometer was still working correctly.

Backed up, out into the street.

GRR!

::shakes fist at Murphy AGAIN!::

The speedometer was working, but not the odometer. Meaning, after I got back from the foot of the hill, I was going to have to take the instrument cluster BACK out, and take it apart AGAIN, and see what I messed up the FIRST time, when I really didn't have to take it apart AT ALL!

Got back, pulled the cluster (and believe me, this thing is becoming a great big cluster-) went to the kitchen table, carefully pulled the speedometer out, carefully pulled the odometer motor, carefully pulled the bigger gear out, looked, looked, hmm, WHA! WHOA! @$$#!&^%!*#@$!%!!

I had just dropped the odometer drive gear, which included the tiny white gear I had spoken of earlier. Into the kitchen floor. Full of crumbs and toy beads and hair and other unspeakable things.

ARGGHHHHHHHHH!

It is at this point where I reenact the scene from Wrath of Khan where Mr. Rourke is screaming, except this time I'm screaming "MURPHYYYYYYY!" Yes, I realize it doesn't have the same effect without costuming and special effects.

I carefully began looking--AHA! Here it is!

But, but...

NOOOOOOOO!

The tinier part of the gear had come loose and was nowhere to be found.

Start sweeping. Sweep, sweep. Under the table. Under the stove. Into the utility closet. Move table and sweep. Establish a pile of sweepings large enough for its own area code. No tiny gear.

I sat down to plot my next move and to figure if it would be appropriate to cry a lot. Figured I was going to have to just order ANOTHER gear, at 20 bucks a pop.

In desperation, I got down onto my stomach and pressed the side of my throbbing head to the cold vinyl floor. I looked and looked and...

Say--

Is it?

It IS! I think!

I got up and walked over to the foot of the stairs. ::sigh:: Nope. Sure did look like it, though. WAIT! THERE IT IS!

Like finding a solid gold gold-making machine!

I pounced on it and rubbed it and made sure its little teeth were clean and then went to put it back into its place and...and--hmm. I wonder which side goes up?

Yes, I had forgotten again. Figured it out, though, I did! Buttoned it back up, ran outside, plugged it back in again, screwed everything down, did a test run--PERFECTION! IT WORKS! IT WORKS!

Back to the driveway, fixed the vacuum hose with my new tubing and connector, fixed the glovebox light's severed wire, stuck the box back in, and now--TAA-DAAAA!

This is from my side--

and this is from your side--

So nice and shiny and uncracked. For now.

Only bad thing? My main instrument panel lights don't work--I swapped in a couple of what I thought were new bulbs, and they apparently are burned out.

Meaning? I have to take that instrument panel out again.

::sigh::

Ran upstairs and changed back into my church clothes, off to church for a couple of early meetings, then had worship, where some guy led singing even though he had a smear of sticky black tar on his forearm that he couldn't get cleaned off before he went to church, then back to the house, then to Grandma's house to take her her birthday present, I fell asleep on the couch, then back home, supper, and to bed, and now I'm here today!

I am still very sleepy, for some reason.

UPDATE: Skinnydan, bless his heart, wanted to see what the OLD dashboard looked like. I have some photos on the camera that are better, but this is the one I brought with me today of the thing sitting in the garage.

Remember, crack is whack.

This is a big ol' picture, so don't be alarmed when you click on it to read my stellar prose and scientific explanations.


AND WHILE WE'RE AT IT--here's the topmost wheel in the stack. If you look at the dashboard picture, you'll see a wooden creeper standing behind it. Behind the creeper is my stacked stash of wheels.


Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:55 PM | Comments (15)

A Fo'cible Function!

Got to Tuscaloosa, pulled over and conferred with the man who works down there every day about where we were supposed to go. He had no idea. So, we went on.

Turned onto University Boulevard and he stopped at a Chevron station and asked some girl, then the guy inside, exactly how to get to the Moody Music Building.

"Up two lights, turn right, then it'll be on your right."

Which actually turns out to have been entirely incorrect. Oldest had told Reba earlier in the day the building was right across the street from Bryce Hospital. There was a sign that said "Bryce" but Grandad went right on past that. Turned around, went back, and I turned that way. Found Bryce, but no music building. Accosted some Southwest Asian kid on a bike, he said it was that way, he thought, maybe. Turned that way, asked some kid in a ball cap climbing into a pickup. He said it was back THAT way, turn right, then left, then right again, and it'll be on the right. Turned BACK around, turned right, then left onto University, then back right. HEY, LOOK! Moody Music Building--great big building, all lit up, right there on the main drag.

Seems that initial instruction was meant to be "go two lights and turn LEFT, etc."

No matter.

Dropped off the passengers, went and parked. Walked back, and noticed that I was the only adult with a suit on. Was greeted by Oldest who'd been working hard all day, went inside, took the kids to the bathroom, and finally went on in and settle down for the concert.

The Concert.

It was very, very nice. The room, however, didn't lend itself to choral work. I'm not sure what the deal was--maybe they didn't have the sound boards above the stage tuned right or something, but unless it was one of the big groups, and unless they were REALLY putting out the power, it all sounded a bit muddy and quiet. On the other hand, the two times they had string accompaniment, a violin and a violincello--the instruments popped out with great clarity.

Despite that, the kids from all the groups did a wonderful job, especially the kids from Lee High School in Huntsville.

PEOPLE WHOM I INTEND TO HARM.

Whoever keeps slamming those #@$-%$&^# doors!

YOU! OLD WOMAN with the CELL PHONE who won't turn it off when it rings, but instead clambers up and hits everyone in the back of the head with your big purse as you leave your seat and go outside as the FOOL THING CONTINUES TO RING!

WHOEVER WON'T JUST SHUT UP!

YOU! With the SCREAMING KID! LEAVE!

AND QUIT SLAMMING THE [blue streak redacted] DOORS EVERY TIME YOU GO OUT!

I have never been to anything with so many incredibly rude and noisy audience members. You people ought to be ashamed of yourselves.

Hmph!

Now then, concert over at 8:30, time to head home with a fill-up first with some cheap Tuscaloosa gasoline ($2.389) and something from Arby's, since I was well nigh onto hungry.

Home, to bed.

Now I'm going to go cover the front desk while the secretary eats her lunch. I haven't had mine yet.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:34 PM | Comments (0)

Okay, well, Saturday, then.

First task was to get up early--same time as during the week. Blech. But, I had to get Oldest to school so they could go to Tuscaloosa for the honor choir performance. This turned out to be a much bigger deal than I thought.

Anyway, they were going down early because they had two separate three-hour rehearsals at the venue prior to the show, so I had to get her there. Early. Did I mention that? It was very early.

BUT, to her credit, she was ready to go and we weren't late.

Dropped her off, then went Wal-Mart shopping! Hooray! I was looking for car stuff, since the rest of the day was going to be spend playing with the Swede. Got myself a nice collapsible lug wrench--it has one, but it looks to be of dubious utility--some windshield washer fluid, some spray paint for the rear parcel tray that's faded to something of a non-photo blue color, and a visor organizer so my visor will be organized, and some vinyl repair stuff so I can see about fixing that little hole in my armrest.

Then back to home, where Reba and the kids had awoken and had begun eating breakfast.

After greeting everyone, I told Reba that I was going to install my new dashboard.

"You're going to work on the car?"

Hmm. I thought that's what I said.

"I'm going to work on the car."

"Well, if you want to work on something, would you PLEASE do me a favor and check the brakes on the Focus because it sounds like it's dying."

::sigh::

There is no "just check." There is only "tear the thing apart in the driveway and take up the entire bleeding day doing boring work on the Focus when I could be doing exciting things with an old hunk of junk."

"Hmm. Well. Okay. I'm going to have to take it somewhere, because it'll take me forever to do here."

::sigh::

Looked through the phone book--ever since Alignment by Ingram went tango uniform, I haven't been able to find any place I really trust. Figured I'd take it to one of the mid-sized chain places over by Lowe's.

Onward.

Got almost there, and decided at the last minute to try one of the local shops in the same area. My theory being it's hard to have a nice building if all you do is alienate customers. They either are really good, or have a way of covering up their ineptitude with a satisfactory layer of prevarication.

Two hours to diagnose.

::sigh::

Maybe I can get Reba to come get me, and I can go ahead and get started on my dashboard replacement!

Call, and she's on her way.

One hour later, after I have looked at every single wheel, every single tire, and every single gospel tract in the waiting room, and drank two Diet Cokes, I thought it might be good to call and see if she was any closer to coming and getting me.

Call, she's just gotten out of the shower.

::sigh::

Wait some more. Watched Jack Hannah bother animals. Watched some guy in a short-sleeved jacket and turtleneck bother animals. Looked at all the tires and wheels again. OH, look--they're taking the car around to be looked at!

Wait.

Finally the guy has the verdict--nothing wrong with the brakes. Huhwha? I describe the sound of the noise--something of a low-pitched groaning, and ending graunch. I was slightly self-conscious of myself, being that there was a very attractive older lady standing beside me who needed to get the key to the restroom, and there I was taking up time with my picayune concerns and making car voices.

No matter--they were able to solve both of our problems. Seems mine wasn't the brakes, but rather the effect of having two tires nearly worn to tatters and a mis-aligned rear end. And the car was in bad shape, too! (Badump-bump-tsheee!) So, replace the tires, right?

"Well, let's see...hmm, well, we just got one in that size."

::shakes fist at Murphy::

"Uh, hmm. Well, I guess I could run up to Sam's and get a couple and then come back."

First rule of business--never let the customer walk.

"We can get one in just a little while, and that way you won't have to take it anywhere else."

Despite the fact that I could have gotten some pretty black tires from Sam's for about the same price as his single tire, I relented. I was tired of tires, and just wanted to go home and work on my Volvo. This dashboard thing, after all, wasn't something I had ever done before, and I knew it was going to take some time, and we were going to have to break things up early anyway so we could get ready and drive down to Tuscaloosa for the concert.

"Well, okay, fine, go ahead and get them."

Still no Reba, by the way. It was now fully two hours since I had called her.

I waited some more, and decided to go out into the shop to see the tires that came off. Sure enough, they were in bad shape. One side was all cupped up, the other sporting a shiny steel strip showing through the tread. The phone in my pocket rang.

"I'm here!"

I looked up through the glass door to see the Odyssey parked out on the other side. Thank heavens. Maybe some time to play.

"You want to go up to the store with Catherine and me? We've got some CHRISTMAS shopping to do, right Cat!"

"RIGHT, MOM!"

Me, being a moron, figured this would take about ten minutes, and then we'd go home. I got them to drop me at the bookstore, where I purchased a calendar of drawings of classical architecture for myself for one of the kids to give me for Christmas, then walked down to TJ Maxx.

More than an hour later, we were finally ready to go. I have never been so miserable waiting for something--Cat was wandering all over the store, Reba was buying things that cost money, and all the while, I could have been doing SOMEthing. ANYthing! Even if it was LAUNDRY! As it was, I was just there.

Back to the car place, where the car was all ready. Reba went on back home, I paid more money that I don't have, then went and filled up the gas tank, then ran to the library to check to see if that video I talked about earlier would play, then on to home.

Next: VOLVO TIME! Yay.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:08 AM | Comments (0)

Well, now--first thing, the silent movie project.

I called the mom Friday to find out what the actual story was. As you recall, Boy and his friends in class had done a video Western silent movie project for class to demonstrate something about math and deductive reasoning or some such stuff. They turned it in, but the CD was unreadable, leading to much speculation about grades and reshooting and all sorts of other misinformation.

What happened? Who knows. The nice young lady said their video camera messed up when the started out, so she just used the video function on her digital still camera. Good enough so far.

And then Murphy's Law kicks in.

She told me they couldn't get the file to translate into a DVD compatible format, and after spending nearly a week trying to figure it all out, they finally just copied it onto a CD. Only trouble was that no one's computer would seem to play the CD. Including the teacher's.

Acrimony, recriminations, hurt feelings, potential for an incomplete grade. So, anyway, she said she was going to try again to get something to work, and had taken the extraordinary step of complaining about the teacher to the next higher up, because she seemed so unwilling to work through the technical issues, and wouldn't return any messages. Oh boy.

So, as it stood Friday, no reshoot on Saturday, and we'll just all hang for a while and see if anyone can get the silly thing to play on a computer. After I hung up, I got the bright idea that maybe if it was small enough, she could e-mail it to me and I could see what it looked like--since the CD she gave Jonathan didn't work, either. The computer can't even read it as a disc.

She sent it, and from home, nothing. Just an empty link. And I had to sign up with Kodak Photoshare just to view the thing. Or not view it, as the case may be. Oddly enough, when I snuck by the library on Saturday, I COULD view it--the first ten seconds or so. And that was it.

But at least we didn't have to take up Saturday morning trying to reshoot the thing. Leaving time for me to SWAP MY DASHBOARD! WOO-HOO!

Next: Or not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:15 AM | Comments (0)

Monday--

In the good time of which I will express to you my renewed appreciation and respect for Mr. Murphy and his Law.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:31 AM | Comments (0)

November 04, 2005

Weekend?

As far as I know, one is scheduled.

What will be done during it?

I have no idea. I had sorta wanted to get my dashboard changed out, but this week we learned that Oldest has a choir deal down at the University of Alabama, and that's going to require travel and various other ordeals. AND, the cool silent movie project that we had to dress Boy up for last week seems to have hit a post-production snag of the most egregious sort. The mom who shot the thing apparently couldn't produce a playable copy, and therefore the entire production must be RESHOT! Tomorrow. So, that will entail yet more ordealing and stuff, and so it looks like there's just going to be absolutly no time to play at all. Because sometime in there we've got to also clean house and do laundry. And sleep.

For some reason, I have been inordinately sleepy the last three nights. I'm fine until about 10:30, and then it's as though I've been pole-axed. It's like being given a shot of anesthesia--I can't NOT go to sleep. And then, to make matters worse, it's not even a particularly restful unconsciousness.

Ah, but at least the trees are pretty.

All of you have a great weekend, and Lord willing I'll see you all bright and early Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:00 PM | Comments (0)

COLOR!

Where did all that come from?

I've been pretty much resigned to one of those dull drab autumns where the leaves just die, turn brown, and drop. We haven't had a whole lot of rain, which I figured would cancel the show for this year. And the leaves haven't seemed too keen on the idea, either.

But this morning!

I guess the head tree sent out a memo last night, but for whatever reason, the whole place was lit up this morning--maples and sweet gums and hickories have all done themselves up with so much yellow and orange the place looked like it was on fire. All across town--down the hill, up past the middle school, on to the high school, back down to the elementary school, the whole place just awash in gold.

Oh, I know it's not like New England--our spring color is what makes up for the lack of fall--but still, considering the way I thought it was going to turn out, I'm pretty pleased.

Thanks, trees.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:34 AM | Comments (7)

November 02, 2005

Okay, NOW I'm going.

Just spent nearly an hour on the phone with Reba trying to walk her through the process of getting a fax journal to print from their fax machine where she works.

They lost the manual.

Through the miracle of the Internets, I looked up the Brother website, opened up the online manual, and walked her through the steps to set up reports. The only thing I couldn't do is tell her how to retrieve faxes from a particular day, which is what they desperately needed in order to prove they actually sent something when they said they did. But I was able to give the customer service number.

I"ll work up an invoice for them when I get back.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:48 PM | Comments (0)

Now then--

Off toward home for a bit, and then back.

Jiggety jig.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:53 AM | Comments (0)

November 01, 2005

AIEEEEE!!!

SCAAAAARY!

As promised, I got out the ol' digital last night before heading out to beg candy from folks. First up, the group standing inside the door--

Then outside by the SCAAAAAARY jack o'lantern--

Obviously, poor Boy didn't get his mug on camera, dolled up as he was as Bad Anakin, so I had him take off his helmet for this shot--

You will notice this is another inside shot--the reason I couldn't use the rest was that Oldest had done her best to squirm out the top of her "tavern girl" costume, which, when combined with a powerful flash, meant more of her was visible than anyone but her husband should ever get to see.

And how do you like Catherine's hat? Pretty spiff, no? That's actually mine from back when I was doing Rev War reenacting. I will say she looks cuter in it than I ever did. (That's my buddy Charlie on the left in blue.)

The walkaround went quite well this year. We circled the big loop (probably a bit more than half a mile when you add in the cul de sacs on the backside) where our house sits, and stayed on our side of the street, just to keep things simple. Talked to the lady who stopped us in our driveway to ask about buying our house--she wound up buying the one at the corner. Her nephew and niece-in-law are still interested in ours, though, so maybe once they sell their house we'll be able to talk more.

Walked on around some more, found one of those houses where they go all out with the haunted house theme--boarded up windows, rickety picket fence with cobwebs around the cemetery set up in their front yard, spooky music on crackly speakers, lovable doof dressed up at the door. The kids thought that was the best.

Went on around that circle and started up the street some more, came to a house where the mom dressed up. Or down. Rrrrrowll. They had a couple of yappy dogs and after the kids got through they came running back and Dr. Rebecca, Pet Vet, said, "She's got TWO dogs, Daddy!"

"Yes, I saw! ::mumbled aside to self::got a couple of other things, too.::"

"What?"

"I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING! DON'T TELL YOUR MOTHER!"

"But what did you say, Daddy? I said she had two dogs and you said something else!"

"LOOK, kids! They've got some really cool bats and stuff at this house! Go on up to the door and remember to say thank you!" Nothing like a diversion.

Obviously, I wound up telling Reba about our bounteously squishy neighbor after we got home, anyway--I always tell on myself.

That way, I can make sure she hears it the right way.

At some point in our jaunt I heard a couple of fire trucks come around the backside of our part of the neighborhood--I figured they must be out throwing candy or something, but we got around to the third corner and they were pulled up outside someone's house. I buttonholed one of the parents coming down the sidewalk and asked if it was a fire or paramedic call, and they said they thought someone was having a heart attact. (I started to write, "What a show-off," but thought it might be misconstrued as Not A Joke.) Walked on a bit, met one of Jonathan's school friends, whose name is Jonathan, and was dressed up like Darth Vader. What are the odds, eh? Probably pretty good.

Turned the corner, and by this time the kids were wearing down--Cat took off her sparkly red bandana, and Jonathan had me carrying his light saber, which, oddly enough, did not light up. Nor could it slice anyone's arms off.

Final corner, down the street, and to home for some nice supper and continual interruption by the doorbell. We had kids all the way until 9:00 last night. I bet they're going to be a handful in school today.

ANYway, ours got fed and bedded at a decent hour, and were quite responsible with their candy intake, as was I. I managed to steal only one candy bar, and it was a small one--the misnamed "fun" size--and that was it.

SO, now--on with the rest of the show for today!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:12 AM | Comments (12)

October 31, 2005

Okay, that's it for the day.

Time to head for home, pick up Oldest, and make our jaunt over to the Pauperizer.

See y'all tomorrow. And I'll try to have some cool Halloween photos for you as well. I'm going as Raquel Welch. I thought about Sophia Loren, but I didn't think I could pull off the Italian accent.

Anyway, all of you have a safe Trickrtreat time.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:32 PM | Comments (0)

Well, except for...

the orthodontist.

Oldest today at 3:30, meaning today will be yet another one of those short days, full of money being thrown to the four winds.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:01 PM | Comments (0)

Sunday?

Church, and then some.

Had our usual fifth Sunday get-together, quickly coming on the heels on the get-together we had two weeks ago that was for some other reason. So, up early, went through the house resetting all the clocks, put the lasagna in the oven, showered, got dressed, got everyone else up, drove to church, unloaded, went to class, went to preaching, ate, cleaned up, and went right back into the auditorium for afternoon services--the nice thing about those fifth Sundays is we go ahead and have our evening worship at 1:00 rather than 6:00, meaning the whole rest of the day is free to go do stuff without fear of getting dirty or being late.

After worship--which was very difficult to stay awake through due to the ingestion of a bounty of fine foods (and I don't feel too bad because I caught the wife of our assistant preacher going to sleep as well) it was off toward home.

Went and got mine and Boy's hairs cut (not by Miss Alisha, sadly, but by a large Weeble-shaped woman who kept rubbing herself all over my arm) then went to the bookstore and got him the newest Lemony Snickets book and myself a newspaper, then we went and got the van washed, then we went home, where I was called upon to TYPE SOMETHING for a girl of mine. (Oh, by the way, I got a 100 on my notebook about The Watsons Go to Birmingham.) Luckily, this latest assignment was done in only about fifteen minutes. The complaining took much longer.

Finally got them all in the bed, read my paper, turned the lights out, and eventually went to sleep.

AND, before I forget it--PUNKIN CARVIN'! This actually happened Saturday, but in my football/car-fixing delirium, I forgot it was time to dig the guts out of another poor defenseless gourd. Just your typical one this year--slitty triangle eyes, triangle nose, and pointy teeth.

Sure, it's not one of those elaborate silhouettes of Nancy Pelosi or other such creatures, but that's okay--sometimes there's something to be said for the old standards.

And that's about it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:59 AM | Comments (4)

SATURDAY!

Well, Saturday I got up full of boyish enthusiasm--LAUNDRY DAY! WOO-HOO! Not really--well, yes, it was laundry day, and I had successfully managed to convince Miss Reba NOT to start trying to do clothes on Thursday but rather wait until Saturday when we could get ALL of them washed at once--but that wasn't the REAL reason for my happitude.

It was DASHBOARD PAINTIN' DAY!

Warning: Volvo-related content following. Parental Discretion is advised.

See, my new Ebay dashboard that I have spoken of in the past is black on the top, with two tan areas at the bottom corners. It's from one of the later model 240s that went with a two-tone dashboard, unlike my beloved 1986 pile of iron that uses a color-coordinated version. In my case, a rich, luxurious, deep blue the color of the Swedish flag. Or the interior of a mid-'80s Buick.

Anyway, the one in the car suffers from a terrible case of Grand Canyonitis, with fissures and cracks and separations and spalls across the top surface of the pad. Although the cragginess is common in 240s, it's still not attractive, and reminds one of driving around with Edward James Olmos's face in front of you. So, I was anxious to get that one final cosmetic thing fixed, even if it meant buying a mismatched dash and painting it blue.

Which is exactly what I set out to do. Got me some of the proper color vinyl interior coloring material (95% Volatile Organic Compounds--MMmmm!) and some surface prep spray that smelled like lighter fluid.

And Saturday was just a great day for such things, seeing as how I had to do it outside. This is NOT the thing to do indoors, unless you've got a big area and some big fans. But it was gorgeous Saturday, with bright sun, and temps above 60, a tiny bit of wind, but no humidity. Just perfect.

But first I had to go get breakfast and some groceries. ::sigh:: Took Rebecca with me for some company and dropped down to the foot of the hill to Winn-Dixie. And had an idea! (Yes, it hurt.)

We were walking by one of the inexplicable displays in the freezer aisle--scrub outfits. I guess there's a market for scrubs bought from a grocery store, and the frozen food aisle is the best place to put them. Anyway, I turned to Rebecca and said, "Hey, how about this--how would you like to dress up like a veterinarian for Halloween, and you could get one of your stuffed animals and put a bandage on its head, and wear Mom's stethoscope?"

"Hm-okay."

She actually seemed much more excited than her duosyllabic answer. She picked out a top that had teddy bears on it, and some blue pants. We got the rest of the stuff, including a big pan of lasagna for the pot luck on Sunday, and went and got breakfast, and came home.

I bolted down my prepacked faux Mexican/Scottish food and ran outside to start setting up my dashboard for its new look.

First, some old folding chairs to set the thing on, then the big plastic molding itself--the maneuvering of which from the garage, through the kitchen, to the backyard was fraught with peril, and potential droppage.

Took off the trim bits, propped it up just so, sprayed it down with the fireball-waiting-to-happen prep spray, and then it was time to color. WHOA--man, that's some more bright blue!

Well, no turning back.

I sprayed and sprayed and sprayed and sprayed and sprayed and got it all done, and then thought I might better see just how badly this thing was off from the actual color. Because it was BRIGHT blue. I went inside and got the front off of my old glovebox, figuring I could always paint that and have it all match. Brought it outside, and lo and behold--it was an EXACT match. Whaddya know!?

I went ahead and sprayed the front of the glovebox just in case, and after it was all over with, the dashboard looked like it came from the factory. Next step was the defroster vents and the speaker grill. They were newish, but still a bit dirty, and the speaker grill was actually not as good as the one I got a couple of weeks ago out of the junkyard. I cleaned the vents and popped them in, and went and got my other grill, which also had the benefit of the fiberboard backer on the inside of the grill to keep the fragile plastic ribs from breaking and falling inside the dashboard. I carefully swept out the dirt from between the tiny fragile closely-spaced ribs with a cloth and ::snap::

AGGHHHFF%$!&^^*!

A quarter inch long bit of one of the ribs clicked cleanly out of the middle of the speaker grill. Trying SO bleedin' hard to be gentle, and the silly thing STILL broke. Danged Swedes.

So, out with the epoxy while the dashboard continued to bask in the cool midday autumn sunlight. Toothpicks, glue, stink, swirl, dab, dab, pliers to hold it in place, done. For now.

Clicked the grill in place and stood back to admire my work. Very nice. Now the big thing is going to be getting it in place--there's a website with a good explanation of the process, and so far everything's gone pretty well. We'll see how this goes when the time comes--maybe this upcoming Saturday? I dare not hope for such a thing.

AND THEN, there was THE GAME. Well, not really THE game, but A game. Two things--if Auburn plays Georgia or Alabama the way they played Ole Miss, they will lose. Two lost fumbles, two sacks, several dropped passes, and several stupid personal fouls do not an SEC champion make. Second, Ole Miss played good strong ball, and I shouldn't have been so hard on them.

Thankfully, Vaughn is back on his game, and there's Kentucky to beat up on this upcoming Saturday before taking on the Bulldogs, so hopefully the offensive line will get some more blocking practice, and everyone will settle back down and play like good players and not make stupid freshman mistakes such as late hits.

Instant replay seems to be working pretty well this year, and I haven't had any complaints about it. Finally, Jefferson Pilot stinks--whether you pulled for Ole Miss or Auburn.

Sometime in there, Mom took the kids to Target and came back with a Darth Vader costume for Boy. Somehow, a 50 inch high Lord Vader is not nearly so impressive as the one in the movies.

Baths, supper, and to bed.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:22 AM | Comments (17)

Friday?

I was forced upon my arrival at Casa de Possum to put back on my shoes and accompany the family to Kmart.

Why?

SOMEone had the idea that we needed to go pick out a costume for Boy and for Middle Girl. And it was not Boy's or Middle Girl's idea, but rather Mama's. And as we all know by now, 'IMAH,ANH.'

Wound up with a few Christmas presents, but no costumes. Although I did get to see about the last ten minutes of Robotz. It was pretty good.

Home, and to bed.

What can I say?! Friday just wasn't one of those Great Days in Possum History.

But SATURDAY, whoo-BOY! Now SATURDAY...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:18 AM | Comments (0)

Downside of riding by yourself?

No one to blame when you're late. Although I think I could justifiably blame all the slow stupid people who keep running into each other. Then again, I don't want to jinx myself and wind up in a small crushed pile of metal while others pass by and call ME stupid. So, let's just leave it like that.

GOOD MORNING! And Happy Halloween! Yes, of course I dressed up this year! But I must give all the credit for this to Alan K. Henderson, who has his very own Firefly/Serenity-Themed Blogger Costume Party going on over at his place. LOOK! A BADGER (substitute)!

Anyway, the weekend was full of stuff, some of which I even remember. And will write about in just a moment.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:39 AM | Comments (0)

October 28, 2005

And what would the weekend be...

...without more to do that I can get done?

Well, it wouldn't be the weekend, that's for sure.

Anyway, I have vague notions that there is a lot to do this weekend, so I will be careful to avoid it all as much as possible and possibly even be able to recolor my fancy junkyard dashboard since my paint came in last night. I will have to figure out if it's going to be warm enough outside, though, because this paint stuff I bought is just a giant splodey thing waiting to happen. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I'd rather not have to call the fire department to put me out.

Oh, and there's that stupid time change thing Sunday morning. I've decried all this horologic tomfoolery in years past and it's gotten absolutely NO traction. But I would be plenty satisfied to just leave the stinking clocks alone. Sure, Benny Frank thought it was a good idea, because he didn't have a gazillion things with clocks in his house, and for the ones he DID have, he probably had a servant woman or two to go around fixing them for him. I like him a lot, but I think he'd been better off just coming up with aphorisms and chasing French women.

Anyway, all of you have a wonderful weekend, and I'll see you on Spooky Day!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:15 PM | Comments (0)

The voices in my head?

Oh, sure, they're screaming today. You know what they said?

"GET TO WORK! You've got WAY too much junk to get done, and you can't sit there and read about grown men named 'Scooter' all day and bother your new, as-yet unnamed, quite statuesque, Football Pickin' Chicken. You have GOT to get something productive done, or else."

And you know, that particular voice is probably right. Hate to say it, but it's true. So, what else CAN I do?! I mean, aside from getting one of the other voices to challenge it to a pistol duel. I just hope they do that outside or my ears will be ringing for hours.

Anyway, I think I'll work quietly on my menial clerical duties while they work things out. Stay tuned, though, because there might be something really cool here!

Or not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:14 AM | Comments (0)

October 26, 2005

Lions and lions and lions, oh my!

I had a nice meal last night--Oldest's had her Leo Club banquet at the fancy Mexican place over by the not-quite-so-fancy Chinese buffet place over by the locked-in-a-death-spiral K-Mart. Frankly, I had forgotten we were supposed to go, but was reminded. Several times, in fact.

And thankfully, this year Reba was able to go along as well. If you recall from our chat last year, I had to attend this shindig (at the swank barbecue joint down the road in the swank Target shopping center) with just Oldest and Me, which meant I had to endure a total lack of Adult Interaction, and sat across from two young ladies whom I call "ladies" only to be painfully polite, seeing as how their table demeanor would actually remind Miss Manners of a pack of rabid curs. At least last year, there was room at the table.

This year, we were placed in the back "room" of the establishment, which seemed to actually be more of a dead end corridor. Or torreador. Or something. But it was narrow, and dim, and loud, yet remarkably heighty, with several strings of festive multicolored Christmas lights, and a mural on the wall that provided a nice cautionary tale about trying to paint a mural while vision-questing on mescaline. A long line of tables were set up end to end, and pressed about six inches from the wall of the "room," meaning anyone who sat with their backs to the wall, or in the center, were trapped like, like--BADGERS! [Insert joke about not needing no steekin badgers here]

Wisely, we sat on the outer side of the tables, which was just as entertaining, seeing as how scalding hot plates got passed between and over us to the people on the other side, who actually dared not eat for fear of not being wedged in by their gullets and not being able to get up afterwards.

The across table view was nice, though. Which is wrong of me to say, so forget I said it. But my goodness, I don't ever recall girls looking like this when I was young. Although, the view was somewhat disturbed by the fact that one of the young ladies from the past year was across, and still had the most intriguing method of using dining utensils and conveying food to her mouth that I believe I have ever seen.

MOTHERS! FATHERS! Would you PLEASE teach your children how to hold a knife and fork! And how to use them! And how to chew properly! Holy Emily Post, Batman, can you not SEE what they're DOING!?

Anyway, food was brought, which consisted in our family of a beef and a chicken chimichanga (whatever that is) and a dish called Veracruz enchiladas for me, containing two corn tortillas full of shrimp and covered with melted cheese. Mmmm. Also had rice and gooey bean goop.

As for Adult Interaction...well, since Oldest was on the other side of Miss Reba from me, and since Oldest (having as she does the same attitude at school as at home) has very little to say to any of her compatriots, Miss Reba's entire time was monopolized by said daughter, leaving me to sit and eat and try not to act like I just came by myself.

I must admit that there was not a TOTAL lack of Adult Interaction--pressed together as we were, I was constantly jabbed in the ribs by the highly attractive and needle-sharp right elbow of my bride, whom I believe thinks that she was attempting to qualify for a position in the WNBA with her under-the-basket, elbows-flailing, rebounding skills. And doing a darned fine job of it.

Obviously, I could not allow this thought to break free of my lips, so I merely stuffed in more shrimp and tried not to grunt too loudly when another blow came my way.

After a fine meal, it was time for the installation of officers by the Exalted Lord High Muckety-Muck Gabby-Jawed Leonine Prince of Clubby Get-Togethers, which was nice, aside from the fact that the officers were unable to stand, given that they'd all taken seats on the wall and were passing out from lack of oxygen.

Despite my ill-spirited snarkiness, it was actually not bad--nice, even, in the way that such civic club meetings are. Everyone's in a pretty good mood, and you pretty much know everyone, and it's for a good cause, and no one fights, and you get to eat. I just wasn't in the mood for it, I suppose.

Nor for having to go next door to Kmart afterwards.

Seems Boy is doing some kind of weird social studies thing at school with a group, and they're making a silent movie of all things, and Boy is supposed to be an Old West undercover lawman, who tends the bar and overhears stuff and is able to nab the robber, or some such stuff. I knew nothing about this until last night, and Reba had already talked to one of the other moms who's helping out the boys, and Jonathan needed a hat, and a badge, and an shirt with sleeve garters and handcuffs, and Reba was nearly feverish with desire to go get all this stuff from a costume place or something.

"I have a hat. We can make a badge out of foil. It's not like it's the Great Train Robbery, for Pete's sake. We can use a couple of the girls' pony tail holders for his sleeves, and he can wear that blue-striped shirt we bought him for church. It has big sleeves."

The let-down was palpable. I will never figure this out--she always rushes in and says we need all this junk, and when I suggest that we already HAVE most of the junk, she pouts and acts like I'm some sort of beast. Which I am, obviously.

Anyway, after convincing her that my straw hat would be JUST FINE, we still needed some little plastic handcuffs. I was going to relent on the badge for the sake of peace, but we couldn't find the OFFICIAL one--in her mind, it HAD to be the shiny Magen David with balls on the tips, or else it wasn't a REAL Old West sheriff's badge. [Again, enter with the steenkin badges jokes, if you please.] But, they didn't have one, so we got a little cheapy set of stuff that had some plastic cuffs in it, and wound up getting all the other kids from her parent's house around 8:30 or so.

Meaning, yes, they were up late getting bathed and put to bed, and since I had an early meeting this morning, I'm certain they were a handful to get out of the house this morning.

As for the badge? Well, I printed out a big 400pt six-pointed Wingding star from MSWord that I had added the requisite round tips to, taped it to a heavy disposable aluminum roasting pan, cut it out, rounded the edges a bit with a pencil, then used the pencil to engrave "Sheriff" onto the front of it. The final thing was the attachment--in my haste, I had thought we had some pin backs, but didn't. So I grabbed a pair of extra-strong magnets off the refrigerator and glued one on the back, and mated it with another magnet that will be worn inside his pocket.

I suppose we'll see how this turns out. For my sake, I hope well.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:11 PM | Comments (9)

What a lovely meeting.

It was one of those that only a suphuric acid and ground glass enema could top for giving one that refreshed and uplifted feeling.

And thanks to the tenacious efforts of one of my co-workers, I now have even more stupid crap to do each week. Seems she thought the outrageous idea of having staff present cases, which she seemed to think would be SO outrageous that it would make Those In Charge sputter and spume and beg her not to do such a crazed, maniacal thing.

Of course, in the Rules of Living, it says right there on Page One, "Be Careful What You Ask For, Because You Might Get It."

They loved the idea. Keeps down the idle chitchat, makes sure that things get presented expeditiously. Creates a tremendous amount of work for us. Meaning me. Meaning I will have to figure a way to make sure I successfully avoid being slathered with this creamy layer of stupidity.

That indoor Volvo junkyard of my dreams is looking better and better all the time.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:42 AM | Comments (0)

October 25, 2005

Where have I been!? What have I been doing!?

Well, first of all is stupid work--everyone wants something today, and they keep wanting me to do it. I keep trying to tell them I have important blogging things to do, but it is no use.

And I've also been helping Cletus get some things in order this morning--he's invited Luther to help him out around the garage, and of course, Luther is like a hog in slop (more literal than is really necessary), getting to hold forth to a captive audience without actually doing any substantive work. He's okay to have around, though, which is why I let him hang out at Revolvoblog, too.

Anyway, I've got a meeting to get ready for, and we have one tomorrow morning to get ready for, and there's all kinds of junk and stuff and silliness to prepare.

Dumb ol' work.

Hmph.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:14 PM | Comments (0)

October 24, 2005

Downside of carpooling with your wife?

When she has to stay late, YOU have to stay late. It is now 6:51 p.m. and I am no closer to home than I was when I was dropped off this morning at 7:51 a.m.

Upside? UNINTERRUPTED SURFING ON A T-1 LINE, DOOD!!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 06:52 PM | Comments (0)

No, we don't have one.

A kitty. But more about that later.

First up was to get to church, which we did, and where I found out that I would have to sub in Rebecca and Jonathan's class for their regular Sunday teacher. I teach them on Wednesday nights, but since the Sunday teacher has a different book, and since I didn't know about it until I got there, even though I COULD have looked over one of the kids' books before class, I COULDN'T because I didn't know, so I was stuck with winging it.

Looked it over for a minute or two--the topic was Job, and how ol' Bildad the Shuhite was a self-righteous hypocritical crank, and how you have to beware of hanging around with such people, because they're wearisome and tend to make you less faithful.

Bildad was one of those sorts who believed anytime someone got smote upon by bad things, that they must have been doing something bad themselves--in his mind, he figured since his family didn't get their trailer hit by a tornado, and all of his herds were fat and happy and didn't have the spavins or the epizootic or the mange, he was doing pretty well by the Lord. Which is pretty much what a lot of people seem to think about what goes on today.

The best thing I know to refute such thinking, both by Bildad and various modern idiots, is Luke 13: 1-5, and Matthew 5:44, 45. Natural calamity happens, both to the good and the bad, and so it's best not to try to justify the way you live just because you've managed to avoid trouble. Likewise, just because trouble comes doesn't necessarily mean it's something you did. And be careful who you choose as your friends.

Of course, I can never tell how much of that they actually heard, and how much just sounded like "blah blah blah GINGER" but maybe they got something out of it. I always make a point after class when everyone else has cleared out of asking Rebecca and Jonathan what they learned--Rebecca: "Bildad was a jerk."

Well, there you go.

After church, on to the other side of the county to visit Ashley's other grandparents, made more interesting this time by the addition of a kitten they had stuck in a cage in the back yard. Catherine, our resident cat-wrangler, could barely be restrained from bursting through the door to go mess with the little thing, but we did manage to get her to wait until after lunch.

After which, out the door she went.

Seems the little thing was a stray, but obviously one that had been around people. It stretched and played in the sunshine, and Catherine, and then Rebecca, both came out and played with it through the cage. "Can we have it?!"

"Well, it's not OUR kitten, and second, we don't have a place it can stay, and keeping it in a cage sure isn't the best thing for it."

"Can we have it?"

::sigh::

"No, Catherine--did you not hear what I said?!"

"Yes, but I want a kitty I can keep at our house."

"Well, this ain't the one--let's keep it here and you can come visit it."

"Awwwww."

Pretty soon the other stray cat that calls the place home came around and flopped down, so Catherine went and messed with it so it couldn't sleep, and I went on back inside after a while to read the paper.

Sometime later, Catherine and Rebecca came in and watched some television, then went on back out again, once again to vigorously rub the kitties.

I got up (after dozing off once or twice) and went out to see what they were doing--Catherine was sitting on the swing with the kitty in front of her, holding the poor thing around its ribcage and under its arms and appearing to squeeze it like a bag of icing. Pitiful thing looked like it was going to pop from the pressure. "Cat! Sugar, hold the kitty nicely so you don't hurt him--er, her, whatever it is. Look, hold under its little chest and let it sit its feet down in your hands--See?" I demonstrated the proper method of not squeezing the life out of a cat, and she said "Awwwww--it's so CUUUUUUUTE!" Upon reestablishing possession of the feline, she proceeded to squeeze its upper chest with one hand whilst bundling its hind legs together and squeezing them together tightly. "CAT! Ease up a bit!" I moved her hands a bit to give the kitty some room, which allowed it enough breathing space to squall and grab hold of the back of my hand with its little precious needle-sharp claws.

"Why's it doing that, Daddy?"

"Ow--oooh--because it's uncomfortable in the way you've got it held and it's trying to get away!"

"Oh."

Ashley's grandmother was sitting outside and taking all this in, and after the kitty got calmed back down some related that earlier while I had been inside, the bigger stray cat had been playing with the kitten--"Oh, they're big buddies--Blackie come up and started playing with it and grabbed it up with both its paws and just licked it and loved all over it!"

Well, that's nice.

I went back in and it got about time to leave, and so I started rounding everyone up to go, and went back outside to the back yard--"Watch, Daddy! Watch them play!"

Catherine had put the kitten down beside Blackie the big cat, and sure enough, Blackie grabbed up the kitten with its paws, and drew it in close, and started licking--and biting, and scratching, and generally trying to consume the kitten as if it were a chipmunk.

"CATHERINE! MOVE, baby! He's not playing, he's trying to hurt the kitten!" The kitten was mewling and crying and trying to fight back, and the bigger cat started doing the back-leg-rabbit-hopping thing cats do with their claws, so I broke up the little lovefest and Catherine scooped up the smaller kitten and said she was going to put it back in its cage. "MEAN OL' CAT!" Boy, if looks could kill--she shot that mean old cat a look that would peel paint.

"Can we take the kitty with us?

Persistent little cuss, isn't she?

"Catherine--"

"I know--I just thought I would ask more times."

And thus ended yet another trip across the county, one bright side of which was I filled up with gas and it only cost $2.559 at the Pilot truck stop at East Thomas. Lowest I've seen it anywhere in town lately, and really makes me wonder why fifteen miles east on I-59 it's $2.759. Sure, we maybe all uptown and high-tone now, but I really prefer cheaper gasoline.

Anyway, back to the church building so the kids could do some kind of activity. I hung with them for a little while, but finally had to go off and meditate quietly in the auditorium. I.e., sleep. And couldn't break out of it very well at all. I kept nodding during the sermon, too, and I know it's very noticeable. I try to make it look like I'm looking for something on the floor, but when I fall into the floor, I think people suspect it might be something else.

Home, supper, bed, and now, here I am.

It was quite a weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:25 PM | Comments (12)

Most comfortable tractor EVER!

After doing everything but laundry, it was time to get ready to go up to the church building. Showered, changed shirts, gathered up the junk we were taking consisting of hot dogs, chips, drinks, candy, and ourselves, piled in the van, and were on our way.

Big topic of conversation amongst the children? What to do about a tractor.

As I mentioned, the old tractor we had to pull a mower deck was traded in for a nice riding lawnmower. Nice for mowing grass, but useless for pulling a trailer full of hay and kids. And I hadn't heard what was going to be done for a substitution. "I don't know kids--I reckon someone will come up with something."

And sure enough, just as surely as there was a ram stuck in the brambles to substitute for Isaac, we had a substitute prime mover. One of our members agreed to let us use his hunting truck, a mid-'80s 4WD Isuzu P'Up.

While the rest of automobiledom might scoff at the lowly Isuzu, and use such adjectives as "agricultural," that is JUST such a thing as was required.

I never thought I would see it, but there actually is a vehicle that throbbed and rumbled more than the old 40 horse Massey Ferguson diesel we used to have--BUT--this one had a nice cushy seat, and a RADIO, and power steering, and power brakes, and a roof, and an exhaust pipe that didn't exit right in my face. Yes, friends, the little four-pot engine might shake more than Ted Kennedy having the DTs, but the little bugger pulled that trailer all over the place with not a single bobble or scary incident. AND, I got to listen to the Alabama-Tennessee game, AND it even had a CUPHOLDER! Sure, it might have looked better to have a tractor, but from the driver's perspective, it was hard to beat. And really, isn't that all that counts? Of course it is!

The kids had a good time--there was one of those inflatable trampolines, and enough sugar to keep Brazil solvent for several years, and fun, and games, and a pie toss, and coloring contests, and balloons, and, did I mention sugar? Well, there was candy, cotton candy, candied apples, and probably candied marshmallow candy with candy sprinkles.

I suppose with all that, we probably could have dispensed with a tractor and hitched a couple of the more hyperactive sorts to the trailer. Like, for instance, the two little miscreants who kept getting limbs and chasing people. I hate to sound like such an old coot (not really) but I do recall a time when parents would have grabbed up child and limb and used a portion of the latter to blister the bottom of the former. As it was, seeing as how their parents were much more concerned about being invisible, I was left to shout out the window of the truck for them to put the sticks down before they jabbed someone's eye out. Because, sadly enough, although their parents are all for boys being boys (and go do it somewhere where the parents won't be disturbed by it), they're also the type who would like nothing better than to find someone to blame should their precious little dears injure themselves.

::sigh:: Takes all sorts, I guess.

Anyway, no one lost a limb or eye, so I suppose everything went hunky-dory. Helped clean up some, then went and filled up the truck and brought it back, then we headed home to clean up and get ready for bed.

Next--Job and Kitties!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:53 PM | Comments (2)

Springtime!

(This post goes for a long ways--if it cuts off at the bottom, remember to press the F11 key twice to clear things up.)

But I get ahead of myself--first off was to get Oldest up out of the bed and to school to take her test. I am still a bit sketchy on exactly WHICH test this was, but it was a pretest for one of the standardized tests she'll be taking later on--I think it might have been the pre-SAT--the only thing I was sure about was that I had to get up early, and she had to get up early, and we both had to be to the school building by 7:30.

Which we did, remarkably enough.

After which, it was off to the hardware store! YAY! The garage door was still unrepaired, and although we had just about gotten used to going out the front door, the lack of an operable garage door (even if we can't park in the garage) was a big inconvenience. So I got permission to make that the morning repair project. Little did I realize just how much of the morning it was going to take up.

Got to Home Despot, strode manfully back to the garage door doodads, looked, looked, looked, ahh--springs!

Oh.

Ummm.

Drat.

For some reason, during my haste to leave that morning, I had neglected to bring along a representation of the spring I needed. I had no idea what to get.

I figured maybe a pair of hundred pounders, but had no real way of knowing.

::sigh::

Back up the stately heights of Talladega Hill, where after parking the lovely Volvo, I ran in the house, out to the garage, and retrieved the broken end of the spring from the safety cable, then sprinted back out to the car (manfully, of course), and set off down the hill again back to Home Duhpot. Once more, manfully strode, got to the spring display and...

Hmm.

Well.

Uhhh--well, it's too big for an 80 pounder, and a bit too small to be a 110 pounder. Well, it won't hurt if it's a bit stronger, but...

Only one 110 pound spring. Not a single other 110 in the entirety of the store.

::sigh::

Down the road to Lowe's.

Walked in, feeling much less manful than earlier, wound up having to ASK where the garage door stuff was. Pitiful. Just pitiful. "Well, if we have 'em, they'll be over yonder on aisle 17."

I refused to ask where they would be if they didn't have them.

On to aisle 17, and upon arriving, the heavens parted and light shone down and angels swelled in song, and there they were--95 pound springs. I grabbed two and headed to the cash register, once again confident of my manly male masculinity.

After donning my disguise of an ancient wheezy Volvo, it was back to the house with me and time to start trying not to poke out my eye with flying springs.

OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER:

I am a moron. Do not attempt to replicate anything I do, because you might could get killed or even injured, and I have no way of paying off you and your lawyers. So don't even try to change the springs in your garage door.

But, if you do, it's handy to have a garage door opener hooked up already to help you lift the door. I got one of the kids to push the button while I helped hoist the thing up. "WAIT--WAIT! WAIT TILL DADDY SAYS GO!" After it was up and, it was handy to have a couple of Vise-grips to clamp on the tracks to hold the wheels in place. I thought I was being all bright and genius-like for thinking of this, but when I opened up the instructions, it said to do the exact same thing.

Broken spring off, new spring on, test, works fine. Old, unbroken, but no longer matching spring off, new spring on, test, works fine. Finished! Actual time of repair, about fifteen minutes. Time of repair with travel time--close to an hour and a half. Moron factor=75 minutes.

Now then, that done, it was time to go help do laundry, except the lure of the open garage door was too great of an inducement to working on the car instead.

So I did that.

The headlights still had one niggling thing that needed attention--the rapidly flashing turn signal over on the passenger side was very bothersome, so I needed to fix that, and there was the issue of exactly WHICH light was supposed to be flashing. I found out from my various online sources that the upper, clear light is the always-on marker, and the lower amber one is the turn signal. Which is not the way the lights came wired from the factory, which is, in fact, the exact opposite.

So I opened up the hood, and grabbled around for the connector on each side, opened up the clip, swapped the two wires, and clicked it back together. Also made sure the wires were shoved all the way down into the connectors--plugged them back up, and hooray! No rapid flash! And the amber ones were flashing! Apparently, the signal light on the passenger side had a couple of wire connections that were just barely touching--enough to get a bit of light, but not enough to provide full resistance. But now they work just fine.

But what of that filthy engine?

I had some engine degreaser I had bought a while back for when I was selling Moby, and never got to use it. Hmm. An oil-covered B230F just doesn't look nice--maybe a spritz or two of this stuff...

Despite the stupidity of spraying the engine compartment of an old 240 (which in their dotage have the electrical finickiness of British-made cars, meaning it isn't one of the better ideas of 'things-to-do'), everything thankfully worked out just fine.

Pulled over into the grass so as not to stain the driveway, popped the hood, covered the distributor with aluminum foil, sprayed the foam on there, got the hose, and...

"DADDY! Ashley says she's through and wants you to come get her!"

But! But!

"Okay."

Off to school--extra time to soak probably wasn't a bad thing anyway, considering just how much oil was everywhere. Picked up Oldest, took the car up to Sam's to get some gas, got back in--"Hey, you wanna drive back to the house?"

It's been a while since she'd had a turn behind the wheel, and since there was no one else but us, it wouldn't have the added stress of trying to protect her tender psyche from a carload of backseat drivers. I hadn't told her I was going to let her drive ahead of time, though, so the sudden nature of the request put her back a bit. "UHHHH..."

"You want me to get us down to the service road and let you take the back way home?"

"Umm, sure..."

I'm actually glad she said yes--the main north-south drag through town is daunting even for a geezer like me. We went back down the hill and onto the side street, swapped places, and we were off.

Thankfully, not off the road. She did pretty good, but still has that tendency to hug the edge of the lane. She made it home fine, though, and so did I. I still think I need to have a big STUDENT DRIVER decal for the backend of the car, though. She's still a bit unpredictable in her movements, and I could tell several folks on the outside were a bit unnerved when she would stop short or turn wide.

Anyway, she was tickled to drive some, and I was tickled to be back home where I could finish my cleaning chores. Sprayed the engine down and saw things under the grime I didn't even know existed. Cranked it, and oddly enough, it fired right up. Thank goodness.

Still not quite clean, however. And I was all out of foam. Meaning?

Back down to the foot of the hill for more dingderned stuff. And paper towels. We'd run out, so I thought I would be considerate and get another crate of them. And figured I could probably pick up some engine cleaner while I was there--alas, twas not to be. STILL had to go by the parts place. And stand in line. Forever.

It was running up toward noon, and I was still putzing around with the stupid car, and we had the Fall Festival at church to get to and I needed a shower and, and, and...

Whatever.

No use to get too stressed out about it--aside from the fact that someone was not quite happy with the lack of laundry help.

Got back and spritzed everything down again, and this time did the underside of the hood, which had a fine coating of baked-on hydrocarbons. Most of which remain unto this day. I don't think I have ever seen such tenacity by mere oil.

ANYWAY, it was time to put up the toys and go do hayrides.

NEXT: HEY! RIDES!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:32 AM | Comments (2)

Date Night!

Hooray!

The idea here was that we had to go out and spend up the gift certificates we got last week during the sale at Parisian. It's a very clever way to get you to come back and spend more money. But we had 28 $10 coupons, and they expire today, so we had to get them spent or else it would be like losing 280 bucks. I do not wish to do such things.

Anyway, off to the Summit again, and this time without the children. Stopped by Johnny Rockets again (another coupon, dontcha know) and got our burgers from a very nice young lady. She complimented us on our table manners--she'd just got though serving 20-some-odd high school girls, so it was a relief to have someone not quite so demanding. She got a good tip.

Off then to Parisian, and for once, it was all about ME! I get clothes at Christmas, and that's about it. But Reba asked if I'd like to get something, and you know what? I need a belt. So I got a nice brown/black Perry Ellis belt that was on sale. And you know what else? I even got three TIES! Just went WILD, I tell you! Of course, I got concerned because they were so stinking expensive, so I was going to put one back. "Well, you know, you could let one be a Christmas present--you never remember when we've gotten something anyway."

Hard to argue with that. She'll buy stuff and put it away, and by the time Christmas rolls around, sure enough, I've forgotten it. So the three ties stayed. (And it turns out they were all on sale--one was marked down to $6 from $35. It pays to be unfashionable, I guess.)

Now then, off to the upstairs to find more stuff for her, because for girls Christmas lasts a lot longer.

Found several suits and other stuff, some of which even fit, went to pay, and HEY! What's going on here!?

I don't know what sort of scam either Parisian or the saleslady was trying to pull, but the deal was that you couldn't get change back from the certificates, which is fair enough. But the way the saleslady started doing this was rather than total up the purchases and then discount the certificates, she was going through each item, and taking off only a coupon or two at the time. An item that might be $22, she would take off two coupons. Next item, $38--three coupons. Obviously, what this did was make the coupons worth less than their face value--if you add up $22 and $38, it comes out to $60, NOT $50.

Again, I have no idea why the woman was doing this, and I wasn't necessarily in the mood to fight about it, because it could have been that was the way she was told to do it. By the time we got all finished, we still had $20 in coupons, and wound up paying a bit over a hundred dollars.

I didn't really feel ripped off until we got downstairs and Reba bought a couple of sleepwear-type items, and the girl rang up the whole thing THEN took the discount. Grr.

SO, if you shop at Parisian, be sure to tell them to take the discount after everything's totalled, and if they refuse, raise a big holy stink about it. Or blog about it and tell people that Parisian used to be a very nice place that cared about their customers, but now apparently doesn't mind if their sales staff figures out a way to game the system so as to make a larger commission.

I stayed angry all the way home and all the way until bedtime, at which time Reba modelled her new sleepwear-type apparel, and I forgot all about everything else.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:24 AM | Comments (0)

Well, if nothing else, that sure was some good chicken.

Strangest bird, though--four big drumsticks, but no wings. ::sigh::

ANYway, despite the results of the big game being so unpalatable (and remember, I told you it'd come down to the performance of the special teams), the REST of the weekend was quite pleasant. Allow me a bit of time, and you shall hear all sorts of lurid suburban tales such as Eating; Shopping; Going to the Hardware Store; Going to the Hardware Store; Going to the Hardware Store; Springtime; Headlights: Epilogue; Damaging Mother Earth; Say, THAT'S Not a Tractor!; The Patience of Job; Kitties!; and, I Need Painted-On Eyeballs.

Be back in a moment or several

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:30 AM | Comments (2)

October 21, 2005

The Weekend?

So glad you asked!

Even if you didn't.

Well, tonight will be shopping again, this time to spend up the rebate coupons we got the LAST time we went to Parisian. I am hoping with a great many hopes that we will be able to leave the children in the care of Grand-mahmah and Grand-pahpah this evening so Reba and I can have the rest of that date we were supposed to have last weekend. It might not be the movies, but it might be watching her try on clothes, which is pretty fun, especially when she lets me peek through the slats in the changing room door! (Not really.)

Then tomorrow, Ashley has a test to take at school and has to be there at 8 a.m., meaning I won't get to sleep late, and then she has to go help clean up after the Maple Leaf Run, and then later on in the afternoon we have a Non-Halloween, Non-Pagan Influenced Fall Festival at church, where I will (hopefully) get to drive the tractor for the hayride again. It is in some doubt because we sold the old Massey Ferguson and bought a new zero-turn radius riding mower.

Then, church Sunday, and the monthly trip across the county, and then back again.

Somehow, I doubt I'm going to get to play with the "I Am a Moron" Project any at all. Oh well.

Anyway, all of you have a great weekend and I'll see you again on Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:49 PM | Comments (0)

Yes, I AM here today...

...but it's much more like a Monday than a Friday. Thankfully, Boy's teeth are doing fine, and the Volvo started and ran like a champ today. (Yesterday's drive was marred by the sudden proof of one of Murphy's Laws.)

Anyway, I intend to complain about all of the work-related intrusions to Dr. Rice when she gets here, and see if I can swing a high-paying State Department blogging gig.

And no, despite what you might have heard, Dr. Rice is not my secret lunch partner today.

Now then, back to the swamp.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:40 AM | Comments (2)

October 20, 2005

And Friday?

Boy gets taken to the orthodontist first thing, meaning I will not be here until much later in the morning. Meaning I will not be playing with the dinging computer bell NOR blogging until even much more later. But stop by and check every so often anyway, because you just never know.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:44 PM | Comments (0)

Well, maybe.

I just now went downstairs to get a bottle of refreshing Diet Crack and was coming back up the corridor when I noticed a visitor walking toward me. I knew it was a visitor because he had a yellow sticker on and looked lost. Regular employees do not have yellow stickers.

He was a giant of a man, with two carpenter's pencils stuck up under the band of his ball cap, big clomping brogans, and a belly that looked like a lava flow pouring down between tightly-stretched suspenders that looked as wide as seatbelts. "Is this where you get permits?"

"No sir, that's up on second."

We walked back around to the elevators and he began to relate in that way you do with strangers about how he thought he pushed 2, but it wound up here, and how he was just trying to get some work, and you know what? It was really them that shoulda gotten the permit, because they are the owners.

Things like that. I smiled and commiserated in the way that strangers do, and as the elevator dinged, we both got on. He kept on talking.

"Just been all kinds of busy, and trying to get that all done, and the city people came and stopped me--but you know what?"

"Sir?"

"You know, I been so busy, that might just be the Lord's way of telling me to slow down some. Just wanted me to take a little rest. That's one of those invisible blessings, you know."

"Yes, sir, I suppose so."

Two. Ding. The doors slid back and I pointed down the hall to the permitting counter and as he gently swayed out of sight, all I could think was that the Lord must be telling him to take a LOT of rest. And several fried chickens.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:31 PM | Comments (0)

I am a moron.

But that's okay--I'm in pretty good company.

Last month our preacher went up to Anderson, Indiana to preach in a gospel meeting for a congregation up there and before he left, he e-mailed me to tie up some loose ends. In passing, I wished him success and asked him to be sure if he had some free time to get me some photos of the architecture there in the town.

Why?

Well, you see, I'm a moron. There is a town in Indiana named Columbus, and it is quite famous for the fact that despite its small size, it has a great many buildings designed by famous modern architects. It proudly, and rightly, boasts of its recognition by the American Institute of Architects as the the sixth among American cities for architectural innovation and design; a list in which it is surpassed only by Chicago, New York City, San Francisco, Boston, and Washington, DC. That's some firepower, my friends.

But the name of the town is Columbus. Not Anderson. Anderson, while a lovely and hospitable town with a nice allotment of historic buildings, is not on the AIA list. It has a Carnegie library built in 1905, and a Paramount theater built in 1929. (The historic Alabama theater in Birmingham was built in 1927, and is equally rich in fantastic "Moorish style" ornament.) Still, it's not quite up there with Columbus.

BUT, not to be outdone, our intrepid evangelist went on and preached his meeting and took many pictures. Since this was last month, I had more or less forgotten about it all until Sunday, when he stopped and told me he'd gotten several shots of interesting buildings, but that he'd had a bit of difficulty with explaining my enthusiasm to his hosts. He walked around a bit in downtown Anderson, found someone from the local historical society, and had a nice tour, but he wasn't sure if he found what I was looking for.

Sometime in the middle of his recitation, it gradually dawned on me that it was possible I had told him the wrong town. 'Hmm--was it....ahhhh, hmm--seems like it started with a C instead....' Bad thoughts! I finally fessed up that I might have misdirected him to the wrong town, but I wanted the photos anyway and that I would be quite grateful for them.

I neglected to get them Sunday night, but that gave me time Sunday evening to get on the magical Google machine and type in a couple of words about famous Indiana architecture, and BINGO! Dern it all. Columbus! Stupid me.

So, Monday I wrote him a long apologetic e-mail (no, the OTHER kind of apologetic) and told him of my error in geonymics and that I was a moron and that I would get the photos from him last night after Bible study.

And I did. He showed me his photos, including one of the old post office and a lovely old church, and the Paramount. Looking intently at the marquee, he noted that a coming event was billed as "ASO FRIENDS PRESENT..."

He studied it carefully for a moment, and said, "Hmm--you know, I wonder if that could be something by the Alabama Symphony Orchestra?" Around here, that's the way the Orchestra bills itself--"the ASO."

I just stood there for a half-second, turned to him and quietly said, "Well, maybe, but it probably stands for the ANDERSON Symphony Orchestra."

He just closed his eyes and shook his head--even though it was unspoken, the mental "D'OH!" was plenty loud.

But it sure made me feel better!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:11 AM | Comments (4)

October 19, 2005

Well now--

--that was like upgrading from 5 horsepower trolling motor pulling an aircraft carrier to a TEN horsepower motor pulling an aircraft carrier!

The laptop, that is. It's not quite as sluggish as the other one, but there's still plenty of lag between slides, and it actually does make a pleasant chugging sound as it begins the initial startup to run the show.

Oh well.

NOW THEN, as I was sayin'--

Friday we were kidless, but sadly, due to the amount of time we had to wait before we could drop the older girls off at the spend-the-night-and-giggle party, there was no time left to be able to go see a movie. Not that there's that much out there right now. I would like to go see Serenity, just because I always like Firefly, but Reba wasn't in the mood for anything with any kinds of splodey stuff. The spooky crap neither one of us like, and after you take out all that and the REALLY stupid stuff, we had gotten it down to either Wallace & Gromit or Elizabethtown. Obviously, W&G was my pick. And yes, I realize that E'town has Kirsten Dunst in it, but she's not dressed up like Mary Jane, so who cares.

BEGIN DENNIS AND BUNNY WASHBURN TRANSFORMATION

So, we dropped the younger two at the grandparents, finally made our way to the drop-off point of the older two, and then took ourselves to Costa's newest barbecue and steak place in Trussville. (And yes, of course you can order sauce.) This is a nice place built in the shopping center across from the new Kohl's store, and so I was a bit surprised when we were seated almost immediately, and the place was probably only about half full of diners. On a Friday night, shank of the evening, and there's not a line out the door? Even the mundane chain places have trouble seating everyone, so this seemed a bit off. Maybe word of mouth will help out, because the food is good.

We walked in and one couple was in front of us, and it seemed the hostess and the take-them-to-their-seat-guy were having some sort of competition. I don't know what it was about, but the girl asked the couple the usual "how many" question, and then he rushed over and looked at the chart and asked how many, and then grabbed menus and ran off.

After those two were gone, we told her "two, non-smoking" and she had no sooner written it down, told us it would be fifteen minutes, and given us the flashing beeper thing than he was breathlessly back at her side demanding to know how many we were. "Two," and he grabbed two menus--even though we already had two menus to look at, and demanded we follow him. I don't know what was going on there--maybe he was trying to justify his job or thought that since she had a Spanish accent she must not understand something. There was certainly no reason for them both to be there since the place was so unbusy. He seemed a little too on edge, which was just sorta off-putting. Recommendation? Can him, and let her do her job without interruption.

After we were seated, we both had the pork plate--chopped, inside--with slaw. Reba got the baked potato and I got green beans. Service was good enough, although our waitress seemed, well, not inattentive, really, but distracted or something. I blame her mullet. It makes people act that way, you know.

But the pork was just right--tender and hot and just enough sauce. The beans were good, too--obviously, flavored with Mr. Other White Meat, along with some pepper and onions. Mmm. We couldn't eat it all, so we eventually managed to get a takeout box, and, well, took it out. About 35 bucks total, including a much larger tip that was necessary.

And thus ends my Dennis and Bunny Flashback. On then to Wal-Mart!

But right now, it's lunchtime!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:48 AM | Comments (3)

Just when I thought...

...I had a break, I have to go do something ELSE stupid. Seems our old laptop is chugging hard pulling along a 130Mb PowerPoint presentation train, and so we requisitioned the Big Boss's laptop, and being that I seem to be the only one who knows how to plug an electrical plug into an outlet, I have to see if the thing will work.

Please put down the rocks!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:30 AM | Comments (0)

Yea, verily,

didst the people wander in the wilderness of the Ether, and didst cry out with one accord, Give us the rich goodness of the Possum, and let us hear his words, which are oft times many, and confusing, and cause us to cast up our hands in exasperation.

But lo, evil wast about, and caused the Possum to have to labor, and toil, and travail, and complain, and kvetch,

And caused his hands to not touch the keys of his keyboard, nay, not the period nor the tilde, nor even the space bar.

And the people grew weak, and couldst not tarry long at the well of the Possum,

For there were other wells to drink from, and they offered sweet waters, and didst occasionally have items of interest to read, and coupons, and such like.

And the Possum didst weep, for he knew his readers were longing for his words, filled as they were with joyous recitations of self-injury, and malaprops.

And saying to himself, Self, I must needs place my hands upon the keys of my keyboard, and press mightily upon them, yea even the period, and the tilde, and the space bar, and possibly even unto the ampersand, and all the keys far and near betwixt them all, and I will write many words, and bestow them upon the people, for they grow weak, and will forsake me if I do not this thing.

And setting out, the Possum didst toil and labor with vigor and might upon the keys of his keyboard, and didst create a new post, shining and glorious, and he didst create a hyperlink, and didst bid all his readers to go forth and read his creation, and to enjoy it, and be refreshed from the fresh waters flowing from it.

And the people didst rejoice, until they realized that the link was to a post on Revolvoblog, and the post was about installing headlights.

And the people waxed wroth, and didst murmur, What is this? Bring he us here to this wasteland to perish? Who dost care one whit for the tidings of Volvo headlights, and their installation, and aiming? And others sayest, He is a moron, and dost not have wisdom, and despite the fact that he didst post a picture of a small girl child upon a scooter, we will not allow him to use this to sway us.

And the people gathered and didst pick up rocks, and stones, and shards, and began to throw them at the Possum, and didst hit him numerous times, and shouted, Why givest us thou this pile of silliness with your car?

So the Possum was greatly and viciously pained, and didst cry out and beg of the people, I will tell thee of my date on Friday with the wife of my youth, and of eating out, and of going to the Mart of Wal, if thou wilst stop slinging the rocks, and stones, and shards at my head.

And the people stayed their hands, excepting for a few, who still continued to fling random bricks and stones, which missed, and didst say unto the Possum, Get thee to work, and tell us of your days, and hours, and use thou the keys of thy keyboard and tell us good stories not of Volvos, and with wry humor, and stuff like that.

And the Possum did agree, and begged the assembled crowd to give him some minutes in which to press the keys of his keyboard, and they didst allow it. Mostly.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:09 AM | Comments (18)

October 18, 2005

Even more disconcerting than not having time to play?

The fact that the amount of visitors to Possumblog is the about the same as usual, despite the lack of scintillating, witty banter.

I'm not sure what to make of that...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:51 PM | Comments (8)

F x d =

Work.

Which makes me wonder how I can actually call the crap I've been doing work, because although force is an integral component, I don't seem to be getting anywhere. If d=0, W=0!

In other news--

Uh, well, I don't know. Is anything happening out there I need to know about?

Anyway, back to my wo-- my task at hand.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:13 AM | Comments (0)

October 17, 2005

Well, hello there!

That turned out pretty well, I'd say--had a semi-date on Friday night and ate large quantities of a well-smoked pig, got to go play in the junkyard, got my headlights changed out, Auburn won, got to read the paper on Sunday, and the kids don't have school this week.

All about that stuff in a while--silly dumb ol' work is still cramping my style, so I have to get some of that shoved out of the way first before I can play a lot. Tune in after while, though, and we'll see what there is to see.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:09 AM | Comments (6)

October 14, 2005

Okay, folks!

Y'all are going to have to entertain yourselves this morning. I have much silliness to accomplish for the people who pay me, so I need to get that done. And I've also still got to find a new Football Pickin' Chicken.

Be back in a while.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:35 AM | Comments (2)

October 12, 2005

I am so stupid.

The computer guy just came by to update something on my machine, and I told him that for some reason, I can't get any sound to come out of the computer except when I play a CD through the CD player. Nothing else makes a sound.

Turns out that in my haste to plug in the speakers I stole when our deputy director got promoted and left his old computer unguarded, I plugged them in on the front in the headphone jack, instead of in the proper speaker port in the back of the computer.

What a dunce.

BUT NOW I CAN LISTEN TO ALL SORTS OF CRAP DURING THE DAY! WOO-HOOO!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:30 PM | Comments (2)

I really MUST start carrying around a camera.

On the way to Sneaky Pete's across the street, I noticed a very nice Model A woodie parked at the curb over by the credit union that was almost a dead ringer for this one.

I thought I'd go back after I got my food and take a closer look, but it was already gone.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:38 PM | Comments (2)

Busy-ness.

One of those mornings, so once more I apologize for the free helpings of blather being so exceedingly small today. Sometimes these things people call "jobs" can be very intrusive into one's secret blog life. But I'm going to go to lunch now, and maybe afterwards I will have something that will be worthy of an entry or two.

Or not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:50 AM | Comments (0)

October 11, 2005

And tomorrow?

Off-campus meeting. ::sigh::

Management regret the sudden loss of stupid stuff, and will make every effort to see that any missing or lost stupidity is made up for later in the morning tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 05:03 PM | Comments (7)

You know, even WITHOUT carpooling...

...sometimes you still wind up being late. I spent nearly 20 minutes waiting at the 22nd Street exit ramp. Seems there had been a rear-end collision at the foot of the ramp, blocking one of the two lanes. ::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:39 AM | Comments (4)

October 10, 2005

What are we, up to 8 now?

Oh, who knows. Anyway, up Sunday, shower, shave, dress--why am I in a dress!? Not really--just making up stuff as I go along. ANYway, dress, get kids up, get wife up, repeat several times. Breakfast, out the door, to the church building, everyone in place which was nice, go to class, have worship, Oldest sat with other teens and actually managed to stay awake! Cat went and sat with the lady who helped us at the store on Saturday, mainly so she could show off her new outfit. Side benefit is that she's much less wiggly when she sits with other people. That left the left side of the fifth pew with just Reba, Rebecca, Jonathan and me. And I actually got to sit beside Reba! So, I suppose that would be the #8 thing, and it was just dandy.

After worship, over to the dumpy buffet up the road a ways, then turned around and went right back to the building to wait for everyone else for the convoy to Pell City. Whee.

Went there, did the questions, and this time our kids got trounced. Someone's been studying! And someone hasn't been. Part of it could have been the questions, which tended to be a bit longish and obscure. Genesis is longish and obscure enough, thank you very much.

Grabbed a snack afterwards and headed back to our building, where we thought Ashley had a meeting. Nope. They didn't have the books they had ordered. So we just sat there. I read the paper, the kids watched a movie on television--it was almost like being at home, except I had on all my clothes, and refrained from scratching myself and making rude noises. Evening worship time finally got there, some tone-deaf chubby guy led singing, and despite a coughing fit it actually turned sounding okay and the selections even went along with the lesson--let's make that #9 of unexpected stuff.

FINALLY, after an exceedingly long day, it was time for us all to head home, where I could prance around in shorts and a tee-shirt, scratch, and make rude bodily noises. And help Rebecca type up her report that she had not managed to work on.

I only stayed up until 1:00 a.m.

I better get an A for this.

Anyway, and now I'm here. And for some reason, somewhat grouchy and sleepy.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:44 PM | Comments (6)

Okay, back to Number 6

I enjoy shopping. Really. I enjoy shopping for clothes with Reba. No, REALLY! I even don't mind going shopping with the kids--as long as it's only one or two of them. But all of us together?

I'm not particularly fond of that. The kids who are not directly involved in the shopping process quickly get bored, and want to have some diversion, and for some reason Reba wants me to stand right there to ask me if this one, or this one, or this one is better, and all the while I'm trying to keep the internecine strife to a low rumble and keep the manikins from being disrobed and dearmed, or trying to answer a billion inane questions such as what is this stain in the floor. It's not fun, because I wind up being the babysitter for a bunch of babies who do not wish to be sat upon. The best thing I can do is take a couple and walk them around the store, or do what my father used to do and just go back out with a couple and sit in the car.

But someone--a certain bedmate of mine--had laid down the law before the trip that there was going to be no going off on separate shopping missions. For some reason, she thinks it's better to have all the kids in one compact squirming fighting fidgeting bickering going-off-and-hiding-between-the-clothes mass. I think mainly she thinks this because she rarely has to deal with this sort of mass, herself being distracted by this, or that, or maybe by this thing, which is cute, and goes with that.

So, off to The Summit. First stop, Barnes and Noble, where we had to find a couple of books for Ashley, and thankfully didn't all pile out and go in. Reba went in, and only took 45 minutes. I don't know why it took so long. Then on to Parisian. "Bargain Days," as I mentioned earlier. The sale that all of Birmingham's female population await with an anticipation second only to...ahhh, well, probably something, but I'm not sure what. It's actually a good sale--stuff is marked down to something approximating its actual value, rather than the usual equation of Value X 10.

And we stayed together. More or less. I can only stand and wrangle children for so long before I have to get them to all sit down in one place and amuse themselves. First, clothes for Rebecca, so I had Jonathan and Catherine, and after about five minutes of impatient whining, we sat on an ottoman (a Turk's favorite piece of furniture!) in the junior's section and passed the time thinking up words for each letter of the alphabet. Call a letter, say four words that begin with that letter. Move to the next letter. Almost entertaining. But at least the scenery in the junior department is pleasant.

Rebecca got her stuff, then it was off to find something for Oldest. Did that waiting in the women's department with Rebecca, Cat, and Boy. The girls did endless repetitions of various girly pattycake games. Loudly. Boy and I sat opposite them on another ottoman and just sat. Then it was time for Cat and Boy to find something. For once, I was able to leave Miss Wiggly with Mom and Jonathan and I went and looked for pants. Found one pair in his size, and a nice button up shirt, and a big silly yellow SpongeBob shirt. "You DO realize you can't wear that to church, right?"

"DAAaaaad!"

I suppose he did.

Back to the girls, who were still trying stuff on, then the final stop to find something for Mom. Who did manage to find some things, but not a lot, and therefore was perturbed.

And then we paid. I didn't know how much it was at the time, and it's probably just as well, because I know that I am always uncomfortable seeing a grown man cry in public.

Thank goodness it was all on sale, or else we'd be the most stylish homeless people around.

And then, to eat. Johnny Rockets, the loud bright noisy place where you somehow manage to delude yourself into thinking that the fact that your hamburger is served by some guy in a snappy white campaign hat that it's worth spending nine bucks a head. As you can guess, I would rather have gone to McDonalds. Crap, yes, but inexpensive crap. To make matters worse, I had stopped beforehand to get some cash, and I STILL wound up having to borrow money from the Bank of Boy, who was nearly beside himself in anguish at having to fork over some dough so we wouldn't have to wash dishes. Of course, the moment we left we had to go right back to the grocery store just to get him his money back.

Then, home. Where I found out that Rebecca's English project dealing with the book The Watsons Go to Birmingham--1963, had sat just as she left it on Thursday, and she had not even started writing anything, and it was due today. Which meant Sunday was going to be busy, and late, because we had to travel for one of our Bible Bowl competitions, and wouldn't be getting home until late.

About which, in just a moment--for those keeping score at home, that will make #7 on the list of unexpected changes to plans.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:32 AM | Comments (5)

Well, here's the list.

You know, of undone plans.

1. Friday afternoon, I was supposed to meet Reba and the kids at the elementary school to pick up a buncha junk Cat was selling, then get Oldest and go to the game. Got there, they were already there. Fine. Found out Mom had decided to go to game with Oldest instead of me. Fine. Although by then I had worked myself into actually wanting to be there, so I wound up being slightly perturbed. This was made up for by actually getting to go home and vegetate.

2. Went home, changed clothes, started laundry, fed the kids supper of some sort, and vegetated. They watched a movie, and I was in the same room, but kept nodding off and drooling like the old fart I am.

3. Oldest and Mom home early--it was very cold and whiney at the game. Turns out she wasn't working a sales table as I had earlier thought, but serving as a hostess for some prize deal they came up with where a student could have their very own sideline seat on a sofa and have food brought to them throughout the game. Downside for the supposed "winner"? The sofa sat behind the end zone, on the ground, meaning that the only persons with a worse view were the ones who were blind. The student who won wound up sitting in the stand with friends, so the couch was left to her mother, Ashley's teacher, Ashley, and some kid in her class. She and Reba left at halftime.

4. The game itself? Well, let's just say that the Possumblog Sports Center is taking applications for a brand new Football Pickin' Chicken. Hewitt fell for the third year in a row, by a score of 30-14.

5. Saturday--the day I finally get to play with the Volvo! Or not. ::sigh:: Got up and asked Reba what the schedule was for the day. "Well, I want to take the kids to Parisian for Bargain Days," (and if there was ever a misnomer, that's it) "to get Rebecca some church clothes, and Catherine, too. And I need some dresses for work. And Jonathan needs some new pants. And Ashley is down to only one suit for church." ::sigh::

"Well, I have GOT to cut the grass, and I really need to change the oil in the car. Any chance I have time to do that?"

Of course not, but you know, accomodations for my unreasonable demands were made. I wound up taking it down to the oil change place at the foot of the hill, mainly to save time, because my ramp stands were going to have to be dug out from underneath a pile of stuff in the garage, and that would have taken several extra minutes. But doggone it, I DID go ahead and change my own air filter, just to keep them from messing it up. And you get a $4 credit if you bring your own filter, and the guy I bought the car from let me have six.

Oh well, 3,000 miles will roll around again pretty soon.

Back home, cut the grass. I like my new lawn mower. Very relaxing to listen to. And a fine day to cut grass. Cool and overcast, which was nice because the yard was jungle-like in its density and height. And there were TIGERS! Not really.

Got finished and heard all about the ongoing series of "discussions" that had occurred inside the house while I was out. Yet another good reason to cut your grass as often as you possibly can.

And then, shower to remove all the grass clippings from me, and on to go SHOPPING! AND TO EAT!

Number 6 up in just a little while. Staff Meeting Time, doncha know.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:32 AM | Comments (0)

Oh, sure--

--survived just fine, but not a single thing I planned to do went off the way I had planned it. And, oddly enough, despite the plans going off and doing their own things, the outcomes weren't so bad. In the greater scheme of things.

Anyway, more about all that later.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:07 AM | Comments (0)

October 07, 2005

Boy, it's been a slow day.

I just hope the weekend is equally full of uninteresting things. The plan is to get up early(ish) tomorrow and once again try to get the oil changed in the Volvo, then cut the grass, then maybe set about to install my sleek European glass headlights onto the front end the Volvo.

I just realized any of these tasks could result in conflagration and/or serious harm to me, so that might interest things up a bit. We'll see, I suppose.

In any event, if I make it through relatively unscathed, I'll see you all back here bright and early Monday morning for more mindless chatter! Y'all have a good weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:09 PM | Comments (0)

How I know prayer works.

Found out that Oldest didn't get a part in the play. I cannot tell you what a relief that was. I have never actively tried to ruin anything for my kids, but I very nearly called the teacher to beg her to choose someone else. As it was, though, there were more than three people for every part, and the parts all went to seniors, making it very difficult for Oldest to think she was being singled out for ill treatment. Especially since a couple of popular girls that she's jealous of didn't get in either. So, there's one less excuse for being sleepy all the time.

And for once, Reba was the one to lay down the law last night about getting into bed on time. The rest of the kids still listen to me and do what I say, but Oldest has been using Reba's unwillingness to nag as a method of ignoring responsibility. But last night Reba wouldn't provide sanctuary, and gee, guess what? Oldest in bed by 9. It has been months since that happened.

Reba also had a talk with Grandmom about not allowing Oldest to say she had no homework then rack out on the sofa. What was happening was that she'd say she didn't have anything to do, then mysteriously remember she had a few things left to finish, which invariably would take her until 11 p.m. to finish. Well, no more of that. No naps. No staying up late. And hopefully no sleeping in history class.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:39 AM | Comments (6)

October 05, 2005

A long night.

Sometimes you find out things and you really didn't want to know them. This comment prompted by open house at the high school last night. Oldest had to be there at 6:15 to serve as a helper for her homeroom teacher, so Reba and I swooped in, picked her up, and headed on over to the school without even stopping for supper.

We got a short intro from the principal and assistant principal and then followed her schedule to each class for about 15 minutes or so, then the bell would ring and we'd move to the next. They also rang the tardy bell five minutes later so parents would be able to see if their student was actually being truthful when told that it takes several hours to get across campus. Thankfully, OUR student hasn't gotten gigged with any tardies this year, although there were a few last year.

This semester Ashley has Business, Choir, Honors English, and Honors History, and each of her teachers makes me feel better about the state of public education, at least in our town. Speaking from the perspective of someone who attended a private Christian school for 12 years, and as the parent of four kids who attended another private Christian school for three years (they got to go because Mama worked there), don't fool yourselves about the quality of those private schools.

I managed to do well enough for myself, but only because I had initiative enough to go learn things on my own. I knew more chemistry than the chemistry teacher we had in high school, and more biology in the seventh grade than our teacher knew. Bless their hearts, because they wanted to teach and be able to do so in a religious sort of environment, but still, it's pretty bad when the students are more capable than their instructors.

My kids got the "opportunity" to experience such a school, too, but thankfully they were able to overcome the intense handicap it imposed on their learning. The delusion of superiority that the place imposed on itself was unbelievable, even in the face of standardized test scores that lagged behind even the middling public schools.

But what of the high moral education? Well, just like every public school isn't a trash heap of immorality, simply plastering Christian on the buildings doesn't make it so. Again, that delusion of moral superiority amongst both the faculty and administration caused the drugs, alcohol, and sexual licentiousness of the students to be completely ignored, or if discovered, to be excused. Can't make those big donors unhappy, you know. Likewise, the favoritism, backbiting, high-handedness, and lack of respect shown by so many of the teachers was reprehensible, especially in light of the lightweight credentials they had brought to the table. I might be willing to accept a bit of that from someone who's a genius--maybe. But not from someone who graduated in the middle third of a class of underachievers.

The point? Well, maybe my experiences aren't typical, but just as you can't paint all private schools as paragons of virtue, you also can't tar all public schools as being ineffectual pits of moral decay. Any school where the parents are committed to superior performance--and are willing to put in the time it takes to achieve it--will be a good school. They might not have any Bibles lieing around, but when it comes to education, I am firmly of the opinion it's better to have good teachers rather than bad teachers with good intentions.

Anyway, enough of the soapboxing. We walked around to all of her classes and met her teachers. The business teacher's been all over the country and has actually worked in a business! (Imagine that!) She seems like a real go-getter. As for the choir teacher, he joked about wearing a tie and not shaving so the parents would believe that he actually was the teacher. Might need to let the facial hair grow a couple of days, there, Junior. He looked about 12 or so. And he went to Ole Miss. I guess all that moralizing about good teachers just went STRAIGHT OUT THE WINDOW! (Obviously, this is tongue-in-cheek. Despite looking like a kid and knowing the Hotty Toddy cheer, he seems like a great guy.) The English teacher was fine, in a way that would have made me unable to concentrate on my lesson were I still in high school, and then there's the history teacher.

An old-school fellow, in the very best way, in that he seems to believe in teaching history rather than being politically correct. And he's a legacy--himself a grad of the school, and the son of a man who taught history there for 30 years. He knows his junk. Bad stuff? Well, he DID have a Jimmie Johnson poster on the wall at his desk. And guess who keeps going to sleep in his class?

::sigh:: He was disappointed, more than anything else, because he knows that Oldest is a good student, and when she's engaged, she soaks up that history stuff like a sponge. But her pigheadedness in defying us by trying to stay up late--bedtimes being for little kids--is catching up with her.

I've recognized her problem for a long time, mainly because of her determination to sleep through church even with me AND mom poking her in the ribs. What we're really going to have to deal with, though, is the fact that Mom isn't helping matters.

Reba, bless her, loves to talk. As I've said before, she talks the way I blog--constantly, and with much hand-waving. This is fine, most of the time. But Ashley has found that if she goes and engages Reba in conversation at bedtime, she can stay up an extra hour or more. Because Reba, not wanting to be mean, or confrontational, simply cannot not talk to her, and refuses to cut it short and send her to bed. I can rant and rave all I want, but as long as she keeps providing an excuse for Oldest to drag out bedtime until midnight, it does nothing but make more aneurisms spray out of my brain like a lawn sprinkler. I'm hoping that having a bit of gentle humiliation at the hands of the history teacher will make both of them understand that something's gotta give.

We'll see, I suppose.

And then?

Well, wouldn't you know it, but YET ANOTHER EXCUSE TO STAY UP LATE! Grr.

Oldest wants to be in another play, and they had auditions last night. Until 10 p.m. Reba and I went and got the other kids from the grandparents, I took them home and set them to bathing and getting in the bed, then went back to the high school to wait on Oldest. I would hate to actively wish for her desires to be crushed, but never have I wanted so badly for her to not get picked for something. That's bad to say, but with her difficulty in getting enough rest, this seems like A Bad Thing.

We'll see, I suppose.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:20 AM | Comments (15)

Made it!

Of course, my excuse for today was that since I had to go to the bank, we really needed to go in separate vehicles. But, even if we hadn't, at least everyone was ready to go this morning at the ordained time of 6:50. We'll see how that goes tomorrow...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:04 AM | Comments (5)

October 04, 2005

Odd, but that's okay.

We got finished with supper last night and were cleaning up and getting the kids shooed upstairs to get ready for bed when Cat said, "Daddy, you're still gonna sing the "O Danny Boy" song to me after we read, right?"

I hadn't realized I'd agreed to this, but she tucked her head onto her shoulder and twisted back and forth in a close approximation of various Precious Moments figurines, so how could I refuse?

I got all ready and made her move out of my place on the couch so I could have the light, and we read Chapter Three of Romana Quimby, Age 8 (through much yawning on my part--I'm yawning even typing about it) and then it was time for the recital. "Come on, Daddy--I'm going to get in the bed and you're gonna sing, and then I'm gonna sing." I bundled her up and sat on the side of her bed and sang to her, and she sang to me, and then she said, "Okay, now you said you were going to find the words to O Danny Boy on the computer, and you're going to find Tammy, and print them on the printer on some of your paper so I can sing them anytime I want to and learn the right words to them, right? You said you would!"

Again, I have a feeling this was one of those things she wanted me to do and decided to ask/tell me during the middle of one crisis or another, and I probably said something like "HUH WHA? Yeah, uh-huh," and never thought about it again. But, not wishing to disappoint, I have them both printed out on papers from the computer thing.

As for what got her started on this particular obsession, I don't know. But I suppose it's okay. Singing or being sung to are about the only times she's simultaneously awake and not wiggling.

(She also gets hung on the Peasall Sisters' version of "In the Highways," but she hasn't asked to sing that one lately.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:00 PM | Comments (7)

And you know what else?

Yep, silly ol' work keeps intruding into my ability to play. Hmph!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:46 AM | Comments (3)

Yes, I'm late.

And yes, it's stressful.

I am just about ready to admit defeat and say that if the $5 per day we save in gasoline costs by driving together means being late to work every single day, then it is simply not worth the incredible toll it takes on my usual sunny demeanor.

I mean, sure, if you could see all the tiny little bursting aneurisms in my brain on television, it might be worth it, but otherwise, I think I'd just rather shell out the extra bucks and not have to endure it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:58 AM | Comments (8)

October 03, 2005

Road Trip!

As noted earlier, the drive down to Montgomery was very nice on Saturday, even with the detour through downtown. The Sheraton was hopping, that's for sure--race fans, football fans, convention goers, dressed-up kids trying to look like grownups. Wound up sitting out there for thirty minutes waiting on Reba and Ashley, who themselves were waiting for the sponsor, who got there right at 8:30. No matter, gave me another excuse for people watching.

On then to Mungummy, arriving at about 10 or so. Took Reba to my special library place, and she studied as I plundered through the magazines and caught up on correspondence. Lunchtime came quickly, and we stopped off at a Sonic out on the main drag. Which is just what they did. Drag around. We were in a hurry and ordered stuff that shouldn't take THAT long to fix, but after a long wait, I gave up and we left without getting food there. Went next door to the Arby's and were in and out in five minutes. Off to school, dropped her off, turned around and went back to the library and spent more time deciding whether to read Scientific American, New Republic, Air and Space or People. So I just read them all at once.

Got the buzz to come back and pick her up at around 2:45, meaning she'd only been scribbling for an hour. Apparently that was enough, though. She's finished, and now only has to go to the graduation ceremony in December. I promise I'll post a picture.

I sure am glad she's finished with all that. Shoot, I'm glad I'M finished with all that. Most ironic is that the promotion proffered to her had nothing to do with her getting her degree. Hopefully she'll be able to put it to good use in the future. Most people make several million dollars a year in the human resources field, right? Good.

The trip home was good, aside from the earlier mentioned episode with the carload of mo-rons who I was unable to shake until they broke down on the side of the road. And it was a great day for travelling--sunny but not hot, and the colors are just now starting to come into the trees, and that goldenrod. Acres and acres of it. You know, at one time the state flower used to be the goldenrod before some garden society types got it changed to the camellia.

I'd like it changed back, please.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:58 PM | Comments (2)

You know... (Number 6,459 in a series of recent internal monologues)

...if you like to sing at work, that's fine, but I would ask that if you are going to sit right outside my office while you eat lunch, and continue to make noises that sound almost like singing except that they are completely monotonal with no recognizable tempo, that you think twice about it, because you are causing me to grind my teeth into nothingness as I am forced to sit here and listen to your flat, listless caterwauling.

And, if you simply must continue despite my dental discomfort, at least do me the pleasure of please picking something other to "sing" than hymns.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:32 PM | Comments (5)

Homecoming

What a nice Friday night! Just perfect--temperature just right for shirt sleeves, no humidity to speak of, no wind to make it too cold, and the bleachers were clean! We had to get there early because Ashley and the rest of the choir were going to be singing, so we went straight there after picking up all the young’uns from Grandmom's. Parked at the library, walked over to the stadium, paid our money, found some seats, and immediately had to start listening to Boy whine about not feeling well. ::sigh:: This incessant complaining was moderated by Catherine’s constant inability to sit still for more than one second.

Since we got there so early, we got treated to the parading panoply of people as they filtered in, and once again, I am amazed at the number of women, who, having reached a certain age, still think that they're able to wear the same clothes as their teenaged daughters--and successfully pull off the look. I’ve said it before, but since they don’t seem to have gotten the hint, I guess I can say it again, but all that blotchy, leathery, wrinkly cleavage isn’t really very nice to look at. Nor is the stalky fried blonde hair that is so thin I can see your scalp. And believe it or not, there are some features of your face--impressed as they are through long years spent sucking on Virginia Slims, flambéing on a tanning bed, and dieting on lettuce and Jack Daniels--that even a high-quality concealer cannot disguise.

And yes, I’m talking about you, Lady Who Sat in Front of Me.

Probably 50, looked closer to 80, was trying to look 20. And lest you think her skin-tight jeans, sparkly crop top, and denim bolero jacket is the province of the less financially-secure, rest assured that it was obvious the artfully-distressed, too-tight clothing and just-so hair-frying were purchased for good coin, and the large clunky rings on each finger didn’t come from Wal-Mart. It takes a rich woman to go out in public in a getup like that and be able to convince herself she looks good doing it.

Obviously, I’m not the one she or the rest of them were trying to impress, but it does kinda make you wonder just who it is they ARE trying to impress. Each other? Each other’s husbands? Their daughters? Their daughter’s boyfriends? Who knows. But I do know that youthfulness is more than the junk you put on, and trying to recapture a time in the past when you were pretty and popular by dressing like a kid (complete with an oh-so-scandalous rip in the seat of your pants) doesn’t make you look younger, it just makes you look sad. Youth looks forward, not back.

Even worse (at least for those who play that game), there’s always going to be someone better at at it than they are, like the well-toned petite girl who was sitting in front her, who was probably 30, and looked 18, even after having two kids. She made it very difficult to keep my mind on the game. And that’s even WITH Miss Reba sitting right beside me. My success in hiding my distraction, however, was witnessed by the fact that Reba never once elbowed me in the ribs, nor punched me in the face, nor asked, “What are YOU looking at.”

AS for the show, the choir got to sing the National Anthem and the alma mater, and did a bang-up job on both. Afterwards, Oldest went on to man the booth for her DECA club as they tried to unload various merchandise on the crowd. This included $10 spent by my family. First for a small stuffed $5 husky dog for Catherine, then another small stuffed $5 husky dog for Jonathan, who was jealous of Catherine, and still feeling so terribly ill and sick and unwell and hurtful. Until he got his own husky toy, after which he perked right up.

The game? As you can read in the link from the first post of the morning, it went well for us, and not at all good for the other team. But my goodness, those kids from Decatur could hit.

We left a few minutes into the third quarter, mainly so we would be able to get up on Saturday morning and get going. Anther early start, because we had to get Ashley to a conference at the Convention Complex downtown that her DECA club was having with all sorts of other DECA chapters from around the state. Had to be there at 8:30, which meant getting everyone up and leaving by 7:30.

Which we actually managed to do--with time to spare!

See, I told you it was a good weekend!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:08 PM | Comments (2)

Roadkill Report!

As I noted earlier, this weekend offered a bevy of fatally flattened fauna that was quite remarkable both for the variety of species and the sheer number. I'm not sure why there were so many, unless all of the maintenance crews had been diverted to the I-20/I-59 corridor for the twin Talladega/Tuscaloosa set of weekend events, but I counted nine armadillos, four possums, a big racoon, a large bird of some sort, and then about five or six other furry things that could have been just about anything, other than giraffes. And there was one I wasn't so sure couldn't have been a giraffe.

Other item of note? People who slowly, slowly reel you in, pull out to pass you, slowly, slowly pass, then pull in front of you, and slow down. GRR. So you pull out and pass them back on the next small rise in the road, because they slow down even more, because they obviously don't have cruise control, and you pass them, and then speed WAY up so you get farrrrrr ahead of them, and then you resume your normal speed until about fifteen minutes later when they come by again, and repeat the same stupid slow dance. I cannot stand people who do that. So don't do it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:44 AM | Comments (10)

Life Along the Pinchgut, Chapter 843

Well, good morning!

You know, for not having had sufficient time to change my oil in the Volvo as I had planned, this weekend managed to be pretty darned okay, as weekends go. Found out on the way home Friday that Reba had been offered a promotion into a different department that brings with is a substantial raise; the high school team won its homecoming game in a drubbing of the powerful Austin High School team out of Decatur (and by the way, the score does not reflect just how tough Austin is--they have a kid named Rod Buford who is a freight train--you will hear about him when he goes to college. And their band is very, VERY good). The drive down to Montgomery on Saturday was bright and sunny and the fields were full of lovely goldenrod and the roadsides littered with all sorts of interesting roadkill; checked Reba's grades and found that she'd gotten two more As, for an overall GPA of 3.977 (she's had one B); got to play in the library for most of the day and read all about the latest in jet engine technology and the Chesney-Zellweger breakup; listened to the Alabama game on the radio on the way home--let me tell you what, those kids are for real this year. The Auburn-Alabama contest this year is going to be one for the record books. They manhandled Florida, and anyone who does that deserves a hearty pat on the back. It is sad to see Prothro out for the season--he's a tremendous athlete and a good kid. I hope his rehab goes well and he's able to get back and be as good as new. Did manage to get the oil changed in the Honda, even if I did have to take it in to Express Oil Change, where there is nary an Otis the Possum anywhere in sight; got home and started in on laundry and listened to the Tigers maul Spurrier's boys. Heh. Church on Sunday, and all the teachers were in place, on time, and ready to go; then I found out my budget for the year was due, so afterwards instead of getting to clamber underneath a stinky old car, I had to sit and type up my numbers for the upcoming year while I watched the Talledega race--and do more laundry. (Added bonus of Talledega is that Jimmie Johnson was knocked out of the top spot. Downside is that he still got 121,000 bucks.) Got back to church early for a variety of meetings, then afterwards went and had supper at the Chinese buffet, and then on the way home were treated to Catherine singing various portions of "O Danny Boy" at top volume. I do not know why.

ANYWAY, it's been a good weekend, with lots of stuff left undone, but nothing worth getting too upset about. More to follow, but right now I have to get ready for our Super Fantastic Fun Monday Morning Staff Fun Meeting of Fun.

Back after a while.

(OH, and one more thing from this morning's commute. "Hello, y'all, and welcome!" to all of the out-of-state visitors we had for the race. One bit of advice for when you come back for another visit, though--don't try to head home at a time that will bring you through Birmingham at morning rush hour. Leave earlier, or later, but either way, it'll save us all a lot of grief.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:41 AM | Comments (4)

September 30, 2005

Almost that time.

The weekend starts early tonight--it's homecoming, and Oldest has a thing to do at halftime with the choir, and so we'll all be turned out in our regalia tonight. Which for me consists of my Huskies stadium chair, but that's enough.

And then tomorrow, Miss Reba completes yet another chapter in her academic career. She will now have two different associate degrees and a BS in Human Resources Management, so I'm hoping she will find a job that pays a couple million dollars a year so I can retire and take up full-time blogging AND open my very own Volvo junkyard. An INDOOR junkyard. That would be cool. Maybe in an old Wal-Mart building. The suburbs are full of them--as they move on to a SuperCenter down the road, the old ones get shuttered and no one ever moves in. But they've got a lot of space, and cashier stands, and so I figure you just stack wounded Volvos up and down where the aisles used to be, give people shopping carts, and let them go shop for what they need in clean, well-lit, indoor accomodations. Maybe even have a deli--Swedish meatballs, you know.

Anyway, she still has to take her final, so I'll go to the library and read, and then that'll be that. For now. And then there'll be church Sunday, and I'll get to find out what all the other people agreed to in my absence, which I'm sure will be interesting, and we start our new quarter, and I found a teacher, which is good, and I'll get to teach Boy and Middle Girl this time--except that will be Wednesday.

Sometime in there, we've also got a stack of laundry to do, and the house to clean. OOOH! And a birthday cake to buy! I just remembered we haven't bought Rebecca a cake yet! She probably enjoyed eating out last night as much as she would enjoy a cake, but there is TRADITION to be invoked, and if you don't get to blow out candles, well, that just ruins everything. So, a cake.

But now?

Time to pack up and get ready. All of you have a great weekend, and I'll see you bright and early Monday!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:20 PM | Comments (2)

The sweetest words ever spoken...

"Primary staff only."

I DON'T HAVE TO GO TO THAT STUPID MEETING THIS MORNING! After the reprieve of yesterday when the supersupervisor (and no one else, for that matter) showed up, I figured there was no way I could get out of this one today. BUT I DID! The big guy only wants the medium-sized guys, and all of the rest of us teensy people get to go off and do teensy people things.

Speaking of meetings, I had a building committee meeting at church last night that started at 6:30. I remembered it right in the middle of eating my salad at Ruby Tuesday about 7:00. Quite embarrassing, especially considering that I'm the one who always hectors people to be at the meetings, and considering that I kept reminding myself all day yesterday that I had a meeting and not to forget it.

But Reba called while I was on the way home yesterday and suggested we take Rebecca out for supper for her birthday, and everything else just slipped my mind. Even took Grandmom with us (Grandpop being out of town on business).

We went to the one in Trussville, which is not the one we've been boycotting in Leeds for the past three years or so. The service is much better--made even betterer this time because our waitress was a girl we go to church with. We didn't even know she worked there, but it was a nice surprise, and she was incredibly attentive. She was so glad to see us she actually stole us from another waiter. Such a sweetheart--she got a big tip.

Of course, we can't go anywhere without drama--Boy didn't want to order off the kid's menu, and decided he just wouldn't eat, and curled up in the booth acting like a baby. After a short tersely whispered lecture about not acting like a baby, he at least sat up straight. Stubborn thing, though--he was going to just not order anything at all and go to bed hungry. Fine.

Remember, never negotiate with terrorists.

After a while, he decided he'd get a salad from the salad bar. I found him up there being pitiful, with a sliver of lettuce leaf and a tomato, and a drop of ranch dressing. Po' baby. ::sotto voce:: "Bud--you can go ahead and get more---you have to pay the same whether you have just a little or a whole lot." After that he made himself a regular salad and ate that. And a pot sticker. And one of Reba's chicken fingers. And a quarter of Rebecca's hamburger. And half a piece of pie with ice cream. I knew he couldn't hold out forever. And doggone it, his kid's salad came off the kid's menu!

Other drama was minor, although Cat was up and down and around and under and through and a thousand other prepositions all night which made me remember the last time we went somewhere relatively nice and I vowed never to go back unless I had a straitjacket and a dart gun full of horse tranquilizers. And no, I'm not sure if that would be for me or for her.

And then there was the sudden remembrance of my missed meeting. I asked at the host's stand if they had a phone book, which took forever for them to not find, so I wound up using precious minutes calling directory information, then wasted a call when the answering machine at church picked up, and then called again and finally got one of the other guys on the committee. Profuse, abject, groveling apology offered, then went back to sit down and wonder why Catherine was making a swan out of her paper napkin. "LOOK, DADDY! A SWAN!"

Yes.

Rebecca was pleased that I had missed my meeting, of course--"So you can spend time with your FAVORITE 13-year-old girl who is having a birthday TODAY! Right, Daddy?"

Right!

All over with, paid, dropped Grandmom at her house, home--and wha?! The garage door would go up a half a foot, then come right back down. What in the world!?

Got out and had to go through the front door and after getting inside set the kids to their homework and baths and went to check out what was wrong. Maybe it was the food-borne stupifying agents or just plain stupificationary genes, but it took me ten minutes to figure out that one of the spring eyes had broken off. I could see the spring and cables dangling there, but couldn't figure out WHY. Until I finally saw the broken piece and had one of those forehead-smacking moments. Well, that'll be inconvenient. And it won't get fixed anytime soon, either.

Why?

Going down to Montgomery with Reba again, that's why. She has her comprehensive final tomorrow, and I agreed to accompany her one more time for old-time's sake. It's not the all-day affair her other times have been, so we'll go down during the day, but that pretty much rules out anything as productive as changing out a garage door spring tomorrow.

It won't rule out an oil change for the Volvo, though, dangitall.

Anyway, now it's time to get on with all of my vastly important teensy person busywork. And other things...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:47 AM | Comments (4)

September 29, 2005

Back now, and it's time to work.

A nice diversion in the middle of the day, although almost fraught with terrible tragedy. Seems my newly purchased junkyard mirror on the passenger side almost let go and fell into the middle of I-20. It has an odd little locking ring on the inside of the glass that you're supposed to click onto the backing place by sticking a tiny screwdriver in a slot on the bottom of the mirror housing and ooching the little ring sideways. I thought I had ooched enough, but apparently not.

I had to pull over, roll down the window, and grab the mirror before going on to school. When I got there, I parked and put it back on with a non-tiny screwdriver, and I feel that I once again did not ooch with sufficient brio to make it lock. Something to do when I get home, I suppose.

Oldest was ready to go in a good amount of time, and we got to the center with no problems other than traffic. And bless the woman's heart at the staging area--"Is this car going to be one of the ones in the parade?"

Heh--no, no, 'fraid not. That's a honor they reserve for people with fancy convertibles, Hummers, kit cars, and dune buggies. But it's nice to think someone thought it worthy to be considered in such a group.

ALTHOUGH, she might have been asking, "Is THIS car going to be one of the ones in the PARADE!?"

Anywho, dropped her off, got back on the road, and now I need to be productive.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:24 PM | Comments (6)

And Now?

Why, it's lunchtime!

This late?

Of course! because I'm not really going to lunch--I'm using my lunch hour to drive out to Trussville to pick up Oldest from high school and deposit her at the senior citizen's center so she can get on the DECA club homecoming float for the parade.

It was either that, or let her ride with some person we don't know.

SO, I'll be back in an hour or so.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:26 PM | Comments (0)

::sigh:: Don't tell me I have ANOTHER one!

I suppose it was bound to happen, though. And you never know, just because I have suddenly become the owner of ANOTHER teenager today, doesn't necessarily mean that she will grow horns and a pointy tail and walk around with a chip on her shoulder. I hope.

But, yes, exactly 13 years ago on this date, Rebecca made her big red squalling entrance into the world. It's hard to describe that joy in anything other than words that sound cloying and trite and twee and hackneyed, but it was a joy nonetheless. She had a bit of a time getting here--labor took around 6 hours or so, and Reba had to get an epidural, which she didn't have to have when Ashley was born. And Rebecca was a stout little thing--10 pounds, 11 ounces of loud wiggliness. Weirdest thing is that she looked EXACTLY like me--well, minus all the various bodily fluids and junk--but I cannot describe the odd feeling of seeing well, me.

The years since then have been one thing after another--the freak snowstorm of '93, when the four of us had to bundle up in the den with a kerosene heater, Christmases, birthdays, first day of kindergarten, first day of real school, first day of middle school, moving--the time that we stayed in the house of a friend of ours down in Seagrove Beach when she was about six, and when I wasn't watching she managed to climb up on a stool, stick her legs out the back underneath the backrest, and push herself forward. Or rather, backwards. The stool flipped back, and she managed to hit her forehead on the front of the cabinets behind the stool, and since her legs were wedged under the space between the backrest and the seat, it was like getting her legs caught in a guillotine when she hit the floor. She cried and cried, but her robust construction saved her from serious harm, other than a big goose-egg on her noggin and two bruises on her shins.

Then there was the time we went to Chattanooga, and she got too far out into the pool and sucked down a couple of lungsful of water. I had to scramble over and get her out, but water terrified her for years afterwards. She's better now that she knows how to swim, though.

Oh, and all those long nights at the soccer park--all that sweat and grass.

She's grown up so much. She sees a lot, too. Stuff you wouldn't expect a kid to take notice of. She still asks those hard questions--good questions--about life and God and why people act they way they do and how does wind work and things like that.

Of all of them, she's probably the closest one to me not only in looks, but in disposition as well. She tends to lie back and take things in and not say anything until later. Part of it's shyness, part of it seems to be her wanting to try to figure out things in her mind before saying anything.

Such a girl. Such a teenaged girl.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:40 AM | Comments (7)

What if you had a meeting, and no one showed up?

WOO-HOOOO!! that's what.

For some reason, the meeting this morning fell apart--and it wasn't even supposed to be the big fat hairy meeting I thought it was supposed to be, only a PRE-BFH meeting. So, I sat in there at the conference table with two other guys as we mutally pondered where everyone else was. After a while, it became obvious that no one else either a) remembered, b) cared, or c) both A and B.

SO IT'S OVER! Until tomorrow, when the actual BFH occurs, when I will once again go through this whole spiel about not wanting to go to that meeting.

BUT NOW, I can PLAY! Well, sorta. I do have other actual work to do, too. Lots of typing and mindless regulating to be done, you know.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:58 AM | Comments (0)

Remember last week?

And that meeting that I thought I was going to have on Friday? The one where I thought I was going to have to sit in on another two-hour flogging? And I thought I had gotten out of it, because I thought my supervisor was going to just hand over the crap we were doing to the supersupervisor and not drag us all down with him? That meeting?

Well, it's on for today. In thirty minutes. My supervisor is brimming with confidence.

I, however, am not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:29 AM | Comments (0)

September 28, 2005

Be sure and have your thinking caps tomorrow...

...it's that time again, you know.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:15 PM | Comments (0)

I declare, it's enough to give me the vapors.

What sort of good Southern children am I rearing?!

Last night on the way up the hill with the brood in the van with us, Reba said something offhand, and said the word "Alabama." Now, Reba has a pretty pronounced Southern accent, although it tends to be more robust when she's not thinking about it, and so this particular "Alabama" came out with several more sing-songy syllables than absolutely required by the dictionary, and I heard Jonathan start snickering in the backseat and mocking his VERY OWN MAMA.

"Son..."

"Sorry, Daddy. But Mama sounds like this kid in my class--heee tawwks ree-ul Suuuhthern."

"Hey, Bud--you have a Southern accent, too, so don't be making fun of other people's."

"I DO!?"

Well, not really--all of the kids have enough to know where they're from, but not nearly so much as the extras in Gone With the Wind. They watch and hear so much television that they are quite painfully aware that anyone with a really broad brogue is automatically stupid--being that Southerners are the only remaining minority group that it's perfectly acceptable to scorn--and even in my most relaxed mood, I still wouldn't be mistaken for Andy Griffith.

"Yes, son, anyone from anywhere else but here would know you're from the South."

He was quite mystified that anyone could have such incredible powers of perception. From there, the conversation quickly devolved into a linguistic free-for-all as they all tried to outdo one another in cornpones-speak.

Where're my Shelby Foote audio tapes?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:50 PM | Comments (13)

It's nice when people don't show up.

Makes things move much more expeditiously. ANYway, I'm back in the orifice, and have all sorts of marvelous notes to type up! WHEEEE!

More to follow shortly. Really. No, honest!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:05 AM | Comments (0)

September 27, 2005

Okay, so today was probably about the least productive Possumblog day in a very long time.

Except for tomorrow, when you will be left to your own devices for a few hours while I got scribble notes and try to stay awake. The agenda is short for tomorrow, but this has gotten to where it means nothing. The short agenda only leaves more time for mindless blabbermouthing. And I don't mean that in a good way.

ANYwho, feel free to wander around here aimlessly like I do, and if you have any Photoshop suggestions, send them on. All help is greatly appreciated.

Until late tomorrow morning, then.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:54 PM | Comments (5)

Well, twenty minutes into it...

...after I had nodded off, and before the meeting had ever even started, it came about that we were having technical difficulties with the laptop. So, that was a nice waste of time. Supposedly, this will be fixed in the coming few minutes, but I don't believe it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:24 PM | Comments (0)

I wish I would quit forgetting stuff like that.

Makes for all kinds of busywork. BUT, I do have my PowerPoint presentation corrected (that I had also fallen behind in) and got all my materials ready for tomorrow, and even had time to experiment a bit with the Photoshop toy.

Biggest problem is that I have a hard time distinguishing between colors. I'm not really color-blind, but I do have trouble with some of the muddier colors like olive, or the various purple-blue-violet-indigo-fuscia stuff. I have always relied on a box of colored pencils or markers that had the name of the color right on the label, so trying to do things that involve moving a dot around to find the right color tint is a bit of a chore.

ANYway, for right now, I have a meeting to attend to discuss the things we're going to talk about in our real meeting tomorrow. MEET MEET MEET!

Blech.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:57 PM | Comments (2)

AGGHHHH!!

I just remembered we have our biweekly pretty police meeting tomorrow. I got some crap to get done, and will have to come out and play later.

Dumb ol' employment.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:22 AM | Comments (0)

Upside of Carpooling With Your Wife?

Uhh, hm. Well, gimme a little while to think about that one.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:21 AM | Comments (8)

September 26, 2005

Weekend in Revue

Friday--home, stop off for some food, pick up kids, Oldest starts acting like a two-year old. Home, Oldest starts acting like a two-year old, with extreme prejudice. ::heavy sigh:: Mom and Dad leave food in kitchen and other children to their own devices and have two hour talk with Oldest. Oldest tired of being "invisible," translation--"not the most popular girl in school and the constant center of attention by all human beings on the planet." Thankfully, for once Mom did most of the talking, and said the things that needed to be said, rather than glossing over them. I think she was tired of all the crap she's put up with at work, and was too put-out to try to be nice. Basically, if Oldest goes to school and acts the way Oldest does at home, there's a REASON no one wants to be around her. Best quote from Mom--"Shoot--I don't want to be around you when you act this way, either!"

Oldest finally quieted down and continued her self-pity and parental loathing at a much quieter and more moderate level, although never quite seeming to get the idea that no one likes unlikeable people, and the best thing to do is quit being unlikeable while it's still easy to change. Second thing is that it's hard to feel sorry for someone who gets treated badly by others, when that person turns around and treats everyone else--and most especially her parents and siblings--like crap.

This wouldn't really be so stressful except that we seem to have this exact same two-hour exercise about every six weeks or so, and have for the past four years. The way I calculate it, that's about 35 of them. ::sigh:: It'sonlyaphase, it'sonlyaphase, it'sonlyaphase....

Eat supper, then off to bed, then up LATE on Saturday! I couldn't believe it. The kids must have been exhausted, because NONE of them were up banging around the house until after NINE! It sure was nice to get some sleep. And I had the most peculiar dream...

NOW, for those who cannot stand to wade through the recitation of someone else's stupid dreams, please scroll down, or hum the National Anthem or something.

FOR THE REST OF YOU--it was a lovely crisp morning, and I was driving my lovely crisp Volvo somewhere. I wasn't quite sure where, but I did make sure I had my pillow laid up beside my head so I could sleep and drive. I drove along and it occurred to me that I was supposed to be meeting a man at a small restaurant, and it was located over close to East Lake Park here in Birmingham. East Lake is a pretty older neighborhood that has fallen on some hard times of late, but the lake is still nice. (This is what it looked like back around the turn of the 20th century.) But the place in my dream wasn't that--it was like driving beside Lake Como in Italy--beautiful mountains surrounding it, with a crystaline blue lake, and just as I came around a bend in the road, there were huge stands of tall trees with their leaves full of golden fall colors. I thought to myself, "Wow--East Lake really looks NICE this time of year!" I drove on down the road beside the lake and laid down on the passenger seat while the car kept going and I just looked up through the windshield at all the pretty trees. When I got to the restaurant, I pulled up in the gravel parking lot and put my pillows in the backseat so the guy could get in. We drove around for just a bit and then I took him back to his car and that was it. I never really knew why I was there, or why I was meeting him, and we didn't really talk about too much, although I did show him my 200,000 mile badge on the grille. And the restaurant was a real dump, by the way. Didn't even have a paved parking lot.

ANYway, that got the morning off to a nice start, and after breakfast, I set to work finishing up Reba's research paper. It's been typed in small parts over the past year, and so there was really not that much left to do except type the final chapter, get the charts inserted, format the thing, and go have it bound. To make it even easier, Reba took various children with her on shopping trips to find birthday presents for Rebecca (who will turn 13 on Thursday), so that got a lot of noise- and interruption-potential out of the house. I got to type, watch the Alabama game and listen to the Auburn game, all at once. And do some laundry.

Wrapped up around 4 in the afternoon, hopped in the Volvo and took Boy and Rebecca with me to Staples to have it bound. The counter person was a young round cute dark-haired girl who seemed to be very much put out by having to be at work. Not rude, but certainly not very attentive. Just distracted. I asked for black plastic spiral wire binding.

"Umm. Hold on."

She walked over to the work counter and looked around, and Jonathan wandered off across the store to go find the supply of Easy Buttons.

Round Cute Girl came back with a black plastic comb strip. "This is all we got."

::sigh:: "You don't have the wire?"

"No."

"Well, okay--I need these three copies bound, clear cover, black back."

"Okay."

She walked back to the counter and turned back around, "You said you want a clear cover?"

"Yes, clear cover, black back."

"'kay."

I stood there and Rebecca peppered me with questions about everything that fell within her visual field, including the types of binding that Staples supposedly offers--including the ultra-ritzy and hard-to-do spiral wire binding--and as we were standing there I absent-mindedly looked over at the work counter Round Cute Girl was using, and the little bins of supplies.

WIRE BINDINGS
1"

Wait! I strained and sure enough, there was a whole row of wire binding slots, with little wire binding strips sticking out. I ran over to the part of the cashier stand closest to her and said, "Excuse me! Before you get going on that, I just noticed that you've got a set of wire binding strips over there--I saw 1 inch ones--do you not have any in a size that would work?"

She looked at me, then over to the side, then back at me, "No sir, we don't have the machine to do that type."

::blink::blink::

"You don't?"

"No."

::sigh:: You know, you would think that if Staples has a big sign on their copy center portion of the store that says they do spiral wire binding, and they go to all the trouble of stocking spiral wire binding strips, that they would at least have the machine to poke the little round holes and thread the spiral on there. OR, failing that, maybe post a sign that says--"Spiral Binding Machine Not Available." OR MAYBE GO GET SEVERAL OF THOSE STUPID EASY BUTTONS AND START MASHING THEM!

Anyway, that was done, and I paid, and Cute Round Girl went on to "help" a customer for whom she'd just laminated seven pages of something, but only gave back six things to the customer. My bet is that one page stuck to another and both got laminated. Oops. Where's that darned button!?

Home, supper, baths and hair washing and ear cleaning and nail trimming all around, bed, then up again Sunday.

Got there and found out that my curriculum order had come in, so I separated all that out, then found out my 1st Grade teacher for Wednesdays doesn't want to teach, meaning I have one week to find someone. Again, where's that button when I need it? Class done, went to the auditorium for worship, settled in, and Oldest started in again. She was acting like she was taking notes, but mostly just angrily scribbling and punching Catherine in the side for touching her personal space.

I guarantee such behavior does not lead to invisibility. Quite the opposite, actually.

She seems to not understand the concept that how you act in public is, in fact, HIGHLY VISIBLE. Turns out someone said something to her of absolutely no consequence, leading to yet another episode of that heartwarming family comedy-drama, "Acting Like a Great Big Turd!"

Home, lecture, lunch, read paper, and go off with Boy to see about getting the oil changed in the Honda. Nobody open except Wally-World, and there was a line of six cars. At ten minutes per car, multiplied by the Wal-Mart Moron Factor, that would mean we wouldn't be able to get out of there until around midnight, so we just went on back home. With a stop off at Advance. I have decided that while I don't mind letting others change the oil in the Odyssey and the Focus (being that the filter is inaccessible), I will be changing the oil in good old lovable Järn myself. The filter is right there in the open the way it should be, and since I have my own supply of factory filters, I don't like the idea of paying someone else to change it but not getting a discount for having my own filter. They charge you the same no matter what, which offends my parsimonious nature.

Back when I used to work on cars, there was no such thing as recycling oil, but nowadays I think I would feel bad if I dumped it in my neighbor's backyard, so Boy and I got one of those nifty jugs you use to drain the old oil into, and a case of oil, and an air filter. "You wanna help me change the oil? You can learn about cars that way!"

"Uhh, no, Dad."

At least he was helpful in carrying stuff.

Home, unloaded, and decided to wait about changing the oil until next weekend so as not to get all sweaty and greasy right before church. Back for evening worship, then back home, supper, then to bed.

And now, HERE IT AM!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:29 AM | Comments (10)

Well, now...

...looks like I made it through another weekend, relatively unscathed. And somewhat rested. AND THROUGH WITH TYPING PAPERS FOR MY WIFE! It was actually a pretty quiet weekend high atop Talladega Hill, overlooking the broad tranquil waters of Pinchgut Creek, and you'll get to hear all about it in a little while. I have to compose my thoughts, after all. And that takes a lot of doing.

UNTIL THEN, I would like to say something to friendly commentor "Lenny," who took the time this weekend to visit Possumblog and found our highly scientific post about giraffe beetles, and who left this comment: "OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!This was really stupid...im doning a research on a real giraffe weevil and u give me this....how stupid is this...wat a waste of time [redacted series of approximately 50 exclamation points because they were messing up the formatting. Ed.]

Lenny, you are quite correct. It is beyond belief that anyone with more than a teaspoon of gray matter would think that something called "Possumblog" would be an appropriate place to find out information about giraffe weevils. No one but a complete ignoramus could read the silliness I wrote--in its entirety--and then stop to complain that it was a waste of time by wasting more time to write a barely literate comment about the post. I realize you probably thought that while you were doning a research that u could just click anywhere on the Internet and find something someone would give u and u could just cut and paste it into yur research paper, but you really would have been much better off going to a library and looking at a book. That's wat smart people do.

Anyway, off now to grouch about other things.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:00 AM | Comments (18)

September 23, 2005

And the weekend?

Glad you asked!

I think I'm going to have some fun for once and TYPE all weekend! Only a little bit left to go before I get my--I mean, before REBA gets HER degree. This paper has been typed in bits and pieces over the course of the year, and so only has probably ten or so pages to be finished. And then it has to be bound, which will require a trip to Staples sometime this weekend, probably when I am sleepy and punch-drunk.

And there's the usual washing and drying and dusting and vacuuming and mowing and stuff that I intend to ignore. So there!

ANYway, all of you have a good weekend, and those of you who're about to have Rita for a houseguest, be sure to stay safe. See you all next week.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:56 PM | Comments (0)

Yes, I'm more talkative today.

Lileks got released from jury duty, and described it like being the last day of school for the year--there's a sense of giddiness there. Well, I found out that all the futile beating-my-head-against-the-wall, running-in-circles, wool-gathering, wild-goose-chase, needle-in-a-needlestack work I've done the past week will NOT require me to sit in on a big meeting with the ĂĽbermeister and our staff and have to hear a point by point vivisection all the underlings!

I turned in my stuff, and that's that.

For now, at least. Because, you know, school always does have a habit of starting back up.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:35 AM | Comments (3)

Downside of Carpooling with Your Wife?

--being late.

::sigh:: It doesn't help that I had a two hour building committee meeting last night at church, nor that when I got home I found out that Boy had not completed--in fact, had not started--his family tree project for class, which caused me to have to stay up VERY late scanning old photos and creating an org chart style family tree. Grr.

Of course, that does give me the opportunity to share some photos with you, the highly interested public!

First up, my mom's dad. This picture is scanned from one of our family history books, and is actually an image cropped from a larger one that has my grandfather (whom we all called Papa Gilbert) with his three other brothers from circa 1914. My mom has the photo, but obviously on such short notice I couldn't make a better scan. Anyway, this is the guy who gave me my looks--all of his brothers have that long, lank, vacant-eyed farmer look, but Papa Gilbert, who was probably around 20 or so in the picture, is the only one who's stocky, and he has a certain set to his wide jawbone and a look in his eye that looks like he's got something on his mind. I share that square face and big jaw, and the thick shock of hair, and the heavy-lidded eyes, and the pug nose. I have remarkably little on my mind, though.

Here he is--


Next are my dad's mom and dad. This picture was taken when he was probably about two or three, which would have made it around 1930. He's the little one there in the middle with my Aunt Margaret and Uncle David, and my grandfather (whom we called Big Daddy--and please, it's not Big DADDY, it's pronounced BIG Daddy) and my grandmother (obviously, who would later become Big Mama). My granddad was quite a handsome and dapper chap in his younger days, which led to some torment later. Which is about as close to the dirty laundry as you're allowed. This picture is one I have in a small frame on the old sewing machine in the foyer.

Strangest thing was that I didn't realize my dad had an older brother, born in 1917, who died as an infant. He never mentioned it, and I never knew it until I was rereading some of the old family history information we have.

The final one didn't turn out very well--it's a picture of my mom and dad when they got married around 1952. The photo is double matted under glass, along with separate pictures of them from high school, and so the scan turned out to be pretty muddy-looking since I had to put the whole thing up on the scanner.

Anyway, this is Mama and Papa, which is what I called them. Oddly enough, my sister always called them Mother and Daddy. My dad was quite the handsome and dapper chap in his younger days, and quite a bit too much like his father. And that's all I'll say about that. My mom is quite a looker, that's for sure. I was struck last night as I was looking at the photo arrangement just how much Rebecca looks like her.

Here it is--

Anyway, I stayed up late doing these and several other pictures for him to take with him today, and Reba stayed up late working on her final paper for her class, and Oldest stayed up because she thinks going to bed early means she's a little kid, and so this morning both Mom and Oldest were dragging around like sodden sullen draggy things as I tried to get everyone to get up and let's get going. And so, of course, I was nearly 20 minutes late for work--not helped by the fact that we left so late that we got stuck behind EVERY SCHOOL BUS in Trussville, each one crawling along picking up kids. Grr.

But now I'm here, where I can get some rest.

Right?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:24 AM | Comments (4)

September 21, 2005

You know...

...it sure is a nice day outside. Shamefully, I have to spend it sitting either here or over at my drafting table, doing my best to figure out yet another one of those imponderable sets of instructions given to me by my supervisor.

I know what the supersupervisor wants, sorta, and I know we are incapable of producing it. My supervisor is intent on giving the supersupervisor the exact same thing as last time (that caused such agony) but with much more content. Wrong, and more of it.

My part of this is even more odd, in that it really has nothing to do with the regulatory questions at hand--it's almost as though I've been added to the mix just to say we have maximum involvement of all personnel. Wrong, and more of it.

At least my supervisor had the wherewithal when he gave us our orders (such as they were, and such as could be deciphered), to understand that what we're doing--as hard and as fast as possible--is absolutely useless. Not that he thinks that we're doing the wrong thing--he still firmly believes that whatever he thinks he's told us to do is the absolute right thing, he just thinks that the supersupervisor just won't appreciate the rightness of it out of some deep-seated disrespect for our obvious talents. Wrong, and more of it.

It is very frustrating.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:16 PM | Comments (2)

I sure wish...

...my job entailed something other than mindless busywork. You know, maybe if it was, say, mindless blogging--that would be nice. But, as it is, I have some garbage to do today that I really do not want to do, but have to anyway. ::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:10 AM | Comments (0)

September 20, 2005

3:00 O'Clock Tomorrow?

Well, yes, that's what the e-mail said. The one about trying to get the PowerPoint ready. I didn't realize in reading it, however, that something sent on a Monday referring to "tomorrow" actually means Tuesday, i.e., today, rather than the day after I decide to read said e-mail.

Meaning, I thought I had about 24 more hours than I thought to screw around with this thing. Luckily, because of my super human possum brain, I was able to complete my assignment on time. How did I find out I had misread the memo? When the guy came around about 3:15 and asked if I needed some help setting up the laptop and projector. As it was, the meeting started at 3:25, but I deftly maneuvered around the blame. For once, I was grateful the MIS fellow downstairs was late in burning the CD, or else it would have looked worse on me--my own tardiness was diguised by the even-more-tardierness on his part.

And really, isn't making myself look better at the expense of others all that's important?

Sure it is.

Now, time to fix the crap the Supreme Leader didn't like.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:31 PM | Comments (0)

Mission Accomplished?

Well, who knows?

I was so whupped Friday by the time I got home, there was precious little in the way of cleaning done on the house. Instead, I just vegetated and wondered how it was exactly that I had gotten myself so very, very tired. Still, I couldn’t really do a good job of vegetating with all the stuff to do, so I finally got motivated enough later in the evening to begin shifting the huge stacks of dust-covered books and junk over on the distaff side of the bedroom to someplace unnoticeable. I got the area in front of the dresser cleaned out. HEY! FLOOR!!

Luckily, with the rain, I was able to effectively avoid having to cut the grass Saturday.

Couldn’t avoid Saturday itself, though.

Up early, and the first chore was that I had to go haul Oldest over to the Express Oil Change down at the foot of the hill. Seems one of her school clubs was having a car wash to raise money, so she dolled herself up in a tropical getup of some sort (floweredy capri pants were the main eye-catching element) and we were about to walk out the door when I noticed she had on sandals. Dress sandals, with a heel. “Uh, you really need to wear sneakers.”

“Oh.”

It was still cloudy and messy looking outside, but I figured it would probably clear out later in the day. It did, but not before it rained again. Hard.

BUT, before all that, I dropped her off at the shop. Pulled up in front, waited. “Uh, I doesn’t look like anyone is here yet, Ashley.” “WELL! They SAID they were going to PARK in the BACK!”

If only THEY would be a bit more forthcoming when telling me these things! “You know, that would have been something good to know before I pulled up and parked here.” Drove around to the back and sure enough, buncha kids with buckets. Which made me wonder why I was required to go to the Dollar Tree and purchase four buckets the previous evening. Dumped Oldest out--“Hey, do you have any money with you?”

Silly Dad.

I gave her eight bucks and went on back home, flung some breakfast at the kids, and the phone rang. It was Oldest on her cell phone. “I’M STANDING OUT HERE HOLDING A SIGN AND I’M HUNGRY!” Resisting the urge to ask her if she had written “Will work for food” on the sign, I gently informed her that she could take the eight dollars I had given her about fifteen minutes prior, walk over to Winn-Dixie, and BUY SOME FOOD.

Why, the very idea!

Such gall on my part!

Expecting her to actually walk somewhere!

Why, that was ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE PARKING LOT!

I could tell she was quite incensed with my suggestion--I'm certain she thought I would drop everything and come bring her some food--so she hung up with extreme prejudice. I bet she wished it was something she could slam down like a regular phone. Hey, whatever.

Time to start the final push to make the house ready for our impending guests. The kids were dispatched to their rooms to finish picking up their toys, and I went to ours to pick up more junk.

FAST FORWARD TWO HOURS--in which time I also had to take leave to go pick up Oldest around 11, because she was now standing in the rain with all of the other dim wet teenagers in her group. I didn’t say anything other than to tell her to go ahead and take her shower when she got home, but there is a fine old Southern expression about people without sense enough to get in out of the rain.

I kept that to myself.

Noontime finally arrived, and after hours of sucking up dust with both the vacuum cleaner and my nose, our bedroom finally looked clean. In fact, cleaner than it has ever been. It’s been covered up either with boxes or with Reba’s paperwork and junk ever since we moved in. Seven years ago. It’s very spacious. Now.

I hopped downstairs and mopped the kitchen--three times--and by two p.m., our house was clean. More or less. Reba’s method of putting things away rendered her closet impassable. ::sigh::

Shower, fix and do on a few more minor things, and then time to just sit and wait for our guests. Right on time they were there, the lady who first drove into our driveway (and who kinda reminds me of Michele Lee) along with her nephew and his wife. Young, clean-cut couple, they were. I brought them in and we looked around, and they seemed to be quite taken with the whole place. Their aunt told me she had purchased the house at the end of the street two doors down from us, and the young guy said that his life-long friend had a house just across the way. And his parents live in the neighborhood, too. Gonna have a regular commune going on.

I told them the various stories you all have heard over the years--the leaky bathroom toilet and floor replacement project (repair ongoing), the leaky control knob on the upstairs bathtub that caused the garage ceiling to get all watery (repair ongoing), the destruction and rebuilding of the chimney and my battles with Contractor Boy (blessedly complete), the Giant Plastic Not-a-Shed but-a-Playhouse, the Painters.

They all seemed to love it. I suppose it helped that the kids were around to distract them from the marks and gouges on the walls, which is only fair, I suppose, since they were the ones who marked and gouged things in the first place. The young man especially seemed taken with all of our books, and our old fusee clock in the kitchen, and the big engraving of New York harbor, and my armoire--gotta good eye, there, Kid. They liked the level backyard, and the flower bed, and the bench, and the pond. And the concrete curbing in the front flower beds.

Of course, after they’d left and we were recovering from the visit, it came about that Reba doesn’t really like the idea of selling. Despite the fact that for the past seven years all she’s talked about is having a place where the kids could each have their own bedrooms. ::sigh:: Figures, don’t it?

Anyway, after more discussions, she’s gradually warming up to the idea that has been hers all along, but it’ll still require that these folks actually make a reasonable offer, and if we can find something that we can purchase for that much. So, we might stay there no matter what. At which point she will probably be all disappointed.

Woman’s prerogative, and all.

ANYWAY, who knows what all is going to go on between now and then?! Not I. What I do know is that I have a crushing deadline I have to deal with at the moment, and I must be about it.

SO, when I get that all wrapped up, I’ll be back to dispense more free ice cream cones!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:48 AM | Comments (4)

Tuesday already!?

That'll teach ME to take a day off. I have part of the usual Weekend in Review post finished, but also found out that when I walked in this morning, in my absence I was assigned to finish something by tomorrow that mere humans would require at least a week to complete. Meaning, that I have a lot of work to get done today, meaning that the free ice cream cones will be limited, consisting of neither ice cream, nor cones. But, they are still free.

Anyway, the other post is coming in just a minute.

OH--and lest I forget--my Volvo battery dilemma solved itself! I only THOUGHT my battery was the wrong size. In amongst all the efforts of Saturday, I sneaked out for a moment and in the daylight found that it was just not pushed all the way into position in the battery tray, and after I shoved it the right way, the little clippy deal on the side of the tray popped on with absolutely no trouble at all, negating the need to resort to an ugly strap or downright dangerous zip ties to hold it in place. I was quite happy! But not nearly so much as getting to spend two uninterrupted hours in the junkyard yesterday. But that is a tale for another time.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:12 AM | Comments (0)

September 16, 2005

'Nuthern.

Weekend, that is.

As you recall, this is now the end of the second full week of trying to finish cleaning house. It is no more cleaneder than it was before I gave up two weeks ago. Still have to get the bedrooms done, and the kitchen, especially the floor. To make matters worse, the house is occupied by five people other than myself who seem little inclined to keep things picked up and put away, so now we have a degredation in the once-cleaned areas of the house--the dining room, the usual place the kids go to do their homework, is now brimming again with castoff papers and junk and stuff and things and jetsam. The countertop I spent so much time on before in mine and Mrs. Oglesby's bathroom has now started to get crusty with makeup again (on her side). The neatly folded cotton throws in the den have been dragged back out and artfully arranged in piles on the floor. And DANGITALL, the VOLVO STILL NEEDS TO HAVE THE NEW HEADLIGHTS AND DASHBOARD INSTALLED!

Tonight will probably be a mad rush to reclean the main areas, and to try to find a hiding place for all the junk over on the other side of the bedroom, and SOMEone is going to sacrifice his poor knees and back and get down and scrub the kitchen floor of its accumulated grime before tomorrow. At this point, I don't care if that lady brings her nephew and niece-in-law or not. I'm not going to put them off anymore, no matter if the place looks like, well, like it does right now.

Hmmm. Which means if I don't really care, I could save myself a lot of effort by just leaving it a mess...

Hmmmmm.

Well, shoot--I suppose I'll clean it anyway.

And it might even go over into MONDAY! Because I won't be here then. I have to take Ashley in for the fitting of her wires on her braces first thing Monday morning, and then I have to be back at the in-laws' house to pick up the kids because the in-laws will be out of town, so I took the bold step of taking an entire day of vacation.

Which means that between the time I drop Oldest back at school, and about 3:30 or so that afternoon, I will have some time just for me. I predict a trip to the junkyard, and possibly the library. WOOHOO!

Anyway, I'll see you all on Tuesday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:50 PM | Comments (2)

Finally.

A little bit of rain. For those of you still dealing with Ophelia and Katrina, that might not sound all that great, but it's been more dry than usual the couple of weeks. After Katrina blew through, we had a high pressure area parked over us that provided some nice sunny skies and low humidity, but it was about to the point of being too much of a good thing. The yard went from mush to dust in mere days.

Anyway, it's started raining now. Didn't realize it until I got downstairs and then had to come back up here for my umbrella. Since it's been several days, it wasn't the smell of a pleasant rain--there's a lot of crud that builds up, and those first few minutes of rain don't make things smell very refreshing. It's still hot, so you've got that warm musty odor from the concrete and then there's the normal effluvia that starts loosening up and washing toward the gutters that has its own peculiar air. About thirty minutes into it, things start smelling better.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:04 PM | Comments (23)

Well, now...

...much to do this morning due to yesterday's notice of impending doom, so with your permission I will have to take a few hours here and go back to my more usual menial tasks, until later on in the day.

But before I do that, it came to my attention last night (as I was typing up YET ANOTHER school project for one of my children) that my older two girls really need to quit thinking quite so much.

Reba came in and related the story to me that Middle Girl and Oldest were talking about an upcoming birthday. Middle Girl's to be exact, which falls on September 29. Now that they both have had some instruction in human physiology, they counted backwards from that date to see exactly WHEN the whole Rebecca-making process started. They arrived at a date late in January, which is, of course, when Reba has her birthday--January 26, to be exact. Which caused Ashley to pipe up and tell Rebecca, "EWWWWW! You were Mom's BIRTHDAY PRESENT!" "EEEEEWWWWWWWW!!"

They were both appropriately scandalized, no matter if that was the exact circumstance of her conception or not. It being so very long ago, I can't say for certain if that had anything to do with it, but I can rest assured that the thought will haunt her now for the rest of her life.

Hehehehehe.

Anyway, to work now.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:23 AM | Comments (6)

September 15, 2005

Remember when I got all put-out...

...a couple of weeks back, because of the meeting I had to attend--the one with the allegorical cookie and ant--and having to be at the meeting was like enduring a brisk, two-hour rogering with a razor blade encrusted salt pillar?

That meeting?

Well, there'll be another one in a week, and I sense that this time it will have the refreshing and bracing addition of hot arsenic toddies and naughty pictures of Nancy Pelosi.

Again, if I have not stressed it enough--do NOT rely on a bureaucracy to save your life. Or your money.

One would think that after the last fiasco, there would be a bit more attention paid to the necessary things. No. And this time, it's not because I stood there and took orders--I really, truly, tried to talk us all off the ledge. Of course, my problem was using those alien concepts of reason and logic. Idiot.

So, nope--the ledge is PERFECTLY safe, just as it is. And to prove it, let's all strap on these anvils. And here's a balloon to blow up and land on if you do fall.

::sigh:: Why does it have to be this way?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:49 PM | Comments (5)

As I mentioned...

...in the extended entry for the Thursday Three, I have been a bit late getting my answers up due to YET ANOTHER stupid work assignment that will cause me more heartache and torment. Wheeeee! So, I had to tend to that to know what sorts of things I need to practice avoiding. And now I have a meeting to attend off campus, and I don't know if our departmental vehicle (a dashing gray '94 Ford Taurus) will even crank.

Back after while, then.

::sigh:: UPDATE 11:50 a.m. Or not.

Apparently the Taurus DOES crank, because I just went to find the keys--someone beat me to it. Which leads us into the next part of our fun series:

Upside of Carpooling with your Wife?

If she has the car, you can't very well be castigated for missing an off-campus meeting.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:41 AM | Comments (0)

September 14, 2005

And speaking of jackhammers...

...I got to help make one!

Not a real one. Boy had a class assignment to research various inventors and inventions, and he got short-strawed with finding out about the jackhammer.

You know, for something so ubiquitous, there really isn't a whole lot of good information out there about them. I did find out for him that it was invented back in the early 1890s by a bright fellow named Charles Brady King. Seems Chuck was quite the entrepreneur and inventor, and managed to beat Henry Ford to the honor of having the first automobile operating on the streets of Detroit. After a concerted bit of Googling, I did manage to find the patent number, hoping to be able to find some drawings of what the original looked like. For some reason, the pictures on the USPTO website didn't show up--I don't know if it's a browser issue or they've just got some broken links.

ANYway, the kids in class got to pick a bunch of stuff out of a junk pile, and he came home with a cardboard tube, a plastic 2 liter Sprite bottle, and a family-size Ritz cracker box. And no idea what to do.

So, of course, I had to help. Cut a couple of holes in the sides of the cracker box, slid the cardboard tube through--handles. Cut a big hole in the bottom and secured the drink bottle inside--the bit or chisel end. And the box is the body. We went to the store last night and got some silver paint that dries to look like hammered metal, painted it, and it looks pretty good for painted garbage!

Pictures to follow sometime later--it needs another coat of paint, and maybe a hose of some sort attached to it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:32 PM | Comments (2)

HEY! Who left my margarine out on the countertop!?

Dangitall--if someone moved my che--oh, good. Still there.

Funny thing about writing the way you talk and playing on peoples' expectations of what you're going to say based upon their exposure to popular culture--you were all probably thinking I was going to say "cheese," right? Like the name of that book I've never read about cheese-moving. Well, I wasn't--I was going to say "chelioclamsododdlermon whellnord." I just didn't want to write all that. Even though I just did. So, THERE!

Yes, I'm in one of THOSE moods this morning, despite there being absolutely no reason for it. I just figured I'd be grouchily oblique and spout non sequiturs the rest of the day. I figure if the Senate can make a good living out of it, why shouldn't I?

ANYway, I've been in the office for a good while already--the meeting didn't last all that long today, but the stack of regulatory paperwork that required my personal signature afterwards was rather thickish. And the stupid telephone keeps ringing. Oh--there. That's better. I unplugged it.

Middle Daughter has been enjoying school--she has a teacher who seems to have helped bring her out of her shell a bit. She jabbers constantly at home, but in any public setting she is usually mute. And I don't mean she's just politely quiet--I mean actually stone cold, won't-say-a-word mute, even if it would be polite to at least mumble SOMEthing. Anyway, this teacher, a youngish fellow who appears to me to be about 12, likes to start class with a couple of corny jokes, which Rebecca has been so kind as to bring home and share with us. They're mostly the same stuff you've heard for years, but to her they're new, and it does seem to bring out her natural comic abilities. (All the rest of them display similar senses of humor, and I have no idea where that comes from, because, as you all know, I am an ogre at home.)

Anyway, she told a couple last night (including one that I had to gently reminder her was extremely sacreligious) but she finally got to one that made me laugh. Surely I had heard it before, but something about it struck me as funny. Now, the way she told it was with breathless rapidity and little in the way of build-up or backstory, so allow me to embellish a bit. Also, this started out as a brunette, redhead, blonde joke, but seeing as how it's football season, well, I will fix that a bit, too.

Three young ne'er-do-wells (who grew up together and later managed to get football scholarships to the universities of Alabama, Auburn, and Georgia) all got together for a weekend of carousing.

Not being ones to well-hold their spirits, they quickly got lit up and got the bright idea of reliving their old hoodlum habits by robbing the cash register at the bar.

Even with little planning and much drink, they still managed to grab several handsful of cash and dash out the door and down the street. Immediately the alarm went up and two officers of the law set out in hot pursuit. Despite the wondrous speed and agility of the players, being drunk slowed them down a bit, and the cops continued to gain on them.

Ducking down an alleyway, the boys found themselves at the back door of an animal shelter. Seeing that they had no other way out, and knowing the police were on the way, they took stock of their situation. Seeing three burlap sacks lying on the ground, they decided to each crawl into an empty bag and try to outwit the gendermerie.

The young men were safely enclosed with not a moment to spare, just as the cops came running around the corner into the alley and saw the lumpy bags on the ground behind the shelter. One of the policemen nudged the first sack, and the Georgia player let out a sad whine and a bark. "Ah, must be a dog!" said the cop. The second policeman poked the sack containing the Auburn player, who let out a lonesome meow. The policeman nodded his head and said, "It must be a cat!" Finally, they turned to the sack with the Alabama player inside, give it a shove, and from inside comes the shout of, "Potatoes!"

Well, it was funny to hear her tell it.

IN OTHER THINGS, despite the fact that gasoline costs nearly three dollars a gallon, if you do the math you figure a 20 ounce Diet Coke for a buck translates into $6.40 per gallon.

Now, I'm gonna go get some lunch.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:01 PM | Comments (10)

September 13, 2005

Such fun!

Well, not quite yet, but tomorrow for SURE! Our biweekly fun with the public meeting, at which I will get to take notes, and stuff such as that!

So, as usual in such cases, I will leave the door open for you to just come in and sit for a spell. You're welcome to use the blogroll as much as you want, and there's some leftovers in the refrigerator. See you all late tomorrow morning.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:54 PM | Comments (9)

September 12, 2005

Okay, time for all the frivolity to cease for the day!

Gotta leave now (well in a few minutes) to go pick up the lucky new orthodontic patient. I imagine this will be great fun!

I have a good imagination, you know.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:01 PM | Comments (0)

Sunday

Oh, yeah. Supposed to have the kickoff of Bible Bowl for the year. Forgot all about that. And we were the ones supposed to host it. And none of our (“our” as in mine and Reba’s, as well as anyone else's) kids had studied anything. Supposed to cover the first seven chapters of Genesis.

After morning worship, it was decided that the kids who were going to participate would stick around, eat pizza, and study. So, the question of which of the Oglesby brood were going to participate. First, Boy said no. Then Cat said no. Oldest said maybe. Middle Girl said no. Then Cat said yes. Then Middle Girl said maybe. Then Boy said maybe. Then Cat said no. Then Oldest said yes. Then Boy said no. Then Cat said yes, but next year. Then Middle Girl said yes. Then Boy said yes. Then Cat said yes. Believe it or not, they all agreed to participate.

So, they ordered pizza, while I ran to Wal-Mart. Again. See, we had not prepared to bring any snacks for the kids who would be visiting, because we had been led to believe none of our four kids wanted to do anything. But we needed to pitch in since they had decided to stay, hence my trip to the store. Again. Not only that, yesterday was also the evening when the teenagers would have their usual monthly get-together, so there were snacks to be brought there, too.

Chips, cookies, some soft drinks, back to the building, eat, and then figure out that the room isn’t set up for a big crowd to eat. We have folding tables and chairs, and they weren’t set up right, and one end of the room was full of chairs for the ladies class. And there was no one else around to help. Meaning, it was on me. So after lunch, for the next hour and a half I moved tables and chairs and set up the food tables and garbage cans and covered the tables with paper and generally broke a sweat that would continue the rest of the afternoon. Then the youth minister asked me in the middle of this if I would like to be one of the referees. No. Absolutely not. Moderate the competition? Surely you jest. I finally agreed to be a test grader, which was more than I really wanted to do.

Anyway, by the time 2:00 rolled around, I had the fellowship hall set up and ready, and had helped set up the tables on the stage for the competitors, and had sat down for about five minutes. First step is the written test, which determines the tourney brackets for the oral round, so the kids came back and sat at my freshly taped down paper tablecloths and went to work. I stood around for a while and then got to work grading. We had to wait a bit so someone could find the answer key. Then they went back out, and the buzzer round started. It’s a bit like the old College Bowl thing--a set of buzzer lights and buttons, whoever answers first gets the floor. No discussions, and wrong answers count as a minus point.

The senior teams started off--we had two, and did pretty doggone good for having so little prep time. I think our kids came in 2nd and 3rd. Then the junior teams. We just had one team of four kids, two of them being Cat and Jonathan. He’d done this in the past a couple of years ago, but he never would buzz in then.

Well, something changed, that’s for sure. They got up there and he was answering questions as rapidly as they were asked. He was quite the buzzer hog! They wound up in 2nd place, however, after coming very close to winning. He was tickled with himself, and I was, too, considering he hadn’t wanted to do it only three hours before.

Then refreshments, where I did not get to sample anything, because someone needed to keep the trash cans emptied, and then someone needed to clean up afterwards. I did have some help in that part of it, thank goodness. But I was still very tired. And we couldn’t leave. There was a meeting scheduled for the kids at 5:00, and it was after 4:00, meaning we pretty much had to stay put. No time to go home. Boy, I sure wish I had my newspaper.

Instead, I spent the time in the nursery with Catherine, who brought in her DVD of Two Brothers. Hard to beat baby tigers as a light diversion. Even if there did seem to be an awful lot of mauling and blood. I dozed and nodded off, then figured I needed to see if I still remembered what I was supposed to sing for the evening. Yep, my turn for leading singing, as well for all the other stuff. And I was still clogged up with dust and grass clippings.

Actually didn’t do so bad--only a few coughs, and nothing off-key or out of tempo, for once. It sounded almost human. Then, on to home, after giving Oldest her snacks to take with her to the after-service devo. You know, I think that was probably one that she could have missed. If only for the reason that I had to go back and get her after it was over.

So, all in all, it has been a very tiring, expensive, frustrating, interesting several days.

And this afternoon I have to leave early so Ashley can get her spacers installed for her braces.

It’s only money, you know.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:59 PM | Comments (2)

So, as I was saying…

BRIGHT AND EARLY SATURDAY MORNING!

(By the way, this post is so long it cuts off at the bottom--remember the trick--press F11 twice and it should fix itself.)

Up, put on clothes, rub what feels like boulders out of my eyes, and figure out what to do. Well, obviously, there’s the car battery, and I needed to take back those year-overdue library books. First thought was to jump the Focus off, run down to the foot of the hill and get the battery changed, then go to the library, then come home and cut grass.

M’kay.

Pulled the Volvo over close to the Focus, got out the jumper cables, popped the hoods on both, positive to positive, negative to ground, hop in the Focus and tictictic. TICtictic. Wait. Turn key, tictictictictic. tic.

THAT, dear readers, is one DEAD batt’ry.

::sigh::

Unhooked the cables, rolled them up, pulled the Volvo back over in its normal oily spot, got out the wrenches and unhooked the battery out of the Focus. Grabbed a cardboard box lid and put it in the back of the van, grabbed the books off the kitchen counter, and was told to also hunt-and-gather some breakfast while I was out.

Which meant my first stop actually had to be the grocery store to get some cash back from my purchase. So, that first, then to the library. Which didn’t open until 10. So I went and got the battery, THEN went back to the library. I explained to the nice girl at the counter that I was a complete dolt and had mistakenly not brought back the books because they were lost in my house and I would pay whatever fine she levied upon me. “Well, they were taken out of the system, so there’s no fine due.” “But--well. You’re sure!?” “Yes sir, there’s no fine.”

Which led to A Moment of Unabashed Common Sense From the Mind of an Entitlement-American, in which I jokingly asked myself though the use of my internal dialogue mechanism: “Well, gee--since the books aren’t in the system anymore, it’s almost like I’m DONATING books to the library, so I wonder if I could take that as a deduction on my income tax?”

I profusely thanked the girl and left in a much better mood. Stopped and got some food, home, shared it with the family, then went out to get on with the job of grass-cutting. And mood-damaging.

Dragged out the old reliable, yet falling apart before my eyes Murray, gassed it up, cranked it, and set to work. Boy, that thing is hard to push. I figured it was the grass (weeds) that were brushing up against my armpits, but something just wasn’t right. It’s supposed to be self-propelled, meaning it propels itself, not that I have to propel it MYself. I picked up the rear end and pulled the drive lever. Nothing. Ah. Ah CRAP. Stupid thing.

I had only done the perimeter of the yard, and already felt like I’d gone a round with a sumo wrestler. I rolled it around to the backyard and heaved it over. Ah. I see. No drive belt. That’s what happens when all of the protective sheetmetal coverings have come loose and been chewed to bits by the blade--you leave the fragile drive belt out there to be damaged by all the junk you run over. ::sigh::

Replace the drive belt? Could. Take forever, though. And it’ll just get chewed up again.

The Oracle of Murray is dead! LONG LIVE THE ORACLE OF MURRAY!

It has been a good mower for around ten years or so--not great, but good enough. But I was through wrestling with it. Time for a replacement.

It’s only money, you know.

Cleaned up a bit and wiped all the grass and sweat off of me and changed shirts, then it was off to get something. First thought, Sam’s Club. They sell â€em, right?

But, you know, being a moron and all entails that there is no such thing as a simple purchase. Can’t just go get something--nooOOOOOoooo. Gotta see what’s out there, you know. So on the way to Sam’s Club, I thought I would stop by K-Mart. It’s right on the way. And they haven’t had lawnmowers in at least two years. It’s barely hanging on. Should have known better. Why did I stop!? Yes, I am a moron. On to Sam’s.

Parked, in, asked where the lawnmowers were. “Uhh, well--if we have any, they’re gonna be there in the middle, but I think we may be out.” How can that be? I don’t know, but it can be. They had every other tool known to bulk wholesalers, but no lawnmowers. Grr.

Wal-Mart, then!

Drove across the road to the shopping center, went in, found about four forlorn mowers. A reel-type, one of which I used to cut the yard of the grandmother of a high-school friend. The yard was St. Augustine grass. I vowed never to use a reel-type mower again. Two cheapo push mowers, and one tremendously expensive electric-start model that looked like it could double as a golf cart. “Do y’all not have any more mowers?”

No.

Double grr.

ON TO HOME DESPOT!

Oooooh. Lovely shiny black Murrays, and red Hondas, and green Lawn Boys! I found the cheapest self-propelled they had--this one here, as a matter of fact. Not too cheap, not too expensive. Scratch that--yes, it IS too expensive. But I felt better when I perused the “reconditioned” mowers they had.

Why would I want to save fifty bucks and buy a lawnmower that looks WORSE than the one languishing at home on my patio!? The things they were selling as reconditioned looked like utter garbage. If you’re going to sell something as reconditioned, would it hurt so much to WIPE IT DOWN WITH A CLOTH? Maybe EMPTY THE BAG? Why would anyone buy one of those is beyond me. Maybe yardwork contractors, who go through mowers like parents go through baby diapers.

Anyway, I got my shiny new mower and rolled it to the cashier. “Uh, you do take debit cards, right?” “Only the Visa or MasterCard ones.”

Great. Grr. All I have is my bank debit card. “Well, hold this here while I go to the ATM and get some cash.”

More cash.

::sigh::

Drove down to the other end of the shopping center to Target and ran in and emptied out my account and the ATM, then ran back up to the other end of the shopping center to pay for my mower. The woman seemed genuinely stymied about how to make change for such a tremendously ginormous purchase. The difference in price and cash tendered was only seventeen bucks and some change, but she had to keep looking at the display on the register and recounting all the dollars. But, no matter, it was now mine to go play with.

Home, made sure the oil was topped off, and then--gas. Hmm. Well, I had a little left in the other mower, and none in the gas can. Tilted Old Murray over, poured some into the jug, decanted that into New Murray, and well, no way that’s going to be enough.

Time to go get gas. I.e., spend more money.

Down to the foot of the hill, filled up the 5 and the 2.5 gallon cans, back home, and FINALLY, I GET TO CUT GRASS. It is now TWO-THIRTY Pee Em. The only advantage to all this running around is that I was able to listen to most of the Auburn-Mississippi State game, which I neglected to give a run-down for on Friday. My prediction, however, was a final score of 28-0, which is exactly the way it turned out. As my good friend Pat Dye always says, “Hindsight is 50-50.”

Back to the yardwork. Boy, does that new Murray cut good!

Differences betwixt old and new? Well, the new one is a lot easier to maneuver. It has front drive, and just seems lighter to manhandle around. It also looks, well, not retro, but not like they spent a whole lot of time trying to make it look like a Corvette or something. It just looks like a lawnmower. The engine is the engine--the old flathead Briggs and Stratton, which like sharks, cockroaches, and alligators pretty much reached its evolutionary peak back when every child had a pet dinosaur. It does have 6.5 horses, though, the most powerful lawnmower I have ever owned. Oddly enough, though, it has no throttle. I guess they figured that most of us manly men never used them anyway. My old one was perpetually stuck on high (or rather, on Rabbit Pictogram)--I mean, who needs a slow (or Turtle Pictogram) lawnmower, right? Right. The only thing that was worrisome was the bag. Tiny affair. It said it held 2 1/2 bushels, but I believe that those are pixie bushels, because I had to empty the fool thing every two passes. And getting the grass out was HORRIBLE. Tiny little slot in the front where it came out of the mower. You have to reach in and drag it back out the same way, which would be very bad if I had run over dog poop or fire ants. For some reason, there was no other way to empty the ba--

Oh.

Oops.

Seems that the whole backend of the bag has a nice elastic hem that fits around the frame. Undo it, and the whole bag opens up so you can quickly dump the clippings. Well, there’s you a good reason to read the owner’s manual, eh? Whata moron.

As for its power as an oracle, it remains to be seen. It didn’t seem to put out near the amount of smoky vapors as Old Murray, and didn’t vibrate nearly as much. Those two things were usually guaranteed to put me into a trancelike state where I could solve all of the ills of the world. Without the vibration through my arms and the rich cloud of carbon monoxide, I might lose some of that perspicacity for which I have become famed. Then again, I did find a bottle of Tylenol 3 in the cabinet when I was cleaning out the other day, so that might work pretty well, too.

The only other bad thing was a freak of the weather that had caused the grass to be moist in places, yet the ground to be parched dusty dry in other places. This, combined with the nearly impenetrable thatch of long-neglected grass made the experience last much longer than I felt necessary, and caused me to later sneeze out great black clouds of vile sinus stuff. That’s probably not good for me.

Oh well. It wasn’t so bad as the smoke that got in my eyes from the grill when I cooked our supper.

But the yard looks very nice now. OH, and while I was doing stupid stuff, I also changed out the battery tray in the Volvo, which was a SMART thing. The old metal tray had corroded through, and I slipped in the new old fiberglass tray I had gotten from the junkyard. Ten minutes and it was gooder than new. Well, aside from the fact that the battery is slightly different, and the little hold-down clip, doesn’t. Hold-down, that is. Meaning I need a battery strap of some sort to make sure it doesn’t go flying around in the engine compartment. A project for another day, though.

ANYwho, time for baths and beddy-bye after supper, and some small amount of school project work avoidance on the part of Boy and Rebecca, who seem to be moving at a snail’s pace. Well, you know, it’s not due until tomorrow.

SUNDAY! The Day Spent Entirely Drenched in Sweat! Coming up next.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:57 AM | Comments (15)

I really think it started in earnest on Thursday.

Thursday morning, every lane I got in on the way to work slowed down. The right would be zipping along, I’d find a break and move over, and then come to a dead stop. That’s the sort of frustration that just about pegs the meter. Then we had that building committee meeting Thursday night, and it too was an exercise in extreme frustration. The architect had brought along a little floor plan diagram (that didn’t actually conform to what we had been telling him for a month now) and then to make matters worse, he handed out three or four copies of it. Once everyone got those, the meeting devolved into three or four different running conversations--quite literally, we weren’t on the same page. Everyone was jabbering back and forth and the architect--who I really thought should be guiding the discussion--didn’t. It wound up with me trying to interpret all the side conversations and distill them into something he could take back to the office and use. I don’t know how successful I was. But I made sure to tell him to be sure and bring ONE large drawing this week, and no more. Second, I may have to have a talk with one of our committee members, who is a wonderful, garrulous, raconteur who enjoys being around people. Leading to many asides, quips, jokes, stories, jests, japes, and general BSery which is fun when WE’RE NOT PAYING SOMEONE TO SIT THERE AND LISTEN TO IT! At this point in the process, we’re paying them an hourly rate, and every wasted moment is money flying out the door.

Then Friday, that funeral to attend. I picked my mom up from her office--early. She didn’t understand why I wanted to leave so early (I picked her up at 1:00 for a 2:00 funeral in Leeds) but for once, I wasn’t going to be late for something. Good thing, too. She got in the van with a wad of paper towels, having developed a nosebleed right before she walked out of her office. This continued all the way from downtown--she went through a stack of towels and cotton balls, despite my efforts to tell her to A) leave her nose alone, and B) stuff some cotton in it and lean her head back. But it kept on coming. And she managed to get it on her white blouse. ::sigh:: So, in the middle of a rather solemn ride to the funeral, we have to make a stop at Wal-Mart so I can get her some peroxide and cotton balls.

“Why peroxide?” she asked.

“Takes out blood stains--pour a bit on there, let it foam, then blot it.”

“All those years ago, I wondered why I had you, and now I know.” That’s her standard running joke whenever I manage to come up with something that she didn’t know about. I came along late in her life, and not quite expectedly, and she often (more often nowadays, it seems) tells me about how she wondered and wondered if she was going to get pregnant again, why did it happen when she was nearly 36. Back then (you know, the Pleistocene) women didn’t usually wait so late. She keeps telling me she’s glad, though, because I turned out to be relatively useful to her. Glad to help.

Anyway, I ran in and made her sit at the restroom bench so she wouldn’t bog me down--she tends to walk too slowly, and get distracted by sales items--and I found the supplies and checked out. Gave them to her and sat myself down on a bench to see who all comes through the Leeds Wal-Mart at 1:30 p.m. on a Friday. Interesting crew, let me tell you. And again, I really must say how objectionable it is to see all these saggy wrinkly mee-maws with tattoos. And leathery hairy old paw-paws, too, for that matter. Y’all please stop doing that.

Anyway, Mom came back out of the restroom, free of nosebleed and free of blouseblood, and we headed on over to the funeral home, conveniently just down the street. Saw the man’s mother and his brothers, paid our respects to the deceased, looked at the flowers, visited a bit with folks my mother knew from back down in Quinton or Twilleytown, then sat down for a short quiet funeral. She didn’t want to stay for the burial, so we said our goodbyes and I took her own back to work, and I came back and really couldn’t do much in the way of productive work.

So much to think of, and so few brain cells to process it all.

Home, where I thought I would be able to get out and cut grass, so we could be all ready for our visitors on Saturday. Oh, but Oldest simply MUST go to the football game. MUST. GO. Which is difficult to imagine that there could even BE a football game, seeing as such a contest requires other people, and she has led me to believe by her behavior that she believes herself to be the only person in the world. ::sigh:: I got on the phone and called the lady who’d come by our house, and asked her if at all possible to allow us to put off her nephew and his family from viewing the house for yet another week, because it simply wasn’t going to be ready for them to see. Mine and Reba’s bedroom is still a wreck--well, ONE side of it is still a wreck. And now, since I was going to have to cut grass Saturday, there wasn’t going to be any time for dewrecking the other side of the room. I didn’t tell the kids until Saturday, though--I wanted them to finish cleaning up as much as possible.

Anyway, on to the game, made even more stressful by the fact that Catherine suddenly decided she wanted to tag along. ::sigh:: Went out to get in the car, put the key in, clunk. Tictictic. TICtictictic. tic tic ti c. tic. Deader’n a hammer. ::heavy sigh:: Have to do that tomorrow, too--go buy ANOTHER car battery. I told the girls to go get in the van and then we were off to the stadium.

Paid our admission, got a burger for Cat, went and tried to find a seat that was unmolested by yellow jackets. The stands usually get washed down, but for some reason no one had done that, so there was a huge section of seats without people, all due to a thin sticky drink spill that had become Stinging Insect Central. So, we moved on down a ways (actually better seats--almost on the 50) and sat down. Hey! It’s hair cutting Alisha! She was there to see her cousin play. Talked to her a bit. The game itself was a blowout--playing Carver, and it was already lost by the second quarter. They had a couple of amazing catches, including one for a touchdown that the kid managed to pluck out from in between a sea of our red jerseys, but overall they had too many penalties, and just not enough defensive oomph to slow us down. Final score, 56-18. Not that I saw it--we left sometime during the third quarter. Home, and to bed. At least for me. Reba stayed up working on her stuff for school.

BRIGHT AND EARLY SATURDAY MORNING! That’s what’s next, you know--after I get it written.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:04 AM | Comments (5)

Discombobulation

You ever have those weeks when everything goes just like clockwork--everyone's on time, everything works right, the food's good, and you just have a nice warm satisfaction glowing from within?

Well, last week wasn't one of those for me.

I am usually the most relentlessly positive person I know, even when I get miffed about something. It (the miff-edness) usually passes quickly, and life rocks on along with a comforting familiarity. But sometimes, you know, I'd like to just take a stick and thwack something, or someone--hard, and with great glee--just to get it out of my system. I suppose what makes it even more frustrating is that all the things that cause the unsynchronization aren't insurmountable by themselves. It's just the combined effect of all of it in a row--hurricane building committee house cleaning gas cap funeral nosebleed September 11 ball game dead car battery house cleaning school projects orthodontist broken lawn mower new lawnmower table moving garbage collecting test grading money spending paper typing car repairing teenaged insanity fatigue--that just wears you down.

It will pass, as it always does, but it reminds me of the Jerry Clower story where great American and accomplished tree-climber John Eubanks found that he had treed a wildcat. After becoming entangled with teeth and claws, John begs the Ledbetter boys on the ground to shoot the wildcat, but they were afraid of hitting John instead, but he screamed back down, "Just shoot up here amongst us! One of us has got to have some relief!"

Anyway, there will be more shortly, and some of it will possibly even be humorous (as things told in retrospect tend to become), but first there's that Super Fun Happy Sparkle Joy Fun Monday Morning Staff Meeting Carnival.

Be back in a bit.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:30 AM | Comments (0)

September 09, 2005

Why is it so busy today?

Not bad busy, but just "can't settle down and get any blogging done" busy. Had to find something this morning for a guy--I had some old photos of a building downtown (the old Kress store I've mentioned in the past) and even though I had done a PowerPoint presentation on it a long time ago, and had the printouts, I couldn't for the life of me find the picture I was looking for on the computer, nor the CD it came on. Tore apart several small stacks of paper on my desk and had just about given up when I finally found it. Then I had to send it to him, and it didn't go because there was too many bytes or holes or something attached to the email, so I had to send him four separate e-mails, and then someone came to the counter about something I have no control over, then someone from downstairs called me about something I have no control over, then I was posting a comment about license plates and mistakenly hit a link to a .pdf and my computer does what it always does when it's not prepared for an Adobe attack and shut itself off, so I had to redo everything after Mr. Gates' Marvel managed to get itself rebooted, and there was that cloud of locusts, and a plague of frogs.

And did I mention I have a funeral to attend this afternoon? I do--a man who was the son of some friends of my parents. He was already up and grown by the time I came along, so I didn't know him very well, but his parents and mine were great friends. We used to go on vacations with them way back when, and her husband and youngest son (who was only a few years older than me) were always fooling with loud fast cars and boats. My dad and the lady's husband both have long passed now, but she and my mom still keep in touch, and in one of those small-world type coincidences, the church we go to now was where our friend used to attend. My mom said she'd visited again recently, but I missed seeing her.

And so, as is so often the case, I get to see her this afternoon under much less pleasant circumstances. I tell people we've gotten so tied up and busy on other things that it's gotten to the point that we never see any of our family and friends except at funerals.

That's not good.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:58 AM | Comments (1)

Yet another traffic-induced late start...

Grr. Danged rubberneckers.

And danged comment spammers, too. Came in this morning expecting the usual 4 or 5 overnight comments, and had nearly 40, all spam. Does this really work, spam people? I mean, I understand the volume idea--if only .001% of the 50,000,000 messages you send out get a bite, that's pretty good. But isn't there an easier, more pleasant way to steal from people?

Anyway, in a minute, I am going to say some more bad things, this time about the fair citizens of Ohio. Or rather, their license plates.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:37 AM | Comments (10)

September 08, 2005

It's almost that time.

HAIRCUT TIME!

Just called and found out that my favorite haircutter Miss Alisha will be there this afternoon, so I intend to drop by the swanky Head Start over by Target and berate her mercilessly for the butchery she visited upon my follicles the last time she cut my hair. Of course, I will do this only after she's finished cutting my hair this time. And after I do the requisite bit of groveling about Auburn losing and Alabama winning last weekend. No use making her mad before she comes at me with the shears.

Then, off to home for a bit to pick up the mail, then onward to my building meeting. I sure hope the architect has something for us to look at--we're still waiting on the contract to come back to us, so if he's wanting to talk about that, it will be a REALLY short meeting. Which might not be so bad.

Anyway...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:45 PM | Comments (0)

Another inevitability?

I'm not sure.

But after we got home last night, we went over the plans for today for transporting everyone hither and yon. Reba had an early morning meeting, and then one after work, and I have a building committee meeting at church tonight, so we were going to take two cars today so we can both get where we need to be. "Have I got any gas in the Focus?"

Now, as you all know, one of my primary tasks as pater familias is to make sure that the various volatile organic compounds required for the fueling and lubricating of the internal combustion engines in our possession are at their proper and recommended levels to ensure flawless operation of said machinery, thus negating the need for anyone else to actually check their own dipsticks or gas gauges. A secondary task is to drop everything and run to the gas station in the dead of night if any of the fluids are about to dwindle to nothingness, required by the need to 1) perform my masculine duty of smelling like gasoline, and 2) give me about ten minutes of quiet contemplative time.

"Uhh, well, seems like the last time I looked, it had about a half a tank."

But I looked again. Hmm. Below a quarter. Well, now that I thought about it, when I took Oldest on her coupon book expedition the other night, it did have about a quarter of a tank then. But I sure thought it had more. Anyway.

I walked into the kitchen and told Miss Reba it had less than a quarter and I'd run go get some, and at the same time told Boy to go finish his homework and Catherine to go bathe. Nor really multitasking so much as multi-order-barking.

Off to the Racetrac (We Remove the K and Pass the Savings On to YOU!) for the inevitable hit to the wallet. 9.9 gallons. $29.50. Ouch.

Got in, cranked it, noted the mileage on the odometer and pressed the reset bu--WAIT a minute!

197.7 miles? And I just put in 10 gallons? Why--WHOA UP, HERE!? That's 19.7 miles per gallon! This is why I always check the odometer--I don't always figure the exact MPG, but I know that for the past two years, the little pup has managed to consistently get 26 to 28.

I detect something amiss, I do.

It was 8:45. Just enough time to swing by the auto parts store at the foot of the hill and purchase a locking gas cap.

Yep. Unless something has gone dramatically, horrendously wrong, a car won't suffer a 33% drop in fuel efficiency over the course of two weeks. About the only explanation is that gas got a LOT cheaper for someone who noticed that the Focus's gas cap was unprotected.

I did the math after I got back and figured that at the usual rate of consumption, I should have only had to buy about 7.6 gallons. Subtract that from what I bought, and it comes out to about 2.3 gallons. You know, almost the exact capacity of one of those small red plastic gasoline jugs.

Well, they got 7 bucks worth of free gas, but not again. What makes it most galling is that I have made a point of putting a locking gas cap on every car I've ever had. Except this one.

Oh well.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:31 AM | Comments (4)

Well, it was bound to happen.

We all piled in the van last night (for once, ahead of schedule) and set out for church. As opposed to the usual dawdling-induced mad dash, this time I could actually drive the posted speed limit without worrying about being ten minutes late, and that's when I noticed it.

It's fall.

Oh, sure--there's the ceremonial post-Labor Day autumn where I have to hang up my seersucker suit and wrap the white bucks in tissue, but that's never really seemed like fall. And now that the kids go back to school in the middle of August, there's not the old back-to-school-fall-feeling anymore. And it's not the calendrical fall, because there are still days when the temperature outside your body is nearly the same as that on the inside. It might say September on the calendar, and that the equinox is coming on the 22nd, but it's still hot as July.

But there is that light. That late afternoon light, angling low down through the trees. The road we take to church is semi-rural, and winds through several hollows and over several ridges, and there's that dapple of light that looks almost like it's cutting up through the trees, then in a moment you pass a clearing and see that deep blue sky--the kind of blue you see when the humidity has finally eased off enough so the sky's not white with haze. Then you are just as suddenly plunged back into a shadow, and you look over to the side and see one golden shaft of light on what would otherwise be nothing more than a house trailer or someone's brush pile, and it looks like light coming through a cathedral window.

The sycamores have begun to give up for the year, and the evergrowing kudzu has finally slowed down and started to turn brown. It's almost sad, but they get lit up in the late afternoon sun, too, and it's difficult to imagine how anything can look any prettier. It provokes an odd sense in me, something like when you have one of those warm vivid dreams you have when you're taking a short nap--a precursor to the long deep sleep to come later when winter finally eases in.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:47 AM | Comments (4)

It's MAILOUT THURSDAY!!

Lots and lots of HOT ENVELOPE STUFFING ACTION! Here's just a sample: "I took the soft white sheets in my hand, carefully holding the sides just-so before gently bending them over--the bottom edges ever so slightly touching the last sentence in the first paragraph. [...]"

You just don't GET such things anywhere else but here at Possumblog, my friends! And THAT'S NOT ALL! There will also be RUBBER BANDS! And TAPE!

Tune in later for all the details!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:37 AM | Comments (4)

September 07, 2005

Exit 32

Which is my euphemism for heading home.

It's about that time, or, at least, it's SUPPOSED to be about that time, but I haven't heard from Reba to see if she's going to leave on time today (right now) or will be late. [Editor's note--4:42: Wife expected to leave around 5:00. Ish. Maybe)

At least she does let me drive. Maybe I've just gotten more jumpy, but it seems she's become much more inattentive when she's behind the wheel. When I'm driving, she seems to have the same reaction, but it's because she's never paying attention to what I'm doing until suddenly she decides to look up and sees brake lights or someone swerving or moving over, and since she hadn't seen them before, she apparently thinks I haven't seen them either.

I did, sugar, I promise. Which is why I might seem as though I'm not listening to you. (Obviously, that last comment is said silently to myself.)

She's also very demonstrative when she talks, which is lively and engaging when she's standing on the floor or sitting in a chair, but rather not when in a vehicle under her pilotage. Usually she's talking away happily and both hands are flying around faster than Marlee Matlin's. (And Rrowl, by the way.) Or, if she's not talking with her hands, she has them stuck through the wheel, resting on top of the spokes. AARRRGHHHHHH! I can't stand it when people poke their hands into the inside of the steering wheel! (Obviously, that last comment is said silently to myself.)

But, no matter what, I still think she's cute, and she DOES put up with me, so I really don't have too much to complain about.

ANYway, see you all tomorrow.

(By the way, the website I got that photo link of the Interstate sign from is one of the most oddly fascinating things I've found. It has pictures of every single Interstate directional sign (and most major highways as well) for every state in the Union. Or at least it seems that way.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:51 PM | Comments (4)

Carpooling, Part III

I forgot this one this morning, due to trying to put it out of my mind.

Downside?

Taking all the kids to school, and before you drop any of them off, there's a smallish squirrel placidly walking across Parkway Drive, right there before the stop sign at the library, and he looks at you with his shiny beady black eyes and you, being you, know in your heart that he, being a squirrel, is smart enough to continue walking on up to the curb so that you won't crush him with the solidly porky Honda Odyssey you're driving, and as you pass the spot where he was waiting, you feel a tiny thump in the steering wheel, communicating at once to you that squirrels are pretty danged stupid sometimes, and almost immediately eliciting a squeal from the tiniest passenger of "DAAAAAAADD EEEEEEEEE! Daddy killed a SQUIRREL!"

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:58 AM | Comments (13)

Carpooling, Con't.

Downside?

Having to get the kids to school in the mornings, and being preternaturally detained by one particular child who cannot seem to grasp the idea that there are other human beings in the world, or, if able to understand that concept, is unable rather to understand that if other people do exist, they do not exist merely as inconvenient impediments, nor as servants. Because if you have someone like that who's riding with you, it makes you late to work.

Upside?

If two people ride in a car that gets 18 miles per gallon, that's really like getting 36 miles per gallon. Or so I tell myself.

GOOD MORNING! Yes, I'm late! But at least I've already had a nice refreshing Diet Coke, full of the rich goodness of caffeine and phenylalanine. Mmmmm! Tasty!

Anyway, to work. Or something.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:52 AM | Comments (11)

September 06, 2005

Downside of carpooling with your wife?

It's 5:25 p.m., and I am still here.

Upside?

It's less expensive than driving two cars to nearly identical locations.

Downside?

I would REALLY like to be pulling up in the driveway right about now, because my plan was to hop outside this afternoon and cut grass.

Upside?

It's now too late to cut grass.

Downside?

I don't like being here after hours, because they lock all the doors and if there's a fire, I want to be able to get out as quickly as possibly, after first retrieving my pictures of Reba and the kids, my autographed Wendy Garner picture, my stuffed possum, my Gregg Reference Manual, my Graphic Standards, and my stapler, which is a Swingline 27.

Upside?

Well, I get to play on the computer.

Downside?

Someone downstairs in MIS is probably WATCHING me play on the computer, and I will get a visit from two strangers dressed in dark suits, and wearing pocket protectors.

Upside?

I get to hold Reba's hand while I drive.

Downside?

My arm eventually goes numb and then the needle-pricks start, and that stings a lot.

Upside?

It's very, very quiet up here when no one else is here.

Downside?

I'm suddenly very hungry. I want supper.

Upside?

Gimme a while...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 05:33 PM | Comments (2)

And today?

Well, it's lunchtime right now, and then when I get back, something else.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:09 PM | Comments (0)

Monday

Well, I had planned to cut grass yesterday, but after several false starts, I just gave up and stayed inside and directed more cleaning efforts. For some reason, I asked Catherine where her GameBoy was. She didn't know. I asked her to find it. She pulled everything she had put into her closet BACK out into the floor. And left it. So her room is trashed again. And she still didn't find her GameBoy.

We did manage to get the upstairs landing vacuumed and dusted, and Oldest finally cleaned her own room after many tears and sullen pouting. And Boy has actually managed to put some of this stuff up, rather than simply relocating it. Which is progress, of a sort. The final tally at this moment is two clean bathrooms, clean den, clean dining room, clean stairs and landing, and clean kid's bedroom. That leaves three bedrooms and the kitchen to finish. We've got until Saturday afternoon, so I doubt it will get done.

OH! And we found some books! Not just any books, though.

Books that went missing from the Trussville Library in June.

Of 2004!

I had brought a bunch back to the library then and put them in the outside bin, and then later got a dun notice for three of them being overdue. I went in and personally spoke to the cute red-headed girl and swore up and down that I had put them in the bin and knew that we no longer had them. So, she marked them down as being lost in the system, but it still bothered me that these three had managed to get lost when none of the others had. Well, now I know why. They had been neatly placed in a giant stack of books in Jonathan's room.

I wonder how much overdue fines for 15 months would be on three books?

Anyway, as for food, we did get some ribs--Reba's mom and dad invited us over for a Labor Day meal, which I ate with much tiredness, and then afterwards promptly lay down in the floor and went to sleep, interrupted only briefly when Catherine put her head on my stomach and went to sleep, too.

Toward home, with the intent of driving by a house we thought we might like to look at, but this was given up on when it got to be obvious that evening was upon us and it was too dark to see anything, so instead we stopped at the bookstore to see if they had a book for Ashley's class. No.

And then to home. But not so fast, there, Sparky! For some reason fathomable only by the mind of a fifteen year old girl, Oldest had brought home ten more coupon books to sell for the DECA club. She'd already sold a pile of them, and was nearly in tears to go sell more yesterday before she went back to school today. ::sigh::

It being DARK, I drove her over to the next neighborhood over (our next door neighborhood?) where the houses are closer together. She walked and I eased along behind her, and by 9:00, she'd sold 7 of the 8 books she had left. I'm certain the DECA club will reward her with hearty congratulation.

For the final wrap-up of the weekend, I got the kids in bed, left Reba upstairs studying, and I grabbed a movie that one of my coworkers had given me and popped it in the DVD player for a little me-time diversion.

It was My Architect, which chronicles the effort by filmmaker Nathaniel Kahn to unravel some of the riddles about his father Louis Kahn, one of the 20th Century's greatest architects. The younger Kahn was illegitimate (and has two other half-sisters, one of whom was also illegitimate) and the story explores his feelings toward the man who drifted in and out of his life, as well as the influence of Kahn's life and architecture on those around him and upon the world. It's a very, very good movie, told with wonderful warmth that still manages to let us see the son's anger and bitterness about being excluded from so much of Kahn's life, but without mawkishness or self-pity. Although it might have been good to hear more about Kahn's influence on the world of architecture, or spend more time exploring the background on his buildings and his artistic ideals, in the end the story isn't so much about those things, but rather about Nathaniel finding out about himself. Good movie.

And then, to bed.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:02 AM | Comments (5)

Sunday

Up early, manage to get everyone up and out of the house on time, and manage to find two replacement teachers for the two who called at thirty minutes before time to leave. Nothing like having advance warning.

Church was very good, aside from having to keep poor, tired Oldest awake after her arduous laziness on Saturday. Interesting note was that we had a fellow and his family up from New Orleans who are going to be staying in the area for an indeterminate amount of time. One of our members found jobs for the man and his wife, and we were able to get them and their kids clothed again, so hopefully they will be able to get on their feet soon. Not sure if they'll go back, though. We also are working with three congregations down in Mississippi and one in south Alabama and and will be sending several trucks go down next week with some cash and supplies for them to distribute.

Home, lunch, then back to work cleaning the den and dusting and throwing stuff away. Did that for several hours, then got dressed and went back for evening services, then came home and ate supper and sent everyone to bed so we could make a nice start of it on Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:17 AM | Comments (0)

Saturday

First task, get everyone up and moving. Second task, those nasty bathrooms. Blech. I hate cleaning the bathrooms. So I assigned the task to Rebecca. At least the kid's bathroom. OUR bathroom was actually worse--the shower needed one of those "douse with CLR and scrape with a razor blade for two hours" type cleanings. We have moderately hard water, and when you mix that with soap, it builds up quickly. "But not if you clean it every week, right?"

Yeah, that's right, Mr. Smarty-pants. But now is not the time to point fingers and try to assign blame, other than the fact that I think the Bush Administration bears full responsibility for the condition of my shower.

Anyway, that really did take a couple of hours to get into shape, and then I moved on to the vanity.

I got Cat to help me with this one--she dusted off the piles of makeup and lotion bottles, and I scrubbed off the topsoil-like aggregation of powdered makeup and foundation and hairspray and toothpaste and soap that had accreted on Reba's side of the countertop. I hate to say this, but she needs work in her tidy skills, and you know (after seeing the photo of my desk) that I do not say this lightly.

In other parts of the house, Jonathan was busily moving one pile of toys from one side of his bed to the other, and Rebecca had moved on to shifting clothes from one part of her dresser to another, and Ashley was concentrating on not doing anything at all, and Reba was clearing out the vast stacks of magazines and paper on her side of the bed.

For the whole day of Saturday, the final tally was two clean bathrooms, a rousing start to cleaning the den and dining room, and some dent made in the amount of bedroom ephemera.

Baths for the kids (even though I hated to mess up the sparkly clean tub) and then it was time to start typing. Yes, typing. My stuff from work. After last week's time-wasting debacle, I decided to bring my notes home and type stuff up there, rather than try to do it any other time during the week. I hated having it hanging over my head, and it allows me to be a bit more flexible for MORE stupid assignments as they come my way. Anyway, I managed to get that done, and climbed into bed about midnight.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:59 AM | Comments (0)

Good Morning!

I hope.

Anyway, it has been a very long weekend, full of intensive housecleaning and not much else, and you will get to hear ALLLLLL about it in a little while. I have a staff meeting first, though.

And obviously, before anything else, I must say that Georgia Tech is the finest football team in the world. That sound? Oh, nothing--just my teeth breaking from clenching them so hard.

Related to this gridiron loss, I did want to say that I am taking applications for new chickens to replace Possumblog Sport Center's Football Pickin' Chicken. I'm not sure if the last one we had was really really even a chicken at all--it sure did taste funny, that's for sure. Stupid chicken.

Anyway, staff meeting now--see you in a moment or so.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:17 AM | Comments (2)

September 02, 2005

Eyebrows?

Well, that's what they call 'em.

Silly Europeans.

Of course, it's much sillier for someone with a moron project to actually order these things, because they are nothing more than incredibly expensive chrome-plated plastic trim bits on top of the headlights. See, my new, sleek (still sitting in the box) European glass headlights that I bought are slightly different in size from the cloudy US spec plastic lens headlights I have on my car now. Why? Who knows. But the result is that the small bit of chrome-plated plastic trim over the top of my existing headlights could not be reused on my spiffy new lights. And the spiffy new lights can't be installed without the trim pieces in place.

So, I had to order some. From Holland. The parts themselves were 'spensive, but not nearly so much as the shipping. Yet another part that's worth more than the whole car!

Anyway, they FINALLY got here last night, so I want to give a big shout-out to my homie Sjef Spijkers at Scandcar in Moergestel for packing them up nice and securely, but I would like to encourage some bright young plastics artist to start knocking these things off--there are few things made of plastic that are worth quite this many guilders.

Will I get to put them in this weekend? Will I get to install my new old dashboard?

Probably not. We have to clean house. REALLY clean house.

Several weeks ago, just as we were about to leave to go to church on a Wednesday night, a very nice-looking lady pulled up in our driveway. Seems she likes our house, and her sister lives in the neighborhood, and would we like to sell?

WHA!? Obviously not the thing to spring on someone in their driveway, but we have been thinking about getting something where the kids can all have a room of their own. Reba keeps looking at ridiculously-priced things, though, so I pretty much had quit listening until she decided to start being more realistic in our ability to purchase something--preferably something LESS expensive than what we have, which might be hard to find.

Anyway, this surprise visit jumpstarted that whole discussion again, so I off-handedly told the lady if she could find up something with one more bedroom in Trussville, for about the same cash, we might be able to do something.

And then, I forgot about it, because what are the odds of that actually coming to pass? Not good.

Then she called last night, and has now decided her nephew (her sister's son) and family might like our house, and they want to come look at it. Geez. It looks like those scenes from the Gulf--and I had initially said for them to come by on Monday. I thought better of that, though--WAY too much to clean up in such a short amount of time, so they're coming next Saturday afternoon. We MIGHT have it cleaned up by then. But it means not getting to play mechanic with my lump of iron, which I suppose is just as well. Might just be too much excitement, you know?

ANYway, that's to be done, amongst all the other weekenderish types things to be done, and churching, and such like. At least we do have an extra long weekend, although there's something not quite right about actually laboring on Labor Day. Oh well--maybe I'll at least get to sleep just a bit later on Monday than usual.

SO, Lord willing, we'll see you all on Tuesday, full of interesting stuff to discuss.

Y'all stay safe.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:45 PM | Comments (0)

I was right.

In a series of scenes right out of One Flew Over the Catch 22 Poseidon Adventure Alien, the meeting began and almost immediately burst into flames. And continued thusly for the next two hours.

Puttin' the fun in dysfunctional.

I'm still not sure that knowing the outcome ahead of time made it any easier to deal with--I mean, in my mind I can sit back and muse and say, "I TOLD me so!" but it's rather unsatisfying.

To put it in the form of a convenient allegory, there is an ant walking along the table toward your cookie. How to stop it from getting your cookie? Well, I would mash it with my thumb, or, if feeling merciful, sweep it off the table. Or, if hungry, eat the cookie.

But if the ant were in our conference room, there are some who would need to know the exact weight of the ant, and where it came from. Others MUST know the ant's preferred route to the cookie, and if it will be bringing more ants. There are those who believe it best to legislate some sort of anti-ant barrier around the cookie, or, failing that, an alternative inducement to provide a small crumb of cookie in a different location and direct the ant that way. Still others understand the only way to deal with ants is through the use of more subtle methodologies such as a 12 gauge shotgun, but only after the ant is firmly dug into the cookie. Then someone wants to know how big the table is. Copies are then made of a document produced by the Wetumpka Cookie Preservation Code Council for the purpose of eliciting comments and possibly drafting a similar set of ordinances. Once written, although the new rules ignore ants entirely, they would leave the cookie relatively free from potential harm due to wombats or peccaries. But! Can we sit here and protect the cookie, when there are OBVIOUSLY other things ants will eat!? What about the sugar? What about the bread!? WHAT ABOUT THE JELLY IN THE REFRIGERATOR!? If an ant was able to pull the door open, climb up to the jelly shelf, and open the jar lid, why, THERE'D BE ANTS IN THE JELLY! This CANNOT STAND! After it becomes obvious that there's no way to reach a decision, the idea is then floated that possibly a consultant should be brought in.

It's all rather mind-rattling. One is apt to sit there wonding why no one will just mash the ant, or eat the cookie.

Well, it's lunchtime--I'm gonna go eat, and pay a bill, and then come back and hope for pretty butterflies and warm kitties and sunshine.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:19 PM | Comments (2)

How is rhubarb like a caterpillar?

PAINT!

Bwahahahahaa!

Yes, I have a feeling it's destined to be one of those non-sequitur days I love so much.

I've spent the last couple of days trying my best to think of that number between one and infinity that I mentioned earlier in the week, and last night around five o'clock when Small Boss came by, I found out the number was not "886.9" as I had guessed, but rather it was "orange feather boa with chocolate cardboard moo-cow lopsy twist car."

I know for a fact, however, it's not that.

I also know that Big Boss, in the meeting we had with him last week when he made the initial request for all this junk, will ALSO be looking for something else. Maybe even something with digits.

So, you do the best you can. You slap a bit more junk on there to add to the level of confusion, and just not worry about it. We'll see how it turns out in about thirty minutes when we go in for our NEXT round of meaningless meetings (lasting until noon, probably), where Important Concepts will be bandied about, and there will be a great deal of pontificating about Form, and Order. And then our little part of the D&P show will start, and there will be further serious talk, this time about Gomly Frellnedly, and Kalk Baloota, and Glimliness, and SPOON! all because Small Boss will be doing the "talking." This will lead to Big Boss to be harshly demeaning to everyone, and we will then adjourn until next week, when we will repeat the process.

Well, that'll teach me to climb through mirrors.

Cheshire_Cat_3.jpg

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:50 AM | Comments (2)

August 31, 2005

Well, you'd better look fast!

This event happens with the frequency of the return of Halley's Comet, but happen it had to.

The stupid exercise in futility into which I have become entrapped has required that I trace a big base map drawing--you know, since we have no quick way of getting computer plots of such things--and in order to trace a big drawing, I needed some layout space. Most logically, this should be my drafting table, but it has been an ever-more-burdened catch-all of papers and books, and the actual drawing surface had shrunk down to the size of an 11 x 17 sheet of paper.

Time to take action and CLEAN HOUSE! Also, this allows me to stall on the more important work of the day. Anyway, I brought the recycling barrel in and started shoving stuff into it. That done, I swept the eraser crumbs away, cleaned out the paper tube at the bottom (what we old-timers call a belly roll), and then brought out the rubber cement thinner to clean the goo off of it.

The result?

Taa-daa.

You can't quite see that there is still a goodly amount of marker scrawl on the cover, but that's okay. Now, obviously, SOME of that crap on my table I had to keep. So, part of it went here, into the space on the window sill--

And part of it went on top of the file cabinets--

And part of it wound up exactly where it DIDN'T need to go, namely, my desk.

No, I'm really NOT this messy. I blame the hurricane.

Anyway, now on to something productive. ::chortle::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:40 PM | Comments (5)

August 30, 2005

Dumb ol' work.

Just spent twenty minutes with the boss trying to figure out something that he wants done by Friday morning. Did finally manage to figure out something (maybe), but most certainly it will require every bit of my time between now and Friday.

Well, all of you have fun, then. I'll be here for the next couple of days doing mindless busywork, the lifespan of which (after it has been presented to our bigger boss) is destined to be even shorter than that of toilet paper.

::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:42 PM | Comments (4)

Well, you better believe I think Donna Reed's HOT!

Via Nate "John Wayne" McCord, I take the test and receive confirmation of what I suspected all along--

JIMMY STEWART

You scored 23% Tough, 9% Roguish, 61% Friendly, and 9% Charming!

You are the fun and friendly boy next door, the classic nice guy who still manages to get the girl most of the time. You're every nice girl's dreamboat, open and kind, nutty and charming, even a little mischievous at times, but always a real stand up guy. You're dependable and forthright, and women are drawn to your reliability, even as they're dazzled by your sense of adventure and fun. You try to be tough when you need to be, and will gladly stand up for any damsel in distress, but you'd rather catch a girl with a little bit of flair. Your leading ladies include Jean Arthur and Donna Reed, those sweet girl-next-door types.

And not only that, I just LOVE the accordian!


Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:05 AM | Comments (12)

Now then...

...I've got work to do!


UPDATE: Just on the off-hand chance that it might work, I brought my flash drive with me today just to see if I could download the photo editing program to it without being interrupted by our security software, and it appears that it has worked like a charm! (And only took five minutes rather than five hours.) I guess the trouble I've had in the past was only if I was trying to download to my machine, rather than to another drive. So, yippee and all!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:14 AM | Comments (0)

August 29, 2005

Did I mention it's raining?

Oh, good.

Well, then, it should come as not surprise to you that I just found out from the FedEx tracking service that my eagerly awaited great big box full of Volvo dashboard was delivered to my house at exactly 2:20 this afternoon.

I sure hope it's not completely destroyed by the time I get home.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:23 PM | Comments (7)

Oh, yeah, her.

Jim Smith (not an alias, by the way) sent me a quick note saying that you all had heard about the three older children and their flight from school on the bus, but that it seemed that something, or someone, was missing from the mix.

OH, yeah! CATHerine!

She's fine, I'm sure. Even if she missed the bus, it's only about five miles to Grandmom's house from school, so she should be able to get there without much trouble. Unless she starts walking the wrong way or something.

(IN reality, she got home before the rest of the kids since she rides a different bus, and has already finished her homework.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:53 PM | Comments (0)

Annnnnd...

...there it is. The rain. And just as rain follows clouds, so do the local news crews follow rain. They're all parked outside now, with the 'round-the-clock reports from the EMA bunker next door no doubt starting up.

Gonna be a long night.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:24 PM | Comments (0)

Okay, that's more like it.

But not in a good way.

The wind has finally started kicking up, and the two gigantic windows that are behind me (which would be the northeast side of the building) are creaking and popping pretty loudly. I sure hope they don't come busting in on me.

Conditions at noon from NWS-BMX

CLOUDY TMP 83 | DP 73 | RH 72 | WIND E14 G22 | PRES 29.74F

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:09 PM | Comments (2)

Well, THAT'S what you want to hear.

Just got a call from Oldest saying they're on the way home.

"To Grandmom's?"

"Yes."

"Have you tried to call her and let her know you're coming?"

"I did, but it was busy."

"Do you have a key to her house?"

"No, sir."

"Well, she should be there, but if she's not, y'all just go around to the back porch. Are Jonathan and Rebecca on the bus with you?"

"Ahhhh, yeah, they're up at the front."

"Okeedoke, well, y'all be careful and I'll see you when I get home. Love you."

"Love you, too, Dad."

It's just precautionary--there's still no rain or wind at the moment, but I tell you what, getting a call like that out of the blue sure does put a kink in your innards.

Just called and made sure Granny was indeed there, and she is, which dekinked a section or two of the old alimentary canal.

I reminded her to make sure the kids get their homework done before turning on the television--because I'm just a control freak, you know.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:21 PM | Comments (0)

Good morning!

At least for some of you. For the folks down in New Orleans (whom I really doubt will be reading this right now), I do hope you'll manage to make it through the storm without any lives lost. Even without that, it looks like it's going to be a mess for a while. (And CNN just reported that the roof of the Superdome is leaking, so it might be a mess inside, too.) For those of you who made it up this way seeking shelter, I hope your stay is as pleasant as circumstances allow, and I hope you find us hospitable. Just remember, drivers here don't know what a turn signal is.

Well, the weekend was action packed--I got to spend the hours as I had planned, although I had not planned (or had forgotten) that the Mungummy County liberry system won't allow access to Mu.nu in any form or fashion, so the two posts I managed to send this weekend are over on Revolvoblog, should any of you want to read them. Nothing major, just the usual blather.

Upon our return, one bit of very good news--Boy had his audition for the school band Saturday. Grandpa took him in our absence, and he (Boy, not Gramps) managed to score very well on oboe, bassoon, flute, clarinet, and...









PERCUSSION!

He got to choose which one he wanted, and, of course, chose beating on things. He was so very proud and excited--he's wanted to do this for over a year now, and I don't think he would have been prepared to have had to settle for anything you have to blow through. So, to the music store before we even got back to the house to pick up his bell kit of a xylophone, stand, drumsticks and mallets, and a practice pad.

It's only money, it's only money...

::sniff::

He better be good.

Other stuff? Well, sometime Friday night after I went to bed in the hotel, I caught a head cold. So, the rest of the weekend has been spend coughing and sneezing.

My sister came in Saturday with her cats and her frozen food to escape Katrina--she lives in Mobile, which is probably getting blasted about as bad as New Orleans, and after Ivan she pretty much has decided that no matter what else might happen, she's not going to let a freezer full of food ruin again, so, she packs it all up and brings it to my mom's house for storage. I sometimes think my mother might want to put the cats in the deep freeze, too. She's never said that out loud, though. And it was my mom's birthday! A week ago. I am a very bad son. I forgot all about it. Anyway, we all went out to eat yesterday, so it wasn't so terrible.

IN THE SUNDAY NEWSPAPER, I was randomly scanning the wedding section as I always do, and you know how in our liberated modern times the groom is now showing up with increased frequency in the announcement picture? Well, Sunday was a new one for me. IN amongst all the brides pictured by themselves, and brides pictured with their grooms, was a bride posing with a horse! Sorry, but that just sends the wrong message. Or not. I just don't know anymore.

Car news? Well, my stupid dashboard didn't get delivered Saturday as I was expecting, so that was perturbing, especially when the tracking note says it's on a truck here in town somewhere awaiting delivery. But I did get a new set of horns to replace the old ones. I just can't stand those insipid, buzzy, foreign eep-eep horns--I want something that sounds like a horn. And something louder, too. So, that got done and now it sounds like a proper car. Or, at least the horn does.

Anything else? Well, I have a boatload of typing to do today, so I'm not going to be very productive herein. Bear with me please.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:19 AM | Comments (4)

August 26, 2005

Must have put in my Mr. Potato Head angry eyes this morning.

I don't know why I'm in such an petulant mood today--there's no real reason for it. Maybe I can blame Wal-Mart. I decided to go there right as I finished fixing supper last night, because Reba and I are going away for our weekend tryst/college busywork trip tomorrow, and the Focus really needed its oil changed, and I had not been able to do anything about it any earlier because of the dental appointment and the fact that Reba didn't get home until about 10 minutes before I finished cooking supper, so I had her call and see when they closed, which was 7:00, and it was right then about 6:00, and they said to hurry up and come on because there was only one other car in the service bay and they could get to it right away.

So, I left my just-cooked food there for the rest of the family to eat while I scooted over the hill to WallyWorld, knowing that I would be back shortly. Got there about 15 minutes later and was told it would be about a 20 minutes wait.

Two hours later, I finally arrived back home.

The first hour and a half was spent waiting on that one car to leave the service bay, and then waiting as the oil was drained and replaced from my own vehicle. I assume they must take the old oil out by holding a soda straw down into the crankcase, placing their thumb over the end of the straw, then taking it out and releasing it into a small cup.

Hey, but it's cheap!

Then to Sam's for some cheap gasoline, then INTO Sam's for some cheap bagels, then a quick phone home as I got to the traffic light to let someone know I was on the way back. "Can you get some dishwasher detergent? And are you still going to take Catherine and Jonathan to the Dollar Tree?"

::sigh:: I sure wish I knew we needed detergent. I had, after all, been to two different (but inextricably related) purveyors of dishwasher detergent. And it had now gotten very, VERY late, and the younger set probably had not been scrubbed down for the night, and would be expecting to be have the promise I had made to them fulfilled.

::sigh::

Got home, asked Reba to fix me a sandwich I could eat when I got back, then took off with Boy and Baby to the Wondrous Land of 100 Pennies. Two more Fairly Odd Parents inside-out plush toys. And two boxes of powdered detergent. I hate powder--leaves too much grit on the dinnerware. But it was cheap!

Home, sent the first of four to the bathtub, ate my sammich, and wondered why I was so very tired.

Then, packing time!

The kids are going to spend the night with the grandparents tonight, so each of them had to get together their essential items such as pajamas and clothes and socks and underwear and books and toys and shoes and toothbrushes and giant anvils and grand pianos and leaden bricks and tiny breakable things. That done, time for the Missus and I to pack. Into the OTHER satchel with the exact same stuff the kids packed, except in adult form. Well, that was just Reba's stuff. Mine consisted of a pair of jeans and a shirt and a pair of comfortable shoes. I like being able to pack using nothing more than a grocery sack.

You never know, you know.

Finally got to bed at about half past Letterman.

BUT TONIGHT! Oh, BOY--tonight is gonna be different. Me, Miss Reba, the stars above, the road below, a motel waiting at the end--and you know what THAT means....





CABLE TEEVEE!! The History Channel! The Weather Channel! The American Movie Classics Channel! AND FREE LITTLE TINY SOAPS! AND ALL THE ICE WE CAN CARRY! And then Saturday, it's up early to get her to class, and then I get to SPEND ALL DAY AT THE VAUGHN BELL ROAD LIBERRY! WHOO-HOO!

What can I tell you? We just lead an overly exciting life.

Anywho, all of you have yourselves a great weekend, I know I will!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:28 PM | Comments (5)

August 25, 2005

Almost time to make like a tree...

...and be torn to shreds to make paper and plywood! No, wait--that's not it. Uhh, "time to make like a rug and...get beaten with old golf clubs!" NO! Not that either. Ummmm, well, who knows?

Anyway, I gots some wrapping-ups to do here, and then it's off for the rest of the day to spend money.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:28 AM | Comments (0)

Although I don't particularly like traffic jams...

...they are nonetheless rather entertaining from a voyeuristic point of view. People do some weird stuff in their cars, lemme tell you. Or maybe it would be better not to. Just remember, people CAN see in.

It's also interesting to see what all gets thrown, or comes loose and lands, on the side of the road.

ANYway, I'm in late today, and I have to leave early to go take the three older kids to the dentist, and yes, before I get them, I'm going to make another surreptitious trip to the junkyard to get those grab handle bits and a plastic battery tray, and I have GOT to get some meeting minute production done this morning.

Meaning? That the continual slide into nonblogginess continues apace! But at least today I don't have to worry about pants.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:22 AM | Comments (4)

August 24, 2005

Frustration right up there with the wrong-pants thing...

Well, poop. It appears Miss Sugarmama is going on walkabout for an indeterminate spell.

(Source: SPI--Skillzy Press International SIN - the Skillzy Information Network, a division of Hard Times Media LLC, all rights reserved. [Derned uppity Big Media types. Ed.])

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:33 PM | Comments (6)

That's MISTER Lucky.

Speaking of near misses, which we weren't, it also comes to my attention that Nate McCord has been experimenting with Vento Scooter crashworthiness.

I wonder if they make an SUV version of a scooter?

ANYway, good to hear that Nate still has his posterior and his life. Such things can turn out sorta bad.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:19 PM | Comments (0)

An auspicious day.

Aside from the pants thing.

But it has come to our attention that frequent contributor Steevil, brother of Dr. Weevil, Famous NASA Scientist, boater, and Moron Club Wannabe, has returned to work today!

Steve has been quite ill for a while and has been on the DL, so it was a fine surprise this morning to hear he has been released to go back. Best wishes to you, Steevil!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:55 PM | Comments (3)

Well, if that's going to be the way it is, I'm just not gonna wear pants anymore.

Just got a moment to go eat lunch, and as I was walking down the street, something caught my eye. I looked down, and noticed that in lieu of the nice pair of gray slacks I THOUGHT I had put on this morning, I was wearing the kinda taupey-brownish pair. With my black shoes and socks. And a red tie.

I noticed they felt funny this morning--not that I can feel color, but the taupe pair of pants is a different size. But I didn't really think anything about it. They LOOKED gray. In the dark. While I was half asleep. But let me tell you, outdoors they are noticeably off-kilter-looking with black shoes. The ties not SO bad, seeing as how it has tiny tan circles on it, and it's a dark red that could conceivably coordinate with the pants. But it all would have been much better with gray pants.

So, I have just decided not to every wear pants ever again.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:47 PM | Comments (6)

August 22, 2005

How could I have forgotten this?!

I guess the same way I forgot about the meeting I had tonight, but in any event, I won't be in on Tuesday--I have a continuing ed seminar down in Pelham tomorrow. Supposed to be a nice free shindig put on by a brick company--lunch and all that junk, AND looks like My Friends Jeff and John will be there, so we can cut up and be naughty.

SO, I will see you LATE on Wednesday--I've got one of THOSE meetings on Wednesday morning, so blogging will start late.

IN THE INTERVENING TIME, all of you be sure to visit around up there in the blogroll and see what all everyone else has to say!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:45 PM | Comments (1)

And upon the Lord's day...

...as morning drew nigh, I woke up and scraped the ground glass out of my eyes, got my shower, got dressed, got everyone else up, got us to church, managed to stay awake for all parts of the morning, set off for Ashley's granparents' house over on the other side of the county, but then had to make a detour BACK to the house to pick up some more of those stinking coupon books to sell to them, THEN on to their house, ate lunch, visited, then had to come back home because it turns out that the children STILL HAD SOME HOMEWORK to do.

Grr.

Luckily for me, it included TYPING! YEA, TYPING! Wheee!

Ashley had a single pager about her favorite person, which is Reba's mom, at least for the purpose of the assignment, and then Rebecca had what was supposed to be an two-pager narrative, but was more like a three-quarter pager. Typed those, then on back to church, then got home and then Rebecca edited and extended her paper, which I then corrected.

After they all got into bed and went to sleep, I finished up my weekend by typing the answers to Reba's class assignment for tonight. It only took until midnight.

And now?

Well, I'm here!

And doing what?

Typing, because I am a moron.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:18 AM | Comments (3)

In the kingdom of Ty-Ping...

That's the rest of what I did this weekend. Typed. And typed.

BUT FIRST, after my tiresome trek to the stadium, I was hoping to be able to go home and go to bed, and maybe get some slumber and rest and wake up refreshed Saturday morning.

Well, you know how this is going to go.

Oldest had to meet one of her school clubs up at Wal-Mart Saturday morning to sell school coupon books. Really puts the "fun" in "fundraiser," you know? So, the question of how to get her there--AT SEVEN A.M. That's right, seven o'clock in the morning. ::sigh:: Reba said she'd take her, and I asked her how it was she was going to get up--"Well, you might have to get up, too," she said with a winsome smile. ::sigh:: Why bother? I'll just take her and let everyone else sleep.

Now, unbeknownst to me, sometime during this exchange after we got in Friday night, Oldest had been told by Mom to call the person in charge and make sure of the time. Oldest took this to mean to call everyone she knew. But not their home, their cell phones. But, nobody was answering. And rather than leave a message, she just hung up. Apparently.

I say apparently, because as I was getting ready for bed and the ensuing lack of sleep I was going to get, the telephone rang. I picked it up, and in the background you could hear something, like someone calling from a phone booth. Much "hello"ing, no answer, then I heard Ashley pick up downstairs and say hello, and then hang on while I kept saying hello, so I told her to hang up, and then I hung up.

Five minutes later, the phone rang again--same background noise, but this time a voice after I said hello. Sounded like a teenaged girl. "WHO IS THIS!?"

Lots of attitude. "Well, who are you trying to call?" See, because you don't just call up someone on the phone and demand to know who you've just called. And you especially don't call adults and act like that.

"UGH! SOMEone just CALLED my NUMBER from THIS NUMBER! WHO IS THIS!?"

You know, I really wasn't in the mood for such crap. But I can't really blame the kid--I blame her PARENTS, who seem to have never taught her the finer points of ACTING LIKE A HUMAN when you use the telephone.

"Look, sweetie--as far as I know no one has called you from this num--"

"BUT YOUR NUMBER IS SHOWING UP ON MY PHONE--WHO IS THIS?!"

"No one called you." ::click::

Ashley came upstairs--"You haven't called anyone have you?"

Turns out she had. Several people, as I mentioned. Then the phone rang again. "WHJUPLAMAFOMENUMBAFO!? HOOBONTHFO!?"

"Pardon me?"

"SU'ONE CALL MY PHONE--WHO THIS?"

"Someone called you? No--oh--wait, hold on just a minute. ASHLEY!"

I gave her the phone and she nearly broke my hand snatching it away from me, but by the time she answered it, the caller had hung up.

I told her that she knows some very rude little children who shouldn't be allowed to play on the telephone. Which brings us to:

Telephone Tips for Teens Clip and Save!

1) I don't like wasting my time on the telephone. And, unlike you, I'm actually having to pay for it. So don't waste my time playing.

2) If you receive a call from an unfamiliar number, the thing to do is not call that number back and start acting all mouthy and put-out about it. Especially if it's an adult answering. Because you know how big people can act.

3) If you do decide to call back, quietly and politely state that you just received a call on your cell phone from the number, and politely ask if someone called.

4) If you are told no, don't automatically assume the person is lying. Remember that technology is a wonderful thing, and that there exists a method of running more than one set of telephone lines in a house, leading to more than one phone. These are called "extensions" and unlike the things you put in your multi-colored hair, they can be used by persons in remote parts of the house to make telephone calls, and said remote persons might HAVE made the call, and the person who answered YOUR call might not have known about the other caller in the house.

It's best not to argue if the person says they do not know how the number got on your telephone, rather, just excuse yourself and hang up.

5) And if you can't mind your manners, just shut your face and recall that there actually is a good reason for that old saying about children being best when they are seen and not heard.

For my own sweet child--when Mom says to call one person, she really means only call one person. She doesn't mean for you to call everyone you know. Second, learn to leave a message. ::sigh::

Anyway, all of that, and she still wasn't sure that it really was supposed to be at 7:00.

Up exceedingly early on Saturday, dressed, gathered her up and hit the road. Pulled in the parking lot right on time. Waited. Went in. No one. Went to the service desk. Nobody knew anything. Waited. I left her at the front and I went and got detergent and milk and fabric softener and a sandwich. Came back, asked if she was sure she didn't want anything, and waited.

Wound up waiting until 8:00. Nary a sign of any club members. Went the whole rest of the weekend expecting someone to call and ask why she missed out. Nothing.

Luckily, I was able to get up bright and early on a Saturday--all that excessive sleep was narrowly avoided!

Then, time to type.

I typed from 8 to 4:30. Then we went out to eat. I came home, and typed from 7:00 to midnight. I finished her paper. 65 pages. I am very happy.

Things that made it hard: Grammar--especially her subject-verb agreement and possessives. Only a minor difficulty.

Major difficulty? Her seemingly obsessive need to talk to me as I typed. About her textbook. About the kids. About the weather. About the coupon book she was reading. And not just talk, but recitations--she would read lists to me of things, such as the locations of various restaurants in the coupon book. Why? She just has to talk. She talks like I write. Excessively, and with much flourish of hands. Which is fine IF I'M NOT TRYING TO TYPE THINGS!

[Internal monologue] AAAGGGGHHHHH! SHUTUP!SHUTUP!SHUT!UP! Do NOT TALK! I don't need to know about the list you're reading! I don't want to see the stain on the shirt! I don't want to hear about the various iterations of the twelve different forms you use at work! SHUT UP! [/internal monologue]

"Uhm."

Thank heavens it's done. Now to take it to be bound during lunchtime. This time, I will be sure to remember to get wire-bound. Maybe.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:38 AM | Comments (6)

Maybe NEXT weekend will be more relaxing.

Let me tell you this right now--if the first words you hear when you come home include the word "Jamboree," it pretty much sets a tone for the whole weekend that is mighty difficult to overcome.

Walked in Friday evening with the hope of just being able to sit down in a chair and allow what was left of my brain to run out of my ears onto my shoulders. Just a nice, quiet, dark room with a television. "Let me ask you a question," said Sweet Wife sweetly, "would you like us to all go to the Jamboree tonight with the kids?"

[Internal monologue] Why, I'd LOVE IT! And for added enjoyment, why don't you repeatedly smash my teeth with an iron bar! A HOT iron bar! And then just hitch me up to a team of weasels and drag me there! THAT would be GREAT! [/internal monologue]

[Out loud] "Uh. Well. ::sigh::--"

"Ashley wants to go see her new boyfriend!"

Oh, well that just puts a wonderfully perverse sort of spin on it, doesn't it. Oh, wait--that was internal.

"::sigh:: I really don't feel like going, Reba."

"We could get some hamburgers for the kids and not have to cook anything."

"::sigh::heavy sigh:: Come on."

I had hoped that since Oldest had dropped out of Band that things like this wouldn't come up this year. I mean, I like the ambience and all that, but I was hoping that it wouldn't be a mandatory thing like it was last year. Compunction tends to take some of the fun out of things. Especially when you have had your gray matter pressed into a fine thin sheet of goo by an interminable meeting full of bureaucrats.

And there's this whole deal with seeing a Boy. Beau #4, I think this makes. Why must I participate in this?! Oh, yeah. I am a moron--and reliably, pliantly so.

SO, everyone in the van. Off to the store to get some money. OFF to the stadium to park, except we had to park at the library and walk. Pay to get in--now remember, this is what they call a Jamboree around here. A pre-season scrimmage game. Most have four or six teams, and they play only a quarter or two apiece, but this was just a two team game--us versus the Decatur Red Raiders. (EEK!! POLITICAL INCORRECTNESS!) But, still, it was not a real game. Still had to pay full freight to get in, though. Five bucks a head. Thirty bucks total. Just like that. Sure, it's less expensive than a movie, and there are cheerleaders and such, but you know, my mood on Friday didn't seem to be able to consider those mitigating circumstances.

Oh, did I mention that it was hot? It was. Not that I'm complaining. It's August, it's supposed to be hot. But humans are supposed to huddle indoors by the air conditioner. That's what civilization is. Not out in a bleacher full of large sweaty persons when the temperature, even when the sun goes down, is still 90 degrees, and the humidity never dips below 80%. Why, that's just INSANE!

Must explain why I was along for the ride.

Anyway, we sat down and the kids immediately began starving to death right before our eyes, so Reba went and got food and drinks and I sat there and tried to be sociable.

Pretty good game--we threw the ball a lot, and the score was 28-7 at the half. Bodes well for the regular season, I hope. Halftime, time for the band performance. Whoa. Last year's band was about twice as big. I won't say much about why, but suffice it to say that adults who enjoy berating children in order to make themselves seem superior is probably not a good way to draw interest in an extracurricular program that is purely voluntary. Although I assume it's better to have a small group who are completely dedicated, it really can't make up for the volume and depth of a big band. And they NEEDED some more people. Good show, but just not in the same league as they were last year.

Second half, more of the same on our part, although they did let up a bit and didn't run the score up. Oh, and I got to see Beau #4--he didn't dress out because his foot was hurt. Good-looking kid, I suppose. But it was hard to tell from up in the bleachers.

Finally, the final play, and time to head home. I had actually gotten into a slightly better disposition, but, you know, the weekend is a long thing.

Thankfully, the staff meeting I'm about to go into won't be quite so long. I hope.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:10 AM | Comments (0)

August 19, 2005

Maybe the weekend will be more relaxing.

I intend to spend it nearly in its entirety typing more on Reba's paper. That's always quite enjoyable.

Anyway, as long as I don't run away and join the circus or become a cowboy, I suppose I'll see you all bright and early on Monday morning, hopefully in a slightly better disposition.

Or not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:17 PM | Comments (1)

Four hours.

From 9:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m., with a couple of unscheduled pit stops to rid myself of the Diet Coke I should have known better than to drink. Then again, at least I had an excuse for being able to get up, if only for a moment. And a much better one than just wanting to go absolutely insane and start screaming for everyone just to shut up if they didn't have anything substantive to say.

Overall, there was probably about twenty minutes of actual value, the rest was just people restating the same thing in a multitude of ways, spouting jargon, or confusing identifying a problem with solving a problem.

Another source of blabberosity (and irritation) is the coworker I have who thinks she is a complete and utter authority on computers, and if she's having a problem tends to think everyone else must be having the same problem, leading to much ranting as she goes on and on about how she can't find files, or can't e-mail something, or how sometimes the document margins go all the way out to the edge of the screen and sometimes don't, or how opening an image file with MS Word just fills up the screen with random letters and numbers. It would be much easier if she could just bring herself to admit she's a neophyte and might need some training, instead of trying to lecture everyone else about how to do things.

That prison guard gig keeps looking better and better.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:38 PM | Comments (5)

August 18, 2005

Pre- & Postprandial Perambulations

I decided to do something different for lunch today for a change. Since Reba no longer works downtown, I don't wander very far down the sidewalk anymore, but today I got in the mood to walk down to 1st Avenue and go visit one of our old haunts, the Mexican place (variously styled as the Tower Cafe, Sabor Mazatlan, or Sabor Latino) over in the Brown-Marx building. (Old postcard versus the current look.)

I don't particularly know why I decided to pick today to do this--although it's not that hot--only about 93 degrees with 55% humidity--it's still hot enough to make the trek uncomfortably sweaty.

Tips to cope?

1. Always walk on the shady side of the street. If there's no shady side, walk in some large person's shadow.

2. Walk slowly. Going fast is just a recipe for disaster. It reminds me of a guy I saw when I was walking back. He works here in the building and goes out and "jogs," bless his stout little thighs, during lunch. He was staggering around like he'd just got through running a marathon, shuffling his feet and swinging his arms in a cartoon-like simulacrum of actual running. He was only two blocks from the office. Don't run. It's bad for you.

3. Don't look at ugly people. It's uncomfortable enough as it is without having to put up with that.

4. Don't slowly walk eight blocks on the shady side of the street looking only at attractive people, eat a large Mexican lunch, then walk back eight blocks to work. By the time you do that, all that rich creamy queso and flavorfully spiced meat will have started doing the flamenco in your gizzard.

The walk itself was actually fine, and entertaining. First up were two women crossing the street at 6th Avenue. Against the light. With traffic coming. One lost her sandal as she was ambling across, causing her companion to stop and look incredulously at the now single-shod woman. With traffic coming. The woman mosied back and put her shoe on and commented to her friend that those sure weren't the shoes to be wearing to cross the street in. Call me crazy, but it might help if you weren't walking out into oncoming traffic. Dolt.

After I passed by them, one of the computer guys caught up with me. Turns out he was going the same place, so we walked together. He's one of the good guys, and it has nothing to do with the fact that he's a competitive centerfire rifle shooter or drives a Volvo. He's just a good egg. And knows his computery stuff. Big controversy today was dealing with a particularly buffoonish, brought-collards-to-the-Xmas-party fellow on our floor. Seems this goober was upset that the system administrators have access to his computer. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT!? He got to ranting and raving about what if someone got into his files and sent something out under his name.

As. If. Mister.

For people who see a conspiracy behind every vapor trail and a black helicopter under every rock, there seems to be some kind of rule says you must believe that everything you do is so stinkin' important to the ChiCom or the Rethuglicans that people are constantly trying to get into your computer files and see what you're doing. Even if you're a low-level bureaucrat with absolutely no tasks of any importance. It's like these people who fancy themselves as enemies of the state and just KNOW the FBI has a file on them. Adds to their sense of self, I suppose.

Computer Guy was just beside himself trying to get a grip on the situation. He finally wound up telling the guy that if it didn't bother the Chief Executive and his chief of staff to have admin control over their computers, there was derned well nothing on HIS computer that was any more important.

Nothing like a nice cup of shut up.

Got to the restaurant and he went on and joined his party and I sat down at a booth. Ordered, ate my chips, drank my Diet Coke, looked out the window at the hot pavement, wondered when they would FINALLY get around to moving in at the old McDonald's location, and ate my food. Boy, it was good. Much better than I remember. And much more perspiration-inducing. Paid the cute cashier girl (who no longer remembers me ::sniff::) and walked back up 20th.

And now I am very sleepy. I sure wish we could get that siesta thing started in this country.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:36 PM | Comments (8)

OW! It's leaking on my leg! And it's HOT!

Obviously, you're concerned that you child--no, wait--make that children--might have suffered harm, but since you're also a rather insensitive soul, you also wonder just how much has gotten on the seat.

YESTERDAY afternoon, running later than necessary and having to get to Grandmom's to pick up the kids, throw some food down them, then get us all to church, and THEN come home to finish homework. Bless Grandmom's heart--she fixed us some baked chicken! "Be careful--it's full of juice, so I put it down in this box lid with a towel under it." And aluminum foil over the top.

Well, no big deal--I mean, what could happen?

Finally got the kids kicked into high gear and trudging toward the car. Backpacks in trunk, Oldest in the front holding a plastic grocery bag with eggs and tomatoes, me holding a cardboard lid with really good-smelling roasted chicken in it.

Hmm.

Hard to drive like that.

"Catherine, can you hold this on the way home?" (She was sitting in the seat by the door.) Head shake no. ::sigh:: "Jonathan! Here, hold this! Be careful, it's hot and it'll leak."

I shut Cat's door, walked around and opened my door, sat down, turned the key, "OW! It's leaking on my leg! And it's HOT!"

"WHAT!?"

Rebecca was giggling--"It's LEAKING! Jonathan moved it and it leaked into the box and he gave it to ME and it's still leaking! And it's HOT!"

Then Catherine--"::snicker:: ME TOO!"

::sigh::

I didn't suppose it was that hot considering they were giggling instead of writhing in agony, so I had to ask the obvious question.

"Did y'all get any of that on the seat?"

"Uh, I don't know--it's on my leg--I don't know."

::sigh::

Got out of the car, opened Rebecca's door, took the now sopping wet box lid and Corningware bowl of chicken from her and tried to figure out what to do with it. Trunk? No. Way. Backpacks and chicken schmaltz do not mix. Well, the Volvo does have those handy hard plastic floor trays that will hold several barrels of liquid. I knew it wouldn't fit in the back, so I walked around and got Ashley to move her feet and I stuck it in the front floorboard.

Home, got everyone out. The three youngest children stood before me on the driveway, each one's legs covered with large wet aromatic stains. Rebecca's went all the way around her leg. Which, obviously, could only mean one thing.

"DAD! Daddy! It DID get on your seat. But just right here. Oh, and there. And some there."

"Y'all go change--we have to go to church tonight."

The biggest spot was on the front edge of the seat. About the size of my outstretched hand, with an auxiliary bit further down. And then a smaller one over underneath where Catherine was sitting. At least I'm pretty confident by this point in her life that it was chicken drainings and not Catherine drainings.

::sigh::

Oh well. Went and got a towel and tried to squeegee up the majority of the liquid, and then went back and got the big box of dry Arm and Hammer carpet cleaner/pet deodorizer powder. Dumped a bunch on there, closed the doors, and locked up.

Supper (which was really good, by the way--the chicken had some kind of Southwestern seasoning on it), church, home, and time to see how much of a mess I had left.

Got the Dustbuster, vacuumed out the loose powder, and was left with 2 1/2 large white areas that looked like the polar ice caps on a sea of blue. And blue corduroy velour, at that. Boy, I sure hope that comes out.

Went and grabbed the stiff brush I use to clean everything and gave a couple of quick strokes, then vacuumed the rest. The result?

NO STAIN! Hooray. Although now it smells like someone dumped a load of perfumed chicken back there. But at least you can't see where.

Afterwards, set the kids to the task of their homework and STARTED TYPING A PAPER FOR OLDEST. Grr. "How long have you known about this!?"

"Since last week, but I was working on my other stuff."

"Which is due....?"

"Friday."

::sigh::Ralph Kramden slow burn::

"Lemme see it."

"Well, this is just the first page--it's got to be two pages and I don't know what else to write."

[kind and gentle Robert Young voice] "Okay, well, you need to go on to your room and get to work and finish it if you want it typed up tonight."

Obviously, my internal monologue was much more like a cross between Yosemite Sam and the Tasmanian Devil. Good thing I'm in such great physical condition, or such annoyances would probably turn me into one giant bulging aneurism.

Thankfully, it was only two pages. More or less. Less. She really needs to learn how to type. Although that doesn't really seem to matter--because I also have to get someone else's paper finished. I typed on that as well. And got in the bed very early. This morning. At about 12:30. Luckily, I got to sleep all the way to 5:30.

Yet, for some reason, I still feel a bit sleepy. Eh, go figure.

In any event, GOOD MORNING!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:45 AM | Comments (5)

August 17, 2005

Yes...

...it's another one of those days. I seem to be much busier lately, but no more productive. I don't know why. I'm usually so good at mindless busywork, you know.

Maybe some lunch will clear my head.

Or clog it up.

One way or another, something's gotta give.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:00 PM | Comments (0)

A Romantic Interlude

As you recall (since I keep reminding you) yesterday marked the 14th year of marriage betwixt the lovely Miss Reba and me. I wasn't able to find exactly what I was looking for, but she enjoyed the roses and the card, and I still have a small grace period here where I can see if I can find what I was looking for. She got me some cards as well, and a couple of small sweet gifts, one of which I imagine Tiny Terror will try to sneak away with (it was a teeny little stuffed toy puppy--but Catherine willl have a fight on her hands if she tries to get it!)

It has certainly been a very interesting several years. You know, I'm sure I must have recognized it before, but it really didn't hit me until yesterday that our anniversary is also the date in which Elvis left the building forever. I asked Reba last night how it is we managed to pick that date out of all the other days in August, and she didn't know. But, no matter. It provided a convenient excuse to sing "Wise Men Say" in my best Elvis Impersonator voice to her last night as we climbed into bed.

It probably would have been more effective if she had gotten away from work on time instead of having to follow the psychiatrist on rounds, and if I had not had to go to a "meet the teacher" night at school, and if we had not eaten supper with her mom and dad instead of at home where the kids could have gotten cleaned up and in their pajamas at a decent hour, and if we weren't both dead tired. But, if nothing else, at least it made her giggle.

All in all, I really like her a whole lot. I mean, you know, I do love her, too--but there's an awful lot to be said for liking the person you share your life with. Sure makes the normal grind of life a lot more pleasant.

And aside from either of those things, I still enjoy sneaking a peek at her. The little tease.

Anyway, on to the next 14.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:22 AM | Comments (15)

August 16, 2005

Where was I?!

Not that it matters.

Oh, yeah--weekend stuff. I fixed the leaky Focus first thing Saturday, for one thing. As I mentioned the other day, it's amazing how much information there is out there on the Internet--I typed in focus water floorboard and got back a ton of hits and quickly figured out the problem was more than likely the area around the pollen filter/fresh air intake on the passenger side.

I found several sets of instructions as well as a copy of the TSB addressing the problem, but until I popped off the cover, I wasn't quite sure why it was doing what it was doing--namely, every hard rain would cause a bucket of water to collect in the passenger side floor. I had already dried the carpet once, and ran water all down into the open cover on the driver's side, but never found the problem. Which is, the fresh air intake points straight up and the only thing that keeps (or is supposed to keep) water from running down the windshield straight into it is a small gutter molded into the underside of the cover. Too much water, and it overflows and pours right in.

So, I popped the cover off (and broke the tab next to the cover on the driver's side--oops) and taped off the windshield to keep goo off of it, and ran a bead of Permatex Ultra Black gasket juice all around the windshield side and the airbox groove. Very nice stuff--it comes out smooth and easy, although it is messy if it gets on your hands.

Wiggled it into place, popped it in, squished the bead of gunk down and put some weights along the edge to make sure it sealed good. Then, once more pull up the carpet and put towels under the pad to soak up some nice musty rainwater and left it all pulled apart so it would dry out.

Verdict? Worked like a charm. We had two big thunderstorms roll in Saturday afternoon and neither one caused any liquidy intrusion.

Overall, I have been very pleased with our Focus, but I think I would be much less so if I was having to rely on the dealership to fix the things I've had to fix on it. Again, thank goodness for the Internet.

Then, pears, then mowing, THEN the rear headrest installation on the Volvo--this will be posted over on Revolvoblog later on today, so I won't bore you with the technical details here, but suffice it to say that after spending about five hours in various other strenuous outdoor activities during the morning, and another hour spent inside of a very hot car, that the effort required to reinstall the lower seat cushion at the end of the project was very nearly enough to bring an end to ME! But, I did get it finished, and it looks nice and neat as a factory job.

(They ARE blue, by the way--they just look dark due to the shadow. But they match like they're supposed to.)

Anyway, everything fit right except for the rear speaker grilles, which were too big to fit in the space allotted, and now will have to be replaced with something smaller. MORE MORON FUN!

Went in and drank a lot of fluids and managed not to pass out, then got my shower and cooled off. It was a very long day.

Sunday was very nice, mainly because there were no meetings or anything else I had to go do between church services, so I got to 1) actually read the entire newspaper, and 2) take an actual nap in which I actually took off my actual suit and actually went to actual sleep in my actual bed. Which was probably not a good idea, because I was supposed to lead singing that night, and my throat was scratchy and then my vocal cords felt all constricted and everything, so every single song came out squeaky and coughy. It would help if I would relax a bit beforehand--I'm thinking maybe drinking a big bottle of Nyquil would help. It IS medicine, after all.

Ashley stayed to go to the teenage devotional/meal/gossipfest afterwards, which meant we had to go back and get her later. "We" meaning "me". ::sigh::

And that's pretty much the high points, although it doesn't sound nearly so tiring in retrospect as it felt like in real time.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:16 AM | Comments (2)

August 15, 2005

Let's see...

I managed to get all the super-dee-dooper emergency stuff done, and now am just left with the normal task of rolling this large boulder up the hill. Funny, but every time I do that, it rolls back down again. But hey, at least I don't have it as bad as that Prometheus guy. Real bummer, you know?

Anyway, I am left with not enough time to go over the entire weekend wrapup as I had intended, so I figure I'll just show the Boy Farmer for now, and maybe pick up the rest tomorrow.

The pear crop this year was quite abundant. I'm not sure when you're actually supposed to pick them, but they had gotten to the size of softballs, so I figured it wouldn't hurt anything to go get them.

I rousted Boy and told him to come help me, and after a minute or two he came charging out of the house, full of Boy Energy.

And his mother's white beach sandals.

::sigh::

"Son, you know those are Mama's shoes, don't you? And that Catherine has been wearing them?"

"Yes, sir, but they were right by the door and I didn't want to have to go get mine."

Hard to argue with that. Especially for a man who's had to put on his wife's bathrobe to go downstairs and get toilet paper out of the utility closet.

ANYway, he got to work right off.

Here he is looking for any windfalls--

and here he is trying not to get poked with pear tree thorns--

Pear trees are weird. Or maybe it's just this one, but it had lots of spikes on it, and then a whole bunch of little hard round berries that I assume are pear babies, but they don't ever grow. Strange fruit.

Here is Boy with an armload of his crop and a big cheesy grin--

After he put those down, I, being very smart and bright and clever, decided to grab a branch and give it a little shake to get the high ones down. They did come down. Hard. On top of my head. Ouch.

ANYway, after it was all said and done, Boy had grown more than EIGHTY pears from his tree. We had some that got eaten by the birds and that fell off in storms, but still, the eighty there on the stone bench are a pretty good haul.

He took some next door to both the young couple on one side and to the retired lady on the other. He wanted to know if he could keep the biggest ones to eat, and I said there wasn't anything wrong with that. (I think he was afraid he'd have to give those away.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:22 PM | Comments (8)

AGGHHHH! (With special Update!)

As is becoming increasing common, I have walked into a giant flaming radioactive hornet's nest of busywork that must be accomplished this morning, so the full accounting of the past weekend's festivities in Paradise along the Pinchgut must wait a bit.

The short version--it was time for the annual pear harvest with Boy

I cut the grass

I worked on deleaking the Focus and headresting the Volvo

And I did churchy stuff for which I have no photos, so I decided instead to show you a picture of what I walked into early one morning a couple of Fridays ago--

Everyone together now--"Awwwwww."

Details to follow some time later in the day--in the intervening time, be sure to go read about what everyone else did this weekend!

UPDATE: 10:45 CT, I have reduced the size of the flaming nuclear hornet hive by half, made slightly more difficult by the discovery inside the hive of a pack of howler monkeys. Now then, on to the next task, which requires a sure and steady hand as I draw with pretty colors!

I wish I had a mule team to help me out.

OH! WAIT! What have I here!? Why, my good friend Dave Helton decided to show me what that would look like!

Everyone together now--"Awwwww."

Or, "Waaaaaaaa."

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:24 AM | Comments (20)

August 12, 2005

Weekend?

Well, okay, if you insist.

Chores planned include fixing Reba's car--it seems that there is a problem common to Foci in which great floods of water can enter the cabin through a badly sealed bit of plastic at the windshield/cowl area, the resulting flood then collecting down in the passenger side floorboard.

And, ours is one of the ones that is doing this. ::sigh::

I believe when we had the windshield replaced a while back that the guy didn't seal the plastic cover correctly, because I can see right down into a big gap that I'm not supposed to see right down into. Where ever I can see is where water gets in.

Thank heavens for the Internet, I say. I'd never even know where to start if I was just trying to fix it, but after about ten minutes worth of sleuthing, I think I know exactly how to fix it.

Obviously, when I tear it up, it might require a bit more Googling. But nonetheless, it is quite a resource for people who work on their own junk.

Other things? Well, I have some shopping to do. Our 14th anniversary is Tuesday--the traditional gifts are ivory, and the suggested flower is dahlias. I went today to the florist over in the AmSouth-Harbert building and my favorite flower lady said that they didn't have any dahlias at the moment, meaning I had to substitute some roses. Ivory-colored, to stay with the theme, but I still have to get an actual gift.

I'm hoping to bag an elephant, or maybe a walrus, if one comes wandering through the yard, and then fix something up.

Or maybe not.

Let's see--laundry, grass-cutting, church, and probably something where I hurt myself.

Let's just hope all of you have a nice safe weekend! Lord willing, I'll see you all on Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:12 PM | Comments (8)

August 11, 2005

Just what I need...

...another hole in my head.

See you kids tomorrow--it's time to go get my tooth fixed.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:06 PM | Comments (0)

Another year begins.

Back to school this morning.

The meet'n'greet yesterday wasn't fun for Miss Reba--Catherine was full of "p. and v."* as my mother says and apparently became quite a handful. Not only that, Reba's back is hurting again. Not only that, both Rebecca and Jonathan's schedules got changed and she had to go track all that down. So she was not a happy camper last night. The kids are still in high spirits, though.

They do have their jitters--Cat is concerned that the portable classroom she's in won't have a bathroom in it, Rebecca states that her stomach felt all crawly, Jonathan wondered where he was supposed to pick up his revised schedule this morning, and Ashley is her usual self.

On top of all this, for some reason Reba volunteered to take everyone to school. For years we've split up so we would be able to get everyone to school and both still manage to get to work on time, but she seems to think it would be better for her to take them. First, drop Boy and Middle Girl at the middle school, then Oldest to the high school, then back around to the elementary school with Tiny Terror.

It's a do-able loop of travel--I've done it several times before and never been late, but I am a bit on edge myself and not really wanting to pick up the phone and call and ask how it went. Because if it went bad, it means it's hard on EVERYone--the old thing about "if Mama ain't happy," you know.

Maybe it's time to start shopping for something antique and ivory, and for a bouquet of dahlias (at least according to this site--it being almost that time again).

As for today, a short one--I have to go get my head drilled this afternoon to replace a filling. I look forward to it immensely, much as I would if I were about to hit my finger with a hammer.

UPDATE: Whew. Everyone got where they were suppose to go with no problems.


*My mother, not known for a lack of saltiness, tends to use this more mild formulation in lieu of "piss and vinegar."

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:55 AM | Comments (2)

August 10, 2005

::yawn::

A thunderstorm just began (or in the vernacular, "it come a cloud") and it's all I can do to keep from closing the door to my office, climbing under my drafting table, and taking a nice long nap.

Of course, those middle-'o-the-day naps are really bad--you wake up all disoriented, and with a headache, and your hair messed up, and your coworkers shrieking at you to put your clothes back...--uh, never mind.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:12 PM | Comments (0)

Poor little thing.

Good morning! I’ve been here a while, but have been covered up with a blizzard of paperwork, which is what always happens after these meetings. And, as usual, I have to start the minute-typing process all over again.

BUT, at least I got to have fun last night.

Yesterday morning, Catherine asked me if she won the Clothes-Putting-On race if I would take her to the Dollar Tree. Being a sucker, I agreed to the deal and LO AND BEHOLD, she WON! So she was very proud. I was just glad she was completely dressed for once.

Anyway, on toward home yesterday with a stop to pick everyone up. When I got to Grandma’s house, I also remembered that over the weekend I had also promised Boy that I would take him to get his hair cut. Interesting thing about that little stinker--he’s never seemed to want his hair to get all long and shaggy like so many of the â€70s wannabe kids whose parents let them grow their hair down into their eyes. He’s very particular about it, and we’ve never said anything to him about it. I just hope he keeps that attitude. Which means he probably won’t. ANYway, I promised I would take him to the hair-cutting place, too, so I figured I would combine the Dollar Tree with the HeadStart trip and satisfy everyone.

Got them home, started supper, greeted Reba when she got home, passed the spatula to her and hit the door with the littler two kids.

First stop, hair. The place was full, but thankfully it was mostly just lots of people who came with the object of the hair cutting. Boy got called back quickly and just as quickly reappeared with a nice slick Conservative Young Gentleman cut.

ON TO THE DOLLAR STORE!

We got there and Cat was immediately drawn to a box full of big foam gliders on the sidewalk. She looked them over very carefully, and I think she wanted one. But she also wanted to see all the junk inside as well, so we went in and they went to work looking at every single thing that the industrious peoples of Asia can make that can profitably sold for a dollar. Boy quickly found a “Fairly Odd Parents” Cosmo (the one on the left in this picture) reversible plush toy he liked, so he snagged that and was satisfied. Catherine, on the other hand, seemed to be having difficulty. She didn’t really seem to be interested in anything. She wandered and shopped and looked and still couldn’t figure out what she wanted. Mainly because she really wanted the toy airplane. I think she was concerned that it was a “boy” toy.

I didn’t say it out loud, but I really didn’t think she had much to worry about seeing as how her brother had just picked up a doll of a bewinged cartoon male fairy that transforms into a pretty crescent moon.

“Can I get that airplane?”

“Sure, sugar! It’ll be fun!”

She lit up like Times Square and ran across the store and out onto the sidewalk to retrieve her airplane. We walked over to the cashier and I gave them each their dollar so they could pay for their respective items, which they promptly turned around and gave the kid at the register, and I gave him a fiver for the four packs of spaghetti I bought--2 packs for a buck!--and then we were on the way home again. Late, too--nearly 7:30 when we got there.

BUT, not so late that a test flight couldn’t be made!

The moment she got out of the car, Cat already had the plastic wrapper off the plane and had slammed the wings onto the fuselage and was ready to fly it. First flight, and it nosed right into the ground.

“Here, let me see, Captain--” Oh, good--a way to trim it out a bit. I bent the elevators up slightly then turned around and flew it, inexplicably, straight toward the street. Because I am a moron. But boy-howdy did it fly! Landed right in the street after a long straight glide. Thankfully, no cars were coming, especially since Catherine bolted after it when she saw where it was going and it was all I could do to whoa her up before she plundered on out beyond the curbline. “STOP! Look both ways!” Good.

She brought it back and flew it a couple more times, then Reba came out to see what we were doing. I grabbed it and flung it up high, it turned gracefully and sailed back the way it had come, striking the poor Miss Reba right upon her right hip. “YOU HIT ME WITH AN AIRPLANE!”

“You saw it coming--you should have moved.” So THERE! Catherine just laughed and laughed.

We went in and had supper--the rest of them had already eaten--and as I sat there studying the aircraft that was now hangared beside Catherine’s plate, I thought it needed some work. It came with cool stickers for decoration, but it also had circular indentations on the fuselage to indicate porthole windows. It actually looks a bit like a Gulfstream II (except with a conventional empennage instead of a tee-tail), and I thought a little bit of verisimilitude might make it the most coolest thing EVER. “Hey, Catherine--after we get through eating, would you like me to color in the windows on the side so it looks more like a real airplane?”

She was somewhat leery of the idea but agreed anyway. Got out the Sharpie and went to work after putting away the dishes--eight neat round dots, and then a quick set of trapezoids on the front windows. WAY cool. I helped her put the stickers on and it looked pretty darned nice, if I do say so myself.

Of course, she was about to bust a seam to fly it some more. In the house. I told her to wait until today so she could fly it outside.

Alas, it was not to be.

I just got a call from Miss Reba, who has left work early today to got get the three youngest kids to take them and their stuff up to school and meet the teachers, and it seems that when she dropped them off this morning, there was massive damage done to the wing of the craft. Poor Cat had taken it apart when she got to Grandmom’s house, laid a wing on the couch, forgot about it, and inadvertently turned around and broke it when she put her hand on the cushion to get up. CRACK!

Reports from sources at the scene indicate there was a large gush of tears and no small amount of wailing. “BWAAAAHHHH--::sniff:: I knew I should have gotten somethin’ else!” All that effort, all that anticipation about getting to fly it today, and it all went away in one moment’s inattention. Poor little pilot.

I told Reba to be sure and let her know that it would be okay, because Daddy would stop by the store on the way home tonight and get her a replacement. That made her very much happier.

And now? Well, it’s lunchtime! Be back after while.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:12 PM | Comments (6)

August 09, 2005

Okay, that's a wrap!

At least for today. And, unfortunately, for most of tomorrow, it being the second Wednesday of the month and all, and our usual meeting date for our off-campus regulatory jamboree. I'm beginning to not like these particular meetings very much--not that I have ever actually liked them at all to begin with. They just make too much trouble afterwards, which really gets in the way of my goal to have a completely trouble-free life.

Maybe I could become a snake venom milker instead.

ANYway, that to do for the morrow--in the mean time until my return, be sure to go visit Charles Austin's site--he's still trying to raise enough bail for his Muscular Dystrophy Association gig so that he doesn't have to stay in there for several years. He's got $303 at the moment, and has to get $1,702 to be able to walk out. Also, be aware that he's planning to commit blogicide if he doesn't get all the required dough.

Until later, then...


Oh, hey--I forgot, but I also have a couple of VERY boring posts up at Revolvoblog--my current to-do list, and a media-criticism post--not really taking up for Volvo so much as wondering why it seems EVERY journalist comes from the Innuendo, Insinuation, and Unsubstantiated-Thesis School of Writing.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:52 PM | Comments (1)

Don't Break the Ice.

Last night as I was typing Reba's paper and watching the Miss Teen Fake Smile Scholarship Contest with Bouncy Bikini Action, I told Catherine it was time for bed. "Can I play a game with you? ::sadly:: But no, you'll probably say I have to go to bed."

Oh, goody--time to hit the road for a guilt trip! Of course, being an wizened and experienced parent, such shameless faux-emotional ploys to stall for time have absolutely no effect on me. Unless I want them to.

"Oh, fer heaven's sakes, Cat--yes, we can play a game, but it needs to be a short one that doesn't take a long time."

"Nooo. That's okay. I'll just go to bed and not play anything at all."

Good grief.

"You want to play dominos?"

"Nooooo."

"Go Fish?"

"Nooooo."

Having exhausted my known choices for rapidly played games, I suggested dominos again.

"No, and anyway, you just said that. Hmm--could we play "Life"? It don't lastes long..."

"Oh yes it does, too! Go find something else."

She rummaged and crashed around in the game closet and came back with one--"Can we play this?!"

Don't Break the Ice--hmmm--a fine choice! Quick, slightly loud, destructive, imagined peril and bodily harm for the little guy on the ice--just the thing for a quiet wind-down of the day! (I note that the newer versions have a prancing bear instead of the guy sitting on a chair. I guess someone thought having a person plunge below the icy surface was just too terrifying for small children. Much better a vicious bear.)

"Okeedoke--that'll be fun."

We sat down and fixed the blocks and started tapping. She lost the first one and the second one, but on the third pulled off a stunning upset, causing me to be the icebreaker. Lots of fun, and along about the middle of the second game when she was figuring out which blocks were safe to knock out, I had one of those runaway imagination things in which I envisioned a heavy, bespectacled Russian man scurrying along between tables full of opponents, playing each one simultaneously, and with each tap and fall of a block, he would triumphantly smack a timer button, just like a chess master.

For some reason, it just struck me as funny, although I confess it might have been the effects of another night spent typing a paper completely free of possessive-indicating apostrophes, which has made me have to stop at every pronoun to determine its plurality or singularity, and then have to go back and determine if it agrees in number with the verb.

"Okay, we've played three games now--we'll put it back in the box for tomorrow night, okay Daddy?"

Fine by me, and I look forward to tonight's rematch.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:31 AM | Comments (6)

August 08, 2005

And Sunday?

Nice. Aside from once more leaving the house later than I wanted to. You know, in the future, when people say “the late Terry Oglesby,” whoever they say it to will shrug and say, “Was he ever on time?!” Well, friends, yes, at one time he used to not only be on time, but early for every appointment. Then he married a woman whose sense of time is God-like--in that with her a day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as a day. Or more to the point--if you have to be somewhere at 9:00, said wife seems to think a person can walk out the door at 8:59:36 and be considered on time.

Which is fine if stuff like that doesn’t bother you, but it does drive your loving husband absolutely insane. But, only on the inside--he wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings by saying such things out loud. He just sighs loudly, and often.

ANYway, we got to church with seconds to spare, went to class, went to preaching, went to lunch, went to home, didn’t do too much other than type on someone’s research paper, went back to church for an early meeting, went to preaching, went home, and then furiously dialed up Ebay to bid on a primo, uncracked dashboard assembly for the Volvo!

I got a quote the other day for one of these from a dealer--six and a quarter. I don’t love my Volvo that much. Maybe a couple hundred dollars worth, at most. But it sure will be nice to have something that doesn’t look like a relief map of Charles Bronson’s face in front of me while I drive.

Supper, reading, and then to bed.

And that, my friends, is just about that.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:44 PM | Comments (2)

Where was I?

Oh, yeah--eating lunch. But that’s all done for now, so let’s get back to the exciting story of Saturday! WHEEEEEE!

Got up early (of course) and after getting dressed I rousted Oldest from bed so she could get dressed and we could go. My only instruction to this point had been that she was supposed to be at the Mall (the broad grassy park area that stretches out from in front of the middle school, like the Mall in Washington, except much smaller, and without the Smithsonian) at 8:00, and I thought I recalled being told she was supposed to be set up near the tennis courts in front of the middle school.

Hah.

And then some.

Got her ready and asked if she wanted to go get some breakfast from McDonald’s, which she did, so we took off for there, leaving everyone else at home in the bed. Got to the McD’s, ordered the Crappy Meal for Two, drove around, and…

Yes, you guessed it--I looked to see if I could see the old late-â€70s 242 driven by one of the kids who works there. It’s a mess--broken taillights, big ugly Wal-Mart hubcaps, body as unevenly full of dents and ripples as Janet Reno, duct tape window molding--a rolling junker. Oddly enough, driven by a girl, who for the most part looks about as normal as any other girl. Very odd. Anyway, anytime I go by there, I look to see if the old heap is there. (Because I’m a moron.) Got our food, on to the festival!

Got there and the yard was full of vendors setting up and people wandering around lost. Parked right by the hole in the orange plastic construction barrier, and we got out and started inside. “Take your drink with you.”

“I don’t need it.”

“I know you don’t need it now, just go ahead and take it.”

“I DON’T NEED IT!”

::sigh:: “Look, just take the drink so it’s not left in the van--if you want some, you can drink it. If you don’t, you can throw it away.”

I still have no idea why she didn’t want to take the cup with her. Apparently cool-kid-wannabees think it’s bad to hold cups.

We walked around and down and over and back up, and never really saw anything or anyone who looked like they might be part of the Leo Club group.

“Did they say where--“

“I DON’T KNOW! THEY JUST SAID BE HERE AT EIGHT!”

“--like a general area you were supposed to be at, because I remember Mom saying something about the middle sch--”

“I. DON’T. KNOW--they NEVER said ANYTHING about WHERE we weresupposedtomeetoranything!”

::sigh:: I’m telling you, there’s a gold crown somewhere for me…

We walked on up the side back toward the middle school and the tennis courts. We got to the bleacher area, and I just parked my still-sore rear on the edge of one of the bleachers so we could just wait until someone showed up. It was still a bit early--around 7:50 or so.

“Mom said something about it being near the middle school,” she said, after getting fidgety.

“Uh-huh.” I wasn’t about to say anything else than that, seeing as how I had already been told NO ONE had told HER anything.

“She said the sheet said to meet in the big open area nearest the middle school.”

::silently screaming whilst grinding teeth::

“Well, you know, that’s what I thought--that’s why I was trying to ask you earlier because I thought I remembered her saying that.”

Waiting some more. I decided it wouldn’t hurt to go see if there was a marshal who could possibly direct us, so I went over to the Chamber of Commerce tent, which was occupied by an elderly lady who herself was there to find out where she was supposed to be. She had a sheet of paper that had all the booths listed, and I asked her if I could look at it. Hmm. Nothing. “THERE’S ZACH!” Nice kid came ambling over and they chattered back and forth. You could tell he likes her (Ashley, not the elderly lady), and from what I’ve heard, he’s an okay kid. He wandered on back to his booth and I was finally able to grab a guy driving a cart. He said that he thought they weren’t at a booth, but were supposed to be one of the volunteers to man one of the four entrance gates.

Hmm. We sat back down for a while, it got to be past 8, and then I saw some girl a ways off who had on what looked like the same shirt as Ashley. “Do you know her?”

“Uh, I don’t know.”

We walked back down the mall and sure enough, it was someone from her group, and was even more uninformed about where to meet than we were. We walked around together some, went back to the bleacher area, then saw another girl out on the street walking toward the other end of the mall, talking self-importantly on her cell phone. We walked back to the corner and FINALLY found where they were supposed to be--the exact other end of the park from what we’d been led to believe. To make matters worse, there was no way to get out of the orange plastic fencing to the table and tent at the street corner. “I really don’t think you girls want me to pick you up and put you over the fence, do you?” No. Time to walk back to the opening where I’d parked.

Got back there and I drove them back to the corner, dropped them off, and was ON MY WAY! Called Reba to let her know I had been successful in my dropping-offery and woke her up. Oops. Asked if she wanted breakfast, she said she did, I said I needed to stop by the store and get some cash, she said okay.

Walked into the Food World and was going to just get a Coke, when I got the bright idea I should check and see if they had school supplies--they usually have a pretty good selection, and VOILA! Or, VIOLA! Big display full of stuff. And I actually remembered what all I was supposed to get! Ran back and got a shopping cart, and started grabbing--loose leaf paper, folders with brads, four wire-bound notebooks in green, red, blue, purple, chalk, crayons (again)--got just about everything we needed. Mostly. Almostly.

Got that done, started to go get food, then had to make another stop at Academy to get a couple of backpacks and some small black zip ties to fix the one Ashley had that had a hole in it. I figure there’s no use to throw away a backpack that in all other aspects was nearly as good as new, when it would be so simple to fix it. Of course, I would NEVER be allowed to send one of my CHILDREN to school with such a thing… ::sigh:: I figure I’ll use it as an emergency pack in the trunk of the car.

Then on to breakfast, then home, then more laundry, THEN Reba took Catherine for THEIR special trip to find school clothes.

While they were gone, I waited for it to rain. It had been glowering all morning, and I just knew that if I started the grass, it would come a downpour, or else I would start cutting and Ashley would call and want to come home. So, I compromised by working on the driver’s seat of the Volvo.

For some reason, the driver’s seat had always felt very flopsy--you could grab a corner and the whole seatback would wobble. It was very disconcerting while driving--almost like trying to sit on a basketball, with the seat shifting every time the brakes were applied or the wheel was turned. It really wasn’t a lot, but enough to be dizzying. I figured there was a couple of bolts down there that needed tightening, so I got my wrenches and went to work.

Busy pulling ancient honey-roasted peanuts out from between the seat and the driveshaft tunnel.

Seems the previous owner had a sweet tooth. And poor grip. But when I moved the seat forward all the way, there was a whole pile of nuts and pretzel pieces. After recovering from my swoon, I went and got a paint paddle and tried to get as much of the offending foodstuff scraped out, then brushed and vacuumed the area as best I could. Eyech.

NOW then, the wobblesome seat--I fidgeted around under there and tightened the only bolts I saw, which helped none at all. I decided to monkey with the seatback height adjuster and BINGO, that was it! Just sorta stumbled on that one, but there’s a lever underneath that you can squeeze, and then raise or lower the seatback. There are two tiny metal rods that pull on two metal locking pins, and ONE of those rods had fallen out of place, leaving the locking pin retracted, and allowing the seatback to jiggle freely. Once I got the rod back in and locked, I moved the seat a bit and both pins slammed home, securely locking the seatback once again. Hooray!

Then I cleaned it some more. Lots of stuff in there I thought I had gotten before. Also brushed the faded fuzz from the rear parcel shelf--what a mess that was. But at least it looks mostly blue again, now.

Back inside to cool off, folded some clothes, and decided now that it was noon:30, I should really have already received a call to go pick someone up. Called her cell phone, no answer. Called several more times, no answer.

FINALLY got her to pick up (I know it was probably hard to hear it, because the ticket table was right near all the carnival rides) and asked if she was ready to come home. No.

“Well, I’m coming to get you, then--where will you be?”

I don’t know.

Got Bec and Jonathan and we set out in the Focus this time, because Reba (who had taken the van) needed gas. That will be done after the pickup, which took an inordinate amount of time because a) all of the traffic jammed up on Chalkville Road, and b) the fact that I went to the wrong end of the mall and had to hang a U-turn and maneuver back down a side street that was exactly 2.9 lanes wide, and had cars parked on both sides.

The children were very frightened. But you know, that’s what they get for being my kids.

Found Oldest at the corner, pulled over, got her, then to the gas station, then home. More laundry, and then lunch.

Mom home now with Tiny Terror, they’d found all kinds of cute clothes, and they brought home the remains of THEIR lunch, and I ate Reba’s because in fixing lunch for the other kids, I hadn’t fixed any for myself, in the off-handed hope that Reba would indeed bring me part of her lunch, which came from Gyro Planet.

Which really isn’t a planet at all, but rather a hole-in-the-strip-mall joint. Good food, though.

THEN, it was time for Reba to make her excursion with Boy to get HIM some stuff. As you can see, the idea was that every child would get his or her own special Mommy time, which they all look forward to. Not that I’m jealous--the kids like spending time with Daddy, too, you know. In much the same way that they enjoy getting shots at the doctor’s office.

Anyway, off she went with Jonathan, I did some more clothing, then hopped outside one more time to see what all I could bother on the Volvo. Because I am a moron.

I thought I would see about dyeing the bumpers, and got all my stuff out, but the bumper material is different from the lower bodyside molding, and didn’t take well at all to the Kiwi treatment. It might have been too humid or too dry or too hot or something, but it was very streaky. I wound up taking the little bit back off that I had applied, and going over the entire bumper cover on the front and back with brake fluid. Which is really some evil stuff. I never have quite understood what’s in there to make it so very harmful to paint and everything else in nature, but it’s got some kick to it, whatever it is. I doused a cloth with it and carefully put it on, and the bumpers look a lot better. Not quite as dark as the bodyside, but pretty good nonetheless.

While I was doing that, and pouring buckets of sweat out of me (it now having turned off hot and sunny and nonconducive to grass-cutting) Cat came out and wanted to ride her bicycle. “But it’s a thousand degrees out here, Cat!”

“Daaaad. It’s NOT a thousand degrees!”

I said okay and went back to work trying to kill myself on the driveway when she came back and wanted me to put her up on the seat. ::sigh:: “Catherine, are you SURE you wouldn’t like to do this later when it’s cooler out here? It really is terribly hot, and I’m burning up, and it would be so much nicer after the sun goes down.”

Oh, poor baby. She hung her head and pouted and shuffled her feet along and took her helmet off and acted like she’d lost her onlyest friend. “We can come out later and ride, okay?”

“I don’t want to,” she said, in her tiny, “I’m very hurt emotionally and I may never recover” voice. She’s very accomplished in playing upon the heartstrings. Of course, with my green Vulcan blood, it’s all very much wasted effort. Well, somewhat.

Anywho, she went back inside and I followed her, because it was just too hot to do anything outdoors. More clothes folding, some dishwasher loading, some teevee watching, then upstairs for some graphic designs for items no one in their right mind would ever buy, then it was home with Mommy and Boy, who got some super macho clothing, and believe it or not, I got something, too!

NEW TIGHTY WHITIES!

I think Reba might be tired of the old ones. What there was left of them. (I can be a bit rough on drawers.)

Rest of the evening was uneventful--I typed on Reba’s paper and did more graphics work, watching first the reruns of the Lawrence Welk Show, and then COPS (how’s that for an pair!?), and helped various children with their bathtaking, hairwashing, and nail-clipping before putting them to bed.

Long day, it was.

AND THEN, it was Sunday…

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:18 PM | Comments (4)

Panic? HAH! I laugh in the face of panic!

It helps when it appears as though I know what I'm doing. Learning how to feign competence is a very handy skill to have.

Anyway, I had enough done to be satisfactory, and I'm at that point where I'm waiting for the other guy to give me text and which slides to delete or to move, so the bridge is in his court now. Yep, he's another one of those metaphor mixers. He said something in passing about "waxing elegant." I suppose it beats waxing elephants, but I digress.

THE WEEKEND! Started Friday by swinging by the junkyard place. I'm beginning to like it a lot there--I wonder if they would mind if I set up a little tent in the corner? Anyway, as I mentioned over on the other blog, one of the things that has annoyed me has been a slight misalignment between the fenders and the hood. It (the hood) sits down a bit too low, and I see it whenever I drive and it has begun to grate on me. Moreso when I saw that the little spiral-grooved rubber thumbtips (just like on the trunklid) that hold the hood at the proper gap were smushed to smithereens. They had been let all the way out, and were crushed beyond all usefulness, which is much like working for the government. ANYway, I wanted to see about stea--finding some of those to make the hood all nice and level again.

And, there's that whole thing about the hubcaps I mentioned. As you recall, when I got my öld skül style hubcaps, I had gotten some extras so I could choose the bestest ones. The discards I discarded in the trunk of a white 242 there on the end of a row, but ever since then, I have worried incessantly about the possibility of some miscreant making off with my precious "V"-centers or otherwise losing them. I really needed some spares, you know. Just in case.

Just in case I forget what a moron I am.

Got to the yard in my spiffy clothes, got my hand stamped and walked on out. In an odd coincidence, I thought it would be neat to show you some pictures of the place, and at the very moment I thought it, I saw a big sign "NO PHOTOGRAPHS." Junk is a highly sensitive subject, you know.

Found the Pining for the Fjords section of Volvos and started unscrewing likely bits of rubber from under several hoods. Wound up with four sets of rubbery things, and THEN found something else I've been wanting--some rear headrests. In blue. In good shape. If only I'd brought my tools with me! Another excuse to return, I suppose.

Wound my way back around to the repository bin for my hubcaps and thankfully, they were all still there. Someone got two of the trim rings, though, but at least the important pieces were still where I'd left them. Hooray!

Back to the counter, paid my six dollars and my thirty-four cents, and set out for home.

HOME, where Reba had some supper cooking, and had decided to take Rebecca shopping for her back to school stuff. And then for some reason, after supper, she started going through their supply lists and grabbing stuff out of the pantry. Why? I don't know. She'll do that sometimes--say she's going to do something, then get sidetracked onto something else, and wind up not doing what she was supposed to.

We spread out the various used notebooks, pencils, crayons, paper, cards, pens, highlighters, folders, binders, scissors, rulers, erasers, glue, plutonium (not really) and other junk we had left over. Another thing she tends to do is go buy new things when we have things that are still new, but not "new from the store new." I figure if they've only written in three sheets of a notebook, they can use it again with no problem. Aside from the obvious one of a certain child who puts much more stock in external appearances than is necessary.

Anyway, we categorized and sorted for a while until it became obvious that Miss Reba was going to keep doing it until all the stores closed if I didn't make her leave, so after several subtle then overt efforts to get her to get Rebecca and leave (the final one being "Get Rebecca and y'all leave NOW or else the stores are going to be closed and she won't get anything and she'll be mopey for days and so go on NOW and I will do this stuff") she finally went out the door with Middle Girl in tow for their girls' night out.

Me? Well, I started a load of laundry then went back to trying to reassemble items from the various piles to satisfy the various supply lists for each child and each child's teacher. It was almost like playing Twister--Blue folder with brads! Yellow highlighter! Green pen! There! HERE! Ughhg--over around over there by the shelf--nope--that's not it--ON THE COUNTER! It sounds very fun and relaxing. It wasn't. By the time they got back home, I had most of the items put together (with a few additional ones placed on the shopping list) but the time spent sitting on the hard kitchen floor and all the hopping up and down to get things, combined with various laundry basket toting had conspired to make my butt very, very sore, and the rest of me very, very tired.

BUT, Rebecca found some cute clothes, so I suppose that was okay. Next up would be Catherine, but she'd have to wait until Saturday.

And as we all remember--Saturday was Dog Daze! And I have been really wishing I could call it Dog Daze Afternoon, but it was in the morning when I took Oldest over there, and there was no Al Pacino to be found anywhere.

More about that in a bit--it's LUNCHTIME, you know!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:24 PM | Comments (0)

Well, poop.

I was just about to sit down and start the ripping tale of the weekend, and they just called a staff meeting. There IS a partial listing of car-related junk that I did this weekend over Revolvoblog, so if you are really desperate for tender, flavorful possumosity with that marvelous oily metallic taste, then there is always that.

Anyway, time to go discuss our calendars.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:57 AM | Comments (0)

I really must quit visiting the junkyard on the way home from work.

Although I must say that I, in my nice polished shoes, white shirt, and sensible slacks, DO give the place an undeniable veneer of classy sophistication.

Not really.

GOOD MORNING! An eventful weekend just past, although thankfully not TOO eventful, aside from huge amounts of money being spent to outfit children for the new school year. No naps, but then again, no grass-cutting, although both were probably called for.

All about it all in a bit--I do have to get it all typed up, after all. Until then, I wanted to take a second and invite you all over to noted softy Charles Austin's place--he's trying to raise enough money to get out of jail. He says it's for the Muscular Dystrophy Association, but it might have something to do with the burro incident. Or not. IN any event, Charles has been posting like a fiend lately, so please drop by and reward his productivity AND help fight MD with a donation if you're able.

Tune in later for a long-winded discourse on topics of no global importance.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:13 AM | Comments (0)

August 05, 2005

What!?

It's Friday, you say!? Unbelievable!

Well, not really, but it's been so boring around here that the simple passage of time becomes a really big event. So, tomorrow being Saturday, there's probably all sorts of junk to get done. The grass won't quit growing, and the laundry won't quit being dirty, and there's this whole Dog Daze Festival thing this weekend that Oldest has to work a booth at, and--hm? Why is it called "daze" instead of "days"?

Well, one hopes that it is an attempt to make it some sort of kutesy kuntry spelling, as opposed to some sort of evil thing where they give dogs sedatives or something.

Anyway, she has to be there to work the Leo Club table, and I have a very bad feeling that I might be expected not only to take her, but to stay out there all day. I really don't want to. You know why? It's August in Alabama, and if I have to get all hot and sweaty, it ought to be for something productive. Which tells you, if I would rather stay home and cut grass, just exactly how little I want to attend. And to top it off, it costs a DOLLAR to get in.

Let's see, what else? Well, we have to do back-to-school shopping for the chillins. ::sigh:: I sure wish they would stop all this growing they do. And there's church stuff on Sunday, but this time there isn't supposed to be anything else between the morning and evening services, so I might get to take a nap! Or type on Reba's paper some more. I'll be glad when she [I] graduate[s].

So, that's about it for now--all of you have yourselves a wonderful weekend, and I'll see you Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:00 PM | Comments (7)

Like a MEAT LOCKER!

Got there and parked and I have two observations:

BOY, that place was FREEZING! I don't see how they could keep from having a tornado right at the doorway due to the extreme temperature differential.

Second, where in the world do all of these people come from!? I can kinda understand all the high school kids, and moms with kids, but what about all these working-age men and women wandering around shopping in the middle of the day? In any event, the place was packed.

I ran and got my suit and didn't even try it on, because I didn't have time, and then stopped and picked up some gruel for lunch, then back out, down to Highway 31, got gas, then back here. Was listening to the talk radio station, and was astonished to hear that the two college-graduate fellows were stymied by a reference to the word "Kafka" in this news story, and thought that it could possibly be a coarse expletive of some sort.

I think they ought to see about getting a refund on their diploma.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:04 PM | Comments (4)

August 04, 2005

Whew.

That was unpleasant. Well, relatively speaking, of course. I actually did get finished with my persnickety minute-typing yesterday right at 5:00 p.m., in spite of the best efforts of my supervisor, who seemed yesterday to be quite in need of someone to have to validate his managerial position. He's a wonderful guy, and a real mensch, but sometimes his brain runs away with him, like one of those old movies when you see a steam engine go out of control. So, yesterday he was in and out of my office all day--looking for things that I don't have, asking about people's whereabouts, chit-chatting--worse was when my pseudo-literate coworker and he BOTH came in my office and started a long blabfest about nothing, loudly. I did my best "I'm IGNORING you so you'll LEAVE" routine, but they kept it up for several minutes. To top it off, Boss came in around 4:56 as I was furiously spell-checking and correcting and trying to get the things copying, and had someone he wanted to put on our next meeting agenda. "Well, it's full, and then some. But I'll put it on there if you want me to." I showed him a copy of the agenda to illustrate my point.

"Well, put him on there, and when we do our review, we'll take him back off and tell him to come to the next meeting."

Huh?!

Which is pretty much what I said. He got a bit impatient with me, I think, although he hides stuff like that pretty well. "We will put him on the agenda, and when we do our staff review, we can go through the list and see who can wait, and call them, and reschedule them, and we can tell him he'll have to wait."

We can't do that. Well, we could, but it wouldn't be fair, because we take people in the order they come in. That's why we don't, and why, in the ten years I've been here, we've never done such a thing.

"But, Boss [not his real name], why not just go ahead and tell him he'll be on the next agenda after this if you already KNOW you're going to bump him to it? And we can't really go bumping people to the next agenda if they've already been assigned a slot--some of these folks have been waiting almost three weeks, and it wouldn't be fair to them."

The runaway freight train synapses seemed to slow a bit as he digested the idea that the thing he'd just told me was illogical and a pointless busywork task. "Okay, well, put him on for the 24th, then."

Done and done.

After 5:00 now, and time to go get the papers off the printer, copy them so they are on the front and back of the sheet (saves paper and postage costs) and then ran the required 67 copies, halfway through the running of which I had to take a stack to stuff into everyone's inbox (wastes paper and printing costs), then grabbed the rest and headed home.

Home, hurriedly eaten barbecue sandwich, then off to church for all of us. Make sure everone's in class, then study the intricacies of Philippians 1:27, then spend a few minutes explaining to one of our building committee members why it would be foolhardy to start meeting with our architectural firm without the benefit of a signed contract in hand, then on to home.

Where I started in on folding and stuffing the envelopes full of my meeting minutes, THEN set in to type some more on Reba's directed studies paper, AND try to come up with a better quality graphic for Revolvoblog that doesn't look so raggedy and pixellated. Wound up having to use a poster program we have, print out the result, scan it in, and save it as a .png file, whatever that is. Maybe it'll look better. We'll see later on today sometime.

AND, as for today, I still have that stupid PowerPoint presentation hanging out there in the breeze not getting finished, and I have to ONCE MORE fill out a personnel questionnaire so they can determine if they're wasting enough money on me.

But, even with all that, there should be more time today than in previous days for some fine pointless electronic bloviation!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:01 AM | Comments (0)

August 03, 2005

And just exactly where have I been today?!

Still fighting with meeting minutes tool and nail. I hate doing these things, and it shows--in the form of slagging off and doing other stuff instead of what I'm supposed to be doing. And the stinkin' mailout's tomorrow!

Blech. Well, after tomorrow morning, there'll be more time to play. Or not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:23 PM | Comments (0)

August 01, 2005

Well, you see...

...I just felt like we needed to spend more money. So, off I go now to take Oldest to be fitted for orthodontia. We just got Boy out of his, you know, and that extra money each month was just too much to bear, so we thought it best to keep spending it on small bits of metal, wire, and rubber bands for our children and a nice lake house for the mouth guy.

Anyway, be back tomorrow, with more work to do. Blech.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:47 PM | Comments (0)

Lunchy Ramblings and Other Odd Things

Before I went out, I thought it was going to rain because I kept heaing thunder, but it turned out to be a couple of groups of high school (?) drum lines out in the park. Didn't know what it was all about at first, but let me tell you, I LOVE drumlines. Nothing quite like them for that sort of flippy feeling down in your gut. Of course, I might not like it much as the year progresses--Boy has decided he wants to take Band in middle school this year, and he wants to play the drums. Oh boy, Boy.

Walked on across to the park and spotted the first of TWO 240 Volvos. It's very odd, you know--you just don't expect to see them, and then you see two parked within a half-block of each other.

Walked on around, crossed Park Place, nearly got hit by both a car AND a bicycle, walked on down the sidewalk and found that the cover on the sidewalk elevator outside Park Place Tower had been spray-painted a hideous, streaky yellow color. Yes, a much better idea to slap an ugly coat of paint on it than to replace the warped doors that are causing the trip hazard in the first place. ANYway, the odd thing wasn't really the paint, it was the abandoned office chair beside it. As with most secretarial chairs, the back was off, and had been neatly placed onto the seat. I tell you what, if someone could come up with a break-proof secretarial chair back, he'd make a fortune. At least until the new chair market dried up because no one was breaking them. ANYWAY, the most strange thing to me is why they put it out on the sidewalk. Why not just put it in the junk room? Why not call the office furniture place to come get it? Are they trying to give the bums something to get around in? If so, it's not working.

On to the bank to pay the house note, and for once the wait wasn't so long that I started having those weird fantasies (mostly), and after I completed the bank account draining procedure, I went on to get some lunch.

Milo's today--some nice hot chicken. As I was standing in line, I noticed yet another peculiarity. One of the food court cleaning staff, a lady with a small broom and swiveling-dustpan-on-a-stick, threw down a couple of paper napkins she had in her hand onto the floor. "That's odd," I thought. Not nearly so much as her next move, though, which was to put the dustpan on the floor and neatly sweep the paper into it.

All the while, standing right next to a trash receptacle.

It is a mystery.

Got my food, made my way back out to the street, and back to the park, where I finally got a glimpse, between the teevee crews, of a sign that said the drum corps were part of an (apparently un-parade-permitted) SCLC rally of some sort. "Stop the Violence! Increase the Peace!" which is a good sentiment, but still, a message that might bave been better conveyed through something like flutes and triangles and violins. But, you know how I am.

Walked on around on Short 20th, where the police had finally arrived to direct traffic, and fell in behind a lady who works in the building. We got to the front door at the same time and walked into the elevator together, and she mentioned that she wondered what was going on outside in the park. "Oh," said me, "it's an SCLC rally of some sort, and they had some kids with their drumline out there."

"S.E.L.E.?"

She had no idea what I was talking about. Probably ten years older than me, working HERE, in this town, and she'd never heard of them.

"Uh, yeah, the 'SCLC'--Southern Christian Leadership Conference? They're in town this week for a meeting?" She still had no idea who I was talking about.

It's a very strange world. Thankfully, the chicken was quite tasty.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:11 PM | Comments (0)

And you know what else?

I STILL have stupid work to do! I tell you what, it's enough to make me want to pout and demand that a wealthy benefactor hire me to write silly garbage.

But, until that time arrives, I have many words to type, and they don't seem to be getting done with any sort of expeditiousness. Maybe I should actually work instead of complaining...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:47 AM | Comments (4)

Ouch.

Wouldn't you know it, but it held off raining long enough for me to cut the grass Saturday. Twice. Once to get off the upper ranges of the overgrowth, then once more to pick up the big gobby soppy windrows (or, to be more precise, lawnmowerrows) of wet clippings that made long clods across the yard. The normal two-hour meditation session hour lasted three and a half, and my ankles are sore, and my hips, and the bony parts of my elbows (the elbones, for you medical types). BUT, doggone it, the grass (i.e., weeds) is (are) cut and now I can once again rejoin the good graces of my neighbors.

One of whom is new. I didn't realize it, but our rear neighbor Young Phyllis George Lookalike Girl and her husband and kids moved at some time in the near past, and sold their house to someone else. I met the new neighbor guy Saturday when we were trying to shoo away someone's big stupid hound dog that wandered into our yards (and got into his dog's pen). Nice guy, but he sure has a long way to go before looking like a young Phyllis George.

Let's see, what else--OH, I picked up my suits Friday with the reet pleat and drape shape, and I must say I look very acceptable in both. Also dropped off my old suit to be snugged up a bit.

Then I went home to drop things off before meeting up with Reba and the kids over at her mom's house. Seems she allowed herself to be dragged into the preparations for the Saturday shindig, so we had supper over there while she and the kids helped out. BUT, before I got there, there was the Super Terrific Big Gift Box to ME (whom it is all about) that arrived, just as I was getting the trash can in. Mr. UPS stopped outside on the street and delivered a big long box full of BRAND NEW EUROPEAN GLASS HEADLAMP UNITS (made in Taiwan) for a certain spiffy old Volvo. COOOL! I have tried the polish route on the clear plastic lenses, which managed to not do too much. The lenses are still foggy-looking, and by gum, I want to be able to see to drive and not have to put up with a dull and ugly front end.

On the car, at least.

SO, with a portion of the proceeds from Moby, I laid down some dough for some nice(-ish--they aren't quite as wonderful as OEM, but they only cost half as much) E-code lamps and side marker lamps. Only problem is they didn't send the new bulb connectors. I will withhold judgement on the company (FCP Groton) until I see how they handle this small, but crucial, oversight.

But, I am tickled nonetheless.

EVEN MORE SO, my evil plan to corrupt the pure and innocent Miss Reba with my dementia seems to be bearing fruit! BUWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!

Saturday as I was taking a break from killing myself, I had taken a moment to fix one of my new taillight bulbs. One of the backup lights wasn't coming on, so I had to fix that--it was just not pushed all the way in to the bulb holder--and as I was doing that, Miss Reba came out to see how I was doing and to deliver a cold drink to me.

"Let me ask you something, Terry."

::gulpgulpgulpHUHAHUgulpgulp::glup "Uh?"

"Since you got your little shiny hubcaps from the junkyard, and your new taillights, and you painted--"

"Dyed."

"--dyed your plastic stuff on the doors, and since you're going to do the bumpers so they will all look nice, have you ever thought about getting something to make these--"

She was pointing at the headlights! YES!

"YES! They're right inside the garage! They came yesterday. And they're not plastic--they're EUROPEAN style GLASS ones that won't get all dull-looking! AND it comes with new lights for the sides, too!"

The European reference hooked her--"OOooo!" she said.

So, it appears my evil plan is paying off. Of course, any evil plan, or for that matter, any Moron Project, requires maintenance, so I will have to be sure to buy her some chocolate ice cream. And finish typing her paper.

And I was also a good sport and took the two older girls to the cookout our youth minister had yesterday for the teenagers, after we had already worn ourselves out with two worship services and lunch all smacked together right after another that morning at church. I had intended just to drop them off and come back to the house.

And there I was, thinking I might get to sit and rest and read the paper.

Wrong.

But before all that, I had to go get gas in her car, then go by the drugstore to pick up some medicine, then get some vittles (chips, dip) for the girls to take with them to the cookout, and then hauled them over there and HAD TO STAY WITH THEM. Reba was very insistent that I stay, since parental presence was the only thing that would have made Rebecca want to stay. The older kids occasionally act like older kids to the younger ones, and it hurts Rebecca's feelings.

Actually, it turned out to be pretty fun. I kidded the minister about burning up the hamburgers, and then sat down and played about five hands of UNO with Rebecca and her friends, which helped make it fun for her, and then we got to eat and I sat and chatted with a couple of the moms who were there without manly accompaniment (me being a somewhat close approximation thereof), then Rebecca and her friends went and got sweaty playing hide-and-seek. Ashley stayed in the house to hone her flightly laugh-talk jabbering skills. It was all very good, aside from the flies. Time to go about 7:30, so back to home, and pretty much that was that.

Oh, wait--forgot about the soiree at Grandma's on Saturday. I was a model of anti-socialism. I was so beat from the grass-cutting and inflatable pool removal (it deflated and spilled out all that precious water onto the ground, and also managed to rot the ground underneath so that it started breeding flies--really) that about all I wanted to do was sit and vegetate. Tons of people, a lot of whom I hadn't seen in years, but I wasn't able to do much more than say 'hey' and sit on the steps. Time to eat, I got a plate, and since Grandma broke her own rule and allowed the children to go downstairs, I made myself the deputy warden and went down there to keep an eye on them and make sure they didn't tear anything up or spill things. And got treated to a three-hour Fairly Odd Parents marathon. Actually, a pretty funny show--this was the first time I'd been able to see it, and I was in the proper exhausted mode necessary for it to be really, REALLY funny. And I didn't have to make idle chit-chat with adults, so it was all good.

Anyway, an action-packed weekend full of food and confusion. Oh, and I'm sore.


OH, and how could I forget!? I also had to go buy a battery for the Honda Saturday morning. I thought the kids might have left a light on or something, because it was very hard to get going Friday night, but they hadn't left anything on. 75,000 miles? Yep, probably time for a battery. So, FIRST thing Saturday, before I started the grass-cutting, I went down to Advance Auto Parts to get them to put in a new one. Done in about ten minutes, the only problem being that since the battery had been disconnected, the radio was now in anti-theft mode, and in order to play it, I was supposed to put in some sort of five-digit code. Which I had no idea where I could find. We bought the van used, and I never saw any sort of code or other radio information.

::sigh::

Sounded like a trip to the dealer.

Got home and was looking in the passenger door bin to find whatever had been rattling, opened the glovebox to see if the rattle was in there, and saw a small sticker on the side of the box. White, black numerals. Hmm. Five digits, followed by a series of numbers underneath. I wonder....

Turned on the ignition, turned on the radio, punched in the five digits--EUREKA! That was the code! I was very happy. Until, of course, I had to cut the grass.

And yes, the lawnmower blade insisted on coming loose again, so I had to stop and go buy a 22 cent lock washer from the hardware store to finally fix it once and for all. Or until next time.

ANYway, that's it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:49 AM | Comments (11)

July 29, 2005

Hey, it's raining!

Meaning all that dallisgrass [thanks to Dave Helton for correcting me--it's not Dallas grass, but dallis. Dallas grass is what J.R. used to smoke.] in the yard is going to get just that much more raggedier. Not that I care that much--gives the place that nice abandoned look so in favor nowadays.

Well, weekend's a'coming--going after work to pick up my brand new suits (or suets) and dropping off the old one for some reconstruction. Needs to be taken up some, which for a chubby guy is a nice change of pace from the usual need to let things out. Then to home, where it will be pizza night, and then some nice typing tonight, and then tomorrow will be the onerous task of having to go over to my in-laws' house for a function they have for the people who go to their church, and I'd rather not go because I am highly anti-social, and because I'd rather cut the grass. Which tells you the exact level of how much I-don't-wanna-goism I'm having.

Then Sunday we have one of those good fifth Sundays where we have morning services, lunch, and evening services right in a row, then the rest of the afternoon is free for us to do whatever we want and we get to see what it feels like to be a heathen. Or at least the non-evening-churchgoing variety of heathen--we have all the other bases pretty well covered, I suppose.

SO, all of you have a wonderful weekend, and I'll see you back here first thing Monday morning!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:08 PM | Comments (0)

Lunchblogging AND Catblogging!

Boy, aren't YOU thrilled!

Lunch was very okay--we went to Moe's Southwestern Grill over off of HIghway 280 where Rossi's used to be (the mark of a true Southerner being that he gives directions to strangers based upon landmarks that no longer exist). Parking's always like a demolition derby, and I absolutely hate having to order things based on their stupid Seinfeld/Friends/other 20th Century references, and I hate hearing the guy at the register shout "WELCOMETOMOE'S!!" at no one in particular, and I hate the pictures they stuck up on the wall to show what the food looks like, because one of them looks like what the food will look like after it's been put through the miraculous human digestive system.

Overall, okay food, though. I got the Homewrecker with chicken and black beans. Should be quite an experience for anyone within earshot (or noseshot) in about an hour or so.

AS FOR LUNCH, had you been there you would have gotten to hear about Jeep driving, nouveau riche rednecks and their cussed infidelity, tensile structures, real linoleum, interviewing for jobs that you know you'll never get, gristle (Jeff got the steak version of what I got, and it was full of cartilaginous goodness), modern art of a sort, valet parking, Kiwi Black Shoe Dye, wives, women, bosses, lime, pig sphincters, and work avoidance. All in all, quite a list, reading back over it.

After we were through, out to admire the blackness of my lower body molding, counterpointed with the shiny trim rings and rich Estonian plastic taillights. He was quite impressed. Took him down the hill to the nearby office building where he wound up having to park, swapped magazine, told him my trick of using an open tin of wintergreen Altoids to make the car smell nice inside, gave him one of the funk-infused Altoids so he would smell just as fresh, and then wandered back here.

FOR CATBLOGGING! AND MORON PROJECT PHASE II REPORTS! BOTH! TOGETHER! IN ONE POST!

Ouch, my throat hurts from all that shouting.

Anyway, yesterday afternoon, I set to work changing out the taillights after I got supper going on a low heat. In the midst of the changeover, Reba and the Oldest and Youngest girls came home and went inside, and then all of a sudden, I noticed I had a visitor.

"Whatcha dooooin'?"

"I'm changing out the taillights on the old car so they'll be pretty and shiny."

"Can I help?"

What daddy could resist!?

So, here is my little mechanic's helper-Cat, holding the offending passenger side taillight, as she stands beside the newly installed version--


Next, the driver's side, which our youngster points at here with remarkable grace and aplomb:

Out with the nasty old fixture and its barely-repaired lenses, which can be seen in this stunning photograph-

AND, in with the new, which made someone very happy--

And for some reason, she decided to demonstrate this subtle bit of oddness--

All in all, a very productive afternoon and evening, especially after supper, when I typed another five pages or so of Reba's research paper.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:47 PM | Comments (7)

Got there, parked, and...

...had to stand outside. Which wasn't quite so bad since it had gotten cloudy, but still, half an hour outside isn't as nice as being inside. Stood. Waited. The woman in front of me--grandmother of someone, maybe?--looked like Willie Nelson without a beard. She had one of those faces you see in old sepia photos of sodbusters and Oakies--beat and withered and furrowed. But, she did have her nails polished really pretty. I bet she's got lots of good stories.

We finally started moving just as a few drops of rain started to fall. Went inside to the table to verify our residency, the lady looked like she was trying to remember something. "You seem really familiar..."

"Well, Rebecca was here last year in the 6th grade."

"Hmm, well, I, hmm."

She introduced herself as the clinic lady, and immediately it hit me why she remembered my name--"Wait--I bet you're remembering Ashley, right?!"

"YES! That's it! I knew your voice sounded familiar--we've talked on the phone a bunch!"

Indeed so. Quite a impression Oldest made--she's been gone for two years, you know. That's not a good thing in this instance.

ON to the schedule table, got both schedules, then on to the schedule/fee cross-check table, figured out that Boy's band class got left off the schedule, went to the office to fill out an add slip, went back past the cross-check table, checked in with the cashier, paid another lofty sum of money, found out that the moneytaker was going to be Rebecca's homeroom teacher and English teacher ("honors, by the way," he said with no small amount of pride), up the stairs to get PE uniforms, then out the door again. Fifteen minutes.

Hard to beat that for efficiency.

On to home, called to see if Reba was indeed going to pick up the remaining two from her mom's house, went inside and got supper going (homemade soup), THEN, it was time for MORON PROJECT PART II! HOORAY!

See, I still have those new taillights I have been itching to install. I had another bulb go out in the old ones, and I wanted it to look as spiffy as possible today for my lunch date with MFJeff (who let it slip out the other day that he is jealous I have a Moron Project to play with. Why? Well, he's a moron, too.)

BUT, you'll just have to wait--it's time for me to head out and go swap car books, so I'll see you in a bit.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:59 AM | Comments (4)

AND THEN...

...ran back upstairs and wiped myself down with my nasty shirt after stripping it off, shucked my sweaty jeans, wiped off some more (right now I imagine you're getting the grotesque, but accurate, idea that I didn't have time to shower beforehand, but trust me, I DID wipe off a lot) and then put on a nice heavy shirt and a clean pair of jeans and a pair of shoes, so as not to perpetuate the stereotype of slow-talking shoeless Southerners. Although I must confess, the car detailing was carried out in an unshod state.

Rubbed down my head, and put on my Barber Motorsports cap for a nice bright touch, down the stairs, into the van (didn't want to risk rubbing off any of the blacking before it was completely baked) then off to Grandma's with several minutes to spare!

Got there, got the kid, hit the road to the school.

Wow. I haven't been by since the end of school, and the place is covered up with new portable buildings to handle the influx of students. Ten over on the primary side, four over on the intermediate side. They look terrible, but I have a feeling that they won't be there as long as the modulars were at the old elementary school. Those were pretty much permanent portables. Parked, walked in, followed the handy taped-off route to the gym, and HALLELUJAH! CHAIRS! We got there about twenty minutes before time, and for the first time this year, the staff had put some aluminum folding chairs out in the corridor for people to sit in while they waited. THANK YOU!

Sat there for a while, talked to Catherine, who saw one of her friends but who wanted to see another one. Looked at the artwork on the wall. The school is covered with nice pictures and photos donated by folks in the community. The particular set in front of me were some of those single-word motivational posters. I might decide to donate some of these to the school, just as a way to bring some snarky adult-style fun to the place.

At the appointed hour, we all stood up like paratroopers moving to the jump door and shuffled into the gym to the first table, where they check to make sure you actually do live in the district, then on to the table where they give you your supply list and your teacher, then over to the place where you pay your fees, where I sat down and chatted with the nice lady and SAW THE BRECK GIRL MOM!

Boy, it's been a long time--if you recall, her kids played soccer, which is where I first saw her, and then I found out later she teaches at the elementary school. She has quite possibly the most attractive strawberry blonde hair in the entire world, along with that well-scrubbed All-American look, thus her nickname. What a cutie. Where were women like this when I was in school!? Not that I would have cared then, but surely it would have been better than old hatchet-faced women who dipped snuff!

Paid my money, moved on to the school tee-shirt table (fund raiser, I suppose, but at least with this one, the stuff you get looks good), then to the agenda book table where I got to see ANOTHER one of my favorites, Jonathan and Rebecca's 4th grade teacher. This is the girl whose class I visited to read Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel when Jonathan was her student. I love her to pieces, mainly because she never fails to tell me how much she enjoyed teaching my kids. She was disappointed she didn't get Catherine--I think she thought she was going into the 4th grade instead of the 3rd. However, she might be in for a rude awakening should she actually get her next year.

Checked the bus schedule, then out the door. Fifteen minutes.

Cat was worried a bit about her class being in one of the modular buildings, and wasn't quite sure of the whole concept of a building outside the REAL building, so I drove her around the backside of the parking lot so she could see both sets of construction. That seemed to satisfy her, at least at the time, although she did mention it again to Mommy last night. It'll be okay. I hope.

Back toward Grandmom's, with a stop at our house so I could drop the mail off and her registration stuff--I didn't want it left at Granny's. I also wanted her to see the sparkling black molding on the Volvo, with which she was HIGHLY impressed.

THEN, to the in-law's, where I had some time to kill. Went back over Jonathan and Rebecca's paperwork, got them to sign it, watched Kim Possible on the TV (another cute redhead, I might add), and then packed up Boy and Middle Girl and off we were to the OTHER school, this time with plenty of time to spare.

Which turned out not to be such a great idea...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:02 AM | Comments (3)

AS YOU NO DOUBT RECALL...

I had to leave early yesterday to go get the three younger members of the clan enrolled for the new school year. Ashley's was Wednesday and Mom got to take her to that one, which was just fine by me. Although the fees were startlingly huge.

For yesterday, Cat's registration at the elementary school was at 3, then Boy and Middle Girl were to follow up at 5 at the middle school. And I took off at noon, which meant--what else, but, FUNTIME WITH THE MORON PROJECT!

Hooray!

Yes, this was done deliberately. See, I have lunch with My Friend Jeff today to swap magazines (the ones he forgot to bring two weeks ago), and he hasn't seen the new shiny hubcaps. But he HAS seen the ugly chalky-looking lower bodyside moldings--they look terrible, as witnessed by these photos I took yesterday to impress everyone.

This is the area behind the rear wheel--yuck--

and this is the rocker panel molding--also blech--

This is a pretty common problem for a lot of cars. The oils evaporate, and it gets all gray looking after a while, and there's not much you can do to make it look any better. It eventually gets to the point where even brake fluid won't cut the chalky film. So, your alternatives are to paint it with flexible black bumper paint, which is (as I found out with Moby) a rather arduous task, although it does wind up looking pretty okay. Sorta. Or you can get some stuff that's pretty expensive--at least 18 bucks (including shipping) for a couple of 4 ounce bottles of cleaner and black inky stuff you apply to the offensive areas. Heard good things about the product, but being a cheapo and a moron, I figured there surely had to be SOMETHING out there that would also do the job.

I especially got to thinking this when I was at the grocery store the other day, and passed by the shoe polish, and had a sudden brainstorm (actually, more of a light passing shower). There were all these bottles of Kiwi Black Leather Dye sitting there. "Hmm," I said to myself, because as you know, I say that a lot.

"I wonder," I continued, "if this junk would be just as good as the stuff they sell in the IPD catalog? I mean, it's black, and made to be water-resistant, and certainly does a good job on shoe leather. Hmm." At the time, I left it there, because let's face it, it's a silly idea.

That is, until I checked a few places on the lovely Internets, and found that OTHER moron-project holders had done the exact same thing, and found that it worked just as well, IF NOT BETTER, than the product made to do it. Add to this the fact that it's about one-quarter of the cost. THRIFTY MORON MAN into action!

I figured it wouldn't hurt to try a bit and see what happened. Couldn't look any worser. SO, on the way home yesterday, I dropped by Winn-Dixie, picked up a couple of bottles (not knowing how much it would take), and a set of three cheap-o foam paintbrushes, and some aluminum pot pie tins to pour the juice into (not wanting to risk the ire of anyone who might have an emotional attachment to the various plastic butter bowls that pack the kitchen cabinets), and a Diet Coke for fortitude.

Off to home, changed out of my work duds into something suitable for slopping black gunk everywhere, and then hopped back downstairs. I figured it would be a good idea to wipe the plastic down with some degreaser, just in case, so I got my old can of that and a cloth and my brushes and my dye and my pie pans and WHEW, boy, it sure is hot at noon in Alabama!

I sat down on the concrete and started wiping sweat and degreaser off and on with equal rapidity. Moment of truth--popped off the lid, then the tiny foam pad applicator, poured some of the elixer into the pan, dabbed the brush into it, and went to work. WOW! Let me tell you, fellow moron friends, this stuff ROCKS!

Just be sure to smooth it out neatly, and color a panel at a time, and understand that for the worst areas, you might have to go over it twice or more to get full color, and if you sit on the concrete in the middle of the day in Alabama without shade you sweat a lot and it stings your eyes and makes your neck burn up. But, the sun does have the benefit of rapidly drying the liquid, so you can work pretty quickly. And the results are quite worthwhile--

This is the passenger side--nice and inky black now!

The only problem is that now the bumper covers, which heretofore had looked nice and black now look dingy in comparison. BUT, I had no time for those, because it was now rapidly approaching after 2:00, and I had to clean up, run go run get Cat, and get to the school before 3:00.

WILL I MAKE IT!?

Tune in for the NEXT exciting episode!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:15 AM | Comments (6)

Well, now, that wasn't so bad at all.

AND, I got some special "I Am A Moron" Project time in there as well!

WITH PICTURES!

Give me a while to get all that fixed, and I'll be back with all the school news, INCLUDING the reappearance of BRECK GIRL MOM! (Sadly, no pictures of that event, however.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:55 AM | Comments (0)

July 27, 2005

Yes, I'm here now!

But busy.

BUT, not so busy that I can't fill you in on my exciting excursion throughout the exciting Eastern suburbs in my exciting European car with my exciting wife!

As planned, we piled into the Volvo (and I am getting closer to calling him "Järn," as I mentioned the other day--it sounds Swedish, since it is, and it's the word "iron." The other possibility is the word for brick, which is tegel. Or we might just go ahead and give him a given name and a surname and call him Järn Tegel. Or I might rub him and pat him and call him George. Anyway---) and headed over to the haircutting place, where I got my uneven follicles trimmed and evened-up. I look presentable again! Okay, not really. From there, it was time for some SUPPER!

[The late Dennis Washburn] "I carefully adjusted the mirrors in the sleek Swedish sedan and we eased out onto the highway, its powerful overhead cam four cylinder engine thrumming happily along." [/late Dennis Washburn]

Ever since we went out to the western part of town a couple of weeks back, I've been having a peculiar craving. Where I grew up in Forestdale, there was a Pasquale's Pizza (much loved, it seems, if the Internet is to be believed). Small and dim inside, with the "red naugahyde/skinny black wrought iron/dark tortured wood/red-and-white checkered formica" motif that said Old Italia. When I was a teenager, I always loved their stromboli steak sandwich.

When we passed by the place the other day, Reba mentioned it, and those stromboli steak sandwiches, and I've been thinking about having one of those ever since. It's probably been thirty years since the last time I had one, but the urge had become nearly overwhelming. Lucky for me, Reba knew of a Pasquale's over close to the Publix in Pinson, so I drove us over there.

We got there during the supper rush, which consisted of one other person. Reba got the buffet, and I ordered the sammich. O! Such anticipation. O! Such a letdown.

It was a very good sandwich. Blazing hot, on nice crispy garlic bread, but something either in the strom or the boli or the steak just wasn't what it was supposed to be. I remember it being gooshier, and saltier, and mushroomier, and, something. Again, it was a wonderful sandwich, as long as you had no distinctly-remembered frame of reference. ::sigh::

Oh well, at least the drive was fun, and Reba seemed to enjoy getting actually ride in my toy rather than look in dismay at the dull paint from the outside. Even BETTER, when we got home, the UPS guy had been by, and delivered...


NEW TAILLIGHTS!! I ordered a pair of brand new, made in Estonia taillights from Ebay to replace the cracked and tired existing units. Didn't think they were EVER going to get here, even though I only ordered them last week. BUT, arrive they did! With a gigantic triangular puncture wound in the dead center of the box. Looked like they got dropped onto the corner of something deadly.

I shook the box and didn't hear any tinkling plastic sound, so I got them inside and unwrapped them. The hole was punched clean through the outside box and the inside box that had one of the lamp units taped inside, and managed to miss the precious cargo by about an inch. Whew.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. More or less.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:19 AM | Comments (13)

July 26, 2005

Items of Late Afternoon Interest

Well, it's thundering, for one thing, guaranteeing that the ride home will be full of slippery thrills.

Second, I have my biweekly Great Big Pile of Fun Meeting tomorrow morning at A Very Early Time, so expect intermittent Possumbloggery.

Third, could it be an unexpected, midweek Date Night!? I have no idea. But tonight the children get to spend the night at Grand-mahmah's and Grand-pahpah's villa! Reba ALSO has an early morning meeting tomorrow, and didn't want to have to get up any earlier than necessary in order to get the kids to her mom's house, so she asked if they could spend the night tonight so they'll already be there in the morning. And now we're left with no children in the house TONIGHT. No telling WHAT we might do! I need a haircut (the skint side now having grown back lush and full, although still lopsided when compared to the other side) and she hasn't gotten to ride in the Volvo yet, so we MIGHT just take it out for a spin to the Head Start place. WOO-HOO! LIVIN' LA VIDA DĂ“CIL, baby! Or, we might spend a romantic evening at home, with me typing her paper, and she writing the parts that haven't been done yet. All in all, it promises to be quite the wild night in Trussvegas.

Anyway, see you all tomorrow sometime--maybe.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:21 PM | Comments (0)

Items of Lunchtime Interest

You know, for there only to be a half-block walk to Sneaky Pete's, you sure do wind up seeing a lot.

Let's see (so to speak)--first, just as I walked down the steps, I noted one of the (increasingly prevalent) members of the Society of Park Bench Somnolence who urgently skulked behind some shrubbery and a bench alongside the sidewalk. A bench, it turns out, that was occupied by two women having a conversation and a smoke. One suddenly shot up and looked behind her as if she'd been goosed, and the fellow, who by then was on his knees directly behind the bench, stood up proudly and brandished a cigarette butt.

On then to my destination, passing by a squad car parked at the curb, which had a portion of bird soilage upon the roof that without reservation I can say looked as though it could have been dropped by a bewinged Great Dane. I say it's high time we started cutting down some trees to keep such beasts from killing us all under a hail of golfball-sized guano.

Next, on to the eating place, and as I walked up the sidewalk, I noticed three over-30 women walking ahead of me--two were wearing slight variations of the exact same mode of dress--short hair; light blue, short-sleeved knit tops; khaki clam digger pants; and leather flip-flops. Was there a memo distributed for "Beach Day Tuesday!" in their office? Sorry, but I just can't get past the idea that some women think this is appropriate office attire.

Anyway, on to the food joint, where I was pleased to see that the Lauren Hutton Lookalike Woman was at the register. As I stood there, I noticed a sign handwritten in pen taped to the cash register:

"Bottled"
Water
99 Cents

What? Was it not really bottled? Wink, wink, nudge nudge! "Bottled," eh!? Like to put your water in a "bottle," eh!? SAY NO MORE!

Ordered some food, paid, waited my turn. Lots of jury duty folks today. Mondays and Tuesdays are usually the biggest days, then it tapers off as folks either get excused or seated. I've never really understood why people walk around with their jury duty badges on, though. I have always taken mine off to go to lunch--don't really want people to know why I'm wandering around, you know. Anyway, one avuncular-looking fellow showed up with his badge on, and was wearing a backpack.

It wasn't until he paid and stood over beside me, though, that I got to study his satchel more closely. Clear plastic, and well-used--probably belonged to one of his school-age kids, and he brought it to hold all of his books to read while he waited. All two of them. All two thin ones of them.

Now, maybe I'm just not "with it" (as the kids say) when it comes to easily transporting two books back and forth the extreme distance between the courthouse parking deck to the jury room, or from the jury room across the park to Sneaky Pete's, but it does seem like the slightest bit of overkill to use a backpack to carry two small, thin (although admittedly hardbound) books. Then again, I never really understand the lure of fanny packs just to carry a set of keys, either.

Got my food, and now it's all eaten up, and it was very tasty.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:32 PM | Comments (10)

July 25, 2005

Which, praise be, also went just fine.

Church, that is.

All teachers present and accounted for, and I actually got to sit in class with Reba for once without interruptions, and then Oldest sat with the teen group during worship, so I didn't have to keep tapping her arm to make her stay awake, and the sermon was good and I stayed awake all through it, and then we went home for lunch and had sandwiches, and I actually got to read the paper, AND I got to watch Guys and Dolls, which I've never seen before all the way through, but found most fascinating, especially those parts involving the sublime Jean Simmons. A testament to the ability of the movie to captivate is that it caused Boy to pay more attention to IT than to his GameBoy! Especially interesting to him was the scene in the sewer, when everyone was jumping and leaping and pretending to throw dice and all that junk. "What are they doing, Dad?"

SO, I had to explain that they were supposed to be throwing dice, which is a gambling game called craps, and everyone puts down money on the ground and bets on whether the shooter will or won't roll a particular number on the dice. Not that I know anything about it. Because I don't. "Well, it's a good thing they're just pretending, because if they really had anything on the ground, they'd have already kicked it all over the place." Ahhh, musicals. (I just hope he doesn't find out about this.)

On back for evening worship, which AGAIN was free of any troublesomeness, then home, supper, and to bed. Quite an uneventful weekend, and that's a good thing.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:33 PM | Comments (4)

Interviewing

I’ve been on the other side of these before, and it’s never pleasant. If you know ahead of time who your competition is, you might be able to do a bit of homework and find out where they’re weak, but most of the time, you just take your best shot. If you’re on a short list with two other folks, you know that with all things being equal, you only have a 1:3 chance of getting picked, so you try to come up with some way to make yourself stand out.

From an owner’s point of view, it’s nice to have people vying to work for you--until you realize they want to be paid for that privilege. I’ve never been on this side before, but I did want it to be as up-front and rational as possible for our invitees. And it seemed to have been appreciated--everyone was complimentary of our efforts to get information together ahead of time, and poll the congregation, and come up with a program. Pays to do your homework, I suppose.

We did have one firm drop out from the short list, so our interviews got started a bit later than originally intended. My Friend John showed up WAY early and started setting his stuff up and chatting with folks, and at the appointed hour of 2:10 p.m., we got underway. For the next two hours and 40 minutes, we listened to and questioned three firms, and then after the last group left, we already had a consensus for whom to hire. I had started out telling our committee members to think about what they’d heard and read, if they wanted to, to go and see some of the projects of the various folks, and I told them I wasn’t about to vote on anyone. I figured they’d be better served by making up their own minds about people, although I did give my opinion.

But, as I said, after it was over, the choice was clear, and that’s about as good an outcome of a committee decision as could ever be hoped for. No rancor, no disagreements, just a desire to move forward to the next step. I don’t want to take credit for the smoothness of the process, but I will say that having some experience and understanding of the problems that can crop up makes it a LOT easier to avoid them, if you want to. I’ve had to deal with contentious committees before, with folks who have their own agendas separate from those of the group, and it’s never a good working environment.

Anyway, we had an impromptu discussion session as a group for ANOTHER hour, then after that broke up, ANOTHER hour of general gossip and foolishness. Home, with a stop for gas (22 mpg) and a wash (oooo--SHINY! Kinda) and then to the house, where the children had already gotten bath’d and hair-washed after staying outside for THREE HOURS! Jonathan was burnt to a crisp--his little back and shoulders looked like a lobster’s. We slathered him down with Ocean Potion, which has always worked well for us to prevent sunburns from blistering and peeling. The rest of them managed to not get so overdone--Cat was probably the next worst, but she just turned brown instead of red.

But, the bestest thing was that they FINALLY got to play in that stinkin’ pool. They had a good time, and that’s hard to beat when you’re a kid. After all the excitement died down, I took the thin plastic cover outside to cover it up, and was amazed to see that the middle of the dumbbell shape had squished outward, with its gunwales just about to be swamped by the water. Apparently, the children spend a lot of time pressing the sides down, in direct contravention of my instructions to them. ::sigh:: Oh well. I got the pump back out and blew some more air into the chambers to try to get it to plump up a bit and hold all that water, then got Reba to help me stretch the cover around the lip.

Goodnight, blow-up pool!

More laundry, some supper, some television, and then to bed.

And then, SUNDAY!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:18 PM | Comments (4)

Oh--but wait.

Monday Morning Staff Meeting beckons. Stupid old work.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:04 AM | Comments (0)

MORE Fun!

First thing Saturday--I wasn't really even awake--small children came into the room and asked if I was going to blow the pool up. "::grumble::GIMME SOME DYNAMITE!::grouch::"

"Kids, let Daddy get up so I can go to the bathroom and put on some clothes--and remember, I need to get Mom's paper done, and we have laundry. Now GIT!"

Which they did. Reba fixed breakfast, I gathered clothes, started the jeans, ate, then sat down to fix the paper. This isn't her giant directed study paper I have only just started typing on, it's her research paper that gets produced throughout the year of classes. What I was doing was correcting the corrections from the last submittal, then typing up a three-page addition. Knocked it out with relative dispatch, although I did a bad thing.

See, this paper is supposed to be about determining ways to reduce anxiety amongst elderly folks being admitted to a nursing home. Reba has a rather odd hypothesis and methodology (no, I'm not about to say anything about THAT to her--let her professor tell her) but her data does rely on some observations she's made of folks she sees in her work. "Reba, let me ask you something--don't you think you might need a release from these people if you're going to use their information?"

The look of stone-cold terror on her face was awful--it was obvious she hadn't even thought about it. I KNEW right then I had just made my life infinitely more difficult. Couldn't just keep my trap shut. Couldn't just close my eyes and sigh. NooooOOOOOO! Had to act like this was some sort of a bigger deal than it was.

She paused and then became very agitated and defensive and upset and worried and agitated and defensive and concerned and worried and upset. "Whoa--just ask your professor Monday night what he thinks--don't start worrying now about it." Of course, the time to have thought about this was way at the start, and even if she does need permission, it should be relatively simple to obtain, but she might not, but I knew that now that I'd ruined everything, MY life was going to be a mess of trying to control her emotions.

"Look, don't worry about it until you find out--there's nothing you can do either way about it right now, so don't get all anxious until it's absolutely necessary!"

Thankfully, after several more minutes of high angst and sudden intestinal floppsiness, she had calmed back down and was thinking about rational solutions to the situation. Thank goodness. Maybe my edgy, hard-nosed life philosophy of, "What, me worry!?" is starting to have a positive effect on her. (Actually, I worry a lot, but only about things over which I have some control--everything else? Eh, whatever. I might gripe and complain about such inconsequential junk, but it doesn't keep me awake at night.)

Finished up the corrections and addition, pressed the Print button, sat for a moment to watch the sheets feed into the printer--"DADDY! Are you going to blow up the pool now!?"

"In a bit."

Did some more laundry, got the paper out of the tray, and then, to the garage.

HOORAY! HOORAY FOR DADDY! WHO IS GOING TO BLOW UP THE POOL!

::sigh::

Got the box out from under the pile of stuff I kept putting on top of it in a vain effort to obscure it from the view of curious children. Nice--it has its own battery-operated pump. And I even had four D-cell batt'ries! Of course, my flashlight doesn't work now, but hey.

Took the pile of smelly plaskit outside to the backyard and rolled it out. Moved it here and there to what I could best discern was the most level spot in the yard, which, again, isn't really level. Stuck the blower in the big convenient blow holes and in NO TIME AT ALL, I had a GENUINE 144 INCH LONG dumbbell-shaped swimming hole before me! (Comely blonde on box not included.)

The kids were nearly about to wet their pants with glee. Time enough for that once they get in the pool, though.

Time to fill it up with water. This took nearly thirty minutes. ::sigh:: That sure is a lot of water.

In the intervening time, the kids all ran and got on their swimsuits and sunscreen, while I did more laundry and got my stuff ready for our architect interviews at church. Water finally up to the middle--"KIDS! Come on and--"

"EEEEKKKKKKK! AAAAGHHH! COLD! COLD! AAIIIEEEEEEEEEE!" And that was just Jonathan, whose voice and demeaner changed to a three-year-old girl once he took that first dip into the two feet of ice water. Cat plunged in after him and they shrieked and tumbled and more than likely peed all in the thing. Rebecca and Ashley soon followed, and after some initial squabbles about turf, they all settled down to playing and splashing.

I kissed Reba and went upstairs and showered and got ready to go, came back downstairs, ate some lunch, grabbed all my papers and hit the road. Saturday marked the end of the first week in which I drove the Volvo to work every day. You know, for a 20 year old car with a bunch of miles on it, it's actually a pretty pleasant way to get around. A nice, comfortable, economical cruiser, with operable A/C and well-made controls that still feel nice and tight and new. And with those spiffy new old shiny bits on the wheels, I no longer feel quite so weird driving it. Little bit o' spiff goes a long ways. (And just WAIT until I get the new taillights installed!)

And to church then, parked, and went inside to get ready for our guests.

NEXT: That went well!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:56 AM | Comments (2)

Ta-daaaaaah!

Not only managed to make it through another weekend safe and sound, but also managed to keep from melting into a gooey paste!

Well, that went pretty well--one of the better weekends, I'd say. No violent mayhem, no acrimony, and there was the addition of an INFLATABLE WADING POOL! So, all in all, pretty much okay.

Friday, went and got my new suits chalked up so they'll fit right. Or rightish. I still think there's a bit too much cloth in the pant legs--it feels sorta like I'm wearing a set of spinnakers. At least it was pleasant--I made Reba and the kids sit outside in the mall in the overstuffed leather sofas. The kids enjoyed it, although I think I would prefer a seating appliance much less conducive to holding and cultivating everyone's butt germs. But that's just me.

The manager guy carefully eyed the suits and made the necessary adjustments--no break at the top of the shoe, no cuff, 3/4 of an inch of shirt at the wrist. Everything together took about ten minutes. OH! And he like my shoes! I got them back Friday, and they were nice and shiny (for a change) and he was quite impressed with the sheen they possessed. I tell you, it makes all of that uncomfortable male physical closeness much more tolerable. "They'll be ready this next Friday, Mr. Oglesby." Good enough for me.

Off then with the crew for some supper in the food court, then Reba took the older two to shop for some more school clothes, while I kept the littler two with me for fun and games. First fun, Cat had to ride the merry-go-round again. I let Jonathan stay at the table this time, though. He'd hated it the last time, having to stand there and ride like some little kid. I hated it because I paid a dollar for him to ride, and he wouldn't. But I didn't want to just have him wandering around. At least this time, I knew where he should be, and gave him strict instructions to stay put. Which he did.

Cat clambered up onto a brown horse that she promptly named Chocolate (yes, I was amazed as you that it wasn't KeeKee or KoKo or Katie or anything else with a hard-K sound at the beginning) and she had a wonderful time as the music played and the horse bobbed along. We waved at Jonathan each time we went past, which embarrassed him to no end. And made Catherine just that much more gleeful. I'm not sure what in the human brain makes merry-go-rounds such a pleasure for kids--the odd dizziness, the music, the rolling motion, the animals, the lights--but by-golly she enjoys all of it with wonderful, two-fisted, full-blown abandonment. Full of giggles and sparkly eyes.

That done, it was time to hop off and collect Brother and go see what there was to see. They wanted to go to the toy store again, so, off we went. Spent the rest of our allotted hour in there. They were like two kids in a toy store. Which meant it was a bit difficult to keep up with them both--once you're outnumbered, you have to play zone defense instead of man-to-man, and it can be tough. That's why I have so much gray hair.

Along close to nine, Reba called and said the stores were closing, so we went and joined them, and for once they had managed to go to a store and not buy anything. Leading to much rude sullenness on the part of one 15 year old. On back to the house, and then to bed. But not before--"Daddy, are you going to blow up the pool tomorrow?"

A couple of years ago, Reba got a BIG inflatable pool for the kids to play in, and I have done all in my power to keep from getting it out in the intervening time. They leak, they take a tremendous amount of water to fill, and there's not a really level place in our yard--they always moosh over to one side, which isn't really very fun, especially when they moosh so far that all the water comes gushing over the side.

But, it has gotten to the point where it is increasingly difficult to tell them no, and it would be fun to have a place with some nice cool water they could splash in, and so what if it killed the grass--I don't like having to cut it anyway.

"Well, we'll see--I have to finish typing Mama's paper, and we're going to have laundry to do in the morning. We'll see."

"Ooooo-kaaaaay." They're used to "we'll see" meaning "no," or a "yes, but with interminable delay," after all.

SO, off to bed with them all, and then up again on Saturday!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:48 AM | Comments (0)

July 22, 2005

Wow, it's gettin' late!

Time to start packing up for the weekend. My suit pants are in (the guy called yesterday) so sometime I have to go in and get everything trimmed and stitched so that it all neatly fits my sleek, yet ruggedly masculine, physique. And then tomorrow we have our architect interviews at church, and sometime between now and Sunday night I have to type one of Reba's papers for class.

And, of course, there is the obligatory pile of laundry. Oh, and did I mention that summertime finally got here? It's supposed to be 1,379 degrees tomorrow. And that ain't no dry heat, neither.

So, as we begin the rapid advance through The Weekend, I bid you all have a good one, and we'll get together again on Monday and see what all happened.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:13 PM | Comments (2)

And now?

PowerPoint Time, baby!! YEAH!

Got six different ones to do for six different dog and pony shows*. And a FLOW CHART to do! And then, I have to go get my shoes back from the Goodyear Shoe Hospital!


*Management reminds all patrons that actual dogs and/or ponies may or may not be employed in the dog and pony show at the sole discretion of the show's producers and agents; further, that should dogs and/or ponies NOT be used, no warranty claims or cause for action shall arise from their absence.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:41 AM | Comments (3)

July 21, 2005

New Doc

Got to the swanky suburban location of the new doctor (next door to the SportsFirst, and just up the road from the portable building/spa/carport place) and emptied all the heavy junk out of my pockets so I wouldn't weigh so much and locked it all in the glovebox, then went on in.

Nice place--still smelled new. Signed in, filled out all the forms, insurance card, driver's license, sat back down, waited, five minutes later they called me back. I shall not say exactly what I thought of the nurse who took my vitals and weight and the recitation of all the stuff I had already written down on the patient information sheet, other than to say she was a bit brusque. And not in a good way.

Into the exam room, wait. Doctor came in--big beefy fellow, I noticed, with hands like HAMS! Giant, sausage-shaped fingers, and on his lapel, a 101st Airborne pin. Great. I sure hope he's careful when he enters my dropzone.

Anyway, yet another recitation of what all ails me (why do I have to keep filling out forms if no one will read them!?) and chatted a bit about medication, and future invasive checkups, and bloodwork to be done, and such like. He wrote me out new prescription for all my chemicals, and then he handed me off to the vital-essence-removing girl so she could get FOUR TUBES of blood out of me, and a jigger of pee.

Checkout, then back here, with a brief stop at McDonald's because I hadn't had anything to eat since about 4:00 yesterday afternoon. I was feeling a bit on the ravenous side, which explains my ability to ingest something that had been sitting under a heat lamp since about 4:00 yesterday afternoon.

So, now, a new doctor, and a new place to go, and that's that. For now.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:12 PM | Comments (2)

Doctorin'!

Now then, time to go see the doc, and see exactly how healthy I am. Be back later...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:19 PM | Comments (0)

THURSDAY MAILOUT MADNESS!!

Yes, I'm here earlier than normal today--it's time to mail out the minutes and agenda for the next meeting, which I usually have all neatly prepared by Wednesday afternoon. With all of my galavanting around and sloughing off and meeting attending, however, I still had several more entries to make by quitting time yesterday. Which meant that after getting home, going back to Bible study, going back home, getting the kids bathed and bedded, and listening to Reba's exciting news--I had to finish typing my notes on the computer at home, then rush in here this morning to get them printed and copied and stapled and stuffed into envelopes.

Right now, we're in the copying/stapling mode, which allows me a few minutes to rush in here and tell you about what I have just got through doing. EXCITEMENT!? YOU BETCHA!

Other excitement? Well, Reba and several of her cohorts went down to the corporate office yesterday for some sort of training something-or-other, and it looks like after she finishes up her degree in October, the company wants her to enroll in their administrator training program. Don't know much about it at the moment, but basically it's an in-house OJT deal where you learn the nursing home biz and at the end you get a position as a head administrator of an entire facility. Sorta like The Apprentice, except real, and without the giant, orangutan-colored combover. So that's pretty cool, I say. And it's paid training, which is nice. I hope she'll make a lot of money and I can become a kept man.

AND? Well, finally got myself a new doctor. Three months after I was supposed to go back for a checkup. Oops. Sorta let that sneak up on me. I'VE BEEN BUSY, OKAY!? Anyway, last week I noticed I was starting to run low on all my many pretty pills, and had no refills left, meaning I needed to find someone to be able to renew the prescriptions pretty quickly or I'd be in trouble. Decided to go to a clinic out near home for convenience's sake, so I got a form from them (which they sent and it arrived the next day) to transfer my records from my old office. Mailed it to the old office, and as of yesterday still had not heard anything. Yesterday being the penultimate day before my medicine ran out.

Called my old office, asked about the record transfer. "That should be done in two to three weeks, sir."

WHA!? They'd had the request for over a week! "Well, here's my problem, Amy..." and I explained that I was out of medicine, and they were either going to have to call in a refill, or they were going to have to get me another someone who could. I kinda figured they didn't want to do anything since my doctor has left the practice, so she said she'd call the other place and see if they would possibly accept just my medication form and be able to renew the prescriptions.

"And if that doesn't work?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it--let's see what happens with this other first."

Wow--really confidence inspiring, eh? That was always the biggest drawback to my former doctor's office--the office staff seemed incapable of providing the same level of concern about such things that the doctors provided in caring for the patients. I loved the old curmudgeon guy I started with, and his nurse, and then I loved the girl doc who replaced him (although not so much her nurses) but in both cases, I felt like I was really getting good care. Until I went to check out, or needed some information that was in my record. The office staff always seemed harried and misinformed and bumfuzzled by everything.

ANYway, Amy called back to let me know they'd sent the records already. "They have them now?"

"Yes, they've all been sent to them and they should have them."

Hmm. Wonder what happened to that two or three week thing?

Called the new office and they said the old place had faxed the records over earlier in the day. Why they thought it would take so long is beyond me. SO, time to set up an appointment with one of their guys. "Who did you want to see?"

I had no idea--I was going for convenience, so it was hard to say what sort of person I wanted--"Uh, I don't--well, I guess whoever is taking patients and can see me immediately."

Again, quite confidence inspiring. She fixed me up with some guy whose name made me think of the old movie title Prisoner of Zenda, and told me to be there today at 2:00. Should be very interesting. I told Reba I had a new doc, and how I had been flummoxed by not knowing who I wanted.

She said I should have asked who had the skinniest fingers.

I sure wish I'd thought of that.

OKAY--the copier's finished, so it's time for some HOT ENVELOPE STUFFING ACTION!

Be back in a bit.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:49 AM | Comments (8)

July 20, 2005

In what has become an increasingly regular occurence...

...more stupid work to do, and no time to play. I do apologize for the spotty output quantity lately. At one time, I could compensate for the overall poor quality of Possumblog through the employment of incredibly high volume, but now it seems it's both lackluster AND meager.

BUT, I do have pictures for later! Surely that counts for something! Or not.

Anyway, back to my toil and travail.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:28 AM | Comments (4)

July 19, 2005

Back to home then on Saturday--

--did some laundry, got at least 3/4 of the kids to go ahead and take their baths and wash their hairs, and got ready to hit the road again, this time with a stop at Target for a small gift for the birthday gal we were going to visit. This took a very long time, which I spent in the van with Cat and Rebecca, who were nice and quiet and occupied with the mobile child de-stimulation unit, i.e., the DVD player.

Reba came back out with several other things, which explains (partially) why it took so long, then we were off again to mine and Reba’s old stomping grounds. Bought some chicken at the KFC--seemingly one of the few eating joints that had not been converted in the past few years to either a car title pawnshop or a video bingo arcade or just a regular pawnshop or simply been shuttered and left to rot. It used to be much nicer. Lunch, etc., then home. And that’s all I will say about that. Although, as I mentioned this morning, I was very polite. I’m just that way, you know.

Made a stop by the hospital on the way back to visit for a bit with Reba’s aunt, then on to home where there was some more laundry to wash, ate some supper in there sometime, went to beddie-bye, then up early Sunday for church. Both of Catherine’s teachers were out of town (and gave a week’s notice! Hooray!) so I plugged myself in as the substitute. This was the first time I’ve ever taught Catherine before, but she was actually very good. Cute, and attentive, and following along pretty well as we went over the story of Joshua and Jericho. Had a lot of visitors this time, for some reason. Two were the boys I’ve had in there before who in the past have been quite a handful with their yalping and inability to be human. Another two were a brother and sister team.

Quite a couple, they were.

Not sure of their exact ages--somewhere between 8 and 11 or so. But just OH so bored by this whole ordeal. The boy was worse--too much time spent watching television, where all 10 year olds have the glib wit and wisdom of 50 year old Hollywood sitcom writers. This ain’t Hollywood, Junior. And maybe I’m just an old fart, but don’t you think wearing that stupid ball cap to class is just a bit too much? (I’m actually asking this of your parents, sonny--you people let him act like this!?) His sister was of a similar demeanor, at least at the beginning. Really a very pretty little girl, and full of ennuiful attitude, just like her favorite episode of whatever teen crap is on The WB this week. But, as the class went on, she actually started paying attention, because she would ask and answer questions and was looking at me when I talked.

After my stunning and insightful declamation regarding the military exigencies of the Israelite conquest of Canaan vis-a-vis the fall of Jericho (as well a very deft bit of misdirection on my part to keep from having to explain what sort of job Rahab did as a harlot), we all did our fill-in-the-blank worksheets together, and that was pretty fun as well. Then, the bell rang, and as the kids all filed out, Smart Aleck Hat Boy said, “Dude, do we have to KEEP these papers?!” “DUDE! First of all, my name isn’t “dude,” and second of all, you sure DO have to keep them! Thanks for being one of our visitors today!” His sister was much nicer.

Worship, then off to the other side of the county one more time. Ashley’s going to spend some more days with her grandparents, so we went and had lunch with them and dropped her off. And that’s about it again. As usual, I was unfailingly polite.

Left there and headed home, did some minor errands, went back to church for the evening service, where I got to lead singing, and managed to do pretty good for once. Well enough to where two people said it sounded pretty good (thankfully leaving out the “for once” part to spare my feelings.) Supper then at the Asian buffet place, then home, to bed, and up early MONDAY for my free day to gambol and play and get continuing education credits! WHEEEEEE!

It was a seminar about Alabama’s Energy Conservation Code, which was developed by one of my Building Science professors down at Auburn, Dr. Bob Aderholdt. He’s a great fellow--if you ever meet him, be sure to get him to tell you the story about when he was an undergrad and a campus policeman “chased” him and his friends all the way to Tuskegee.

Anyway, the code is intended to make sure that any projects in the state that fall under the purview of the State Building Commission (all state-owned or funded buildings; hotels; motels; schools; and movie theaters) are energy efficient. Dr. Bob’s worked on this for a long time--going through a sample building and applying the code was part of one of his courses for us way back when I was at Auburn. The code was recently updated, and this seminar (sponsored by ADECA) was intended to publicize it a bit and go over some of the changes.

Boy, I sure do wish the author had been around to talk about it. He could make anything entertaining. As it was, the entertainment was provided by three engineers, all of whom were dry to the point of complete desiccation. If there was ever such a thing as negative humidity, they had it. In spades. Eight hours of recitation of the ASHRAE HVAC code, which sounds about like this:

“Boilers, as defined in Section blah blah blah blah point three, shall not be blah blah unless they are in unenclosed areas covered under Table 3 point blah point blah, in which case they may be provided blah blah blah blah blah or an equivalent blah, without blah. EXCEPTIONS: No boiler blah blah blah blah blah blah with gas or electric motors blah blah blah blah without first blah blah blah.”

Hey guys, I can read the code myself. A side benefit being that I am much less likely to put myself to sleep.

The second peeve I had was that everyone seemed to think the entire ABECC was new. It’s not. Been around a long time, and if you’ve ever done any of the listed building types I mentioned before, you’ve had to do the submittal for it.

Third peeve, the kludgy teleconference hardware. We had the professors, which was bad enough, but I pity the poor remote-location folks in Huntsville, Montgomery and Mobile who had to watch and interact with them over the teevee.

Fourth peeve, the old loud guy whose phone rang in the middle of a particularly exciting part of the lecture, who then proceeded to ANSWER his phone, and TALK on it, then decided the professor was being too loud so he went out into the hallway outside the door and began to SHOUT INTO THE PHONE AS LOUD AS HE COULD WITH HIS WITHERED AND PALSIED LUNGS! I went to the door and motioned for him to go on out the other door because he was disturbing my nap.

Fifth peeve was the old guy I’ve talked about before who shows up at these things, apparently so everyone will know what a clueless jackass he is. Always spouting off about stuff he should know as an architect, and obviously doesn’t. Although now he’s taken to calling himself a construction manager. Which was funny, because I imagine he’s even more incompetent at that, and also because one of the instructors had a question for specifically for CMs, and directed it to him, because the professor thought he might know the answer. HAH! As if. The old moron just sat there like a lump. Teach him for getting all uppity and acting like he’s something he’s not.

SIXTH peeve was the insistence on all three of the presenters to pronounce “vestibule” as if it were the word “vegetable.” Not VEST’abyool, but VEST’ible.

PEEVE No. 7 was the lack of hot chicks.

Peeve Eight was the lack of anything to read. We had the PowerPoint notes, but most of them were so tiny that they were unreadable.

The best part? Over soon enough for me to be able to run by the scrapyard!

HOORAY FOR JUNKED CARS!

Next: Lovely Stainless Steel!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:09 PM | Comments (2)

UP EARLY Saturday morning--

--get the grumpy kids dressed, make sure for the fiftieth time that I have the title and bill of sale and a screwdriver and the keys, finally get on the road, stop almost immediately so as to make a stop by McDonald’s for some scrumptious and nutritious breakfast “burritos,” which I ordered, then drove around and passed through the window of Reba’s van--why she couldn’t go through the drive-through, I do not know. THEN on the way to Cullman! Hooray.

Moby drove just fine, although that worrisome Check Engine light came on again. Been messing with that for ages. Don’t know what it is. But a fine morning for a drive, no matter what. Arrived at our appointed place right on time--something of a miracle, I say.

Got out, and started looking around the parking lot for the truck of the guy who I was supposed to be meeting. Heard a shout from behind me, and some guy was walking across the parking lot in a tee-shirt, shorts, and in long dark socks with black dress shoes. OH, my! ANOTHER of my vehicles being purchased by a YANKEE!

Actually, his voice gave him away as a homegrown fellow, although one who’d apparently affected that peculiar mode of foot fashion sported by so many of our Northern brethren. He quickly looked it over, under the hood, then wanted to go riding. Gave him the keys, got in, rode up the road a bit, chatted, he said he wanted it, and would give me 1800 for it. Which is really what I had been trying to get all along, if only someone would buy it. I half-heartedly protested, but after the whole incident with the fine folks at CarMax, I really couldn’t pass up cold hard cash. But, I still had to make an effort. “Well, let me talk to Mama and see what she says.” It IS in her name, after all. Got back to the restaurant and parked, and found that the crew had gone inside, which might mean that they were in the process of trying to spend all of the van money before we even had it.

I went to get them while the guy went next door to the AmSouth to get the cash. Went in and found Boy standing at the restrooms waiting for the girls, so I told him to stand there while I went and used the restroom, too. Came out, he was gone, got that horrible feeling you get when you come out of the restroom after fifteen seconds and the kid you’d just left outside the door is gone, then found them all on the other side of the store looking at a variety of faux kuntry knick knacks, told Reba the price, which she agreed to, and then it was all over except for the signing of the title and bill of sale and removing the license plate and grabbing the loot.

Actually could have made an extra hundred on the deal--he gave us one bill too many--but it was returned to him unharmed. Shook hands all around, and then it was time to head back.

And, as it always does, all of the memories came flooding back. When we bought it, how I pored over the order form, got JUST the right stuff on it so it wouldn’t look quite so dour and ubiquitous. And why we bought it--we had a nice ’92 Taurus before, but we were about to have our third child, who would turn out to be Little Boy, and all of us and our junk just wasn’t going to fit in a Taurus. We took delivery of the van not too long before we took deliver of Jonathan.

Two car seats back then--Rebecca was only 20 months old. Trips to the beach, and then ANOTHER baby to bring home in it. Still two car seats--Jonathan and Cat, with the two older girls in the back seat. A move to the new house. Those scratches on the back of the rear seat? And the splinters imbedded in the vinyl? That was some plywood I’d bought at Home Depot to put in the attic. There was the replacement transmission at 80,000 miles--Reba got stranded and I had to go get her and the van. The big dinner that Jonathan threw up into the seat. Lots of spilled food, you know--both pre- and post-chewed. The time we had to have it pulled out of the sand at Gulf Shores. Big meaty woman who drove a 4-by and worked on an offshore oil rig. She was rather attractive, in her own way. The time the whole thing crapped out on the way back from the beach one year. THAT episode even got its own blog entry. (Scroll all the way down.) There was the time we visited the Confederate Memorial park and Reba got her finger slammed in the door. Oh, and what about all those soccer trips, and trips to the soccer park. That indented place in the tailgate on the right side? Soccer ball, of course--kicked by some feral kid at the park who was blessed with inattentive parents. All those things, and so much more.

Such memories. Such memories.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:26 PM | Comments (0)

Well, first thing Friday--

There was lunch with John and Jeff. Quite the little soiree, I must say. Lots of stinky gas-making vittles, and lots of laughter at each other’s expense. Caught up on what all has happened to The Bad Place since we left, then it was magazine swap time! And Jeff forgot his, because he’s a big igmoranimus. So, I showed off the Volvo for them. Jeff’s already seen it, but not with the super cool new windshield, or my fantabulous High Mileage Club badge. On then to the church building for John and I, except that since he, too, is a great big mo-ron lummox peach-headed alimentary canal with dress shoes and a nice tie, he left out of the parking lot at the Summit ahead of me, not waiting to FOLLOW me to where we were going. Good thing I told him were it was, because he made every light, and I got caught by every light.

John has one of them there high-toned Toyota Tundras with a V8 (since he’s now a wealthy private practitioner), and he thought that SOMEhow I’d managed to escape the parking lot ahead of him, which made him drive even faster to catch up with me. Or, in this case, to pull way ahead of me as I fumed at the traffic lights. I finally caught up with him after we’d gotten to the Wal-Mart in Leeds. Took me twenty miles to reel him in--I suppose I could have driven faster, but I wasn’t quite comfortable going too much faster in the Volvo for fear that it could just dump its guts on the Interstate with a loud death rattle.

Got to the building, walked around, took photos, walked some more, and I got thoroughly sweat-soaked. I had on my good clothes, and the combination of heat, humidity, and a plate full of chicken chimicanga wasn’t really the best way to maintain my usual dapper turnout. We got finished looking around just as the OTHER group of folks pulled in the parking lot, and after I’d been turned into a big sweat-soaked tub of goo. They brought three guys with them, so I introduced everyone to everyone, John left, and we started walking around some more. Outside, of course, thus making me even MORE sweaty and bedraggled-looking. I sorta looked like the late Chris Farley in his role as motivational speaker Matt Foley. (And I had a van, which was very suitable for living in, down by the river!)

Talked to them a good long while (but no longer than John) and finally I got to go home.

Changed out of my watery duds, put on my usual shorts and tee-shirt, and proceeded to start the weekend with a nice cookout.

I lit off the newly refurbished gas grille (FOOM!), let it get blazing hot, put some hamburgers on to cook, closed the lid, walked inside for a second or two, came back out, and the whole shebang had quickly conflagrated with all sorts of smoky, grease-fed fury. That’s what I get for buying cheapo cow meat, I suppose. Anyway, I ran to the door and asked Rebecca to bring me a cup of water, then went back and stood there battling the inferno by shouting at it to stop being so hot and smoky. I really needed a cup of water, though. I was about to go get the hose to damp things down a bit, when Rebecca came to the door holding a cup and said, “Daddy, someone’s on the phone for you.”

“Ah, who is… well, it doesn’t matter--I’m burning the place down at the moment--can they just call back?” She started to walk in--“HEY! GIMME THE WATER!” when Reba appeared at the door, “TERRY! It’s someone about the van!”

OH! Well, that’s different! I got Reba to come out and douse the blubber fire while I went in to palaver. Guy calling from Huntsville, of all places. Wanted to know all about it, without really waiting too long to hear the full answer. Eager fellow, it seems. He wanted to come see it Saturday, so I started trying to see how close I could get him to Trussville. Started out with Gardendale, then he suggested Warrior, but it seemed everything south of Cullman was terra incognito for him, and he seemed also to believe that driving any further south would cause him to drop off the edge of Alabama into some kind of pit of monsters. ::sigh::

Fine.

Cullman, then. Cracker Barrel on 157. 9:00 a.m. And yes, I allowed that I would be willing to dicker. Which was not he smartest thing to say, but doggone it, I’d already had to pay for insurance and the car tag, and although I can get partial refunds on both, it’s gotten to be something of an albatross. A great big white steel albatross, dripping little pitty-pats of precious fluids onto the driveway.

The only thing was that Saturday we also had another appointment over in the Wild West part of the county--a birthday party for Ashley’s great-grandmother which we were quite obligated to attend. It was at 1:00, though, so we set the vehicle inspection time at 9:00 Saturday morning.

Boy, how I hoped this guy wouldn’t back out. He’d hung up before I even got his name and phone number. All the seeds in place for a jumbogantic fuster cluck.

Eat (and the burgers actually turned out quite will, with lots of nice tasty black stripes) baths, and to bed.

NEXT: Vantastic Voyage!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:43 AM | Comments (0)

::whuf::whuf::tap::tap:: ::ahem:: "HELLO!"

Well, good morning to you all!

I managed to survive an entire weekend, drive to Cullman, sell a van, be polite for an inordinate amount of time, teach Catherine's Bible class, be polite AGAIN for an inordinate amount of time, lead singing without coughing, sit through an interminable lecture in which the main pedagogical technique was to recite passages of the ASHRAE code for hours on end, AND made another trip to the junkyard for some pretty shiny stuff for a certain Volvo! You know what they say, "it don't mean a thing if you ain't got that bling." Even if it does require a huge amount of elbow grease and sweat. Sometimes bling is covered with a fine layer of blech, you know.

ANYway, more in-depth recitation of that mess later on this morning--I have a day and a half worth of stupid work stuff to catch up on, so I need in the most urgent way to get that done and disposed of as soon as possible.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:17 AM | Comments (22)

July 15, 2005

Yet another unfruitful blogging day.

Meeting minutes from Wednesday to work on, then a meeting at 9, and another at 10, then my lunch with J&J, then have to go to Leeds, and then have ANOTHER one of the architects who's coming by to the church building at 2:00, all of which means that THIS pitiful post is going to be pretty much it for the day. And there's so much mindless yammering left to do!

Like, for instance, my Volvo's mysterious electrical ground connection problem corrected itself on the way home yesterday! As you recall, after I installed the new tachometer, when I would turn on the light switch, there was a short somewhere that caused the tach to die. (Now, why such a slow beast, with an automatic transmission needs a tachometer, much less a big 'un, is unknown. But it certainly looks nicer than a big clock. Which is actually more useful for measuring acceleration.)

ANYway, I drove it to work yesterday just to keep it limber, and was hoping to be able to get home without having to use the headlights. But, as is the usual case, our normal afternoon drive-time deluge began when I was almost to home. Wipers on, and lights on, annnnd, yep--the tach died. But, not to be outdone, I started fidgeting with the rheostat that controls the light level of the dashboard (and one of the components I thought might be causing the problems) and after a few twists, suddenly the tach was working again!

HOORAY!

Of course, I no longer have any dashboard lights now.

But no matter--it was light enough outside to see them. I just hope I don't have to go anywhere at night. And frankly, even when the dashboard lights WERE working, they put out about as much light as a dead lightning bug, so it's really not a big loss. Of course, I WILL fix the rheostat sometime, but my biggest relief is that I don't have to pull the instrument panel and try to figure out if there's a break in the lines of solder on the printed circuit board. Talk about a quick way to screw things up!

SEE? All kinds of inconsequential blather, just heaped all up in the corner of my brain waiting to be let out! But not today. And actually, not Monday, either. I have a continuing education seminar at UAB on Monday that lasts all day (8 credit hours--WOOHOO!), so you won't see any stupidity then, either. At least not on here.

One of these days, things will hopefully level out a bit and we'll be able to play a bit more. UNTIL THEN, be sure to visit all the folks in the blogroll up top and over to the right, and be nice to each other, and eat your vegetables, and if you have an operable dashboard rheostat for a mid-80s Volvo 240, I need to talk to you, and all of you have a good weekend, and Lord willing, I'll see you first thing on Tuesday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:06 AM | Comments (7)

July 14, 2005

Dumb ol' squirrels

While I was off last week, I looked out the back door Wednesday to watch the rain, which caused Catherine to come pounding up behind me to look, too. Anytime she thinks I'm going outside, she wants to go, too. But, it was raining, and I was just looking.

"LOOK! There's squirrels, Daddy!"

Sure enough, there were three of the little vermin chasing each other around the backyard in the wet grass. Well, this might be interesting. So, Cat and I eased out onto the patio under the porch and stood there to see what they'd do. Well, you know how squirrels are. They zipped back and forth and then one got the idea he was hungry.

As you all know, I've fought a long battle with these pea-brained beasts to keep them out of the bird feeders, and only in the last few years was I able to finally find something they couldn't get into.

(Yes, I realize if they're so stupid, and it took me so long to find something to thwart them, that it doesn't really say a whole lot about my mental capacity. Well, fine. But they just better understand I only have to be smart enough to load the .22, and they'd all be little goners, so they shouldn't think themselves THAT superior to me.)

Anyway, I thought I'd found the solution, but I noticed one fat tub of nuts climb up on the tree stump, lean waaaaaaay over to the little iron stand that holds one of the feeders, grab hold of the upright, and manage to hang on long enough to clasp one of the metal bird perch/feeder openings with his icky little clawed hands. He seemed quite proud of himself, and for a moment tried to actually get on the feeder, but the perches were too small. HAH! Stupid rodent. BUT THEN, in a most extraordinary turn of events, he managed to REMOVE one of the perches from out of the tube! The plastic tube had a small crack in one of the tiny holes that holds the perch in place, which left the perch just barely friction-fit into the tube. So, the little thief had figured out a way to get the perch loose--luckily, the tube was empty, so he didn't get any food out, but had it been full, the whole thing would have drained out onto the ground, and he and his buddies would have thought they'd died and gone to Stupid Rodent Heaven. As it was, he contented himself with sitting back down on the stump with his shiny hunk of metal and trying to gnaw some of the stuck seeds out of it.

THEN, Squirrel Buddy #2 decided if it was so danged easy, he'd get in on the act as well. We have another feeder that doesn't have a nearby convenient stump, so Sparky decided he'd climb up the post. Except, instead of being a slightly rough and rusty square rod like the other feeder, the one he was attempting was round, and has a nice slick coat of paint, and, as I mentioned, it was raining.

He made several valiant efforts to get up it, and finally managed to get all the way to the top where it rounds over to the hook that holds the feeder. And then slid, head downward, slowly all the way back down to the ground when he couldn't keep his toehold on the rain-slicked pole. I had to laugh. "Take THAT you miserable pile of fur!" and I shook my fist at him like this ::shakes fist::

Catherine thought this was all quite hilarious, as well as when they got startled by all of my fist-shaking and chased each other up the maple tree.

Anyway, I think I need to move one of my feeders over a bit.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:49 AM | Comments (8)

July 13, 2005

Not just Tuesday…

SUPER MORON TUESDAY!

Whatever do I mean? You might not want to know. But it involves a trip to the junkyard, so it’s bound to be interesting. Or not. (This will be long, so if the screen cuts off before you get to the end, remember to press the F11 key twice to make it display properly. More or less.)

ANYway, quitting time finally arrived yesterday and I had some big moron stuff to do, the main one being that Reba had put some steaks in the refrigerator to marinate overnight so I could cook them on the grille, but I told her I wanted to clean it up and get a new grate and some new rocks before I did any cooking, so this was going to entail a trip to--where else?!--Wal-Mart on the way home to get the requisite items.

BUT! Knowing that this sidetrip on the way home would add some extra time, and knowing that I was already going to be a bit later than usual, I figured that this would provide the PERFECT opportunity for increased moronicity in the form of a trip by the Pull-A-Part. Why?

WELL FRIENDS, you see, the lovely Volvo in my driveway is mostly complete, with the exception of a few niggledy bits of minor consequence. One of these bits happens to be a tiny black rubber cushion/bumper/snubber/spacer deal. Hold up your thumb--no, really--hold up your thumb. Okay, now imagine that from the joint to the tip is constructed of somewhat soft black rubber. That right there is about the size and shape of this elusive part. It also has a narrow but deep spiral groove molded into it, as if it can be screwed into a hole. Which is EXACTLY what it does!

See, under the lip of the trunk lid, there’s supposed to be TWO of these little teats that fit into two small holes, and they serve the purpose of keeping the trunk lid at the proper gap, and I suppose they help soften the closing of the trunk to keep it from being all slammy. There was one on the right side, but not one in the corresponding hole on the left side.

And this bothered me.

Why?

Because, I Am A Moron.

After I noticed it was missing, it just stood out like a sore black rubber thumb. Or didn’t, since it wasn’t there.

So, I’ve been keeping an eye on Ebay for these silly things, which are apparently more scarce than discussions of Hegel at Britney Spears’ house. I found a Volvo parts place on the Internet and had some correspondence back and forth with them, but the woman seemed very put out that she kept having to use that dagnabbed computer-thang to talk to me, and it took forever to get an answer from her, and in the end, it just wasn’t worth the hassle. I figured I would eventually find one.

Which made me think I ought to at least call a few junkyards around town, since we have more, and bigger, junkyards than anyone in the world. The first place I thought of was Pull-A-Part, whom I wrote of in the distant past for their stupid (and quickly pulled off the air) television commercial with the comely girl suggestively touting her nice tailpipe and headlights. (It’s the post that prompted one of the Jon Stewart Show producers to e-mail me about doing an interview, which I didn’t do.)

Whatever--the reason I decided to check them out is that they have a handy website where you can check inventory yourself to see what kinds of cars they have on their lot, and when I checked I found they had tons (literally and figuratively and relatively) of wrecked Swede bricks for picking over. Surely to goodness, there must be one little rubber squishy bump in there!

AND HERE WAS THE PERFECT TIME TO FIND OUT!

I did a bit of checking, and found out the concept behind this place is that they charge a nominal admission fee of $1 to go in the yard, and they charge one price for each part, regardless of make or model, and they rotate stock regularly. Once a car’s been on the lot for a certain amount of time, it gets sent to the shredder.

Now, the various news blurbs about the place emphasized that the management was intent on making it neat and clean, and with the cars being easily accessible, but having spent countless hours of my youth poring through our regular junkyards looking for AMC parts, I couldn’t see how it would be that much different from any other junkyard.

Little did I know!

I left work and went through the normal bad parts of town and arrived to a nice clean parking lot surrounded by a tall white metal fence, with a tidy building at the back. Hmm. Parked and walked in, and it looked more or less like a car dealer’s service area--bright and clean, with a waiting area and vending machines, and a counter with several computers, one of which was staffed by a desperately haggard-looking woman with her head on her hands. I walked up--wearing my nice shoes and slacks and white oxford cloth shirt and tie--and she continued to eyeball me with a look of unbelief, chin still firmly collapsed onto her hand.

“I can’t BELIEVE you came to a JUNKYARD dressed like THAT!”

“Well, I only need one little part, and I don’t think I’ll get dirty getting it!”

She sighed and sat up--“What kinda car?”

“86 Volvo 240.”

“Got one on row 20--straight out the door and to the right. You have a good afternoon.”

She slid me a receipt that had the car and row printed on it, along with several other years--the same list I’d printed off from their website earlier. “Yes, ma’am!”

I walked up to the next counter, where a guy stamped my hand and I paid my dollar. Well now, let’s see what this junkyard looks like!

Again--quite fascinating. Being used, as I have been, to piles of rust and jumbles of tangled metal, this was quite a departure. The cars were indeed in nice long straight rows, some up on blocks, some on stacked rims, but each one by itself, with sufficient elbow room all around, like a parking lot. No stray parts out in the driveways, no ponds full of mosquitoes, no rats or snakes scampering or slithering about, no cars piled ten high. And the driveways were nice and hard--no sucking pools of oily mud. Niiiiiiice!

Found the Volvo graveyard and started looking--at ALL of them. They had quite a selection of newer and older ones, although I was most shocked to see a rusting hulk of an P1800 in the mix. Walked up and down several rows--some models didn’t have the rubber spuffet I was looking for, but I didn’t know which, so I had to eyeball them all, as well as look and see if I could find some other stuff I might want. Saaaaay--nice rims! OOoooh--a fuse box cover! Hmmmmm--maybe a lighter with the painted cigarette still intact…

FINALLY, found some variant of some year of 240 that had a happy little black dingus sticking down out of the trunk lip--unscrewed it and stuck it in my pocket. From what I can tell from my research on other folks who shop at these places--tiny stuff like this isn’t free, but everyone, including the management, figures that the buck you pay to get in should pretty much cover one or two such small bits.

I kept looking a bit, even though it was getting past time to go, mainly because there’s all sorts of cool stuff in there I might want to go back and look at when I don’t have on dress clothes. Still, despite the fun of exploring, there really are few things sadder than a junkyard. You figure every one of those hunks of metal were at one time someone’s proud possession, and now, they just sit there and molder. Full of their own leavings, and then other junk from other cars that gets thrown in as well--I saw a speedometer in the trunk of one car, even though it still had one in the dash. Someone’d had just decided not to get it, and tossed it in the first available Volvo. They’re just things, but you still wonder about their stories.

Well, no time for philosophy---time to head to the store. Walked back out and stopped to ask how much hubcaps cost--there were a couple of nice ones of the older style in there that were pretty nice--“Three-oh-three, or three-oh-six or so, something like that.” Odd that they wouldn’t round down to even dollars, but I guess they make their money on the pennies.

OFF TO WALLYWORLD! Or, as I like to call it, Moron Project, Part Two.

Got there and went to the grille section and was MIGHTILY disappointed. I guess they’ve started clearing stuff out, but they didn’t have the type of grate I wanted. Got one that has flat bars, which is supposed to leave those tasty wide marks on the meat. The wider the tastier, apparently. Also got one of the little tent-shaped sheetmetal deals that fits over the burner--a Flavorizer or some-such, and a couple of bags of lava rocks. And the grate I didn’t really want.

Paid, and then decided I owed it to myself to check K-Mart, just in case they had something more in tune with what I was looking for. Nope. In fact, they barely had anything at all--a few brushes, some covers, and that was it. I tell you, the place looks doomed. Maybe I could open an indoor Volvo junkyard in it when they finally go out of business.

On toward home, under an increasingly cloudy and--yep--starting to drip--sky. ::sigh::

Maybe I’ll be able to beat the rain.

Parked, opened up the trunk lid of the Volvo, screwed in my little rubber thumbtip, opened and closed trunk and patted myself on the back. Came inside, greeted happy wife and children, changed clothes into something more appropriate for both junkyard and grille-rebuilding duties, came back downstairs and…

RrrrmblermblerbleBOOM! Rain. Buckets of rain.

Reba went ahead and put the steaks in the oven--in a dish, on bake--NO BROILING PAN!--and I stood there and looked out the window like a sad little moron.

WAIT! What’s THIS!? It’s stopping! Hooray!

Ran out after it had quit, and started cleaning out all the old ceramic bricks and scale and char and then grabbed the scraper brush and went to work on the sides of the bottom part. Got the hose out to rinse it out, and….

More rain. ::sigh::

Went back in, waited. HEY! IT’S STOPPING! AND, there was a DOUBLE RAINBOW! Which was nice.

Finished scraping the case out and rinsing it, put in the new Sharp-edged Hunk of Metal, the pumice, and sat the new grate on the--oh, crap. Dingdernit all. The new grate is about three inches shorter than the one it replaced. Well--I have the OLD old set of wires, I COULD put that on there, and…

Nah, the heck with that--I had too much effort into this thing to be defeated. Placed them on there, called for my Giant Lighter of Flaming Death, turned on the gas, struck the spark and POOF! FIRE! By which time, Reba had decided we needed to go ahead and actually finish the meat by using the broiling pan.

I told her I would cook the other two steaks, since I had finally gotten the grille cleaned and hot. She said okay. I was really only doing that to keep her from smoking up the house. Which, of course, she did. I was standing there tending my meat when I heard the telltale EEPEEPEEPEEPEEPEEP of the smoke alarm going off inside the house. Rebecca came to the door to get me. “Mama wants you, Daddy!” Stuck my head in--“The smoke alarm went off!”

Yes, I know!

“Well, it’s okay--the others are about done now.” Which was true only in the most relative of terms, but it kept me from saying anything about her continued insistence on using the broiler pan and then acting surprised when the smoke alarm goes off.

Eventually, supper really was done, so we ate it and got finished at the highly reasonable time of NINE PEE EM. Which might be fine for all you urbane city dwellers up there in New York or Chicago, but to a rube like me is WAY too late to be eating supper.

But, at least my two Super Moron Projects DID get done, so I suppose that’s something.

Now then--back to work for me. My first meeting lasted nearly 2 1/2 hours, but thankfully I was able to sweet-talk my way out of the second so I could actually do some actual work. Actually. And I still have some to do, and then I have to leave early because today is DENTIST APPOINTMENT DAY! With CATHERINE and me.

It promises to be quite entertaining.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:13 PM | Comments (6)

July 12, 2005

You know the bad thing about being on vacation last week?

THIS week is when I have to get up early tomorrow and be at our fun and exciting off-campus 7:30 a.m. meeting which I have to be at by 7:00 a.m., THAT's what!

Blech.

Anyway, this also means that Possumblog, which is only just now getting back into the swing of things, will again turn silent tomorrow as I scurry about doing Important Things. To make it worse, when I get back from THAT meeting, I will go directly into ANOTHER meeting with a bunch of planning and zoning type people that is scheduled to last an hour and a half.

I tell you what--rat-catching sure does get to sounding pretty good sometimes...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:16 PM | Comments (2)

Where DOES the time go!?

Work, that's where! Silly buncha stuff, too. I really think I'm past due for a career change for something more stimulating and useful and fun and remunerative, like becoming a rhinocerous boil lancer, or a bat guano sorter, or a service station doorknob licker, or an anvil substitute, or an [redacted Ed.], or a nose hair model, or a scab crustiness assessor, or a rat herder, or a politician--well, okay--not the last one.

Anyway, I suppose even those glamorous professions have their downsides as well.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:53 PM | Comments (7)

Suitable

One of the things I forgot to mention yesterday (having obviously had my memory fogged by seeing one too many old, mullet-wigged, hot-pantsed, exposed-chested men at the mall) was my stop by the suit store on Saturday.

I've been wearing the same suit for a while, and although it's served me well, it really is time for something newer so I can move Ol' Gray onto the injured reserve list. So, I stopped in at the Big'n'Tall place with two kids in tow, which, believe it or not, is not the best way to buy a suit. Nor, it seems, is it a good idea to show up in a pair of jeans and boat shoes.

I was latched onto by a salesman (who himself was neither big, nor tall, which should have been a warning right there) who directed me to the selection of suits in my huskiness quotient.

Tried one on, it fit okay, although a little too far off the shoulders--but they have free alterations, so that's not a big concern--then I looked at a couple of others. I noticed one garish gangster-pinstriped number on another rack and said something offhand about it looking like a garish gangster suit. "Oh, sir--those are VERY popular!"

"Well, I guess it takes all sorts, eh?"

"Oh, no--you see a lot of sportscasters on television and athletes wearing that suit!"

"Good. That means I know who to laugh at." He seemed hurt that I wasn't impressed by the quality of people who wear clown suits.

Went back to looking through the somewhat meager selection and found another nice navy blue with a narrow chalkstripe. Next to it was another one with a slightly different looking stripe. "Those are the same suit--one's cut with an athletic cut, and the other's a regular cut."

"Oh, well, I guess that's why the stripes are different."

"No, they're the same suit, just cut different."

I looked again--nope, junior--one's wider and fainter.

"Hmm. They sure LOOK like different pinstriping..."

"Well, it could have come from two different bolts of cloth."

Yes, indeed. THUS EXPLAINING THE DIFFERENCE. Anyway. Picked out the regular one and tried it on--same sort of upper arm/shoulder bagginess, with a bit of a roll along the top of my back. It sorta fit, but not quite, right off the rack. I stood there in the mirror and mentioned the roll, upon which he grabbed the back and shucked it down a bit to force the roll down, and then smoothed the shoulders out so they drooped more dramatically. "There!"

Okay--look--I KNOW how suits are supposed to fit, even if I happened to have come in looking rather low class in my Wal-Mart denims. I have a nice suit I bought at the same store that fits. It's NOT SUPPOSED TO SAG OFF THE SHOULDER! ::sigh::

Looked at the pants--"Are these plain front?"

"No--we'd have to order those."

"Well, we'll have to do that, then, because that's one thing I can't stand--pleats make fat guys look even fatter."

"Oh, no sir--it's really just the opposite. They make you look slimmer."

He went on and on, but aside from the fact that he is DEAD WRONG, I had to ask myself whatever happened to the idea that "the customer is always right," especially when it comes to a matter of personal opinion about what he thinks looks best on his own body!?

Let's clear something up--I have TRIED ON pants with pleats, and they made me look like Fred Mertz. I have not just stumbled by accident upon the idea that plain front, uncuffed pants look better on me--I KNOW IT FOR A FACT BECAUSE I CAN LOOK IN A MIRROR.

So, the best thing a salesman could do would be to say, "Be glad to order them for you--I have some men who love them, and some who don't--but we want you to be happy with how you look." Is that so hard? Why give a man grief because you have to take a bit of extra effort to pick up the phone and get a pair of plain pants? Why stand there and continue to try to tug the folds out of a coat instead of letting it hang naturally and see where it needs to be altered? It's not like YOU are the one having to do the sewing, is it?

Obviously, I'm still somewhat miffed by the whole exercise. I gathered up the kids and told the guy I'd have to come back later when I could spare the time to get it fitted, and I will go back--I do need a suit, after all, and I did get some cash from the in-laws for my birthday--but I can guarantee you who won't be my salesman.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:45 AM | Comments (2)

July 11, 2005

And now?

Well, it's time to go now! And I still haven't told you the most recent sad tale of a certain local morning news program, and of a certain anchorperson who will be demoted to health reporting in order to make room for a replacement with a rather interesting past.

Oh, well--there's always tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 05:00 PM | Comments (3)

Vacation Week!

The 4th we went over to Reba's mom and dad's for lunch, and we did laundry, and then Cat and I went outside at dark and watched the freelance pyrotechnics of the neighbors. VERY pretty! Then, the next couple of days were spent with me hauling Oldest over to the church building each day so she and the rest of the teenagers could help paint the house of one of the little old people at church. I wish she was that energetic about doing stuff at home. And yes, she got paint all over herself, because they tend to think such exercises are an excuse to act like a bunch of idiots. On second thought, maybe I'm glad she doesn't want to help around the house.

Tuesday, I got out and cut grass in the very hottest part of the day because I am very stupid and because the grass was bushier than Andy Rooney's eyebrows, and Tuesday afternoon we were due to have Tropical Storm Cindy dumping more buckets of rain on us. So, that had to be done. But not before yet another piece of sheetmetal came unconnected from underneath the lawnmower, and not before I had to ONCE MORE fidget with washer and bolts to make sure the blade would stay bolted on tight. Finally got it going right and the rest of the process was uneventful. Aside from running over a big plastic bag full of dog poop hidden in the high grass of the front yard. I'm not sure if this was a bag that got ingested then deposited in the grass, or a dog-walking neighbor was just being neat by throwing their pickup into my yard instead of carrying it home with them. I tell you, stuff like that just RUINS the grass-cutting experience.

Wednesday evening, the second set of classes for the new quarter at church, and once again, astoundingly, everyone was in place and ready to go. AMAZING!

Thursday evening, building committee meeting, in which several of the members sat around jabbering and asking me the same questions they've been asking all along. Did decide on whom to interview and when.

Friday morning, realized the power bill was due Friday morning, and also needed to get other bills in the mail immediately, so I got the kids together and we drove downtown to pay the power bill and then went by the main post office. It's always fun to take the kids into the city--they don't get to see it enough, and it always makes me think of how it must look to them--all movement and traffic and people and tall buildings. Then back out to the burbs with a stop at the Chinese buffet joint. Just had a hankering, you know? Despite the fact that we were supposed to meet my mom and sister Saturday for Chinese food for my birthday celebration.

And then, in one of those very strange coincidences, it got to be Saturday. And Reba gave my my birthday present. Quite inexplicable, too, but she'd purchased for me Ralph Sawyer's translation of Sun Tzu's The Art of War. Inexplicable, because although I have read the book before, I'd never mentioned that I'd like to have another copy (I have a small paperback copy), and it's not one of those books that's out there where your average shopper can find it. You have to look for it. Seems she'd seen a reference to it in some of her business classwork, and thought I'd enjoy it.

Indeed I do! Because this Sawyer guy seems to have it going on as far as knowing the background of the book and its various companion works and the history of China. So far, just the introduction is fascinating, and Sawyer's writing ability is very good. Tight, readable, informative, and not jargony or overly pedantic. Very nice. And goes right well with Kung Pao chicken!

Met my mom and sister over at Hunan Garden in Hoover, admired Mama's new hot rod, had lunch, and got more presents in the form of a hat from the Infiniti dealership, four dress shirts, two ties, and two pairs of socks. And a big box of leftover kung pao.

And then, time for some SHOPPING! Not for me, though. Reba needed a dress for church and/or work. Home to drop off the food, then turned around and went RIGHT BACK TO WHERE WE'D BEEN. Making that the most extravagantly expensive half-full styrofoam carton of Chinese food in the entire state of Alabama.

I dropped her and the two older girls at Parisian, and I took the younger two with me on a tour of the Galleria. Stopped at every store, including one that had the very stupid Buck, the Singing Talking Deer Head. Catherine saw it through the window and dragged me and Jonathan into the place, where she stood transfixed with glee as it sang "Sweet Home, Alabama" to us.

I was even more shocked by something else in the store.

As we stood there listening the fake deer head talk, I happened to look over at the counter in the middle of the store, and was met by the sight of a grown "man," who just happened to be wearing a pair of white satin hot pants similar to those worn by various NFL cheerleading squads. He also had on a carefully trimmed bright red tee-shirt that had a lovely scooped back and arm area, and as I was to find out later, tauntingly exposed his man-aries. To top this all off, he had a long, curly mullet. To top THIS off, when he turned his head slightly to the side, I could see that on the top of his head in front was a carefully applied hairpiece. To top THIS off, the fellow was probably pushing sixty, although he had the perpetually-surprised look of the old-guy eye lift. AND, to TOP THIS OFF COMPLETELY, he was with some old peroxide blonde battle-axe.

I quickly shooed the children out of the store before the zany deer head could start singing David Lee Roth's version of "Just a Gigolo."

The rest of the tour of the retail complex was notably free of any additional excitement. Aside from the merry-go-round ride. And visiting the Build A Bear Workshop.

Home (with a dress for Miss Reba that somehow managed to turn into six or seven different oufits and only cost $410--Happy Birthday, Terry!), baths for the kids, then to bed with them all, then up Sunday to go to church and await Hurricane Dennis. Which, although the news says caused $5 billion worth of damage, wasn't nearly so bad as people thought it would be. Including my sister, who had brought all of her cats and all of her frozen food to Birmingham with her.

We didn't have church last night, so we spent a lazy afternoon at home, where I got to read the paper and my AutoWeek and my new copy of The Art of War and watch the local television stations Dopplerate themselves into a furious twist of cyclonic activity as they measured millimeter by millimeter the approach of the storm.

And today, here I am again, having to put up with stupid work. Blech.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:56 PM | Comments (2)

New Quarter?

Yep, time for summer quarter classes at church. It was worrisome this time, because we still didn't have all of our material in, and I was still having teachers coming up to me saying "am I supposed to teach?" and it was a holiday weekend and I didn't know if we were going to be overrun with visitors and underrun with vacationing teachers.

As is usually the case, much worry for no reason. Everyone was in place and ready to go. Except for me, who had to spend the class period in the copy room making copies of the results from the building addition survey I'd handed out back in April. We're about to hire an architect this month, and I had neglected to get out the results of the survey (and the program we developed from it) so people would know what's going on. Several keep asking why it's not built yet, I suppose figuring it should be no different than putting up an aluminum carport. Add to this the insistence from one of our committee members that we give people a picture of the new addition. Which is rather hard to do without having designed anything or hired an architect. Which, in the end, meant that I'd have to sketch something up that will turn out in the end to look NOTHING like what gets built. Oh well.

Made my copies, then class broke up, then we had worship, then we went home, then Reba went somewhere while I tried to whip up a big sketch. I'm not sure where she went--I think the craft store--because she kept talking to me while I was drawing. For those who do this kind of stuff, you know how it is when you get into the zone--hours can pass, disasters can happen, but you're blissfully unaware of what's going on.

Anyway, I cobbled together a sketch with pretty growies and cars and kitties and puppies and balloons and stuff. Turned out looking pretty good, if I do say so myself. Reba got back, then it was time to turn around and head back up to church for a meeting, which was actually an hour later than what she said it would be, but I didn't dare say anything about it for fear that she might have learned all sorts of Hollywood martial arts at the movie. Waited, then my meeting, where I showed of my handiwork and noted that all the teachers had shown up that morning. Hooray!

Then worship, then afterwards I told everyone to pick up the survey results and read them over and see what the building committee had come up with as a program, which will result in a building looking something like....THIS! At which time I whipped out the drawing and did a quick D&PS (dog and pony show), and told them to expect the actual building addition to look nothing like what I'd just shown them.

Then, home, supper, and time to get ready for the 4th, which started one long week of not-quite-clear-in-my-memory fun at home. NEXT: Fun at home.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:59 PM | Comments (0)

And then we woke up!

No noisy television, no fussing offspring. Ahhhh.

First task was to go sell Moby. I’d taken him about three weeks ago to Carmax, and they’d given me a ridiculously insulting offer of only $1200, which, after about three weeks of no interest, had begun to look pretty good--especially considering that insurance was due on it. I’d talked to the guy I had dealt with before, and he noncommittally said to bring it back, even though it was beyond the seven day, guaranteed price threshold.

I knew they weren’t going to offer as much, but you know, three weeks is only three weeks, so how much less could it be!? I got the title and spare keys together and ran out to remove the tag and off we went, with Reba following along in the Focus. Got there and was told my guy was running late. I said I’d wait, but no sooner had the words left my mouth than a nice young man with gang tattoos running all over his body stopped by to say that he was the buddy of the running-late guy, and he’d be happy to work with me.

Or work me over, as the case may be.

Obviously, the previous price was not good now. “Let’s just throw that one in the garbage.” M’kay.

They did the same thing as before, and came back with a price of SEVEN HUNDRED FIFTY DOLLARS! Well, I figured they’d be punitive for my having scorned their original offer, but gee whiz, you’d think I’d said bad things about his tattoos or somethin’! Well, I just said we couldn’t do that and got up to leave, upon which he became very defensive. “Well, it’s been a MONTH and we can’t let YOU come and get the original price or we’d have EVERYONE doing the same thing and…”

“It’s okay. I understand. Don’t worry about it.”

”YOU KNOW, prices change EVERY DAY! And we have to go with what our BUYER says!”

“I know. It’s okay. But if that’s all it’s worth I might as well just keep it.”

He followed us out, being all defensive and everything the entire way. Apparently, they get a lot of people who come by and are dissatisfied with the price they give, and just can’t believe that no matter what their kind and genial public relations department says, deep down they are just a bunch of thieving car salesmen. Imagine!

ANYway, so Moby remains in the family for a while longer. He’s still for sale, but he’s too good to give away. Unless I can take him off on my taxes. In which case he might go to the charity place. The ad’s still running, though, so if anyone can come up with some cash, he’s yours.

Home then to drop him off, and then off to have some lunch (I wish I could remember where, because it was good) and then we stopped back by the antique store in Trussville.

Quite an odd place--it was a nursing home. A couple of ladies bought the place and turned it into an antiques mall with a café. Reba’s been in there before, but I’ve always been resistant to the idea because I figured it would still smell like a nursing home. BUT, since we didn’t have anything to do and since they have a little farmer’s market on Saturdays, we stopped in. First, bought some cukes and squash and 'maters, then went inside.

Well, I was impressed, and that’s hard to do. It didn’t smell bad at all, and was nice and relatively clean, and HUGE. It’s very deceiving from the outside, but this place is big. The wares were okay as well. It’s not the fine antiques sort of place, but it’s not pawed-over junk, either. Mostly. A wide selection of stuff, including several paper ephemera dealers. I love looking at old magazines and ads. Picked up a LOOK from 1972--hey, platform shoes are groovy, man! We stayed there forever looking at stuff, although we didn’t get anything--the house is already full of stuff that belongs in a lower-line suburban antiques mall.

On to get the kids, then back home to get ready for SUNDAY!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:33 PM | Comments (3)

Well, that junk’s STILL not all done.

I’ve got four or five different phone calls out, waiting for people to call me back and let me know what the heck’s going on. And they (not the same they, another they) just now came upstairs and turned off the color copy function on the new copier we got the week before I went on vacation. Grr.

It seems we have a blabbermouth who just couldn’t keep it to herself that the new copier was able to run color copies, even after she’d been told to keep her big, loud, squawking, braying, constantly-running mouth shut about it. So, the smart people who don’t want us to be able to do anything without permission got wind that we had something we shouldn’t have, and dispatched a service guy to turn the pretty-colors part off. We waste millions giving away money to assorted lackeys, hangers-on, swindlers, and well-connected relatives, yet we have to ask permission to use a built-in function of a copier that will increase the cost per page by $.0001. ::sigh:: It’s times like this that I wish I was a lackey, hanger-on, swindler, or a well-connected relative.

ANYway, as I wait for my telephone calls to be returned, let’s have a quick Week In Review!

Friday, July 1: DATE NIGHT! No kids, no responsibilities! And not a whole lot of movies we just really wanted to see. We settled on Mr. and Mrs. Smith, not really expecting much, but it actually turned out to be pretty good. Aside from Reba having a sudden bout of popcorn-induced gastrointestinal distress about ten minutes into it. I waited and waited for her to come back and she never did, so I got up and found her standing on the ramp to the exit. She’d been standing there and running back and forth to the restroom, and had probably seen only about 13 1/2 minutes of the film. After I got there, I assume my calming presence allowed her to endure longer spells of standing and watching, so we stood there and watched.

Movie Review Time! As you know, I don’t like to read reviews beforehand because it always damages my funtime, because I keep waiting for the parts I’d read about. I had heard a little about this one, though, most of which said it was actually pretty good. I concur. It’s a very stylish looking fillum, although a little TOO stylish to be believable, even in the wacky spy genre of films. Lots of secret compartments and stuff that are just too twee and precious to work in real life, not to mention the whole plot of the movie that cast Billy Bob’s and Rachel’s exes as assassin/spies in competing government organizations.

But I have to say, Angelina Jolie was alright. She can do comedy pretty well, in addition to all the kicking and gunplay and junk. And that’s very hard for me to say, because I have long thought that she was quite the lunatic, and I really couldn’t make myself like her. But, I kinda weakened on this one--mainly because she has toned down the offscreen oddball act somewhat, and again, her comic touch was pretty deft. I still couldn’t think of her as her character, though--I just sat there thinking, “Hey, you know, that Angelina Jolie IS rather attractive in leather.”

Lots of shoot-em ups and car chases, the only problem I had with them being that I don’t like it when you can’t tell who the good guys are. I am supposed to believe that two good-guy competing spy agencies are duking it out, which means good guys are shooting at good guys, and frankly, that’s just not The Cowboy Way. True Lies, a similar sort of oddball wacky hidden-identity spy caper, did this much better--the bad guys were swarthy turbaned ululators with a stolen nuke. THEY had it comin’.

Other pet peeves? 1) Can we PLEASE quit climbing through air ducts and sewer pipes!? THEY DON’T WORK LIKE THAT! You can’t just go from one to the other, and by the time a duct gets to a room, it’s only about 10 inches in diameter. Sewer pipes have S-traps on them, and again, your toidy isn’t connected to the street with a 36 inch tube.

2) Infinite bullet supplies. And the idea that highly trained soldiers manage to miss everything but the bulletproof vest.

3) Wire-fu. It just looks weird for people to be able to suspend themselves in air longer than the laws of gravity allow. Unless you’re Wile E. Coyote, and you’ve just run off a cliff, in which case it’s humorous, especially when you have a little sign that says “Help.”

Overall, despite my peevishness, I’d have to give it a 3 out of 5 Curly Possum Tails. The married spy schtick and the rest of the writing was pretty funny, and the scenery and stunts were well done. On the other hand, I wouldn’t be all weepy if I never got to see it.

Afterwards, we went home and went to bed. And then, there was SATURDAY MORNING!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:38 PM | Comments (4)

Hello again, America (and other places, too)--

From the windswept heights of Talladega Hill, to the roiling depths of Pinchgut Creek, I once again come to you with ripping good yarns of excitement and danger! And assorted games of "Go Fish"! And lawnmower repair!

Yes, it's all just as good as it sounds--BUT.

In my absence from work, the ignoramuses nice smart people with whom I work continued to pile things to be processed on my desk and stuff them in my inbox. Why? I don't know. They KNEW I was on vacation, and there IS my pseudointellectual cowoker in the office right next door. BUT NO! Let's just keep cramming rolls of drawings and permit applications in Terry's inbox, because we don't have the capacity to figure out that they still need to be acted upon by SOMEONE, even when he's NOT here.

::sigh:: Yes, I am royally peeved. Not because it makes work for me, but because it's not fair to the people who pay our salaries to have this junk lying around waiting, when it could have been done by another staff member.

ANYWAY, instead of regaling you with tales of gales, I've got a buttload of work to do this morning. When I finally do get free of it, I'll have to give you the Cliff's Notes version of the preceding week, mainly because my brain is all mushy.

SO, check back in later, and you'll hear about Date Night, Angelina Jolie, Van Unselling, Antique Shopping, New Quarter, Voluntary Servitude, Housecleaning, Lawn Mower Repair Redux, Tropical Storm Cindy, Wal-Mart Emergency Run, New Quarter Part II, Room Cleaning, The Building Committee Meeting, Post Office/Alabama Power Bill Paying/Chinese Buffet Day, It's My BIRTHDAY!, The Galleria, and DENNIS!

It was a long week.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:12 AM | Comments (12)

July 01, 2005

It's been some more sort of week, hasn't it?

Yep, I'd say so.

I'm going to go ahead and wrap up the blather for now and bid you all a wonderful weekend, and a super Independence Day. As I will be on vacation next week, there will not be any of the yawn-inducing spectacle that we normally produce around here, but there is still plenty to do out there in the ether. There's always the Time Cube, you know. That could keep you tied up for a while.

Anyway, I will be back on the 11th, and "all signs point to yes" of a story or two at that time.

Have a good week, and stay safe while I'm gone.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:35 PM | Comments (10)

And the rest of the evening?

Well, after getting her changed back into dry clothes, and after a couple of hymns, we chatted a bit and Oldest asked her grandparents if she could go ahead and go home with them, since she'd gone ahead and brought her clothes with her. They happily agreed, and then everyone kept talking. I gently started trying to shoo everyone out of the building by turning off various banks of lights--after all, we also still had to get a certain Boy to his sleepover sometime before everyone went to sleep.

I very nearly had the lights down to the level of a weak birthday candle before everyone got out of the auditorium, but everyone managed to find their way out to the cars. And in some sort of odd coincidence, we suddenly found ourselves in the middle of a torrential downpour. Thankfully, no bugs.

On to the sleepover, then. Found the place, even in the dark and in the deluge. It was back up on a road I'd never knew existed, but we managed to find it right off. And by that time, the rain had gone on, so we didn't have to get soaked getting him in the door.

The other boys were glad to see him and they ran off and started whooping and hollering and I told the friend's mom (whom I still couldn't quite place) that I'd be back for him bright and early this morning. Why so early?

Because in a stunningly successful strategic move, Reba got her mom and dad to agree to let the three younger kids spend the night tonight! 1) so we could go ON A DATE!, and 2) so we could go with my mom tomorrow so she could take her old car to be sold, and go pick up her new car. AND, we're going to go ahead and take ol' Moby with us tomorrow as well and let him go, too. I figured we needed to go ahead and sell, or else we'd have to shell out bucks again for insurance.

Got Boy this morning--he was ready to go when I got there at 6:45. Friend's Mom said he was up when she got up. Apparently there wasn't much in the way of sleep last night, at least for the other boys, who were still unconscious in a pile on the den floor. Jonathan, however, seems to not care for such shenanigans, and went to bed and to sleep right off. He's kinda like me--when it's time for bed, it's time for bed.

ANYway--did I mention I get to go on A DATE TONIGHT?!

Well, I do!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:45 AM | Comments (2)

Well, how about that.

Quite a busy night last night, let me tell you.

Boy had been invited to a sleepover/birthday party with one of his friends from school, which has required lots of behind-the-scenes activity. First, trying to remember who this kid is (Jonathan found a picture of him from soccer--"Oh, that kid!"), then the purchase of a gift (MegaMan), the packing of a bag with clothes, digging out the sleeping bag, calling the parents to find out how to get to their house, confirming the time and date (Thursday, after all, is an odd night for a sleepover, but they were going out of town this weekend), and a variety of other small stuff to get prepared.

The gift was gotten after Bible study Wednesday night at Wal-Mart (which is where we ought to start having church since we see everyone there anyway), then he got all of his clothes and stuff together yesterday morning.

Last evening, I came in and did the gift "wrapping" (in quotes, because it consisted of wrapping some tissue around MegaMan and stuffing him in a Happy Birthday bag), and sat to wait for Reba to get there with the kids.

Went ahead and got some chicken out for supper and put it in the microwave so we could start it as soon as they got home.

Read the mail.

Watched the news.

Played with the new gyroscope because I couldn't resist.

Waited some more. They sure are taking a long time.

FINALLY, they got home, Boy ran upstairs to take a bath, I showed everyone how the gyroscope can balance on a pencil, and rotate on a loop of string, and balance on a pencil. COOL! While all this was going on, with all the attendent noise, Reba said she had something to ask, and for some reason she was beyond serious.

"WHAT!? What's wrong!?"--fearing the worst, because of her odd demeanor. Basically, nothing--Ashley was wanting to go ahead and go spend a day or two with her other set of grandparents over the weekend since she probably wouldn't get any more time later on in the summer, and they get a bit tetchy if she doesn't spend some time there, so she wanted to go ahead now since she wasn't going to have to be at the library today or anything. "That's IT!?" I don't know why they thought I might balk, but it was okay by me. Maybe because it's a holiday weekend or something? Who knows!?

Girls, you know.

ANYway, the idea was that she could go over there today--Reba would take her, then go on to work. SO, she set about getting her stuff ready to go for tomorrow, while Boy finished up his bath. In amongst this, Reba decided to remind Oldest of the proper way to act when she went over--sometimes teenagers do have this problem of acting a bit snotty around grandparents, you know. REALLY! I mean, I've never seen such a thing, but I'm SURE it must happen. ::choke::cough:: Reba went upstairs and reminded her to be nice, and be polite, and not be sarcastic and rude, and told her to understand that when they go to church on Sunday, remember that Other Grandmom doesn't understand how uncomfortable it makes her when O.G. starts asking her when she's going to get baptized.

Ashley has been struggling with this for a while--she's wanted to become a Christian, but she knows a couple of things. It would require that she start acting the way she knows she's supposed to, and it would require an admission on her part that she's been wrong. She has always been the type who would argue a redwood into a stump before ever admitting she has ever been wrong about anything.

Then there has been her resistance to submitting to Christ because she sees so many other kids who did it just to fit in, or to satisfy their parents, and who then don't act any better than they did before--mean and spiteful and self-righteous--and who look down on her because she hasn't done things exactly like them. She's never liked that sort of petty hypocrisy, and I don't blame her. But, as we've told her before, you can't let the actions of others condemn you. You have to do right, even if they don't. And you have to do right for the right reasons--it's a conscious decision and not something you just back into.

And then, there's that familial pressure. We've always had good communication about it with her, telling her that it's her decision to make, not ours. It's important, and we wanted it for her, but she has to come to understand the importance of what she was doing on her own terms, and understand that once you've set your hand to the plow, there's no looking back. But, some relatives want 'em dunked as soon as possible, no matter what. That's pressure that's hard to deal with, especially when she's got so much other teenagery stuff going on. But, Reba just told her to understand that they don't mean her any distress, it's just the way they are.

After Reba came back downstairs and filled me in on their chat, Boy bounced down with his sleeping bag and began busily signing his SpongBob foldout card, and Reba, almost jokingly, said she wondered if she mentioned to Oldest that she could go ahead and be baptized before she spent the weekend, she could avoid the lectures. "Well, don't put it like that--that's not the reason she should be doing it--but, ask anyway, you never can tell what she might be thinking."

Indeed not.

Reba came back downstairs and said Ashley didn't want to wait anymore, and that fully understood the reasons behind her decision. And it wasn't just to get out of another lecture.

Well. Well, I'll be.

Looks like the birthday sleepover is going to have to wait just a bit. Called them to let them know we were going to be a bit late, then called Reba's mom and dad to get them to come to the building, then Oldest's grandparents, and my mom (who wasn't able to make it), and then asked if she wanted anyone from church to be there. Just our preacher and his wife--our youth minister was out doing a devotional and couldn't have come.

Got to the building and thanked the preacher for scooping up the bugs out of the water in the baptistery. Well, most of them, anyway. (We really need a pump and a filter to keep it clean.) Everyone had arrived by around 8, so I got Reba to go help Ashley into a robe (something sorta like a hospital gown, except not open in the back) and I got the preacher to help me on with the waders. I have thought a long time about this moment, and what it would be like, and what I would say. Needless to say, I forgot what I was going to say.

I helped her down into the water since she didn't have her glasses on--"What's that?"

"Bugs--they won't hurt you any."

"Eww. It's cold."

"It'll be okay, come on in."

I explained to her to put the towel over her nose, and once more that she didn't have to fall backwards or anything like that--she's terrified of putting her head under water, and we've been telling her if she just squats down she'd be fine--anyway, reminded her to squat, and then I looked at her, "Well, sugar, I know you've thought long and hard about this, and agonized over it. I'm proud of you for making this decision in your life, and it's a big one. I want you to realize, too, when you do this, you won't just be my daughter, you'll be my sister in Christ. That's special, because you know that the body fades, but the spirit lives on forever, and no matter whatever might happen from here on, we'll share that kinship. Now then, I just have one thing to ask you--do you believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God?"

"Yes, I do."

"Based on that confession, I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit for the remission of your sins."

She placed the towel over her nose, and I pushed her down under the chilly, buggy water and brought her back up.

I don't usually talk a lot about my faith in specific terms on here, mainly because so much of what I write is just silliness, and such silliness is not conducive to serious talk about serious matters. But, every once in a while, I beg your indulgence, and ask you to allow me a moment to rejoice with my daughter, and my new sister.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:15 AM | Comments (16)

June 30, 2005

Gyroscopes

Remember those? I had one when I was a kid--it was all part of that excitement about space and science back before the phrase "If we can put a man on the moon, you'd think we'd be able to [insert relatively simple task here]" was coined. Pretty cool toy. Then again, we didn't have GameCubes.

ANYway, the other day I had Jonathan and Catherine with me and we were at the grocery store and passed by the toy aisle. Of course, they had to stop and start looking at the wonderful world of cheap plasticware that China pumps out, and in that perusing, Boy found a gyroscope. He'd never seen one before--"Is it a top?"

"Well, kinda--you can make it balance on stuff, like on a string, and you can also use it as part of the guidance system on the ICBM you're building in your room." COOL!

Remembering my own hours of pleasure exploring rotational inertia, I figured a buck was worth spending. Got it home and found I wasn't quite right about that.

In the world of cheaply produced toys, this one is right up there as one of the worst. The cage around the flywheel is flexible, meaning one wrong tug of the toothed plastic pull handle (nope--no old-fashioned strings for this baby!) meant you were holding two unworkable parts in your hand instead of just one functioning gyroscope. Add to this the axle pivots that would sieze up without warning if you ever DID get is spinning, which would send the whole works skittering across the table. And that darned pull handle--pull it too hard, and it would just strip out of the teeth on the wheel. Pull it too soft, and the gyroscope wouldn't gyro OR scope.

But, even with those drawbacks, when we could get it working, it was quite the pleasing sight. The main problem being that Catherine was terribly hurt that she could never get it to work right. In a fit of ill-advised daddy-will-make-it-rightism, I promised her I would get her a gyroscope that she could use.

"WHEN!?"

"Uh, well, sometime. I'll have to find one."

In the intervening month, she has pestered me nearly every day about the status of her gyroscope purchase. "Sometime, Sugar--that is, unless you keep asking about it, in which case I might forget all about it."

"Don't worry, Daddy--I'll remind you!"

Yeah.

ANYway, while I was home yesterday, it occurred to me that I needed to fix supper, and it further occurred to me that we needed some meat for supper, and it further occurred to me that since I was going to have to go shopping anyway, and since I had a bit more time than usual, maybe I could take Cat with me and we could finally find her a suitable gyroscope.

She was quite pleased by this proposal.

AND THUS BEGINS THE QUEST FOR A SPINNING TOY.

First stop, down at the foot of the hill across from the hardware store, there's one of those places that sells school supplies and teaching things. It's called Teaching Things. We walked in and Cat ran off to go look at the bright shiny things, and the lady at the counter asked me if I needed some help.

"Yes, do you have gyroscopes?"

I knew from the blank look she had absolutely no idea what I was talking about.

"You know--the spinny thing kinda like a top?"

"Ohhh. Uhhmm. I don't think so." She asked another lady, "Do we have gyroscopes?"

"Uhhm, well, if we do, they might be over here." No. "Oh! Let's look in the catalog!" said one to the other, who agreed that this was a great idea.

First stop, science toys. Nope. "I don't suppose we have them then."

Not to be outdone, I asked, "Not even under the Gs?"

"OH, hadn't even thought about that!" She dutifully turned over to the G section and started at the top--you know "Giro--" I glanced at the bottom of the list and saw it wasn't on there, "G-Y-R--I don't think you have them, ma'am." She agreed.

Off to the next stop with Cat in tow--"Could we get something else not a gyroscope?" No. This is now a quest, and to settle for less would be an admission of defeat. Not gonna happen. "No, baby--we'll look around a bit more and find one. How about we go to Target?!"

She agreed. I thought I remembered them having a section of toys for those stylish parents who want their children to grow up to be very smart. Well, doggone it, how smart will they be if they don't have gyroscopes!? Not a single one anywhere. Not even one by Michael Graves.

"Can I get a kitty?"

"No, you've already got too many stuffed kitties. You don't have a gyroscope. Let's go one more place." I had a vague recollection of a small toy shop in one of the strip malls nearby, but it must have just been some sort of dream or something. "Hmm--well, let's go to Wal-Mart!"

Hooray for Wal-Mart! They have EVERYthing!

Except for gyroscopes. "Can I get this kitty, PLEEEEEEEASE? Please, Daddy? I'll be good!" "Put it on your Christmas list for Santa Claus--now, let's go get some meat for supper." Grr.

Does NObody have gyroscopes anymore?!

Oh, of course they do--you just have to know where to look. Although, if I'd been unsuccessful this time, I was just going to cave and buy her a stuffed kitty. My store of last recourse? Homewood Toy and Hobby Shop. One of those stores that have been around forever, and one in which I spent many hard-earned childhood dollars. Obviously, I had to look around at all the model kits before I actually got around to looking for the gyroscope. Ah, such memories. I used to have a huge collection of plastic models.

ANYway--things to do. I walked around toward the toy side of the shop and was met by a stunningly beautiful slim young brunette woman in jeans and a sleevless white tee-shirt (not that I noticed what she looked like or anything) who asked if she could help me find something. "Do you have gyroscopes?" Which, when removed from its context, sounds like it could be vaguely off-color. Without missing a beat, she knew exactly what I needed and grabbed one off the lower shelf and handed it to me. "Oh, and we also have Wheel-Os if you're looking for those." No, not today.

BUT, I finally had my treasure--a good old American made Tedco Gyroscope. Not quite as I remember them, though. I seem to recall that they were either chromed or had a high polish to them, but this one is dull metal, and you can see where the cage is welded together, and the flywheel is sort of a dull, tarnished brass color. But, it should work just fine.

Even if it's not a kitty.

Oh, and I went ahead and got one for Boy, too. No use having them fight over just one.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:35 PM | Comments (14)

Eliminating another possibility.

Thanks to all of you who asked about Miss Reba--she came through her violatio--procedure just fine yesterday. The doctor didn't see anything out of the ordinary, so we're still at a loss for a physiological explanation for her constant distress. Which gets us back to it being stress-induced. Which is very difficult to fix. It's not one of those things where you can just say, "Well, stop being stressed out by idiots because life's too short to go around like this." I mean, you CAN say it, but until she decides to change her outlook, talking doesn't do much good. I have taken to quoting from that famous Roman philosopher Bob the Roman, who said, "nolite te bastardes carborundum."

Anyway, the ordeal itself wasn't quite as bad as she had feared since she was sedated, and since it only lasted a little while. The worst part of the whole thing was when the valet brought the van back around to the front and when I got in I found that the driver's seat was moved so far back an elephant could have gotten behind the wheel.

The actual worst part was the preparation, which consisted of a superblowout of her innards. Afterwards, if you were real quiet, you could hear that whistling sound the wind makes in old Western movies. Not really.

ANYway, she's back at work today, and so am I.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:33 AM | Comments (10)

June 28, 2005

Halflytely

It's an even stupider-sounding name than "Golytely."

And for those of you who know the difference, yep, someone's about to have to go in for a little camera work, and yep, it's back around by the cellar door.

And nope, it's not me.

Tomorrow there will be no Possumblog, for I have to deliver poor Miss Reba to the doctors so they can once more try to see what's causing her such terrible gastric troubles. They've already looked down the topside, and she's been on a couple of different medicines since then, and still is having the same old problems. Which are quite unpleasant. Almost as unpleasant as the proscribed diagnostic procedure for such cases. And made even more unpleasant by a boss who told her that she should be able to come right back into work tomorrow after it's over.

I shan't, however, stoop to comparing her boss to the sort of bodily orifice through which a colonoscope is employed. To do so would be unseemly and ungentlemanly.

In any event, I should be back here Thursday with all sorts of interesting ta-- er, stories.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:49 PM | Comments (6)

June 27, 2005

Other things?

Well, yes, there were other things besides being battered about the cabin of various automobiles. I managed to get out of doing (much) laundry, and I managed to get out of cutting any grass, and we had supper with Reba's mom and dad Saturday night to celebrate his birthday, and then we went home and went to bed and then Sunday we went to church and I had a review of the stuff we'd covered all quarter in class by pitting one group of students against the other in a meaningless contest (which wouldn't have been quite so bad if Boy had not kept insisting that the contest was meaningless), then church, then lunch with the preteen group, then home, then read the newspaper, then ATTEMPTED to take a nap on the couch, made impossible by the continued ministrations of Catherine, who desperately wanted to twirl the baton she'd made out of typing paper and in doing so she kept hitting me with it and waking me up, then BACK to church for the evening service, then out to eat, which we haven't done in a long time, then home, then to bed.

Exciting stuff? Not this weekend. And that's just fine, let me tell you.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:18 PM | Comments (11)

And now?

Stupid ol' work to do. BAH!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:33 PM | Comments (0)

To Infiniti and Beyond

More car shopping. Followed my mom back up 31 to the Infiniti dealership. Found a nice older guy who called her Mrs. Oglesby, and who was one of the least car-salesmanly fellows I've met. He'd actually tell you what he thought about stuff--"We can put that on there--I mean, I get a bonus for it and all--but I really don't think you'd like it." Cool.

Anyway, since we were looking at 8s to start with, they had some really, really cool new '06 M45s. Mmmmmm. Yummy. But they were pricey. They had one M35, but it was pricey as well, and at the time, she was still adamant about not buying a six. Well, what about the G35--slightly smaller, lighter, and still with the same engine as in the larger M35?

"Welllll," she said. The salesguy walked us over to the assortment they had. She was favorably impressed, at least by the exterior. So, we stood in the hot sun and palavered amongst ourselves for a long time before I finally said to her, "Oh, just drive the thing and see how it feels so you'll know what you're missing or not missing."

Let me tell you--280 horsees are 280 horsees. She made the same loop she did in the Lincoln, except in the opposite direction, and despite the fact that it has much sharper reflexes and much tighter steering, she was very impressed. She's used to the effortless squishiness of the Caddy, and at first wasn't used to the feel of it, but after she got going--and after she did another standing start lunge to the redline, I think she was hooked.

We got back and she looked and looked some more at them, and finally decided she liked the one that had the cool 18 inch ten-spoke wheels. Of course, this only comes with the sport-handling package, that handles even more directly than the base model, but she decided that would be okay. And that handling package also gets you a limited slip differential, so when she turns off the traction control, she can leave a nice set of double black lines as she burns 'em down coming out of her subdivision.

And I promise you, this is stuff SHE wanted--I wasn't out there trying to get the cool stuff I'd like to have on one--in fact, when I suggested that the black exterior with charcoal interior and optional rosewood accents looked the best of all, she was airily dismissive of me and said, "Well, maybe for a man, but not a lady." Well, la-dee-DAH! Which I think is exactly what I said.

Anyway, she got them to work up a price for her, and I think she's probably going to go for it. If you see a white G35 in the rear-view mirror boiling up behind you, I believe it would be wise to move over. She's getting to the point where she doesn't like to drive any slower than her age.

She'll be 76 in August.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:25 PM | Comments (6)

Car Shopping with the Little Old Lady From Pasadena

"Go Granny," indeed. Although I do regret to report she isn't looking at a bright red Super Stock Dodge with a 4 speed stick and a 426. Not that she wouldn't enjoy it.

Anyway, I was kinda surprised she was car-shopping. A couple of months back, it was house-hunting, and she hadn't said anything about her car. But it seems she's getting leery of taking it (it being a '97 Eldorado with 94,000 miles) on longer trips since she just had to replace the power steering pump and the serpentine belt and it cost her north of 600 bucks. Since she does go to Mobile to see my sister every so often, she does want something as reliable as possible, especially since her son is such a no-good bum who won't come to her aid if she got stuck out anywhere, so she's in the mind to trade now. She's liked her car, but once you get the urge, it's hard to keep one and be satisfied with it. Her favorite was still her '88 Lincoln Mark VII--actually, mine as well, partly because I borrowed it for mine and Reba's honeymoon when we drove up to Asheville. I hated she ever traded it, but, like I say, once you get that urge to trade, there's no keeping one.

Anyway, she thought she might like to go Lincoln shopping again. She's given up on trying to find a big two-door similar to what she has (what they used to call a "personal luxury coupe"), thus breaking an uninterrupted fifty-plus years of never owning a four-door. But my sister has mostly owned four-doors, so that kinda makes it not so bad for her. And she really likes my sister's newest car, which is an '01 Infiniti I30. The nearest thing in the Lincoln is the LS, which I think are awfully handsome. And they have a V8, which she was pretty adamant about having after her disastrous ownership experience with her V6-hamster-powered '86 Buick.

But.

Lincoln ownership requires that you buy them from the Lincoln dealership, which still sell cars the old-fashioned way with the unseen sales manager and multiple trips back and forth by the good-cop salesman trying his best to get you the "best deal." Ick.

I met her at the dealer closest to her house early Saturday morning and we began the process by meeting the young fellow who'd attached himself to her. Nice kid, looked about 12, tried his best to act like a grown up 23-year-old. His primary avenue to accomplish this was by continually calling my mother "Jean." Which is fine, since it IS her name, but you know, I have a hard time calling any older person by their first name, and in this setting is sounds very patronizing. But, he's just a little shaver--he'll learn, I suppose.

Looked around a bit, and the first warning flag was raised pretty quick. He'd shown my mom some of the LSes, including three they had left over from a previous year. 2003! to be exact. Having three nearly-three-year-old cars on your lot that you can't sell is NOT a good thing. We walked and looked some more and I told Mom that it was strange to have those older cars still unsold, and since she has no shyness to her, she asked the youngster why they still had them. Didn't miss a beat--"We ordered too many."

Oh, he's a slick one, even if he does look like he ought to be asking for the keys to go to the prom.

But, sorry, chief--we know it's not that you ordered too many. You didn't SELL ENOUGH! And apparently STILL can't sell enough. Maybe it's just me, but I think if I ran the joint, I would be willing to take a bit of a bath on those leftovers instead of having them clog the lot--sure looks bad for SOMEbody.

The biggest problem with shopping with my mother is it's VERY hard to get her to take these things for a test drive. I don't know why. But Junior and I finally got her to take one for a spin. Very swanky. I sat in the front with her and we put Spiff in the back, and she did a loop up the Interstate then back down Highway 31. Including a nice standing start from a traffic light where she let it wind out to the redline in 1st. I love my mother!

Part of my odd personality I get from her, you know. That's why she said during the middle of the drive, "Well, it's really nice, but I don't know if I can get the lawnmower in and out of that trunk or not." Skippy was somewhat puzzled by this question, and I reassured him, "Oh, she always has to ask that. She has a sideline business cutting other people's yards to make a little extra money."

"Oh. Oh, ummm. I--"

I laughed and told Spanky I was just joshing--"Aw, we're just messing with you. She actually has a whole crew of Mexicans that she uses for that, and they have their own truck and don't usually ever have to use the car."

He finally figured out that his new LS was full of BS. He tried to play along as well, but, he still has a way to go in the bovine scatology department before he makes full professor. Thankfully, being a car salesman is the perfect training ground.

Anyway, the car drove nice, but I did want Mama to look at something else from another manufacturer, just to be able to make a comparison. Which meant convincing her to sample a [insert sound of crashing ominous organ chord here] VEE SIX! EEEEEEKKKKK!

About which, more in just a little while.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:29 AM | Comments (6)

Well, first of all, I am now in a VERY exclusive club.

That's because my good friends Olaf and Sven sent me my brand new Volvo High-Mileage Club 200,000 mile badge! Done up in rich gold-tones and blue enamel, it came packaged in a spiffy custom-made cardboard mailer full of photographs of trendy sparkling people laughing and having a high old time. I think that's probably because the don't have a stray short circuit in their dashboard.

Or maybe they do.

Anyway, I had been under the impression that they only made 100,000 mile badges and I would simply receive two of those, but one that says 200 is fine. The drawback to the whole enterprise?

Sticky tape.

You'd think with all the years of Swedish engineering expertise (and now with Ford's billions of dollars) that they could come up with a better way of sticking the thing to the car than with a hunk of double-stick foam tape. There's quite a bit of DIY solutions on the various Volvo discussion boards (Home of Countless Moron Projects!) for how to come up with something more sturdy. Some folks who want to mount them on the grille have taken to epoxying a couple of flat washers and machine screws on the back of the badge that are long enough to extend through the grille bars. That's kinda my solution, but hopefully mine is a bit more easier--I just picked up a pack of 2 inch brass mending plates like you use on furniture. The holes are countersunk for flathead screws, but instead of wood screws, I picked up a couple of long flathead machine screws and nuts, and stuck the screws through the plate and stuck all of that onto the back. Works just fine. I suppose--I still have to actually put it on the car--so far all I've done with it is wave it through the air and make pbptpbptpbptpbpt sounds like I'm driving.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:49 AM | Comments (6)

Annnnd--

--back again, back again, jiggity jig!

Hope you all had a productive weekend. Mainly to make up for mine, which was a marvel of unproductivity. Although car shopping with my mother was kinda fun.

Anyway, more words to follow, as always. And as always, they are sure to be a study in the quite-boring!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:43 AM | Comments (0)

June 24, 2005

You know what I did last night?

Not a whole stinking lot, because there was nothing to type.

Grilled some steaks and took a survey of my domain (such as it is) as I watched the meat cook--the hosta is now in full bloom, as are the pestilential Japanese beetles. We bought traps last year, but I haven't had a moment to get any more of the flower stinkum that goes in them, so I'm going to have to spray them with some nice pesticides. I hate those stupid things. (Japanese beetles, not pesticides.) The neighbor's fence is finished now and looks very nice and I encourage everyone else around me to fence their yards, too. Although I am somewhat disturbed that the fence might have disturbed Kelly the Bunny's ability to find her home. But, rabbits can dig, so I guess she'll be able to find a way to still come eat our flowers. Boy's pear tree continues to produce a thick heavy crop of fruit. The wisteria has recovered quite nicely from my attempts to kill it--it's big and bushy and headed up the maple tree again. Grass? Needs cutting, at least according to the Mrs., who otherwise usually doesn't say anything about such things. I'm not quite certain why she decided to mention it, but I assume it is because I am a shiftless ne'er-do-well and require prodding. Now that the grass is back down to a manageable level, I think it's time for some help from Boy. The grille? Oh, man, it needs to be fixed. The part you set your meat on is all rusty, and the bottom's all full of scale and rust. Time for a fix-up.

After supper, some early laundry, and thankfully we ran out of detergent or SOMEone would have insisted on trying to get it all done last night. Miss Reba has developed a bad habit of insisting that the laundry be done, and that she must do it, all the while complaining that she can't get any studying done. I finally told her last night that under no circumstances was she to do any of the laundry this week, so she would have uninterrupted study time. "I'll do it." "But YOU have to cut the GRASS!" (See what I mean?) I reminded her that the two activities are not mutually exclusive, and that I have done both many (MANY) times in the past, quite successfully. I have a system, you know. First of all, we wait until Saturday instead of Thursday, and that way we can wash a few big loads than many smaller ones. Second, instead of pouting that no one helps me, I make the kids help fold. I sometimes think Reba might just be avoiding studying by grabbing the baskets on Thursday night and sulkily folding things, all the while complaining that the kids don't help her. (Not that I would ever suggest such a thing out loud.) "Did you TELL the kids to help you?" Of course not. Pouting and not studying being much easier, I suppose.

But, again, thankfully the detergent was all gone. And I wasn't ABOUT to suggest using the big bottle of Woolite under the cabinet. Nor was I about to go get any. Because if I did that, I wouldn't have time to vegetate in my chair in the bedroom and play Catherine's Mario Pinball Land on her Game Boy SP and watch Pocahontas with her! Man, I love that Pocahontas movie. Especially if I don't have to listen to the dialogue.

Did that, then sent her to bed after it was over, watched the news, and got all unconscious and slept the rest of the night. Except for that one time I had to wake up and test the plumbing. What made it worse was that I realized as I was stumbling around in the dark that I had been dreaming about something entirely normal. You know how you dream that you're just going through your normal day, and no one is doing anything weird or flying around the ceiling or you're not late for something and naked? I never do like those dreams--seems like such a waste, and you wind up tired in the morning because you think you've been awake doing normal stuff all night. ::sigh:: Oh well.

Anyway, that's what I did last night.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:55 PM | Comments (0)

Mindless complaint about another of life's little indignities.

Yes, if this is as bad as my life gets, I have no real right to complain about anything. Equally obvious is the fact that this has never stopped me from getting irritable anyway and venting herein. SO--

Walked into the Food World at the foot of the hill this morning mainly to get some money--as with just about every grocery store nowadays, you can get cash back if you use a debit card, and not have to pay the 2 or 4 bucks it can cost you to get money out of the ATM. Of course, you DO have to buy something, so I got myself a refreshing Diet Coke and a lovely dried salted meat snack.

Cashier rang it up, I swiped my card, she asked if I wanted cash back, "Yes, 40 please," I said, and then she said with much mock sadness, "I'm afraid you'll have to use the machine over there [pointing to ATM] because I didn't have much in my drawer and everyone else has been using their credit cards."

Huh? "Can you give me 20?" She thought for a second and finally agreed that this was possible. Got my money and left.

Now. I could kinda understand her reticence if the store was busy and she didn't have time to ask for some extra money. But I was the only customer in the place. I could understand it if the manager was away from the desk, but she was standing there doing something right behind me at the service counter. I don't think I would have said a thing had I not noticed when she opened the drawer that there was a stack of 20s under the one she gave me.

Look--the grocery business is tough--ESPECIALLY for fading players like Bruno's/Food World and now Winn Dixie (one of which is just right up the street, and is certainly going to have to step it up to survive.) There's also a new Publix in town, and a SuperTarget, and a Wal-Mart Supercenter, and a Western. All of them sell food. The only way smaller competitors can compete is to offer better customer service or special things that the big guys can't handle profitably. Seeing as how Food World isn't about to become a foodtique type joint, that leaves customer service.

Cashiers, if you're running short in your till, and if the store's not busy, go ahead and give the customer his cash back if you've got enough, and then go get some more cash from the manager. If the customer asks for more than cash than you have in your drawer, ask the customer if he could wait a moment so you could borrow some from the manager. Just remember the whole reason you give cash back in the first place is so customers don't have to use the ATM. And also remember they don't have to stop at your store.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:02 AM | Comments (0)

June 23, 2005

Did I mention...

...that I finally got through typing Oldest's last Health class paper last night? Yep, she took it this morning. Thankfully, she actually worked on this one and had it finished with enough time to spare that I didn't have to stay up till midnight last night. Which was nice, because--and I don't know if I've mentioned this or not, either, but--I'm very tired and could use a short nap of approximately 93 hours duration.

On the plus side, the glue in my head has dissipated somewhat, and I haven't kept myself awake all night coughing. Our neighbor's big stupid dog does a good enough job of that anyway with his incessant barking at shadows.

Anyway, Oldest is all finished with her summer school classes now. She's enjoying working at the library, somewhat. It requires actual effort, and after the initial charm of acting like a grown-up with a job wore off, it was just another chore. But, to her credit, she is still doing it and getting favorable reviews from the paid staff.

In other news, no vacation this year. Reba hasn't been at her new job more than a year yet, so for the first time in forever, no trip this year during the 4th. I figure we might go on a couple of day trips instead. Not the same though--no long tiresome drives, no high motel rates, no eating out every day, no keeping the kids entertained every single moment they're awake--::sigh::--I'm actually going to miss all that. I'll have the week of the Fourth off and be at home with the kids, but it's not as much fun without Mom home, too. Oh well. I guess I'll get to clean house.

OH! And work on the Volvo! So, see? Not so bad after all.

::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:11 PM | Comments (5)

Will there be...

...ceremonial spankings?!

Happy Birthday, Miss Peg!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:17 PM | Comments (0)

June 22, 2005

My goodness...

...you sure are a quiet bunch today!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:00 PM | Comments (8)

Good Neighbors!

Reba got home with the kids last night, and Rebecca came into the kitchen while I was upstairs. Thinking I was outside, she peeked out the curtain and saw a most marvelous sight. I came down the stairs and as she continued to peek out of the curtains on the back door she said, "Dad? Are the neighbors getting a fence?"

"WHAT?" Boy, I sure hoped so.

And sure enough! A row of wood fence posts neatly marching across the back property line. HOORAY! I like my back neighbors a whole lot--they're great folks. But see, I'm cheap. I have wanted a fence since we moved in so the kids could have a dog or cat, but fences cost many dollars that could better be wasted on used Volvo parts and food. I've just been biding my time until now, hoping and praying my back and side neighbors would get tired of my kids running over into their yard or the constant stream of neighborhood kids using our yards as short cuts to the street behind, and decide to go ahead and put up their own fences. Thus saving me a large part of the cost of putting up my own fence.

So, the first piece begins to fall into place--at this rate, I figure we will be completely fenced off by our neighbors around the year 2019, at which time I will purchase a dog.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:48 PM | Comments (4)

Props to the Cops

The Southeastern Police and Fire Championships games were held a couple of weeks ago here in Birmingham, and I wanted to make note of some my neighbor folks who did good. Via The Birmingham News--

[...] Cahaba Heights' Herb Rosenbaum, a Trussville police officer, won three gold medals in shooting competitions while Pinson's James Morris, also a Trussville policeman, won two medals in shooting. Paul Byars, Pinson's Mike Roberson and Trussville's Scotty Bates are also Trussville policemen who won gold medals in shooting.

Kay Hollinquest of Trussville, a member of the Jefferson County Sheriff's Department, was the female Toughest Competitor Alive. [...]

I think it would be inadvisable to attempt a shootout on Main Street in Trussville. Or picking a fight with a woman.

Anyway, congratulations folks!

And, hey--be careful out there.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:40 AM | Comments (0)

June 21, 2005

Tomorrow?

'Nother one of them early morning meetings that I have to go to. Blech. Wouldn't be so bad if I could sleep through them, but I can't.

ANYway, that means, as always, that there won't be any new and fresh and exciting and scintillating and amusing posts on Possumblog until...well, I don't know when. But, I mean, if you've gotten along well enough so far without them, what's to worry about!? Aside from the giant, flying, rat/shark hybrids. Those are pretty bad.

SO, see you sometime later on tomorrow, after I'm all good and wound up and bitter and cranky and all that.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:11 PM | Comments (1)

Unfair Stereotyping? Epilogue

Just got off the phone with Oldest.

"Hey, so how'd driving go today?"

::groggy:: "Mm, better. A lot better."

Seems that she was with a different group of kids today, and Coach was just as temperate as a spring day. Gentle as a baby. Not a cross word. She was much, much happier today.

And without the least bit of interference from me. That I will admit to.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:06 PM | Comments (6)

Unfair Stereotyping?

I'm not sure. But why is it that everyone has some sort of horror story about a PE coach who taught driver's ed on the side, and even though he was pulling down big money as a coach, and even though he had a cushy job wearing shorts and sneakers all day, and even though he was more or less immune to censure, was still dumb as a stump, unable to find a job in any other occupation, enjoyed humiliating young people, and whose only way of communication was through yelling?

Yes, I know there are good teachers--I am getting rather sick of being reminded about it, in fact. Let me just say, if you find that you have to keep reminding other people that you are a highly trained professional, something might be amiss somewhere.

Anyway, as you can probably tell by that intro, Oldest's driving experience yesterday was not a pleasant one. One of the coaches from Clay-Chalkville seems to have found a way to get assigned driving duty. Why do I make it sound as though he wanted the task? I don't know--it just seems very odd that we keep hearing from multiple sources that all the local driver's ed instructors keep urging students to let THEM give them their road test for their driver's license, with the promise that all they have to do is go to the license bureau and show them the paper, and they can get their license immediately. Do they get some kind of extra stipend from someone depending on how many road tests they administer? Are they just saying that to get parents to sign their kids up for driver's ed, so they can make a bit more money for doing absolutely nothing? I'm not sure, but I think I might just need to find out. Especially considering the fact that we heard OTHER anecdotes when I took Ashley for her permit that the licensing department will NOT honor road tests administered by other people.

"Looks like a duck, quacks like a duck," "rotten in Denmark," &c.

This was made even clearer when we got the debriefing yesterday after the experience was all over. On her time to drive, the instructor asked her how much she'd driven, and when she told him that she'd only had several hours Saturday, he exploded and yelled that there was no way he could teach her how to drive in only two days.

Well, Ace, whoa up just a bit, there. The class is called "Driver's Education." It is your JOB to teach her the fundamentals of operating a motor vehicle. If you are UNABLE to DO your JOB, maybe you need your ass standing behind a counter at McDonald's. Although I hear their standards are pretty high, so you might have some problems fitting in.

Part of the problem is that she drove last, and the other three guys in the car got similar yelling treatment before they got to her. So, she was already nervous by the time it got to be her turn. The car was unfamiliar (I think it was a Taurus, but she wasn't sure) and she couldn't quite get the seat and mirrors adjusted right, and rather than offer her any help, the guy just yelled. They drove around the parking areas for about thirty minutes, and again, with an unfamiliar car, it was hard for her to miss the various curbs and such, and add to that someone yelling every time she made a miscue. Oh, and slamming on his own brake. Seems he's probably never heard of Jackie Stewart, and thinks it a fine pedagogical technique to overreact to everything by burying the auxiliary pedal into the floorboard.

I asked her what the other guys (who'd been driving longer) did wrong and she said they made a variety of the same sorts of mistakes--bumping curbs, not staying in the lanes--and they all got the same screaming fits.

"Well, sugar, at least you know it wasn't personal--he's like that to everyone. Just do you best, and don't let him intimidate you, and remember to take your time and try to drive as smoothly as possible. Face it--no matter how mean he is, it would be pretty hard for him to fail you in this class without making himself look bad." Reba told me that the guy was nice enough after it was over to tell Oldest he was sorry he made her cry. Which is a mighty fine gesture--for a ignorant shitheel.

We talked about it for a little while at supper last night while Reba was in class, and I think she'll do better today. I resisted the urge to go with her to drop her off this morning. I figure it's about time she learned how to deal with jerks like that without my interference.

At least, without my interference being readily apparent.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:20 AM | Comments (18)

June 20, 2005

Oh, hey, did I mention I have something in my head?!

Yep--that odd furry feeling in my sinuses the other day has led to yet another item in the Insomnia Toolbox. Not only am I working on a honking great sleep deficit just from staying up to all hours, this stuff is making me cough all night. The bad thing is that there's no way to get it out. You know that science experiment where you put corn starch in a bowl of water, and if you hit it, it's solid, but if you let it pour real slow, it pours out of the bowl? That? (It's called a dilantant substance, by the way.) Well, the junk in my head's the same way--try to blow it out, and it's like it becomes the consistency of concrete. BUT, lie down at night, exhausted, and it starts tickling the back of your throat as it eases down for a stroll around your adenoids. You just get dozed off, and then HACKHACK. HACK. Doze. HACKHACK. HACK. Hack. WHEEEEEEEEZEHack. Doze. HUNCKACKHAAAAAACK. Repeat.

But aside from that, I feel just fine.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:16 PM | Comments (4)

Typing

Boy, I'll be glad when Oldest learns this vital skill.

Typed until suppertime, ate well, because it was my Father's Day meal, and then it was time for the opening of presents! Yea!

First up, all the cards, which turned out to be storebought, but thoughtfully filled with all sorts of handwritten sentiments of the occasion. And lots of Xs and Os. I like those. Next, the gift haul, which included eleventy dozen pairs of sox. I am rather hard on them, and I believe my long-suffering wife had gotten tired of the sight of tattered heels peeking over the backs of my shoes. So, all sorts of sox, including some nice white ones for yard work or my side gig as a Cliff Claven impersonator. Then, the big thing I wanted--SLEEVES! I have mentioned it before, but I have psoriasis on my elbows, and every once in a while, it gets irritated and can bleed. This is gross, to be sure, but even worse when it leaves telltale spots on the sheets or my pillow. So, sometime back I took to wearing a longsleeve tee-shirt to bed. But I hate wearing shirts to bed--I get all sweaty, especially with long sleeves. The perfect thing would seem to be a baseball undershirt with the 3/4 sleeves. So, I've been hinting for those and got a whole wad of them. And they work very well, I might add. And I look very cool in them, sort of like a fat version of Fernando Valenzuela. Boy also got a few matching shirts because Reba picked up some that said XL, not realizing they were XL Youth size. They would not quite have fit over me, unless the intent was for me to look like I had on one of those kewl midriff-baring shirts Britney Spears wears.

ANYway, finished up with supper, put away the dishes, told the kids to go bathe, and I set to work on typing some more. Type type type.

Stayed up until midnight or so.

Sunday morning, up bright and early, get kids up, get wife up (all easier written than done) then on to church. Taught class in something of a fog, children were so kind as not to notice, worship, very good sermon about Jairus, then off to the other side of the county to see Oldest's other set of grandparents. Which is all I will say of that. Then back to check in on Reba's dad, who we woke up by our incessant doorbell-ringing and door-knocking. Poor guy. I know how much he enjoyed taking that nap. We dawdled there for while, all the while Ashley, and now Reba, working on getting her paper finished.

I sat on the couch and dozed, and then for some reason woke up enough to start a Simon Says tournament. I don't know why. But I did. The kids seemed to enjoy it. Rebecca was the best at it, and no surprise, Cat was worst. Comes from not listening carefully. Or, listening at all. Anyway, time to leave. Home for a few minutes, then back to church. Second part of Jairus sermon, then toward home, with a stop at a fast food joint so we wouldn't waste any time trying to get supper fixed that could better be spent trying to get someone's health class paper typed.

Home, type. Type type type.

Finished at 1:20 a.m. Actually, it's not really finished--there were all sorts of role-playing type things she was supposed to do--interviews with people, production of health-related pamphlets, actual research. Those things kinda got lost in the mix. I told Reba that given the way the class is being handled, I really doubt that stuff will be missed as long as there is a sufficient volume of paper in the clear binder. I suppose we'll see. I'm just glad it's almost over. She only has one more paper, you know.

It's due Wednesday morning.

::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:58 PM | Comments (0)

On the road.

In addition to making a dandy title for a Beat book or for a television show by an avuncular balding philanderer, it also exactly describes what took place next. Although not with Oldest at the wheel, yet.

The road that runs in front of the school is a narrow, rural road, and has the added challenge of crossing the school driveway on a bit of a rise, and the driveway of the school up to the road is a bit steep, and while the road isn’t really busy, it does have a blind curve toward the bottom of the hill that can conceal a fast-moving car. SO, I let myself get us up on the road and moving toward maybe a small subdivision or less busy no-outlet place. Found one right off--Memory Lane. Short couple of streets, semi-rural, with a couple of interesting hazards--hairpin curve, and a drop-off on one side. Yikes, I’m a moron.

Anyway, I pulled in there and we swapped places. She drove, carefully hugging the shoulder of the road as I gently nudged the wheel back toward the center a bit to keep from hitting various artistically designed mailbox posts and bricabrac on the right-of-way. As I said, there’s a hairpin curve--if you can see on the map, it makes something like a 140 degree bend back around to the southeast. At the very apex of that hairpin sat a sight I have never before witnessed. It is yet another reason why you should ALWAYS carry a digital camera with you.

There, very close to the road, a van. I believe a VW Microbus, probably made when hippies were new, and Elvis was not rumored to be dead. Rear wheels on the ground, front end up on blocks. It was brown. And somewhat lumpy. Because it appeared to be covered with brown shag carpet over mounds of Bondo. Why? Well, because it also had a big round pig snout on the front, and giant ears hanging over each front door like sails. Or pig ears. The legend across the front end said, “ROAD HOG.” Yes, it was a van made up to look like a pig. It didn’t look as though it had moved since Dick and Spiro were still in office, but you know, I don’t think it quite mattered.

On around the bend, and she did pretty good. End of the road, the turnaround got her confused again with the weirdness of backing up and turning, back up the road, pass the Road Hog again, on up a bit, turn onto Cooper Road. Turn signal, ease forward enough to look over the rise, turn, gas. More gas. Please. Get us out of the wrong lane, please. Whew. To the end of that, where she got to turn around in someone’s driveway and successfully missed cars and mailboxes and flower beds. Barely.

By now, it was past noon, and I had to pee, so I told her we’d go over to Clay-Chalkville High (where the driving portion of the class is to be held today--she’s out there driving right now! Eek!) and let her see what there was over there, and it would give me a chance to get rid of the uncomfortable fullness in my lap. I took over from her and we made the run on over to the BP (which stands for Both Pee, which we did) station down the road from the school, then got a couple of drinks and snacks. Sat in the car and ate and drank and talked to Mom on the phone for a minute or two, then after we got that all finished up, off to the other school.

This was a bit different, in that there were cars all over the place for the nearby sports park, and various folks were parked in the school lots. Drive and drive. Parking exercises some more. Stopping, starting, turning. Up the road, missing cars all the way. Three point turn. Maneuvering through a small lot, then a bigger one. Make a loop around. Down the road. Signal, stop, turn. On and on. She did pretty good, although there were a couple of times she misjudged the distance between the car and various curbs, which left the sidewalls of the tires with some nice scuff marks. No loss of wheelcovers, though. We got out on a short stretch of public road, turned, then turned again. AAGH! Actual traffic! She did fine. Up a short stretch then turn, up that road, talked about how to anticipate changes in the road ahead without seeing them, turned around, came back out, turned back the way we came, down the road, and then, the big enchilada--all the way out to Deerfoot Parkway.

Oh my.

Big wide four lane road, with a low speed limit. Should be okay. She turned and off we went. She did okay--had to urge her up the hills with more speed, then urge her to slow down coming off the hills. Stay in the lane. Over. Over. Good. Faster, please. Good. The only real trouble was when she passed the point where it necks back down to two lanes. She moved over to the left, not realizing the truck she’d passed as it pulled out from a sidestreet way back up the road had blazed up behind her. “Head check. Head check. You just pulled out in front of that guy. Don’t trust your mirrors.” On down to the traffic light, turn right onto Highway 11. Too fast, too slow, too fast, too slow. “Just keep an even pace--understand that when someone pulls in front of you to turn, slow up a bit. When they are through, go on and accelerate back up to speed.” It was a bit on the nervy side. But I believe I showed remarkable restraint, witnessed by the fact that she was excited when we got home. But, not there yet. The road opened back up to four lanes through town, and I got her to get in the left lane so we could make the turn up the hill. A fat guy on a Harley trying to relive a youth he never had blatted by on her right and tapped his helmet. Hey dude, sorry. But if there’s anyone who should know about driving defensively, it’s bike riders. So, I wouldn’t tap my helmet too much, were I you. Made the stop at the light--with some help from Mr. Handbrake--then on to the next light. Signal, stop, wait for the green arrow, turn, GOOD. On up the hill, around the curves, over the bumps, a couple of hard stops, and she was home.

And very excited, as I said. She ran in and told Mom she’d driven all the way home from CLAY! Very nice. Now get to work and finish your paper.

I, on the other hand, had gotten my super surprise package! My new old tachometer and clock kit I bought off Ebay! The Volvo came with a big clock in the dash, and a tiny tachometer in the auxiliary cluster. The clock no longer works, and the tach is too small to see, and there is quite a little cottage industry of folks who sell the big tach, little clock package to set things right. Worked on that for an hour or two, and got everything installed FINALLY. Electricity is a mystery to me. Had to change the wires around a couple of times, and I STILL have something quite, quite wrong. Everything works fine--clock does great, new tachometer works fine--except when I turn on the headlamp switch, which causes the tach to die. I think that means I have a shunt to ground somewhere, but I’m not quite sure. It might mean something else. Probably something not good. Anyone who cares to tell me how to fix that will receive a coupon for a free Volvo ride.

Anyway, buttoned that back up after I’d gotten it mostly working, and came inside to start typing some more.

Whee.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:49 PM | Comments (8)

Friday

Start typing on the next set of questions. It’s probably the worst type of typing, in that there’s no continuity of thought. Her assignment throughout this silly health class has been simply to answer the questions in each chapter, so typing it all is an exercise in hunt and peck. You can’t get any kind of rhythm going, and you have to keep reformatting the stupid STUPID MS Word paragraph style to make it do what you want.

I suppose there’s a way to make the default different, but I don’t have the patience to set it up. Of course, surely it could take no more patience than starting a new numbered list, return, move the cursor back up a line, enter again, backspace to cover up the number, then highlight and move the paragraphs over. Basically, I just wanted a numbered list--you know, like you’d do on a typewriter. Number, answer. Skip a line, number, answer. As you all know, though, Word tries to think for you and starts indenting and moving stuff, and if you backspace it does other inscrutable things, and it’s a pain. I know there’s a way to make it do what I want it to do all the time, but I just haven’t figured it out. So, that’s that. Typed on that until about 11:30 Friday night.

Up early Saturday, ate breakfast, and got ready for the big drive. You know, it’s really amazing how much you know, that you don’t realize you know, until you start trying to explain it to someone who has no idea what’s going on. Kinda like that whole idea of describing an elephant to a blind man.

First task, the driveway chat. I got Reba to come out with us so she could hear the lecture, too, which prompted Catherine to come outside and sprawl in the backseat with both rear doors open and play her Gameboy.

Why? I don’t know. She’s just like that.

Anyway, we covered the general aspects of a car. Much like her health class, the driver’s ed class was nothing more than taking the tests out of the book, so she had no idea how to adjust the mirrors or the seats. Went through that, went over the dashboard lights, went over basic electrical doohickeys, showed her the fuses, told her not to under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES lose the ignition key (it’s got a chip inside it and costs 50 bucks to replace, and you can’t start the car without it), and then on to the underhood area.

Got her to pop the hood (after showing her where the latch was) then opened it up. Showed her where the prop rod was. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Less than a little is even worse. As I mentioned, Reba was with us, and she wanted to help explain things, too, but I had my own run-down of “what’s important” that really needed to be covered in order of importance. However, I was not prepared for the wifely part of the student duo to ask so many immaterial questions, nor to supply so much incorrect information. “THAT’S the oil stick thing!” “Er, well, no, Reba, that’s the transmission fluid dipstick, but we’ll get to that in a minu--” “And that’s the carburetor!” “No, that’s the air filter box, but WAIT a minute and we’ll get to all of that in order.” ON and on.

Anyway, we finally got the class calmed down enough to cover the basics--air in here, fuel in here, explosions in here, caused by electricity here, hot gases leave this way, inside things go up and down like bicycle pedals, spin gears in here, turns these axles here, car goes. Battery, distributor, spark plugs. Intake, air cleaner, throttle body. Gas tank, fuel pump, injectors. Coolant, water pump, radiator. Brakes. Power steering pump. Engine oil, transmission fluid. Washer fluid.

I figure we’ll get to tire changing later. It’s time to DRIVE!

Off to the high school parking lot, which was blessedly free of traffic. Sometimes they have events in the summer, but Saturday it was nice and quiet, with only a couple of cars. Went over what we were going to do, namely just find out what the thing feels like under a variety of circumstances, turning, backing, stopping, judging distance, avoiding hard things.

First up, just letting the car roll around under its own power. Although I think everyone ought to learn to drive a stick, an automatic does have the advantage of instant movement gratification. First bad habit to break was the left foot braking. This is good if you’re a rally driver. Otherwise, keep that left foot over on the dead pedal. Had to explain the concept of a dead pedal.

Drive up, turn, stop, etc., for several minutes. Push the accelerator down more to go more fasterer. The brakes--oh, the brakes. Modulate, dear. It’s not an on-off switch. Easy pressure, smooth.

That’s one of the big problems of most drivers--too herky-jerky with the controls. Be aware of your surroundings, drive defensively, and you can anticipate most things and not upset the vehicle with all sorts of wild movements. Being that I like to pretend to be friends with people I don’t know, I told her that one of the hallmarks of The Wee Scot, Jackie Stewart’s driving style is that he is very fluid in his control, and strives for maximum smoothness in stopping, starting, and steering. (If I could ride with any race driver, I think it would be Sir Jackie.)

Anyway, I also told her back when cars were the size of buses, had slick bench seats with the unsupportive flatness of Kansas, didn’t have power steering, or power brakes, or automatic transmissions, or seat belts, one of the ways young people learned to operate their autoMObeels smoothly was to put an empty milk bottle in the floorboard on the passenger side, and try to drive without knocking it over.

I told her she’d have just have to imagine it since we had no milk bottles, and in doing so, try to be a bit easier on the brakes at the very end of the stop so I would not go thrashing into the shoulder belt every time.

More stopping and going, and then a couple of games of distance judging. “Drive around and center up on that orange barrel over there [there were a couple of barrels and a couple of cones in the parking lot from other school functions] and try to get as close as you can to the front of it without touching it.”

She initially stopped about twenty feet back, but I urged her to go on up and see how close she could get. Once stopped, I asked her how far away she THOUGHT she was from the barrel. “About this far?” Thumb and forefinger held approximately one inch apart. Girl got some work to do on judging distance! I figured we were about a foot away, so we got out and looked. She was quite surprised at how right I was and how very wrong she was. We got back in (because it was hot and the A/C was on in the car) and we went over about how to judge the corners of the car and how it requires some sense of geometry and imagination to accurately be able to place the vehicle in its own operating space, especially when parts of the car or obstacles are obscured by opaque solid matter such as the car body.

Next one was similar, trying to get her to touch the headlight corners on the barrel. Similar misjudgments, but at least she seemed to start understanding the concept. On around the parking lot some more. Looping turns, driving in the lane, going around obstacles, remembering to re-center the steering wheel, smooth braking, stopping on specific marks, then a parking space thing. “Pull to the RIGHT of that cone over there and try to get in that parking space.” Way wide, pulled all the way through. Stopped and discussed the exercise again, then did it once more. “How far over to one side or the other are you?” She said she thought she was too far my way. “How far forward are you?” She said she didn’t know. “And finally, how square are you in the parking space--is your front or rear end sticking one way further then the other?” She said she thought we were crooked, with the rear further my way than the front.

Time to look. Sure enough, she was too far my way, and the rear passenger side was on the line. The front end was over the line, but not by much. Back in, drive some more. She was having a pretty good time of it, and thankfully wasn’t being angry or defensive. Mainly because I told her to start with that when I say things like speed up, or slow down, or turn, or stop, it wasn’t a character judgment of her as a person. I was merely interested that she learn the rules of the road without sending me to the hospital.

More driving. Turns, and signaling of such. This time we went to the end of the row where the aisle turned.

“Turn to the right.”

“TURN.”

“TURN AND STOP!”

I will say this--if you teach your kid to drive, be sure to use a car with a handbrake. It sure does beat having to bore a hole in the floorboard with your foot. She’d gotten bollixed up a bit on which way to go, and was about to either run up on the sidewalk, or hit the car of the lady parked by the field house. More driving.

We went up and made the loop around the flagpole. Stay in the middle of the aisle. She had some difficulty understanding the relationship of the steering wheel position to the position of the wheels on the ground. She’d turn the wheel, and then seemingly expect the car to straighten itself up. Same with the brakes. She’d want to stop, but the idea of MAKING it stop was a new one. Explained that no one else is in control of the car except her, but she HAD to be in control of it. It wasn’t going to do it for her. (Unlike the typing of health class reports.)

Around once again, and this time I told her to pull into a parking space. Same instructions as before--how far over, are you square, are you up far enough? She’d done better. Back out. WHOA up there, girl. “Clockwise if you want to turn the wheels so you can head out.” She’d started turning the wheel the wrong way. Again, this stuff is second nature if you’ve been driving since when gas was 40 cents a gallon, but it’s new to some folks. Just try to remember the first time you tried to back a boat trailer or a U-Haul. Same deal. The way you think you should be sawing the wheel just doesn’t work.

More driving. Around and around. Next, as simple lane change maneuver test. I told her to drive toward the orange barrel, and I would tell her to go to the right or left of it, then she was to get into the drive lane and proceed to the end of the parking space aisle. Maybe only going ten miles an hour, but she still had some problems with it. Right and left, especially. “Okaaaay, now, leffffft.” She dutifully turned to the right. “I meant your OTHER left, Ashley!” She was going to start arguing with me, “I thought you said LEFT--” “Sugar, I did say left. You went right.” “Oh.” Went over again the idea that instructions weren’t offered because I didn’t love her, talked about the reason for the test was to get her used to changing lanes. Try it some more, this time with patented Wavy Hand Instruction! “Right…::point to right with hand::..GOOD!”

Next, more driving. Drive and drive, circles, stOPS. “Remember, you’re trying to make the end of the stop smooth. Stahhhhhhhhhhhhpppppp. Not STOP. Modulate. Gentle. Easy. GOOD!” Flagpole again, then time for some high-speed braking. Heaven help me.

“Okay, what we’re going to do is let you feel how it feels to engage the antilock brakes.” Explained the difference in techniques between threshold braking and the wham it to the floorboard ABS style. “Okay, go straight down this aisle. Go as fast as you can, and when I say stop, stand on the brake pedal.”

Good job. She did it just right. Teletubbies say AGAIN!

This time I let her go a bit further, and this time the rear passenger wheel skidded a bit. The Focus (as far as I know) only has front ABS, since the little rear doughnuts don’t do much more than keep the trunk from dragging the ground. Explained that to her, and time again for one more. “How fast did you think you got up to?” “I DON’T KNOW! MAYBE SIXTY?”

Heh. 115 horses pushing 3400 pounds across a school parking lot, sixty mph was as unlikely as a politician telling the truth. We rolled around again and she repeated the exercise, this time getting some serious screechage from the rear tire. “Very good. And by the way, that was only 30 mph.”

More loops and turns and signaling and such, and then it was time for some serious work. On the road…

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:00 AM | Comments (5)

Well, now--that was rather a full weekend, wasn't it?

Made even fuller by my staying up until 1:20 a.m. typing a paper for a particular daughter of mine for her Health class. Oh, it's not like I waited until the last minute to type it. No, I started as soon as I could. Which was Friday night. I quickly caught up with said daughter's progression, and spend the rest of the time being fed hand-scrawled copy a sheet or two at the time as she alternately answered questions, dozed, and wandered around the house trying to get Mom to help her with the answers.

BUT, BY GUM, SHE CAN DRIVE!

Well, sorta.

Anyway, a more full exposition of the events of the weekend past are to come.

At least, the parts of it that I remember. It occurs to me that even during certain of my most frivolously wanton youthful escapades (not that there was that much wantonness--I have always been very conservative even in my licentiousness) I never woke up on Monday not knowing what I'd done the two previous days. Now that I am a stern and stolid citizen-parent, I can't seem to remember the two previous minutes.

Anyway, more to come. Unless I decide to crawl under my drafting table and take a nice nap. I have a board under there, you know, and I do know I fit under there. It's like having my own nifty little office fort.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:30 AM | Comments (0)

June 17, 2005

And, once again, out early.

Gotta leave again to take Boy to the orthodontist ONE MORE TIME, I hope, to see if they can get his retainer working right. And then on screaming into the weekend, which will be packed more tightly than usual with the aforementioned automotive travails, and having to help someone type up yet another class assignment, and having to go across town on Sunday, and having to sit and look at the grass again this week and think about how tall it is, WITHOUT having any excuses such as rain to prevent me from cutting it, and several other things that I am sure to find out about at the very last minute.

All of you have a good weekend, and Lord willing I'll see you again bright and early come Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:47 PM | Comments (2)

In what has become an annual ritual...

...I just stepped outside to go see how the preparations for City Stages are going, grab a bite of overpriced greasy food, and see if I could spot any local television newswomen.

Preparations--well, something's missing this year, and I couldn't quite figure it out until it occurred to me that things are very peaceful outside my window. For the past several years, I've had to endure an eight hour soundcheck booming down below me, but this year? Nothing. The stage is all set up, and there are several boxes of junk down there, but it's all being watched by a lone chubby guy in a lawn chair, not the usual crew of sweating roadies. I'm not complaining, though.

Food--the usual assortment of funnel cake and mystery meat vendors were going strong. Who knew salt, fat, sugar, and starch could be so expensive? Anyway, since I was out there, I felt obliged to patronize one of the booths. I suppose there's also the challenge to see if I can get the old cholesterol reading to break the four digit mark.

Local celebrities--yet another disappointing year. I suppose they all run and hide when they aren't on camera. Not that I can blame them.

Anyway, all of you be sure to go and let me know how it was. I would attend myself, because you all know how much I love being pressed together with throngs of sweaty strangers, but unfortunately, I'm just not going to be able to make it this year.

Just like the preceding 15 years.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:57 PM | Comments (0)

June 16, 2005

How to promote anxiety in slow-witted marsupials.

Have one remember that he promised his 15 year old daughter that he would take her Saturday to allow her to practice her driving skills.

She's supposed to go drive for her driver's ed class on Monday and Tuesday, and basically has had no time except for a few minutes with Mom in a parking lot a month ago.

Oh, man, where to start?! Well, I suppose on the Internet. I've been looking around at several sites, and some are no more than a recitation of the rules from various state driver's manuals, while others make the process of operating a motor vehicle only slightly less cumbersome than a Shuttle launch. She pretty much has a book knowledge of the stuff she needs to know, which is fine if all she ever did was drive a book, but she needs actual wheel time. The other thing is that she already knows everything. Just ask her.

I remember my driver's ed classes. I really like them a lot, even though we had a crappy hunchbacked '78 Olds Cutlass four door to learn in. But I really wanted to learn and do a good job, and I'm not quite sure Oldest really has that much initiative.

Anyway, I have my own ideas about what's important, and I suppose we'll just have to see how it goes.

First, I firmly believe you ought to know how a car works, and where all the fluids go, and what they all are for, and where the fuses are, and what can go wrong mechanically, and how to change a tire. Especially for girls. Don't think you can rely on someone else to bail you out, because the time might come when you have to do it yourself. So, I think we'll start with a little walkaround in the driveway and familiarize ourselves with the machinery.

Second, the proper attitude. Kids are kids, meaning they have a basic level of insanity that takes years to wear off, meaning that it's hard to get them to understand exactly how dangerous a hurtling pile of sheetmetal can be. I'm somewhat worried that she will choose to emulate her mother behind the wheel, who is quite adept at astonishingly poor attention to the task at hand, and cannot stop talking, and talking with her hands. Paying attention is going to be a hard battle to win--I can already hear the fuss about keeping the radio turned down to inaudibility.

Third, which kinda goes with the second, is what to do if you get pulled over. It is an extraordinarily bad idea to give cops lip, or make sudden diving moves toward the floorboard. Flashers on, pull over quickly as soon as you find a wide spot, turn the ignition off (leave it on accessory if you have electric windows), turn the interior light on if it's dark outside, keep your hands on the wheel, and obey all instruction promptly and without a snotty teen attitude. Say "sir" or "ma'am" to everything, and mean it. Yes, yes--I realize in a perfect world of democratic comity, such obeisance would not be necessary and no one would ever get pulled over for no reason by unthinking law enforcement agents. Whatever--argue that to the judge. Sure better to do that than try to repair bullet holes in soft tissue.

The rest is what really gives me the willies. Trying to tell someone else to go faster or turn right or left or stop or trying to describe to someone else how to judge position or distance is almost like trying to drive by looking at your skidmarks in the rearview mirror. It's hard to anticipate what sort of harebrained thought someone else might have--you KNOW what sort you have--but those of others are unfathomable. I figure it'll be good to start out in a wide parking lot with no cars--probably the high school, and let her get comfortable with the way the car feels when it goes and stops and turns, and how to make it go faster and slower, and AAAGGGHHHHH! Oh, nothing--don't mind me. Wasn't yelling at all. Nopester. Just a bee or someTHINNNNNNG!

I have dim memories of my dad teaching my sister to drive, which might be causing part of this anxiety. Both of them were hard-headed as mules, and my sister came of age at a time when it was quite fashionable to question parental authority, man, and it was never a very pleasant time, because my dad was of the generation that won WWII. Lots of fireworks, let me tell you.

My mother did most of my non-school teaching, and she bugged me often about a variety of things, but I do think she impressed upon me the need to anticipate trouble before it comes up, and be ready to react to it.

I suppose we'll see how that works.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:15 PM | Comments (12)

So, what's this about being cruel to the disabled?!

Well, you KNOW how I am. Kicking crutches out from under invalids and such. I suppose my life of insensitivity to the suffering of others was bound to catch up with me.

I have thought about what happened yesterday and have tried my best to let it perk and distill and clarify so that I can recall it without dipping into churlish defensiveness and my vast hidden store of invective. However, I found there was no way I could recall it without once again becoming rather annoyed at the poor, poor Victim-Americans out there.

SO, if you don’t like it when I get all mean to stupid people, or think that somehow stupid people should get a pass if they’re handicapped, or would just rather go do something else rather than read a tiresome screed of little global importance, please keep clicking around up in the blogroll upstairs for some other diversions.

For the rest of you, buckle up...

5:20 p.m. Downtown Birmingham Main Post Office.

I had some letters to mail, and they were in big envelopes, so I had to go inside to buy postage for them. This time of the afternoon, the place is busy with folks on the way home doing the exact same thing, so the parking lot does get sorta busy. There was a line waiting all the way out into the driveway. Finally got up the little hill and started looking for a place, following a gold-colored late model Chrysler minivan.

The van pulled into a place up ahead, and I thought it had grabbed the only empty space on that side, right there at the building sidewalk. But, then I noticed that it had pulled into a handicapped space, and there was one regular space just to the right that was empty. Sweet!

Pulled in, and heard a horn blow. Couldn’t tell where it was coming from, of course, because I was still in the van. Opened the door, and heard it again, this time noting that it was coming from the gold Chrysler. I looked in and saw a woman in the driver’s seat, and just then the sliding door started opening and I saw she had a ramp van. The horn continued to blow--sporadically. Was she trying to get my attention? I walked up, then back a bit and looked in the passenger side window--“Me? Hello, did you need me?” I pantomimed and pointed to myself--“Ma’am, are you blowing at me?” She never would look my way. Just kept that horn blowing, and I figured that it wasn’t me she was trying to signal, but maybe it was a warning for the ramp coming down. I stood there another moment, and decided she didn’t want me for anything. I walked in, and the horn blew some more.

Went to the scale and started the process of weighing each envelope and buying a 60 cent “stamp” for each. Stamp? Almost as big as the darned envelope! All the while, the horn outside was blowing--HONK. HONNNNK. HONK. HONKHONK HONK. HONK. I wondered what in the world she could be doing out there. I continued to weigh and buy and push buttons at the self-serve station when I noticed in my peripheral vision that there was as woman in a wheelchair behind me. I tried to hurry up a bit so I could get out of the way so she could have her turn, but the whole process with these machines isn’t quite as intuitive as it should be.

“Sir? Sir?!”

I turned to my right, “Yes ma’am?”

“Sir, you parked too close to my van. I couldn’t use my wheelchair ramp.”

“Oh, well, I’m very sorry, ma’am--I tried to get your attention--that’s why I was standing there at your window and asking you if you needed--”

“Well, you parked too close to me. But I don’t suppose you really care about the difficulties of disabled people.” Said as she turned and rolled off. “Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but I didn’t realize I was in the way.” She never looked back or acknowledged what I was saying.

::sigh::

I turned and went back to my stamping, because, you know, what could I do? I’m not going to create a scene in the post office with some wheelchair lady. I apologized for a slight I had not tried to cause, and for one that I had tried to remedy as best I could at the time.

Afterwards, as I have run this back and forth through my mind, I have tried my best to put myself in her situation, and to think how I might have reacted.

Which is why this little episode just burnt me up.

Let me say this to you, woman--you might have a bit of learning to do yourself.

You see, just because YOU are in a wheelchair, doesn’t mean YOU are the top dog when it comes to empathy for the disabled. You have no right to sit there and think that because the person standing there at the stamp machine pissed you off, that your disability automatically makes you right. Think about this--with the advances made in prosthetics, that chubby guy at the stamp machine MIGHT have had two artificial legs. I know I’ve seen people walking around and you’d never know they had prosthetics. I could have been one of those people. So maybe you should hold your tongue about such things.

And you probably didn’t realize that the person you were talking to was “disabled” in the past. Yes, back in the bad old politically-incorrect days when crippled children were called “crippled children.” I had to wear a rigid leg brace and a built-up shoe for four years--from 1st grade to 4th grade--back when there were no such things as special seating for the disabled, or nice low ramps, and back when some people would wonder out loud if you might be some sort of mentally retarded child. I did recover, I can walk now, but it’s not like you could ever say I don’t know what it’s like. I do. And of course, now that I have hypertension, you know, if I felt like it, I could get my doctor to sign the form so I could get a handicapped sticker for my cars and park in the same parking spaces you use. But I don’t want to.

More sensitivity? Well, you also probably never stopped to think what that mean old fat guy does for a living. See, although I’m a lazy bureaucrat now, when I was on the private side, one of my areas of expertise was working to retrofit buildings to comply with the Americans with Disabilities Act. Personally, I think the ideas of universal accessibility make good business sense (despite thinking that making the tenets of that philosophy a civil rights law was a very bad idea), and doing all that work gave me an appreciation not just for making things accessible for persons using wheelchairs, but also accessible for a whole range of physical disabilities.

And it’s not like I just did one or two buildings.

No, I did a bunch.

Including United States Postal Facilities throughout Alabama.

Including the Main Post Office building in downtown Birmingham.

Yep--that automatic door, those curb ramps, those low thresholds, and indeed, those four parking spaces delineated outside for handicapped access--I drew those up. And guess what, dear lady--there was a parking space SPECIFICALLY DESIGNATED for van parking just on the other side of the required 8-foot-wide loading space from the parking spot you chose. You see, most wheelchair-bound people who drive ramp vans KNOW to use the van space, because it is INTENDED to give you sufficient maneuvering room on the passenger side so you can get your chair in and out with no problems. That you chose to use the wrong space is NOT my fault.

And let’s get something straight, here, toots. I didn’t park too close to you. I parked in a legal parking space that just happened to be next to a handicapped space.

Now, you might not think that’s right, and you might not appreciate that when I went outside after all this was over with and noted that my van was further away from the line on your side than it was on the passenger side, but let’s be perfectly clear--I could have parked ALL THE WAY UP TO THE LINE IF I WANTED TO. That whole entire space belongs to one car, and that’s just the way it is.

As it was (and as it always is) I tried to park centered in the space--it’s just a lot easier that way. But I parked where I was supposed to. Why didn’t you? And hey, I’m sorry you had to back up a bit and pull over to the left--I’m sorry because again, you seem too dense to understand the purpose of the VAN ACCESSIBLE SPACE designation.

So, to recap--you parked in the wrong space. The fact that someone dared to park in a space beside you--DESPITE THE FACT THAT IT CAUSED YOU INCONVENIENCE--is no indication that that person is insensitive to your needs, or to the needs of the larger community of differently-abled persons. Quit wallowing in your self-pity. You want to live as part of the mainstream community? Fine, quit blaming others for your own ineptitude. Quit playing the victim/oppressor game. Quit assigning guilt to those who honestly meant you no harm. And lay off that danged horn.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:46 PM | Comments (8)

It's also...

...my regular Mailout Thursday, so I have that to accomplish, and then a meeting at 10. After which I wll post an bitter little screed about some shrew in a wheelchair. Yes, I know! It all sounds like wonderful fun!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:43 AM | Comments (2)

June 15, 2005

I don't know...

...maybe it's just psychosomatic. Maybe it's just sympathetic symptoms. But the sudden onset of a sore throat, and the sudden onset of severely congested sinuses, and the presence in the house of a sickly Fifth Disease vector makes me think I might have come down with exactly the same thing.

Or maybe tuberculosis. Or hemorrhagic fever. Or dysentery. Or cholera. Or a head cold. Or something.

And today of all days! Meeting with all those other Birmingham blog-writing intellectuals over at the Safari Cup place, and I will have to act even more stand-offish and reclusive than I normally do so as not to infect anyone. No handshakes, and even more depressing, no uncomfortably familiar hug for Sugarmama. I'm sure she's relieved, but it makes me very sad.

Maybe if I sprayed myself with Lysol beforehand...

Anyway, see all of you today at noon. The password is "pestilence."

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:11 AM | Comments (7)

June 14, 2005

Well, that explains that.

All that irritability Catherine had last week. The unpredictable bouts of torpor, the forehead that was inexplicably hot. The rash that suddenly appeared on her tummy and neck this morning and then spread all the way to her legs by the time Reba got her to Granny's house.

Reba just called from the doctor's office--yep, Fifth Disease. Catherine's had it before, and probably picked it up this time from a certain sick kid at church who, despite a spotty attendance record, still seems to manage to show up when he's contagious with stuff.

It's really a crappy ailment. By the time the rash shows up, you aren't contagious anymore, but you've been contagious for the previous days. And the symptoms are hard to pinpoint, because kids sometimes act grouchy and sometimes run slight fevers and sometimes become real tired, all for no reason. And the biggest crappiness is the name. I mean, come on--Fifth Disease!? It DOES have other names such as parvovirus B19 and erythema infectiosum, so it's not like it HAS to have such a pedestrian name. Then again, Chanel No. 5 does okay for itself, so maybe I'm just overreacting.

Anyway, I suppose I'll have to modify tomorrow's Toothbrush Story to include a tale of unavoidable viral infection.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:55 PM | Comments (3)

Wait--did you say "ponies," or...

PENNIES! Yay, pennies!


(Hat tip to the Weird Earl's Department at Straight Dope.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:04 AM | Comments (4)

Not exactly ponies and ice cream.

But I suppose it'll have to do. Namely, this morning, there was a Toothbrush Story!

It's been quite a while since Catherine wanted a Toothbrush Story--I'm not sure if she has just outgrown them, or got tired of them, or has just been too grouchy to care, but this morning I asked her if she wanted one, and after a couple of noncommittal grunts, she finally shook her head yes.

Now, for those of you who are new to Possumblog, the Toothbrush Stories are tales told to my kids while they brush their teeth in the mornings in an attempt to keep them at it long enough to actually do some good. In general, the stories revolve around a cast of forest creatures, inevitably with one who has terribly poor dental hygiene, causing him or her to enlist the aid of other creatures in seeking out the aid of a dental care professional. Each story is told with great flourish and the appropriate animal voices and behaviors, and the kids get to supply names and minor plot points along the way.

This morning's story--ONCE UPON A TIME (which is how all good stories begin, and, in fact, how some bad ones start as well) there was a fat little possum, and his name was...

"Peter!" suggested Catherine as she slathered toothpaste on her brush. "Hey, just a dab."

PETER. Peter Possum was waddling along beside the road, and suddenly he had a thought in his tiny brain. "Ouch," he said to himself. (For those telling the story at home, Peter Possum has a very slow and dull voice.) "Mah tooth is ahurtin."

Now Catherine, as you are well aware, possums have 50 teeth, which is more teeth than any other land mammal, so they don't like it when one of them is hurting. "I bet it's a cavity." Probably so, Cat. Anyway, so Peter Possum keeps waddling along with a sore mouth until he comes upon his friend Timmy, who is a...

"GOPHER!" said Catherine.

A gopher? "YES, he's a gopher!"

SO, Timmy says to Peter, he says, "Ssssay, what'ssss amatter wiff YOU today, Peter?"

"Ohh, mah tooth's ahurtin."

"OH! Well, leth take a lookthee in there," (here one grabs the mouth of the child and looks inside while pretending to be a gopher.) "OHHHH! YOUF got a great big cavithy!"

"A whut?"

"Well, you thee, Peter, a cavithy is what you get when you don't bruth your teeth like you should, and a little hole geth in it, and you can lose ALL YOUR TEETH IN YOUR WHOLE ENTIRE HEAD! We need to get you to the denith!"

"Okaaaay."

Peter and Timmy waddled on to the dentist's office, and once inside they were met by Doctorrrr....

By this time, Jonathan had come into the bathroom and wanted to get involved, so he suggested using his Merrill figureine, which is not a real imaginary animal, but a fake imaginary Pokemon, which supposedly is something like a mouse. Catherine was concerned about this animal, though, "But, if the mouse is the dentist, and if a lion came into the office, he might eat the mouse."

Hard to argue with that. She ran off to her room, which is what she does when she has a better idea. She came back carrying one of her big Beanie Baby cats called Chip.

You want Chip to the be the dentist?

"YES! CHIP THE DENTIST WHO'S A CAT!"

ANYway, so Peter the Possum crawls up into the chair and Dr. Chip says, "Open wide," and looks down into his mouth and EEEK! "My goodness, Peter, you have a cavity!"

"I reckon so," said Peter.

Dr. Chip got out all kinds of implements and drills and got to work (insert sounds of high pitched drills and hammering here while waving a stuffed toy cat). "Okay, there you go, Peter. Peter? PETER! PETER POSSUM! Quit playing dead! Your tooth's fixed!" said Dr. Chip the Dentist Cat.

"Oh. Thanks, doc. That feels better."

SO, Peter and Timmy scampered off and went and played in the road.

The end.

Now, let's get going so I don't have to be late for work, kids!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:30 AM | Comments (5)

June 13, 2005

Not a single thing happened all weekend.

Because if it did, I would be obliged to tell you all about it. Like having to wait two hours at the othodontist's office to allow him time to attempt to correct Boy's retainer, that somehow managed to become distorted in the molding process, requiring that we go back again this coming Friday for a second attempt. See, if that had happened, I'd have to tell you about it. Or if we saw Kelly the Bunny in the backyard yesterday, and Catherine wanted to go get her--THAT would be one of those things I'd have to tell you. But I have WAY too much to get done today--I have to make up for all the time I took off Friday, you know, so it's a good thing I didn't make a really, REALLY good bowl of chicken pasta yesterday along with a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies. Those two things alone would take up paragraph upon paragraph of description. OH, and I'm sure glad I didn't have to stay up until midnight last night typing a Health class report for Oldest, or you'd be burdened with hearing about that! Or that I got a giant Maori tattoo around my eye, and plan on becoming a heavyweight boxer.

SO, in all, it was a very good thing that nothing at all happened this weekend, and that for once when I was leading singing at church last night I didn't hack and cough all through it, otherwise you'd have to hear about that, too.

ANYway, I really do have a ton of filth to shovel out the door today, so please indulge me in a day or so of honest labor to clear the stables out.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:23 AM | Comments (11)

June 10, 2005

Packing up early!?

But of course!

Now that I have something to keep the rain from blowing in my face as I drive, that is. The glass guy spent an hour and forty five minutes total, and the result looks very nice. A bit of goo showing on the inside, but after it dries it's no problem to trim off. Everything looks good, and I'm a happy camper. Next major purchase (aside from a big tachometer and small clock I bought to retrofit in place of the big clock and small tachometer) will probably be a dashboard. Or maybe a kewl underbody neon kit! Or a giant rear wing!

Anyway, the weekend cometh now--Boy to the orthodontist this afternoon, then it will be to home to start the laundry cycle once more. But I can without fear say I don't have to worry about trying to get out and cut the grass--Arlene approaches, and from all accounts it's going to be quite full of water.

All of you have a good weekend, and I'll see you back here on Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:19 PM | Comments (4)

Whew.

Well, last night was the last night of our VBS. I don't want to be this way, but I sure am glad it's over. Four kids, kept up way past their bedtimes for five nights in a row--well, let's just say it's not conducive to conducting a loving and righteous home life. Tempers get short, words get hot. But, at least they can recite all the sons of Jacob and the fruits of the Spirit. "Patience," "goodness," and "gentleness" all, however, being rather short in supply.

Of course, there is also the stress of the still-simmering ambush episode from earlier in the week, as well as the past few weeks here in the Stupidity Mines, and I found out today that I might not be getting the windshield replaced in the Volvo today as scheduled, because the guy wants to do it at three o'clock, and I have to go take Boy to get his retainer from the braces guy.

And I have a hangnail!

And I got a Diet Coke with Lime by mistake this morning!

I tell you what, life is just FULL of one indignity after another!

(Not really.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:11 AM | Comments (10)

June 09, 2005

Uhhh, hasn't lunch lasted long enough?

Obviously it has, but only a small portion of the time between the last post and this was actually devoted to replenishment of my supply of cholesterol. There is, after all, much garbage on my desk that has to be lovingly tended and cared for, in order to keep someone from coming along and sweeping it into the dumpster.

Which actually might not be such a bad idea.

Anyway, Story Time continues (slowly) below. For those of you who can make sense of the proceedings, we ask that you refrain from commenting, lest you give actual shape and clarity to the tale.

Now then, back to work.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:37 PM | Comments (8)

June 08, 2005

Four hours later...

...there is now another driver in the house.

God help us all.

Interesting tidbit is that amongst the waiting parents at the Bankhead Highway branch, the Center Point location is actually much worse than I described it. I ran into four perfect strangers who, with no solicitation or prompting on my part, told tales even more woeful than Miss Reba's.

Anyway, I have to try to finish up four hours worth of missed work in thirty minutes now.

See you tomorrow!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:35 PM | Comments (1)

Here’s yer snouts and gristle!

AS YOU ALL RECALL, yesterday was brewing into a perfect storm of enmity and ill-will betwixt myself and the civilized world, which is bad. Although somewhat entertaining.

ANYway, as I was sitting at the county health department, Miss Reba was being detained unnecessarily at work by evil forces, and was only able to break free at 12:15. She had to be at Shades Valley High in Irondale at 12:30 to pick up Ashley from driver’s ed. class.

This is a distance of approximately 13.8 miles from her office.

To be driven during the middle of the day.

Across the downtown stretch of Interstates notorious for nonsensical multi-vehicle pileups.

In order to make this jaunt in the proscribed time of fifteen minutes, it would require an average velocity of 55.2 miles per hour. Obviously, nowhere near the average speed of urban Interstate traffic here in the â€Ham, and with the added inconvenience of several entrance and exit ramps and surface streets that had to be contended with at each end of the trip.

She made it exactly at 12:30. I imagine it was quite a ride.

So, she’s there at the school, but not seen by Oldest, who made the first of several calls to my empty desk to attempt to find out what was going on. Luckily, she finally saw Mom, and the two of them were then on their way to the satellite courthouse facility in Center Point to attempt to take the learner’s license test.

“Attempt” being the operative word.

They arrived and proceeded to attempt to negotiate the lackadaisical, unmotivated shoals of supreme bureaucratic diffidence.

Before I go any further, I would like to categorically state that the persons associated with the Alabama Department of Public Safety who administer testing and process paperwork at the Center Point satellite courthouse are quite possibly the most useless human beings in the entire world. And you may quote me freely. And ladies, whoever your boss is deserves to be fired exactly three seconds before you. Whoever you people are, you’re the ones who not only give hard-working civil servants a bad name, you also give stupid people, women people, fat people, and indeed, all of humankind, a bad name. There.

Reba showed the woman at the counter Ashley’s birth certificate, and her grade report. “Nah--you needs a Social Security card, too.” Reba explained to her that we hadn’t been able to find the card, and that she had two (of the required two) forms of identification that she was supposed to have--at least according to the stuff we read on the website. “Nah, you needs a Social Security card, too.” Reba asked her if the other stuff was okay, and after a careful examination of the certificate and grade report (which has her picture on it, by the way), she seemed satisfied.

From Center Point then to home, during which Ashley made the second call I missed, to let me know what was going on.

IN A STUNNING DISCOVERY, after Reba went through all the paperwork I had ALREADY searched through--guess what?

That RIGHT!

She FOUND Ashley’s Social Security card!

It was in a big yellow envelope, unmarked, with a bunch of other stuff. INCLUDING THE MISSING COPY OF JONATHAN’S BIRTH CERTIFICATE. What I had in bitter jest speculated about yesterday regarding their co-located status, turned out to be TRUE!

Amazing, I know.

AND, unbeknownst to me, this discovery made my nearly two-hour jaunt to the bowels of the health department entirely unnecessary, superfluous, redundant, and unessential. ::sigh::

WELL, then, on back to Center Point with them.

Arriving, they found that the staff were no longer giving out any numbers to take the test, due to a purported break in communications with Montgomery. Apparently the same one that struck the health department while I was there waiting. Reba, because she is very smart, knew it was futile to try to discuss this with the staff, who were much more worried about getting off on time--AT THREE P.M.--than they were about making sure people got served. So, just to make sure we had all the right stuff so Ashley could go back TODAY and try to take the test, she ONCE MORE got the woman to come over and verify she had all the necessary paperwork.

“I found her card, and we have her birth certificate, and her last report card.”

“Nah, we don’t take no port cards anymore. We did once, but we got to has the ficial rollment form from where she go to school.”

“But I was just in here an hour ago, and you said everything I had was okay!”

“Nah, we don’t take no port cards.”

Reba called the school, and found out the secretary had left for the day. SO, what had to happen THIS MORNING was--

I had to go to my early meeting, so I left the house at 6:20.

Reba took Ashley to Shades Valley before 7:30.

Reba then turned around and dropped the other three kids off at Grandma’s back in Trussville.

Reba THEN went to school to get the ficial rollment form from school, THEN went to work, arriving at 9:15.

I will now leave here, and go get Ashley from Shades Valley before 12:30.

I will then go BACK to Birmingham and drop by Reba’s office and pick up birth certificate, Social Security card, and ficial rollment form.

THEN, I will take Oldest to the Public Safety office over on Bankhead Highway, which is inhabited by an entirely different tribe of trolls, who I’m sure will have a completely different set of procedures. Not necessarily any better than the ones in Center Point, but different.

Then I will come back here, or take Oldest home, or something. I really don’t know.

Now, all this, and not only this, but--I found out last night I have been trapped in the middle of an ambush by an unhappy set of parents at church! Lots of simmering hurt feelings, all based upon something that was said to them about their child, and which was said without first warning me that something was going to be said to them about their child. BUT, it did deal with something over which I have some control, but not knowing what had transpired, I had tried to answer the parental questions-from-right-outta-left-field with what I thought was tact. Not the brutal honest truth (which I found out later would have been the preferred answer), but an answer was given that shaded and attempted to smooth over any unkindnesses.

But, rather than take the not-quite-direct answer as a sign that maybe I was trying to spare their feelings regarding their precious spawn, they took it to mean that what they had been told previously (which conversation I was NOT a party to) was ALL wrong--that there was NOTHING their sweet offspring had done.

Now as for me, if someone had said to me, several times, in several different ways, “well, you KNOW how kids can be sometimes,” I would have taken that as a cue that one of mine needed a little good old-fashioned Old Testamenting. And I would have offered extreme apologies for any trouble and embarrassment they might have caused. But, some people aren’t quite able to take that cue, it seems. And now, there will be all sorts of bright colorful explosions! I can hardly wait!

BUT, now I must hie to Irondale, and back, and forth.

I don’t know if I’ll get back to this today, so wish me luck!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:09 PM | Comments (6)

June 07, 2005

You know...

...this place has just about gotten on my very last nerve. Voltaire said something like 'the perfect is the enemy of the good,' which is true, and even truer when bureaucrats have a hand in it, because the perfection being striven toward is usually perfect stupidity. I tell you what, people are something. Not quite sure what, though.

And I am unanimous in this.

Long night tonight--VBS again (runs through Thursday, actually), and when I get home I'm sure I will get to hear all about whatever happened with the picking up and dropping off of Oldest and the permitting test and what my exact level of culpability will be should anything be amiss, and then tomorrow I have my early morning regulatory meeting that requires me to be downtown very early which always puts me in a right cheerful mood. Then on to work, where I will have to do the paperwork, which puts me in an even more righter, even more cheerfuller mood.

Which means that tomorrow's Possumblog might be full of snouts and gristle.

You have been warned!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:06 PM | Comments (9)

AARRGGHHH!!

Estimated time to fill out application for duplicate birth certificate and receive copy?

15 to 20 minutes.

Actual time?

85 minutes.

Seems the pipeline from Montgomery to Birmingham was having trouble today, which meant the small waiting area at the squatty health department ziggurat was filled with a host of other folks with nothing better to do than wait at the health department for hours. Something like a combination of the Greyhound station, an emergency room, and the family room at the jail. Except no one was leaving, bleeding, or crying.

Lots of cell phones, though. There was the normal conversation level you might have in a small room punctuated by HEY! WHERE MAMA AT!? or various melodic stylings from providers of jangly polyphonic ringtones. I filled out my form, paid my money, and sat down on a sad squishy cheap red "sofa." There was a young guy across from me--good-looking kid, mid-20s, reading a book of some sort, baggy jeans, listening to some sort of hip urban techno synth music on his headphones, and with the letters L-O-V-E inked across his left knuckles, and P-A-I-N across the right. You know, young feller, when you do such things, you pretty much consign yourself to a life receiving much more of the right than of the left.

Anyway.

HEY! WHAT?! NAW!? WHAT!? 'BOUT AN HOUR! How I wish.

Anyway, they finally called my name, and here I am. Walked in and was told that Oldest and Wifest have been calling repeatedly. I wonder what that's all about?

I guess I should have had my cell phone turned on.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:10 PM | Comments (0)

LUNCH!

Not really. I have to run over to the health department to pick up a copy of Jonathan's birth certificate. Why? Well, a year ago, Reba thought we might need it to sign him up for soccer or school or something, and kept after me to get a copy, because we can't find the original at the house. It's probably under a huge stack of paper over on her side of the bed, but obviously, I dare not suggest a thing.

I also did not dare suggest that the fact that we didn't need it for whatever she thought we were going to need it for meant that we didn't need to get a copy.

Have to have it, 'just in case,' you know.

I successfully managed to avoid doing anything for a year now, until last night we were trying to find something Oldest could use as an identification to get her learner's permit. (Reba's taking her today.) Well, they have a laundry list of things you can use--luckily we have her birth certificate--and for some reason Reba hit on the use of her Social Security card. We have any number of the other things--school ID, school enrollment form, tax return, etc., but Reba seemed to think the card HAD to be it.

And guess what? Right--Ashley's SocSec card is probably with Jonathan's birth certificate. The inability to find either of which is my fault, because I never ordered a replacement copy of his birth certificate, and because I am a man.

So I was told to get Boy's certificate today, and to find out how to get a duplicate card. And yes, I know all the reasons why the actual Social Security card is more trouble than it's worth to have around, but you're not dealing with me, you're dealing with Miss Reba, and once she sets her mind that something is needful, there is no other recourse. As for the other form of identification she took with her today, she settled on using Ashley's final report card, but under extreme protest, and only because Ashley HAS to get her learner's permit TODAY. They are supposed to start operating a motor vehicle TOMORROW!

It's a good thing I am so calm.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:32 AM | Comments (9)

Well, errr, how nice.

Yesterday was Oldest's first day of summer school, with driver's ed being the first thing up. Things move quickly in summer school, apparently. She now has a boat operator's license.

Huh!?

I was assaulted by a jabbering brood of children when I got to Grandmom's yesterday, and they kept telling me Ashley got her boat license, which I ignored because the only thing she knows about boats is that they float. But, sure enough, as part of the course of instruction, they also have to get instructions necessary to receive a boat license. How very, very odd.

All through my young growing up years, my dad and I had a variety of runabouts and speedboats, the last being an 18 foot Tahiti jet with a 450 horse 454 Chevy in the stern. It was loud as a NASCAR stocker (open headers, don't you know) and was fast in a highly entertaining and frightening way, but for a 15 or 16 year old kid, it was certainly a blast to play with.

Now after my dad died back in '84, I never really felt the pull of the water again, and I was in college and still had another four years to go, so the boat was sold and that was it. After college, there was the job, and then marriage, and various other things, but never really any interest in getting another boat. (Except for my retirement dream of buying a restored steam tug, but that's another story.)

But the point is, when I was growing up, kids could get in a boat and go anywhere--the operator's license requirements didn't come along until the '90s. Even though from my youngest days--even before I could legally operate a car--I have been at the helm of various watercraft that were the aquatic equivalent of the stuff you see in The Fast and the Furious, I had never had a boat license. And when the license requirements did come in, I never really felt that compelled to get one, seeing as how I don't have a boat or anything.

But now, by virtue of one day-long class, my 15 year old daughter, whose only boating experience was riding the Dauphin Island ferry, can now legally operate a craft on the waterways of our great state--any kind of boat--and I can't.

It is a very strange world.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:54 AM | Comments (9)

June 06, 2005

Like the derned Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom or something.

Up early Sunday, dress, get wife up, get kids up, wander around shouting admonishments to get dressed so we can leave on time for once, go downstairs with the intent of fixing some breakfast. But, no one to eat it yet, so I decided to go see how my freshly cut grass looked.

Walked outside--::sniffffffffff::ahhhhhh:: Everything looked so nice. It was quiet and still and the birds were contendedly eating some seeds and WHOA MAMA! That's not really what you expect to see on the Lord's Day!

There, clutching the bottom of the window screen were two of the numerous little green lizards that swarm around the planter area. And it was INCREDIBLY apparent as to what they were doing, out there for everyone to see, because I could hear Barry White singing "Let's Get it On" on a tiny little stereo somewhere, and they were all wrapped up in a tangle of tails and hindquarters.

Randy little reptiles! HEY! GET A ROOM!

I left them to their assignations and scampered back into the house lest I be overcome with all sorts of the wrong ideas. The kids finally came down to eat, but rest assured I did not encourage them to take a morning nature walk. They need to learn about stuff like that on the school yard.

On to church, and in the SECOND episode of "Brushes with Wild Animals," as I made the turn to go out to the main road, there was a great huge honkin' rabbit hopping alongside the road. "LOOK! A RABBIT!" For a minute there I thought it might be Harvey, because no one else saw it. Then again, everyone else was reading or watching a DVD. Cat said, "AWwwww--I ALWAYS miss EVERYthing!"

Start looking out the window, kid.

On up Roper Road, and in a STUNNING discovery, what did I see beside the road, patiently waiting to cross, but a SNAPPING TURTLE! "LOOK! A SNAPPING TURTLE!"

Again--no one saw it but me. And no one really cared. ::sigh:: So much for that shot at replacing Marlin Perkins.

The rest of the morning was uneventful--class, worship, home for some lunch, read the paper, "Can you take me to go find balloons at the Dollar Store?" ::sigh::

"Let me finish the paper."

"Okay. When are you going to be finished?"

"When I get through."

"When will that be?"

"When I'm finished."

"Are you finished yet?"

"Did I say I was finished?"

"No, sir."

"Then I'm not finished."

I did finally get finished. Off to find balloons, with a stop off at the grocery store to pick up some cookies for VBS refreshments. Everyone brings some, but we hadn't take ours yet, and I didn't want to look like a cheapskate. Although I am.

Did that (and found balloons at Winn Dixie), and used the trip to the Dollar Store for 16 cheap rolls of adhesive tape and a surprise grab bag for Mommy.

Home, was immediately blasted by the high-pitched sqUEEEEEEEEL-PBTpbtpbt of balloons being alternately inflated and allowed to sputter empty. ::sigh::

Shoulda knowed better.

Off to evening worship, and as noted the kickoff to Vacation Bible School, which for those of you who don't know, is a thing churches do to try to get kids to come to church, with the offhand hope that they might get their parents to come.

This might have worked better in the past, but today's parents just see it as a convenient way to get rid of their kids for a few hours. ::sigh:: At least we make sure they learn something while they're with us. A lot of places just have play time for an hour, but we have all the cool Bible songs and stuff.

One of my favorites, if for no other reason than the rather macabre Addams Family-esque overtones to it is the 10 Plagues Song, sung to the tune of "Row, Row, Row, Your Boat:"

Blood, frogs, lice and flies,
Murrain on cows and
Boils on men,
Hail and fire and locusts and darkness,
and last the death of the firstborn child.

Whole lotta smitin' goin' on!

Evening worship, then a few mad moments spent trying to answer questions about the teaching schedule I had posted for the upcoming year and rearrange everthing to suit folks, THEN VBS, then class, then COOKIES, and then to home. Got there about ten o'clock. Maybe the rest of the week won't be quite so late.

Aww, who am I trying to kid?!

Anyway, that's a teensy, hit-the-high-points slice of what I did this weekend.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:25 PM | Comments (8)

Where was I?

Not that it matters.

Anyway, outside into the hot. Rebecca and Catherine ran to go get their bikes, and Jonathan got out the scooter. They played and fought with each other and fussed and feuded until Jonathan had enough of the company or the climate, or both, and went inside. I stayed out of it, other than to warn of approaching vehicles.

I had bigger fish to fry anyway--those ugly spots in the tire well were making me uneasy. Got the spare out, noted it needed a good cleaning, and got some spray cleaner and doused the well. Say, whaddya know! It wasn’t rust, but hunks of tar or sealant or something that had spattered into the inside from who knows where. I got some degreaser and in not long at all, it looked brand new down in there. (As if anyone but me would care.) I remembered to take out the soggy mat from the trunk. Very odd, that. There wasn’t any rust, and the top carpet seemed dry, but the fiber mat was soaked. Maybe it was from the car wash.

Anyway, I took that out and laid it on the driveway. You all probably didn’t realize this, but laying an old dirty insulation pad on your driveway attracts children, who for some reason don’t listen to you when you keep yelling to STAY OFF THE MAT and keep stepping all over it and rolling their bicycles over it. “But my tires need air in them, Daddy!”

Oh, well, by all means, tromple all over whatever you find in the driveway, dear.

I took a break and aired her tires up while Rebecca zoomed around. “Daddy?”

“Yessssss?”

“Could you take my training wheels off so I could ride like Rebecca?”

Oh, my--quite a big step, you know. She’s the last one with training wheels (which, truth be told, are the wrong thing to teach balance with, but whatever) and she was ready to make the move to the big time.

“Well, I can take â€em off, but now remember, you’ll have to actually balance and not make the wheels hold you up.”

“I know!”

No she didn’t. But, if she was game, so was I. Grabbed the wrench and took the wheels off and put them in the take away box. “Goodbye, training wheels!” I said. “Yay!” said she.

We rolled back out to the end of the driveway, where I walked around a bit with her and got her to roll a few feet before falling. She was actually doing okay, so I left her with big sister and went back to my cleaning, which had moved over to the other fender well, that was coated with an odd orangey film. Seems the fuel filler overflow spigots itself down through a small tube and out the bottom of the car, but some of it must have leaked, leaving a trail of varnish. Repeat cleaning procedure, and in no time, I had yet another spiffy clean trunk well on the passenger side. (Again, as if anyone cares but me.)


”WHAAAAAAA! RE-BEC-CA!”

Oh, good grief. “SHE’S NOT HELPING ME!”

Acrimony and recriminations, and Rebecca decided she had better things to do. Which left a crying Catherine in my care. So, we got a drink, then decided after we’d go back out and try it again. “If the ice cream truck comes by, can we get some?”

One thing after another.

“Cat, we’ve GOT ice cream in the freezer!”

“I knowwww.”

Winsome little turdmurkle--“Tell you what, after you get through riding, you can have some of that later.”

SO, she rode some. At some point in our perambulations, Reba went with Boy and Middle Girl to the store to look for herself some clothing, giving Tiny Girl and I a bit more room to roll. Which we did for about fifteen minutes.

“Okay! I’m finished! Let’s eat ice cream, Daddy!”

Which we did. And then it was time for the super terrific fun zone time!

“Hey, Catherine--how would you like to ride with me up to Sam’s and get gas in the Volvo, and then get some windshield wiper blades for it?”

“Can I get some balloons? Not the tiny kinds you make animals with, but the big ones--the big round ones?”

::sigh::

Guys, you’re going to have your hands full with this one when she comes of age.

I didn’t promise anything, because I really didn’t want to traipse through the store looking the way I did--sunburnt, disheveled, dirty torn jeans, and a black tee-shirt with a big round tie-die looking ring of dried salt on the front and back from where I had sweated on it.

And she didn’t look any better--sweaty, with helmet hair, a pair of dirty shorts, an oversized stained white tee-shirt, and her mother’ white beach sandals that were about six sizes too big for her. And she stank to high heavens--little girl, hot sun, much sweat, and a perpetual bicycle seat wedgie do not a pleasant combination make.

But, whatever. It’s not like anyone will know who we are. Unless, you know, they do.

Off to Sam’s, and calculate that with my rough estimation of miles driven since I bought the Volvo that it has returned a highly respectable 27 mpg. It’ll be interesting to see how accurate that is now that the odometer actually works, but I think it’s probably pretty close.

ON TO WALLY WORLD!

I parked in the back by the oil change place so as not to stink up the place walking through from the front. Found myself some Tripledge blades, which purport to be guaranteed for the life of the car. We’ll see which one wears out first, I suppose.

“Balloons?”

I thought she had forgotten. So the dirty little waif and her big dirty oaf father walked over to the toy aisle. Plenty of everything except regular old balloons. Skinny ones, giant ones, but none plain. “Hmmm--I do seem to remember that there might be some over there,” she pointed, “over there in where the stuff for parties is.”

“Ohhhohoho, no way, kid! We look and smell too bad to go over there, we’ll just have to get them another time.”

“Tomorrow?”

Persistent little cuss. “We’ll see.”

I felt like Pigpen from the “Charlie Brown” comic strip, and we had to stand in line forever waiting for a highly trained sales associate to check us out. And, of course, it was my luck to be in line behind one of the horde of perfectly toned and tanned fashionable young blonde things who populate my hometown. Not that it mattered, but I usually do clean up a bit more to go to fancy stores like Wal-Mart--really, I do!

Paid, and to home, started putting on my wipers, greeted the return of Reba and the middle children, and then adjusted the spray nozzles atop the hood so that they were at precisely the right angle to deliver their precious essence to the windshield. (Not than anyone would care but me.)

Supper, bathe kids, laundry, shower, collapse on bed while Reba was working on her schoolwork for tonight, and woke up again Sunday, which was…

VBS KICKOFF DAY!

Next--Sunday!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:30 PM | Comments (2)

Got up early Saturday--

put on some pants, walked outside, misting rain.

::sigh::

Well, it was just gonna have to stop raining. It's been several weeks since both the back yard and front yard were both cut at the same time, and the whole place was getting to the "scary neighbor with a secret" sort of overgrownness. So, it was going to get cut, even if I messed it up. At least it would be a neatly cropped and shorn mess.

But first, other things--figured I'd feed the birdies. Great time-waster, that. Cleaned out the feeders tubes of the leftover bits and filled them up, and once more marvelled at the design of these things. Several years back, one of the running bits herein was my battle with brushy-tailed tree rats (i.e., squirrels) getting into the feeders. We've had feeders for years, and nothing I tried could simultaneously feed birds and starve squirrels.

I bought three of these, made by Heath (the Silver Sky tube feeder at the bottom left)--and haven't had any problems since. They combine a clear plastic tube (which is too slick for the little vermin to get a toehold and lets you see how much seed is left), with small metal perches that are too slick and too short for the little vermin to get a toehold AND are gnawproof. And that seems to be about it. I have two mounted right next to trees, and none of them are more than a few feet off the ground, but try as they might, the squirrels just can't get at them. No baffles, no motors, no bother. I do leave them a few seeds on the ground to keep them lured away, but it's nothing like the amount they can eat if they get into the feeder. I remember one time we had a cedar bin-type feeder with a tray, and I walked out one day and a squirrel was lying there in the tray on his bulging stomach eating everthing he could get.

Take THAT stupid rodents!

Anyway, filled those up, wandered around the yard a bit more, came inside and folded some clothes, saw that the sun had finally peeked through the mist, and that it was time to get out the ol' Murray.

Start it up, get to work, then hit a patch of particularly heavy wet grass and start the first round of cacophony from the underside of the mower. Hmmm. Not sound good, Kemosabe.

Took it over onto the driveway, turned it over, and saw that the blade I had put on at the end of last season had gotten loose. Stupid blade. And there was no tightening it--the bolt was ever so slightly too long--by mere thousands of an inch, and just long enough to not really snug down tight and hold the blade in place. So it just clattered and spun independent of the driveshaft. Grr.

Need me another washer.

Stumbled around in the garage over and through the stacks of Other Family Members' Giant, Must-Not-Be-Thrown-Out Stacks o' Crap until I got to the tiny portion of space reserved for Unimportant Items Belonging To Father. Rummaged though my little bins full of bits and pieces and found a nice washer that should have worked just fine--AND DID! Hooray for being a packrat!

Wrenched it tight, turned it over, and got back to work.

Putter, drone, putter. Usually when I cut grass, my mind wanders to unsolvable mysteries, such as why Howard Dean is in charge of ANYthing, much less the Democratic Party, but Saturday I was mostly just in that little zone of near-consciousness. Which was rather rudely interrupted by the dronedroneCLANGCLANGCLANG--


of the lawn-mower hitting something and stopping itself deader than a hammer. Hmmm Grr.

Backed up a bit, and found a nicely mangled bit of sheetmetal that had in a previous life served as a cover for the drive belt underneath the mower. Seems it had come adrift, right into the path of the newly tightened blade.

"Whatcha doing, Daddy?"

WHOA! Were'd she come from!?

"Nothing, Cat--this piece of metal came loose under the mower and made it stop."

"Why?"

"Because it's old and had several loose screws, just like your pater familias."

"Oh."

"Here, go take this and go put it on the stone bench and stay out of the yard, okay?"

"Can I ride my bicycle?

"Not until I finish this."

"When are you going to finish?"

"I don't know--now go do what I said."

She daintily held the hunk of steel in her hand and wandered on back to the house with it and I cranked up the mower again. First pull. Must be made by Timex or something!

More droning puttering until brrrrCLANGCLANG-THWIPPPPZING--


yet more metal carnage. This time it had come out from underneath at a rather rapid clip before stopping the engine. Another piece of the cover plate covering the drive belt. I heard Cat call from the porch, "Did it do it again, Daddy!?"

Why, yes it did.

She ran out to get the metal and put it with the other hunk, and I went back to trying to finish the grass. "Can I ride my bike now?"

No.

Started it back up, and the remainder of the backyard was uneventCLANG-RIPBR!CLANG--

Not again!

Why, yes, Terry--again! Just like Teletubbies!

I rolled the poor thing over once more, and this time was QUITE impressed. A BIG hunk of sheetmetal, coiled up like a sardine can lid, with several big bite marks from the blade gouged into it. This piece was a cover over the FRONT axle, and had gone from one side to the other. Until it came loose on one side and got wound up like a clockspring by the blade.

Yikes.

"WHAT'D IT DO, DADDY!?"

She ran back out to take a look and I showed her the mess. "Wow."

Indeed.

I worked the metal back and forth, hoping to get it to break, but no luck. Inside to get my tin snips in an attempt to shear off the piece, had to explain that they were big scissors for metal and not to touch them, started trying to cut the metal and one of the rivets popped right off. Hmm. If one can come loose, so can the other, and, in fact, it did. I carried this one to the stone bench myself because it was so full of sharp edges. "Can I ride my bicycle yet, Dad?"

No.

Went back and cranked the mower again. One pull.

As the old timers used to say, "If it still runs after you lose a part, you must not a'needed that piece." Reba said something about maybe it was time to get a new one, and I just laughed it off. She seems not to remember the last one we had, which developed a crack in the deck at one of the engine mounting bolts. The crack eventually grew to encompass two, then three bolts, running rougher and rougher with every use. I finally got rid of it when the motor separated itself completely from its moorings.

As long as it runs and cuts, no new mower.

Finally got all finished up, both front and back, and in the intervening time, summer arrived full bore and taking no prisoners. I had put on my straw hat, but my arms were uncovered, and so I am proud to say my farmer tan has returned with a vengeance.

I went inside and cooled off for a while and after being pestered for an hour with entreaties to ride bikes, I finally relented. Then again, I did have an ulterior motive--playing with the car.

I had noticed the pad under the carpet in the trunk was wet, so that needed to be gotten out, and the spare tire well looked like it had rust in it. Not good. And I wanted to get to old window stickers out of the back window.

SO, back outside into the now broiling Alabama afternoon, with not one, not two, but three children in tow, all wanting to ride their bicycles.

Which you will all get to hear about after lunch!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:37 AM | Comments (7)

Where are your shoes!?

"I didn't put any on."

"But you've got your socks on!"

"I know."

And thus begins yet another Monday morning, with a small girl throwing logic to the winds and arriving at her grandma's house having successfully managed to sneak herself unshod out of the house and into the automobile.

"::sigh::"

WELL, a fun weekend of intense physical labor and sunburn, and yes, a trip to Wal-Mart!

The first part of it was spent Friday night, when I excitedly got home expecting to be able to tear into the dashboard of the Volvo, but then had to turn around and go back and get the kids. Reba got stuck at work, so, well, you know. Went and got them, brought them home, started supper, started some laundry, and prayed a certain wife would hurry home so I could play.

Which she did. I gathered my instruction sheet and set to work--it really is incredibly simple to take the thing apart, which is either a testament to Swedish ingenuity or things just used to be simpler 20 years ago. Pull two knobs, pop a piece of plastic off, undo two screws, pop two more pieces of plastic off, undo two screws, pull, unplug four cables, TA-DAAAA.

Then the hard part, having to take this deal apart on the kitchen table surrounded by children who don't quite understand what's going on and a wife who's trying to get supper on the table.

Undo six screws, pull back panel, undo four screws, pull speedometer out, undo two screws on the side and ooOOOOoooo--look! Sure enough, the tiny little gear inside was missing teeth in three different spots. Now--to put it back together, but more importantly, how to get the numbers to add up right.

See, the odometer broke at 173,660 or so, and the car actually has 213,305 miles on it. How do I know? Because the previous owner was something of an obsessive-compulsive sort, and when the odometer broke, rather than having it fixed (or fixing it himself), he spent the next 39,645 miles carefully logging his daily mileage on a little calendar book. I assume he must have already clocked all the distances to various places (OCD can be SO handy!) and so, that's how he kept up with oil changes and fuel mileage and timing belt replacements and every other thing.

ANYway, I bought the car knowing the mileage wasn't right, and the title is marked as such. What's actually supposed to happen is that you either reset the odometer to zero, or you leave it where it is, and mark it down on a label fixed to the car. But I wanted it to read the right(ish) number of miles, mainly because it's just easier to keep up with maintenance that way, and I also have some sort of oddly misplaced and perverted sense of pride in driving very high mileage vehicles. So, I needed to add 39,645 miles to the odometer.

But I didn't know how.

So, I stuck my finger inside where the gears are and saw that by spinning the first one, I could eventually get the mile counters to turn over. I managed through an incredibly laborious half-hour of twiddling to add over 100 miles to the counter, which would mean that to get it completely up to count would only have taken 198 hours. Need something faster, obviously.

I kept trying to figure out another way, because obviously if it was this hard to set odometers BACK, there'd be no profit in it for chopshops. I hit upon the idea of using some of that compressed air stuff like you clean keyboards with to spin the tiny paddlewheel-shaped wheel that makes the works go, but obviously, I don't keep that stuff around, SO, a trip to the store!

Since I was out, I was also tasked with picking up various other stuff, then finally found my air, got home, and YAY! It WORKED! Sorta. It was really good for the first few hundred spins of the dial, but as the escaping gas made the can go cold, the force of the air coming out grew weaker and weaker. Good thing I had TWO cans! Which only made the slightest difference, seeing as how the second can was still bound by the same laws of gas pressure. Did manage to get more than a thousand miles on there in thirty minutes, which meant I could have finished up the task in maybe 20 hours or so. Still not fast enough.

Maybe I needed more consistency--not having to start and stop and all. SO, next best thing? The portable air compressor, with the ball inflation needle inserted in the end! A tiny high pressure blast of air, which sorta worked okay, but had to be positioned exactly right. Which I was unable to do for very long. And the compressor was making my head hurt with its high-pitched WhhhIPIPIPIPIPIPIPPIPIPIPIP sound.

Hmm. Sumpin's gotta give, here.

I took the gauge back inside and sat back down at the table and tried to figure out how to make this thing go faster. I FINALLY figured out the secret, though, which I will not post here for fear of encouraging misbehavior, but it does involve moving a small axle ever so slightly out of the way. After that was done, I was able to set the mileage exactly where I wanted it, and then button the whole thing back up. It also gave me quite the case of the willies, because I finally figured out how easy it is to commit odometer fraud if you're really trying to get away with something, and especially with older type geared odometers.

I had always read that it was possible to tell about tampering if the numbers didn't quite line up. Which is true. What they never mention is that if you do it right, the numbers line up nicely. I had a couple that were off half a line to begin with, but a second or two of care and they were all marching across there with no misalignment. The caveat then is to never simply trust the reading on the odometer--always ask for service records or other proof that the mileage is accurate, and there's more to it than just trusting the Carfax report. My car was clean enough inside to pass for a car with only 100,000 miles, and since it only had one owner, any tampering wouldn't have shown up on any report. Buyer beware, folks, especially with anything more than a few years old.

Anyway, after getting things fixed back to normal, and rescrewing everything together in the cluster, and fixing a couple of burnt-out panel lights, and making a careful notation in Sharpie on the back of the cluster of the work I had done, it was time to plug it back into the dashboard. I will give you an indication of how simple the process was by letting you know that my confidence was so high that I put the panel back together in the dark on the driveway. AND IT WORKED. Drove it around the block three times to make sure it was clicking around as it should, and it did.

Home, finish putting on the various trim bits, put up the two screwdrivers I had used, and that was it for the night.

SATURDAY, now--now THAT'S a whole 'nother day. About which, more in a while.

Staff meeting, you know.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:52 AM | Comments (7)

June 03, 2005

And speaking of tearing things up...

It's awfully close to time to tear up the road to get home. The weekend looks to be one that will be filled with all sorts of potential for disaster, so things might be more interesting around here come Monday. Then again, maybe not.

BUT, no matter, there will still be plenty of things to do. I'll bring my Watch Paint Dry kit, and then after that, we can play Chutes and Ladders!

SO, come back next week, and we'll see what there is to see.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:32 PM | Comments (0)

Confession is good for the soul.

I watched this last night.

There. I admitted it. I--I couldn't resist--I was working on something on the computer, and the teevee remote was right there, and, well, I grabbed it and clicked the infernal box on, and--oh, oh, oh. My, oh my. I thank my lucky stars I marked "Become a young rock star and then appear on a reality show twenty years after your prime and embarrass yourself" off of my list of things to do for a living. It was so bad, I just couldn't turn it off.

Biggest disappointment? A baseball cap on jowly Mike Score. I figure all that youthful hair sculpting must have driven him bald.

Fashion police? Well, you all know I like the full-figured gals, but that second outfit Tiffany had on with the big belt and too-tight red top and denim miniskirt was not at all flattering to her, and accentuated the symptoms of her case of Dunlop disease.

"Who!?" followed by childish giggling? CeCe Peniston.

Anyway, I'm sorry, but I couldn't help myself.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:28 PM | Comments (0)

Modern Efficiency.

Well, Boy got his wires and clips off his dentures this morning, so after that was done I dropped him off with Grandma and Grandpa and headed toward work. Being that I was feeling a bit on the peckish side (not having had the Most Important Meal of the Day), I decided to swing by the Gilded Parabolas and get myself one of their delicious "breakfast" "burrito" combos.

As I stood there waiting at the counter, there was an A/C repair guy in front of me waiting to get his order, and he was holding an empty coffee cup. This particular branch of the Kroc empire has set itself up so that each customer is given a cup and allowed to serve himself the beverage of his choice, in order to give the illusion of faster service.

IN ANY EVENT, our repairman had apparently tried to serve himself some coffee, and found that the spiffy self-serve dispenser carafe had run dry. He had come back and told the bedraggled woman at the cashier stand that the coffee thingamabob was empty, and could he have a cup of coffee, please?

With the sort of rote behavior to be expected of a highly-trained staff member of a professional purveyor of fine victuals, she turned around and grabbed the familar pot-bellied glass jug from under the coffeemaker, swung around, and began pouring its contents into the top of the empty coffee dispenser over on the side counter. The repair guy just sort of stood there in a dejected sort of way, expecting (as had I) that since the motion required to retrieve the glass jug and turn to the dispenser had brought the precious coffee juice to within mere inches of his cup, that it would have been just as simple to go ahead and give him his swig first, BEFORE filling up the dispenser. Or, alternately, that the last remaining coffee bits in the glass jug could have been saved out--just enough to fill his cup.

Nope.

It all gurgled down in there, with an added tap-tap just to make sure the last drop got into the officially designated coffee-holding device.

I heard him quietly say under his breath, "Hm. I reckon I'll have to go get it out of that."

Yep, reckon so. Probably faster that way.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:14 AM | Comments (1)

June 02, 2005

Well, I'll be doggone!

It DID clear up a bit today--there's some blue sky out there! And actual shadows! Which can only mean one thing...

[whine] It's too hot! It's too humid! Whaaaaaaa! [/whine]

Not really--it's actually pleasantly pleasant out there, and the unintended side effect of all the rain was to drive The Loud Screaming Guy under cover.

IN OTHER NEWS--Boy goes to the orthodontist tomorrow morning to have his braces removed. I am told by the chief wire puller that this will be a temporary respite, and that he might need further correction later on. Which will, of course, require more money. ::sigh::

Anyway, see you all later on tomorrow morning sometime.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:35 PM | Comments (3)

Did I mention...

...that it FINALLY stopped raining, and the sun came out, and it's just simply the most BEAUTIFUL sunshiney day EVER today!?

Oh, good.

Because it hasn't, and it isn't.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:04 PM | Comments (8)

So, what's this about garden gnomes?!

Well, a certain business professor got to wondering how hard it is to make these things, specifically with an eye toward doing some generic school mascot sorts of gnomes, for various rabid fans who tend to purchase anything even remotely related to their university's mascot.

Hmm. Sounds like a pretty good idea--which I suppose is why someone's already in the business of doing it. ::sigh:: I did a bit of looking this morning and found that someone has already stuck a toe in the Officially Licensed Collegiate Garden Gnome market. Now, as Jim noted, no matter which school you choose, the body of the gnome is the same, so these aren't quite what he had in mind, which was something a bit more customized to each school.

Of course, Auburn has already had our own tiny garden gnome as a head coach, so as Jim suggested, something more like a gnomish tiger or eagle might be more marketable.

Up there where Doc Smith is at East Carolina, of course, is Pirate country, and a chubby pirate gnome would probably would be kinda cute. Not that this guy is cute, necessarily, but shrunk down some he might work.

I just wonder if there's a market for life-size polyresin cheerleader statuary? Might go over even better than gnomes.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:17 AM | Comments (9)

Oh, there's TONS of interesting stuff to talk about today!

Which explains why I am saddled with the annoyingly menial task of envelope stuffing this morning.

BUT, after I get through with that, hang on, because there's gonna be all sorts of cool stuff, such as an Alabama bass boat, the Dean's List, a celebrity birthday, and maybe--just maybe--GARDEN GNOMES! (But that might be a secret, so don't spread that around too much.)

SO, go read Instapundit first this morning (instead of waiting until after you've read Possumblog, as is your usual routine) and in just a short while we'll get things going.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 07:58 AM | Comments (0)

June 01, 2005

Hey!

Did I mention it's still raini...

Oh, okay. Never mind then.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:09 PM | Comments (3)

Now that was odd.

I blame my shoes.

I just went downstairs to buy a Diet Coke. Walked in, nobody in the whole snack bar except for someone way over by the wall with the high windows. I didn't really look to see who it was because, well, you know, sometimes you might just want to ignore someone.

Anyway, kept trying to feed my crisp dollar bill into the #@$^@^&%%@ machine, then moved over to the change machine when I heard a girl say, "Do you know how to tell who's playing at City Stages?"

Huhwha?

I turned around and it was the person who was sitting in the booth that I had ignored on the way in. Youngish girl woman, curly hair, and evidently a visitor since I don't recall ever seeing her in the building before.

Was she talking to me?

It's one of those things I mentioned the other day--with the near ubiquity of telephone headsets, I can never tell if the person is actually talking to me, to someone on the phone, or to disembodied spirits. "Uh, pardon me?"

She responded, so I figured she must HAVE been asking me something.

"Do you know which bands are going to play on which stages at City Stages?"

I could see that she had one of the two local indie papers spread on the table in front of her, but for the life of me I can't figure out why she would think some big goofy Gus she's never seen before might be of some help. But, hey, I'm a polite person, so I went over and looked at what she was pointing at.

Well, sure enough, it's just a one-page ad, meaning it would be nearly impossible to list the entire roster of 125 bands and 9 stages. "Hmm. Well, no it doesn't seem to have a listing. I suppose you could go online and find out--there's the address."

"Oh."

Okay.

Well.

Alrighty. "Ah, hmm, well, sorry I couldn't help you, miss."

"'kay."

What? Did she just want to make conversation? Did she think I might be one of those hot professional municipal employees who make the rounds of all the clubs? Was it my ID badge coyly stuffed into my shirt pocket? My charmingly mismatched shoes? Who knows!?

I went on back over to the vending machines and got my afternoon bracer, and she went back to reading.

It was all just very odd.

Oh, by the way, here's the lineup.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:38 PM | Comments (6)

I got all finished with my stupid work...

...and now I'm so bored I don't have anything to say. Other than it's still raining.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:32 PM | Comments (6)

I have a pair just like them at home.

Well, I've done it again.

For some reason.

I just can't quite figure it out. I only have two pairs of "good" shoes, one black, one cordovan. Should be no trouble keeping them separate.

I suppose that's my problem--I DON'T keep them separate. They share space in the bottom of the armoire. I suppose I could keep each pair in a different place, but, you know, you don't want them to be lonely. Sure, there's the belts and some old clothes and the shoe shine kit in the bottom of the cabinet, and all sorts of odd things under the bed, but still, you kinda want them to be able to be around their own kind.

I suppose, then, it's just an inevitability. And it's not like it hasn't happened before. This is now the fifth time in the past 14 years or so that I've grabbed two different colored shoes, put them on, and walked out the door, and not noticed my error until I got to work. I used to blame the fact that it was always dark when I was getting dressed--I leave the lights off to keep from waking up Reba--but this morning the bedroom was lit up like Broadway. So, no excuse there.

Actually, though, it's not the worst shoe thing I've done, because once I put on a big black wingtip on the left foot, and a thin brown loafer on the right. I am lax in my shoe care, so I always just slip my shoes on, even if they have laces. Yes, it's a bad thing. And it got me into the mindset of not noticing the difference between one shoe MADE to slip-on, and another not.

Well, thankfully, at least today's version isn't THAT noticeable--they are both dark and unobtrusive shoes, and with my lopsided hair, they really just fit right in.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:04 AM | Comments (8)

May 31, 2005

Yet More Random Thoughts, This Time Collected Throughout the Afternoon and Then Compiled and Entered As Something of an End-of-the-Day Diversion

-- Found out that the summer school Health class Oldest will be taking is a self-directed course, involving no class time, but rather a series of research papers to be handed in at regular intervals, meaning a) it can be taken concurrently with Driver’s Ed., instead of taking one then the other, and b) the potential for NOT completing the Health class assignments has now risen logarithmically. Maybe her close proximity to the library during the day will offer her incentive to do her work. Please, do not destroy my child-like trust by reminding me of uncomfortable things such as past assignments left undone.

-- So, Paris is getting hitched. To some rich kid named Paris. Well.

I’m sure that’ll work out just fine.

-- It has rained intermittently here for the past several days, and I don’t know how people in the Northwest can stand it like this all the bleeding time. I think I’d start seeing Sasquatches, too. (Which actually isn’t some sort of creature, but just some slow guy who got covered up with algae.)

-- Someone needs to explain to me the purpose of the broiler pan. You know, the one that comes with your oven. Actually, what I’m REALLY looking for is an explanation of Reba’s intense fascination with using this thing. I have no idea why she likes it so much, because every time--and I mean EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. SHE TOUCHES THE BROILER PAN--she smokes up the entire house with it.

Sunday we had a dinner and then our evening service right afterwards, so we were free the rest of the afternoon. I got into my loungewear (after we got home) and puttered around a bit and finally took to my bed for some sleep, while Reba and Rebecca went to Target to look for some big plastic storage boxes for a certain set of two girls’ toys. Unbeknownst to me, this trip included buying YET MORE foodstuffs, because Rebecca told her Mommy that the one thing she has been craving for weeks is a hamburger cooked on the grille by her Daddy.

When they got home, they found that Rebecca’s daddy was asleep, and not only that, it was raining outside. Not that precipitation has ever caused me to be excused from grilling duties, but Reba seemed not to want to wake me up. That was until I was drifting in a fitful slumber and was jolted awake by the rapid EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP of the smoke alarm. ::sigh:: I roused myself up and went downstairs, which had a fine blue haze floating along the ceiling like an Amsterdam strip club. Windows were being flung up, back door being swung nearly off its hinges by Tiny Terror, din of the EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP still going. ::sigh:: Why?

Of course, I dast not ask the question out loud, because there was a certain child’s mommy who was on the defensive, and I know better than to mess with her when she’s like that. “I…” “I’m SORRY I woke YOU UP. I was JUST trying to COOK some SUPPER around HERE and this thing is making SMOKE ALL OVER THE PLACE and I was JUST trying to COOK something everyone would EAT for once…”

Hey, slow down--no one said anything.

Which is again something I said ONLY in my head.

I quietly went and opened the door to the garage (where the EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP was also going on, even through a closed door) and opened up the garage door. In a minute, the noise stopped and I got the low-down on why we were conducting the test of the alarm system. Namely, that no one had wanted to disturb me because I was asleep.

I did quietly say that if she was upset with all the smoke, maybe she could have cooked them in the skillet. “NO! THAT’S FRYING THEM, AND SHE WANTED THEM GRILLED! and BROILING IS AS CLOSE TO GRILLING AS I CAN DO!” I figured I wouldn’t suggest anything like turning the temperature on the oven down to something lower than the flash point of animal fat. That would probably not be real broiling or something.

Anyway, this process of meat, oven, smoke EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP EEEEP continued until the entire package of ground beef had been appropriately incinerated.

A nice supper with broiled hamburger, work with beloved wife to clear the dishes, get the kids upstairs, load the dishwasher, and…hmm. Look, in addition to the mess left on the stove, there’s a greasy broiler pan. Obviously, for ME to clean. Another habit--not only is the broiler used on a semi-regular basis to fumigate our domicile, it always seems to happen that I get stuck with cleaning it.

It might be that one day that broiler pan mysteriously goes missing.

-- Now then, to work some more, and then to home.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:08 PM | Comments (4)

Random Thoughts Collected Throughout the Morning and Then Compiled and Entered As Something of a Noonday Diversion

-- Yesterday when the kids were in the floor playing on the PlayStation, some sort of “conversation” got started, and somehow the word “blog” came up. Ashley, being that she knows every single thing in the world and will let you know it with the most condescendingly smarmy tone of voice possible, turned from her controller and asked Catherine: [dripping sarcasm] “Do YOU even know what a blog is?”

“No, what is it?” said Catherine, genuinely interested in what was to come.

I perked up--slightly (I was, after all, supposed to be comatose on the couch) and I wondered what the definition would be. I was expecting a long drawn out exposition as is usually the way of Oldest, in which she reinforces herself as the Fount of All Knowledge.

Oldest paused, having been caught without actual firsthand understanding of what she was spouting off about, “Uh, well, it’s a computer thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

I smiled and went back to sleep.

-- I ordered one of these for the Volvo last week, and it should be here soon, which means I will get to tear into the instrument panel! YAY ME! Thankfully, this being the Internets and all, there was bound to be someone with a similar broken odometer gear who was kind enough to photograph everything, write a relatively clear set of instructions, and post it for all the world to see. Boy, I like the Internet! It really is a boon for anyone who needs to fix something, whether it’s a car or a house or a cat. Well, maybe not a cat.

Next, I really want to get the windshield replaced. That crack’s making me feel bad. (Windshield crack--not the other kind that you smoke.) But that requires me to pay money for someone else to do it, and I’d rather not do that. But I ALSO would rather not attempt a windshield replacement by myself, so I suppose I’ll just have to pony up the money for it. Sometime. Speaking of which, as I mentioned earlier, I spent a happy few moments one day this weekend going through the parts catalog and making a check mark by all the cool stuff I want to get later on. You know, when I have money. ::sigh::

-- LUNCHTIME! Spent running back and forth to various financial institutions to drop off orders for checks and to make payments on sundry instruments of indebtedness. But I got to drive the Volvo today, so it’s funtime no matter if it does require grabbing something from a fast food place. Milo's. Mmmm.

-- The only way I will eat ramen noodles is when they’re crushed up into Chinese coleslaw. Too many memories of college otherwise.

-- OH! Hey, school’s out! It was actually out LAST week, and Oldest has already had two whole volunteer days at the library. AND SHE LIKED IT! Hallelujah. She and mom have gone today to go register for summer school. Not because she did bad--she did right well for herself in the final grade count--but to register for stuff she doesn’t want to have to take in regular school. Health and Driver’s Ed. Oh, how I wish they were being taught at Hewitt, but for some reason, they’re both being taught at Shades Valley, which means imposing on poor Grandmom to ferry her to and fro this summer. I hope Oldest has fun driving down that long series of moguls on the front drive at SVHS--I happen to know the moronguy who laid those out. In fairness, I had to work with what I was given. Trust me, it could have turned out a LOT worse.

--Now then, back to work.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:40 PM | Comments (16)

I sure wish--

--that I had remembered to email myself the file I had been working on Friday, rather than two files I didn't really need. That way, I could have worked on my stuff yesterday and probably gotten it finished and been able to play all day today with this Internet thing. Instead, I am now behind in my appointed tasks, and I have to get them done. This discombobulation was made even more frustrating due to the fact that this morning I drove right by the laundry without dropping off my clothes, so I had to turn around and go back, and then I finally hit the Interstate and cruised along uneventfully, rueing the fact that I had not e-mailed my work to myself when I remembered that I had INDEED done something similar by using the handy Yahoo! Briefcase feature, which lets you store files online so you can retrieve them later. So, I COULD have done my work at home yesterday, had I only remembered what I had done before I left Friday. And THEN IT OCCURRED TO ME that when I got to work today, I was going to need my handwritten notes. Handwritten notes that sat neatly beside the computer at home. Because that's where I left them when I left this morning. SO, I had to make a hasty exit at the I-20 ramp and go all the way back home and get the notes, THEN come to work, and then try to explain why this crappy post is probably going to be the only thing you see around here today. Which I have just done.

Highlights of the weekend past? Well, grocery shopping on Saturday, which is Reba's idea of us all getting out and doing something together as a family, and which I tend to think of as one of the side rooms off of something around level 3 in Dante's Hell.

Let's see, there was laundry. As always.

Sunday, I watched the Indy 500 only because it was on. Only saw the last few minutes of it, enough to know that CBS's commentary crew must have been retrieved from an asylum. How else to explain the odd phrasing when one of the goobers said something about Danica Patrick getting out into the lead, and trying to maintain it, and saying that whatever she'd done was the thing to really 'turn the trick.' Ahem. MORON! They were full of stupid crap like that--and I just saw the last few minutes of the race!--and I'm so full of disdain for them I don't even want to go to the CBS website and find out who these eeediots were. Oh, and by the way, nice comments from David Letterman, who was very gracious. I realize it was his off day, but dude--shave, okay? You look like Snuffy Smith with that stubble.

Also watched the Coco-ler Six Hunnert. I'm getting tired of all the theatrics. Run the race, guys. There has always been a certain amount of bumpin' and rubbin' in NASCAR, but it was held in check by the fact that budgets were small time, and if you broke too much stuff, you were out of business. The big time has meant a lot more folks watching, which is good, but the sport is awash in money, which leads to a wastefulness that's not very pleasant. All the smoky victory burnouts and tearing up the infield and such, and the rise in deliberately collisions, I just don't think it's good for the sport in the long run. If I wanted to see the demolition derby, we've got plenty of bullrings around here to see that kind of thing. Run the race, run it clean, and if you win, act like you've been in victory circle before.

Yesterday? Rain. I had intended to cut grass, but it was soggy, so we hibernated and I watched the kids play PlayStation 2 all day. And alternately perused the Volvo parts catalog and snored on the couch. And I got Rebecca to do a bit of learning to type on the computer. And did some cleaning up after a certain wife of mine who isn't quite the neatest cook in the world.

SO. That's the abbreviated version of the weekend. Now I have to do my paying work, or risk ceasing to receive pay.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:43 AM | Comments (8)

May 27, 2005

Oh, boy!

The Loud Screaming Guy is back in the park this morning. You know, you really have to be doing something when even the other bums won't come near you.

Might just have to go have a nice screaming chat with him later on today.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:15 AM | Comments (0)

Hair today...

Against my better judgement, but undertaken in response to overwhelming reader demand, here are two views of my head.

Excuse the quality--you have to understand I was taking a one-handed photo of my own head while trying to keep the whole process hidden from my family, who would be certain to ask uncomfortable questions, such as, "Why are you taking a picture of your head?"

Left side (i.e., "normal")

and the right side (i.e., "high'n'tight")

Now, my hair is getting gray around the temples, and my sideburns are always a bit hard to see because they're so light, but that bright line around my ear is scalp, not light-colored hair. The gap doesn't show up as well, but it is the slight mid-tonish area directly at 12:00 o'clock above the whitewall area. Note also the prominent glasses frame, which is covered by my hair over on the normal side.

I figure there's not much reason to worry--you rarely see both sides of a person's head at the same time unless you're looking at a Picasso, and once I get the braided extensions put in on the right side, no one will have a second thought about it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:57 AM | Comments (22)

May 25, 2005

I just had another one.

And let me tell you this, my friends--two two-hour meetings in one day is two two-hour meetings too many.

I'm shot for the day. Come back tomorrow, and we'll see if my gray matter has re-congealed enough to be able to provide you all of the fun and entertainment value for which you visit Possumblog.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:44 PM | Comments (2)

You know what else is bothering me?

My hair. Or lack thereof.

I had gotten to the point yesterday where I felt like I was wearing a sheep on my head because it (that being, my hair) had gotten so unruly and wooly, growing to near Spector-esque proportions, especially back there in the back above my collar.

So, I called and made sure my most favorite young fleshy stylist girl was working yesterday at HeadStart, and after verifying this information, and after going home last night and eating supper, and then gathering the whole family up again so that we could all travel to the lovely strip mall so I could be shorn and Reba could go buy somebody some sort of baby shower gift, I went in and had a seat to wait on Miss Alicia.

Luckily, the wait was very short, and I was greeted with her usual warm smile and round-as-a-puppy cuteness as she sat me down. "Shorter all over and up off the neck and ears?" But of course!

She sat in to clipping and scissoring and chatting. Turned out she'd been there since 8 that morning, and had another hour to go until 8 that afternoon before quitting time. That's a lot of hair-cutting.

Anyway, she continued to have her way with my follicles, and after what seemed like a VERY short time, I was ready to go again. She dusted me off and I vigorously slapped at my scalp to get the rest of the fur clippings off, ran a brush through the remainders, paid my money, paid her a well-deserved (so I though) tip, and left to go find the rest of the crew.

Fast-forward to this morning, when I am trying to get ready for my early meeting. Shower, wash bits of hair, dry off, go to comb hair, annnnnnd--

HEY!

Over my right ear, a nice big whitewall with a lumpy gap right in the center. The left side? Lower. Not only did I have a wide irregular hunk of scalp showing, IT WAS ONLY LIKE THAT ON ONE SIDE! I could almost have been more happier if it was equally gappy on both sides.

::sigh::

I found that I can sorta hide it by combing it straight down and swirling it forwards slightly in a Trumpian way (except imagine Trump with short hair), and I can kinda pat the other side down some so it approximates the right thickness, but I still know it's there, and to make matters worse, it was done by my favorite young fleshy stylist girl!

Do I go back and tell her to fix it?!

Do I just never go back?!

Nah. It'll grow back. I'll just be sure to tell her next time to be more careful.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:20 PM | Comments (15)

I have reached the conclusion...

...that it is an extraordinarily bad idea to have to work for a living.

I believe the best course is to be independently wealthy and idle your days away on a beach somewhere, because if you work for a living, you are bound to have those times when there is someone in charge who acts in such a way that is contrary to all reason or logic, and even though it might not directly have an impact on you, you still regret the impact such irreason and illogic has on others; BUT, you can't really say too much about that person's ineptitude, because if you do, you could wind up as the target of a similar treatment. And that would be bad.

So. Now then.

I see several avenues to reach the state of being independently wealthy. I can inherit millions from someone. This will have to be someone unrelated to me, because no one I am related to has millions of dollars. I can invent something that no one can do without, but ever since that debacle with the Kerosene-Powered Can OpenerTM, I haven't had any other really good ideas. I could win the lottery, which would require me to gamble, which morally I have a problem with, but if someone GAVE me a winning lottery ticket, I figure I wouldn't be nearly so put off. So that's an option. Let's see, what else? OH, I could get a job--but only the sort of one that requires me to be independently wealthy and unproductive, and where I do not have any supervision to see that I am performing my non-tasks properly.

Or, maybe I just need to sit in the park for a while and talk to the squirrels and pigeons.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:25 AM | Comments (16)

May 24, 2005

Tomorrow?

Stupid work to do. Early meeting, with added agitation. ::sigh::

See you later than usual--please help yourself to some of the sandwiches in the refrigerator.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:08 PM | Comments (9)

From the Mail Bag--

A package, looking for all the world as though it had been trompled by wildebeests, from that great American Dr. James Smith, who sends along a CD-R that promises lots of hot Episcopalian acolyte action (lighting candles and such like), as well as a couple of books.

Now then, I TOLD the estimable doctor of philosphy that his faith in the institution of the Federal postal system was both charmingly naive and naively charming, believing (as I did) that the moment he slipped the material into the hopper that it would be summarily "lost," i.e., that an interested worker betwixt here and North Carolina would take both Practical Feng Shui for Business by Simon Brown AND the 1965 copy of The Churchill Wit (edited by Bill Adler), as said postal employee's very own.

WELL, I was wrong! An admission that both saddens and gladdens me; the former in that it indicates a fallibility I'd rather not acknowledge, the latter due to the fact that I now have new stuff to read! COOL!

The first book, the one about feng shui, Jim was not entirely certain I would appreciate. After all, I place feng shui in the same category as numerology, astrology, figure skating, and Social Security. This is because I do know a bit of Chinese, and know that feng shui (pronounced "fung shway") means "sucker."

BUT, aside from all the hocus-jumbo, the ideas of color, materials, light, composition and spacial order do have a lot to do with making architecture pleasing to its inhabitants. The underlying structure of the practice, devoted to producing harmony and a sense of well-being, is really not so much different from any other artistic endeavor in that all art, whether it's dance, literature, or architecture, has some sort of vocabulary and language. And, being able to read and understand that language can make you feel good.

No--really.

You just have to remember, though, that art has deep roots in culture, and as such, isn't instantly importable to other places. Meaning, that to walk into a barbecue joint in Brewton and pronounce it unfit for the contemplative peaceful enjoyment of food because the feng shui is ALL WRONG will probably get you a laugh or two, or an escort out the door, or both.

There's nothing mystical about it (unlike hanging up a horseshoe above your door for good luck--because THAT'S REAL!) unless you just HAVE to read that into it, but that doesn't mean there aren't some good, common-sense ideas in it.

NOW, the second book has something of a story that I hope Jim won't mind me repeating--from his e-mail to me:

I finally got the envelope to put your books in and they should be in the mail today. One is a very small volume of sayings by Churchill. I noticed that it was given to my father by my mother. My wife would say don’t send it but I did learn something from my father. I learned that possessions don’t matter—friends do. When you finish it you can either send it back or pass it on to someone who would like it – blogger or not.

The fly is inscribed "Jimmy Smith from M.J."

Stuff like this makes me cry. I promise you that I scolded Jim for wanting to send this to me, and I really was concerned that it would get lost. But, he's rather muley about such things, and so, he was determined. And thankfully, it did get here, which means it will be treasured as only a selfish, Churchill-lovin' book-hog can treasure something. If Jim wants it back, I'll give it to him, but any of the rest of you might have a fight on your hands! Anyway, it's a wonderful little book, and I cannot post this without sharing a couple of zingers.

From page 50:

The human story does not always unfold like a mathematical calculation on the principle that two and two make four. Sometimes in life they make five or minus three; and sometimes the blackboard topples down in the middle of the sum and leaves the class in disorder and the pedagogue with a black eye.

From page 65:

The Prime Minister had been criticized by some members of Parliament for the urbane fashion in which he had written to the Japanese Ambassador to inform him that Britain and Japan were at war. Mr. Churchill replied to this criticism, saying:

After all, when you have to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite.

And from page 81:

Asked for his reaction to New York City, a young Mr. Churchill is said to have responded with just seven words:

Newpaper too thick, lavatory paper too thin.

And nowadays indistinguishable from each other.

Expect to have more excerpts in the future.

And a very heartfelt thank-you to the professor for such a fine set of gifts.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:20 PM | Comments (8)

May 23, 2005

Yes, I'm still here.

Despite all odds.

GOOD MORNING! Not much in the way of excitement this weekend. Friday night, Reba had to work late--something else unrelated to the half-jesting order to stay the other night, and one that had to get done. ::sigh:: So, laundry and supper for the kids, and when it got to be obvious that she was going to be out WAY past dark, when she called to check in, I told her I'd drive across town to escort her home. Yes, she's a big girl, and yes, she could have done just fine without me, but I worry. So sue me. It's a long drive, done mostly through bad neighborhoods and unfriendly interstate exits, and I would much rather have to follow her home than have to come find her if she broke down. SO, I let the kids have a Stay Up Late Night and they played video games and I went on about my laundress duty until about 10:30 or so, when she called to say she was about ready. Load up the young'uns, drive across town, wait, turn around, drive back.

Into bed with us all, then up early Saturday for Reba, who STILL had one more chart to finish, so while she did that, I went out and planted a pot of flowers of some sort (something blue, with a name made up entirely of consonants), and then we went clothes shopping, which I can tolerate when it's just Reba and me, but becomes quite tiresome when the children are along. Most of the time I have to go take them out to the mall and sit on a bench--keeps them from running and hiding in the clothes, if nothing else. Also have to throw pennies in all the various ponds and fountains and anything else they think should have money thrown at it, such as candy machines.

Found Cat some skorts and tops with all sorts of kitty pictures on them, found Boy some shirts and shorts, found Mom three blouses, and got myself a pair of Haggar plain front navy blue polyester pants to replace the pair the bottom busted out of. Or my bottom busted out of. They last a long time until one day they just die. I'm just glad it happened when I was still at home one morning a few weeks back.

Had some supper in the Salmonella Court, then shopped some more, then finally went home late, got the kids scrubbed, in bed, up early for church, got Reba to substitute in the 4 and 5 year old class since both teachers were out due to family circumstances (I usually complain, but not about these two--they really did need to be gone), taught my class and had another one of the long after-class discussions with Rebecca. She thinks a lot.

Church, then lunch with the younger folks at the house of a friend, then back home where I read the paper and tried my best to take a nap. Never try to take a nap on the couch. In the den. When the kids are playing a Harry Potter video game. It just doesn't work.

Back to church, and had our regular 4th Sunday evening Q&A session, which I always like. Some of you have asked about this--basically, people submit questions ahead of time, and the preacher answers them. Never fails to be informative.

Home, supper, bed, here.

AND NOW, I have several errands to run this morning that will preclude me from any sort of regular posting until much later this afternoon, SO, go visit everyone in the list up top or over on the sidebar, and I'll see you sometime later!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:48 AM | Comments (3)

May 20, 2005

Annnnnd, about that time.

To go, that is.

As usual, I have no idea what sorts of things have been written down on the Big List of Things For Terry To Do This Weekend, but I imagine none of them will be fun, but they will all have great potential for physically or emotionally injuring myself. Which, although wince-inducing, does make for good blog fodder come Monday morning.

SO, all of you have a great weekend, and we'll see you back here again next week.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:45 PM | Comments (0)

I went to the library during lunch.

Yes, it’s true. I do occasionally read things. (Not a lot, though, because thinking hurts my head.) Anyway, I looked around a bit and was about to get on the escalator when I decided to go look in the bookstore. Despite the fact that it never ceases to depress me terribly.

If there was ever a reason that I cannot bring myself to try to submit a manuscript to a publishing house, this is it. I’ve always figured, given the huge number of vapid celebritomes and insipid “Bouillon for the Psyche” books out there that you can just about get anything printed nowadays, including something by some goober like me. But to what end? I looked at the rows of forlorn books, some even By Noted Authors, all for a buck apiece. Come on…a buck!? That’s almost like leaving a dime for a tip. Sure, that may be all the service is worth, but why rub it in like that? I figure I’d be happier just giving this silly mess away, rather than see it neatly bound and languishing on a shelf trying to convince some drunk sailor to part with some loose change.

Anyway, nothing worth spending a dollar on. Walked on around to the record albums. Yet more dreckliness. Normal stacks of obscure classical vinyl music (you know, for the type of people who used go to the library to check out record albums so they could get some free culturing up), some Lawrence Welk, earnest flower-child era folk albums, a few jazz albums from back when jazz meant guys with Brylcreemed hair, a smoke, and a pair of incredibly voluptuous women full of lust and tranquilizers, languorously slathered onto the piano.

And then.

Oh. My.

You know, when you’re growing up, you hear asides and funny bits from the television, not really understanding or knowing why they’re supposed to be funny, but they are anyway. Especially like when, say, Bugs Bunny is imitating Liberace, and he purrs, “I wish my brother George was here to see this.” You know it’s funny, because he imitating Liberace, who was “funny” and he really did say stuff like that, and it was funny, because it was said funny and--so, where was I going with this?

Oh, yes--from Contessa Records, CON-15033,

Dine & Dance with
GEORGE LIBERACE
and his orchestra

Oh, I know I should have a digital camera with me at all times, but there is always the miracle of the Internets. I did a moment’s work, and came up with this jewel.

Not the same album--this one’s from the Beverly Hilton (not Paris and Nikki’s mom--at least not that I can tell) but the cover photograph is the exact same--George, looking kinda like his more famous sibling, sawing on a fiddle, leering at the camera, whilst a couple dance in the background. He--distracted by something over beyond GLiberace; she--imploring him to turn back and feel the warm embrace of a woman. Tension! Angst! THE “GEORGE LIBERACE MAMBO”!

Incredible. I had to buy it. Because now all those years of watching Bugs Bunny and Liberace make sense. (Not really.)

It’s also kinda nice, because it has a K-Mart sticker on it, and it was on "special sale" at some wayback time in the past for 2 for $1.00. So, it’s kinda like the stock on this rare jewel is rising. It’s doubled in value! Or something.

What more finds? More classical albums, then some stuff from the mid-â€80s when everyone wanted to be mulletted Hall and Oates clones. No offense to the Portland Brothers, who have dropped into a terrible obscurity from which even Google cannot rescue them.

OH. MY.

And there it was:

Music from the Original Sound Track
Composed and Conducted by Piero Piccioni
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer presents A CARLO PONTI PRODUCTION
“More than a miracle”

Or, as we say in Italian, C'era una volta...

Ahhh, Sophia. On the album she is rendered in all of her mod bosomy 1967 glory in a color pencil drawing. Again, through the miracle of the personal computer and the WWW, we can see a copy of the artwork.

You’re welcome.

You will note the dark and brooding Omar Sharif (or Al Pacino--hard to tell from the picture) in the background as he looks over her shoulder, examining something on the ground about three feet in front of Sophia. Here’s an alternative poster for the French version, in which poor clueless Omar again looks at something less impressive than the obvious attractions.

Anywho, the blurb on the back album cover tells you everything you need to know about what was so dreadfully awry about the late 1960s:

Prince Ramon (Omar Sharif) is everything a prince should be, but, to the displeasure of his mother (Dolores Del Rio) he is more interested in horses than in marrying a princess. One day he encounters a monk (Leslie French) with the power to fly. The monk presents Ramon with some magic flour which, when baked into seven dumplings and eaten, will enable the prince to choose a wife. His first opportunity to put this magic to work comes in the person of a beautiful peasant girl named Isabella (Sophia Loren), but she bakes only six dumplings. After a series of adventures, matters come to a head and seven princesses have made the semi-finals as Ramon’s bride elect. But when Ramon learns that Isabella is now working in his castle as a dishwasher he decides on a dishwashing contest. To everyone’s amazement, Isabella loses to the Princess of Altimura, but the flying monk finds out the dishes have been tampered with, and a joyous banquet is prepared to celebrate the betrothal of Ramon and Isabella.

Oh, the heck with writing a darned book--I’m gonna be a SCREENWRITER!

But, in fairness, it does have Sophia Loren in it, which is one of the things that is very right about the late 1960s. I had to buy that one, too--it had been marked down in some discount bin to 77 cents. So, its value is rising just like George’s!

And then I bought lunch and came back here.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:47 PM | Comments (2)

Well, that wasn't quite what I expected.

Then again, it never is.

Got to the in-law's house and was met by several very loud children, some of whom were telling me about Catherine's teacher meeting (which I already knew about) and others were informing me that Reba was already on the way toward home. Which was quite unexpected, given what she had been ranting about on the phone.

Turns out the order to stay until further notice was intended in jest. Kinda. Sorta. But not really. But really. A word of advice to anyone who will supervise Miss Reba--the girl does not do well with trying to read minds. Be explicit, and cut the crap. If you want her to stay and work, she will. If not, don't say it, then turn around and say you were only fooling when you find out she's angry. Reba has a very low tolerance for that cloying, sorority-girl, I-hate-to-be-mean (to-your-face) cuz-I-want-you-to-like-me crap. She ain't part of your Ya-Ya Sisterhood Grrrl Power clique--when there's work to be done, she wants no part of any of that huggy flower power kinder gentler diversity victimhood-of-male-domination silliness. She comes from a long line of women who rose at dawn, cooked, cleaned, raised housefuls of kids, chopped cotton, shucked corn, stripped cane, who knew how to butcher a hog, drive a team, and shoot a pistol--yet never found the time to think of themselves as oppressed. So, she's not really that impressed by the fact that you have a title and an office, especially if you're not getting YOUR job done.

I make this plea for you to do your job, because it makes it AWFULLY hard on ME when you're indecisive and unfathomable--because, as we know, when Mama ain't happy, ain't NOBODY happy, so if you're her boss, let me just tell you right now--straighten up, fly right, and in the words of a very wise man, "Git 'er done."

ANYway, so she got to leave earlier than planned so I told her I'd meet her at the school, and I'd go to my other meeting from there. Got to school, parked by her car, went in, followed a couple of other folks all the way back to the gym (wish I'd have know, and I would have parked back there), walked in and sat by Reba. Waited for the meeting to start, caught up on the toil of her day, and the meeting started. With PowerPoint! Yay!

Introduction of the teachers and at the extreme risk of talking about fashion for the third day in a row, I must say I don't recall my teachers looking quite...so--I don't know what.

Look, maybe when I was young, teachers might have worn all sorts of naughty underthings, but I promise you I cannot recall any of them ever dressing in a way where I could TELL they were wearing a racer-back sports bra and thong panties.

Context, people. Context.

I might be unredeemably square old fart, but it seems that there are more appropriate venues for displaying your charms than in a meeting with parents of your future students. Oh, and stay out of the tanning bed. It's really not helping your skin any.

After about fifteen minutes or so, I quietly ducked out to head to my meeting. Big one this time, but thankfully mostly just exceptions for home occupations. There was a small controversy, and a sort of testiness that I don't quite understand, aside from the fact that some people seem to have gotten themselves a fair bit of snootiness with all the recent wave of new development in town. I realize it's good to maintain your property values and such, but it doesn't help your case to keep saying you're the neighborhood president. Why? Because I don't care who you are or what you look like, the law sets forth what can and can't be done, not the fact that you are king of your block. Don't like a law? Go through the process to change it.

SEE!? All kinds of testiness!

Wrapped up pretty late, as these things go, then back toward the in-laws to eat a bit of supper. ON the way, was overcome by my special Moron-Sense, which is something like Spidey Sense, a kind of tingling when something moronic is near. Sure enough, just as I passed by the street that leads to the Mercedes Doctor, I spotted, not a Mercedes, BUT A VOLVO 240! Of course, I had to turn around and go back and look. Hmmm--I wonder if they've branched out to Swedish junk now, too!? I'll have to call!

THEN on to the in-laws, ate some steamed veggies and chicken and dumplings, then rousted all the kids to get them back to the house, which took forever, as did getting them to take their baths. It was very late when I went to bed, which might explain why I am so exceedingly sleepy, grouchy, and testy this morning.

Or not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:10 AM | Comments (2)

May 19, 2005

Sometimes working isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Just got a call from Miss Reba, who tells me she's going to have to stay very late tonight. They have a very bad habit of not telling her anything, then springing all sorts of important, but arcane, information on her at the very last minute, then acting surprised that she didn't know it already, even though the only way she could have ever known about it is for them to have told her.

So, she's rather upset.

At least it pays better than the last place, but it seems she just can't find a place that runs with any sort of logic. It's like she's trapped in one vast Dilbert strip. Maybe once she finishes her degree she'll be able to find something better.

SO, I'll have to get the kiddies this afternoon, but I also have the local zoning board meeting tonight at 7:00, and I just got a call from a very sweet little girl who says there's a meeting at 6:30 tonight for the parents of all the sweet little girls (and boys) who will be entering 3rd Grade next year. Talk about springing stuff on a body at the last minute! The first I heard about it was when I answered the phone and heard her chewing on the mouthpiece and doing her Darth Vader impression. (I promise, she doesn't get her phone manners from me.)

Anyway, I have lots to do tonight. AND FURTHER, it appears that the nice, uncracked 240 dashboard I've been watching for a week on Ebay has just priced itself out of my reach. Just when I thought I might be able to tear apart the inside of my car in a fit of moronicity! ::sigh::

Oh well.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:17 PM | Comments (1)

"Isn't that just the way it goes?!" Episode II

You start off the day with a herd of traffic from some lawyer guy in Tennessee, and then all of a sudden, your beloved new home in Munuvia is blacked out. Don't know what happened there, but it does appear things are working normally again. Good thing, too, because I was about ready to launch into a big "stupid STUPID mu.nu" tirade. But I won't, because it's not. Stupid, that is.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:32 PM | Comments (7)

Childlike or childish?

Long night last night--church, then back home, dunk Cat in the tub with the promise that I would read her a story after I got home from the GROCERY STORE. Nine pee-em, and I'm headed back out to pick up vittles so we can have supper tonight. But before I do that, I have to look at Reba's car--customer complaining of lack of A/C cooling, power loss. Thinks power loss might be low transmission fluid. ::sigh::

Went out and in the pitch black of the driveway cranked it up and saw the first problem with the air conditioning. Reba has a bad habit of putting the vent control on the spot that makes it blow on the floor and through the dash. When only half of the air gets up in the top of the cabin, it certainly can feel like it's not putting out the cold. Switched that to the dash vent. Air coming out is ice cold. Problem one solved (although my later explanation to her of why was met with puzzlement and a denial that she had moved the knob. Instructed customer to not touch the knob, and check it frequently for movement from intended position.)

Next, the trans fluid. Basically, I knew what I was going to find. She reports power loss, going UP THE STEEP HILL to our neighborhood, with the car filled with FIVE PASSENGERS. Sure, it's peppy, but any little 110 horse box is going to feel sluggish in conditions like that (and with the A/C on.) But she said it felt like it was slipping or something, so I obliged with a check underhood. Got my big flashlight, popped the hood, propped it open, grabbed the dipstick, wipe, insert, observe. Full. Wipe, insert--"Do you need some help?!" AHHGHHHH!

Scared me witless. The young guy from next door had come up, and with the engine running and a total absorption in the task at hand, I hadn't noticed him until he was right beside me. I told him he nearly scared me to death--I think he thought I was mad at him or something, but I thanked him for coming by and told him I was just checking the transmission fluid. In the dark. When most people are about ready to watch the news and go to bed.

Wipe again and insert, observe. Full. Wipe once more, insert once more, observe once more. Well, the thing's full. Customer advised that trans fluid is at recommended level.

Then on to the store--you know those bagged salad kits? I found out that they sell the pieces to those things, and you can make your own salad! Who knew?! Lettuce, mustard, worcestershire sauce, ground beef, Diet Coke, more stuff. Pay, home, unload. Find Cat in bed, with book, lights on, asleep. Poor pooter. Kissed her and turned off the light, made the rounds of other children to see what stage of getting into bed they were in, went back downstairs to do some dirty laundry. Really, REALLY dirty.

I had a pang of deep guilt for all the messy dirty towels and such I'd left stacked in the garage from my recent Volvo-primping session, and I thought I really needed to clean them. Went out, got them and walked back to the laundry room with them without closing the garage door, got them put in with tons of soap and hot water and Shout, and then went to close the door to the garage.

Cat's scooter was there, leaned up against the ladder. I turned the light off, and was about to turn around, but something about the shiny clean look of it, and her extreme joy in playing with it made me wonder.

Should I?

I mean, I might break it. I do weigh more than an eight year old, you know.

But, if I broke it, I would get her another one.

But, still, that's not really the right thing to do. She loves her little scooter and would be angry if I hurt it.

But, if I maybe move to the very front, and maybe don't go far...

I grabbed it and placed my foot on the front, right by the handlebar tube, and pushed off across the kitchen floor. Smooooooth. And quiet. All the way to the doorway to the den. Turn, step, gliiiiiiiiiide. Man, I wish I'd had one of these as a kid. Once more! Turn, step, skimmmmmm. Turn around at the kitchen table, and back to the back door. Boy, that was fun.

I quietly put the scooter back out by the ladder, just as it was before.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:25 AM | Comments (4)

Isn't that just the way it goes?!

Your blog looks like a mess, you write like a narcoleptic macaque, and your butt hurts because of your wallet, but you think no one will notice. AND THEN, evil puppy-blending Glenn Reynolds sends everyone over to gawk at you!

Well, good morning, all you new visitor sorts!

This is Possumblog. I would say that you just caught me on a bad day, but since December of 2001, this is about as good as it ever gets. Thank you for coming by. Please do wander around and see what little there is to see, and as always, I ask that you not express your disappointment to my face. I would feel much better if you would just point and laugh at me behind my back.

There will be more posts later in the day, and our promise to you is that they will contain a variety of vowels and consonants, as well as some punctuation. Do drop in again when you feel the urge to read about the "exciting" life I lead, full of self-injury and paeans to Norah O'Donnell.

(Oh, and many thanks for the Instadeluge, Doc Reynolds!)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:43 AM | Comments (14)

May 18, 2005

Observations From the Food Court!

I don’t usually sit and eat over at the food court in the AmSouth-Harbert building, mainly because when I do go, I’m not with anyone, and I never think to bring along any reading matter, and so I’m stuck with sitting alone and staring at people. Not necessarily a bad thing, mind you, but it’s just so…so obvious.

But, for some reason (I think it might have had something to do with making sure I was out of the office to avoid talking to someone) [UPDATE--just got interrupted while writing this. Had to meet with them anyway, because my supervisor and coworker have both bailed for the day. ::sigh::] ANYWAY, I decided to go sit and eat today.

Now then, first off, I realize I have no room to talk about anyone else when it comes to matters of dress and deportment. For instance, today I am dressed in my brown ensemble, which generally makes me look like a chubby, wingtip-shod gingerbread man. But, here’s the deal--I’m not really going for anything more than just being dressed enough to keep from getting arrested. I’m certain that I won’t be appearing on Access Hollywood tonight, and Snoop and Fitty never call (although I do wish that Paula Abdul woman would stop), but at least I KNOW I’m not out there on the cutting edge of fashion. So don’t feel as though you have to remind me of this--you don’t, I promise.

But there are some folks, folks who think they are REALLY out there pushing the outside of the envelope, and, well, to paraphrase Inigo Montoya: â€You keep wearing those clothes. I do not think they look the way you think they look.’

So, to start--

First, due to the giant strides made in modern communication technology, it is impossible to tell crazy people who hear voices apart from people with a hidden earpiece and microphone talking to their broker. This is a bad thing. It used to be you knew whom to avoid or not stare at, but now, everyone’s running around talking to the air, and you just never know. I think I may take up screaming at people just to make sure they know I’m not one of the crazy ones.

Second, it is extremely difficult to remain a gentleman whilst using an escalator, most particularly when there is a woman several steps above you wearing a short flowing white skirt and a pair of long flowing tanned legs.

Third, and to the more weighty matters--those shoes you girls are wearing now--the ones with the stiletto toes? Those don’t look good. Yes, I know I have complained about the horrid ugly â€70s retread clunky chunky shoes, but the needle-nose pliers look really isn’t the best correction.

Fourth, UPS summer uniforms look like crap. Some guys just shouldn’t wear shorts, and that’s all there is to it. Especially if you have knobby nappy legs like a Nigerian marathon runner. Even worse is when you wear giant Dr. Scholl’s shoes.

Fifth, I still say pedal pushers aren’t appropriate office attire, even when paired with an ugly, shapeless, matronly navy blue suit coat.

Sixth, this is much more prevalent amongst up-and-coming mailroom boys, but if you want anyone to ever take you seriously, DO NOT WALK AROUND CHEWING ON A SODA STRAW.

Seventh (yes, there’s a lot of these--just hold on), I saw two women sitting together wearing nearly identical get-ups--short denim jacket, flouncy party skirt, strappy party heels, gigantic purses, along with an assortment of fake melanin, fake hair, fake nails, and a real need to be noticed. (Which seems to have succeeded.) Anyway, I’m not sure of the look they were going for--probably something they saw Jennifer Aniston wearing in People--which is fine, I suppose, for people who are Jenn’s age; but dressing like that really doesn’t make you look ten years younger.

Eighth--YOU!--The dark and depressed-looking fellow carrying the purse. Yes, you. I know you think it looks manly since it’s disguised as some sort of rugged black all-activity sports/camera bag-looking thing, but trust me--other men know it’s a purse. How? Because you don’t have a gigantic ugly wad of a billfold in your back pocket like we real men have, that’s how! (As an aside, I have finally given myself that sciatic neuropathy stuff from sitting on my giant bulging wallet too much. I moved my wallet to the other pocket, and when that leg starts hurting, I suppose I’ll move it back. Why? Because I’m a moron.) ANYway--

Ninth, I am very tired of guys wearing dark purple shirts, white ties, and black suits. Move on, please.

Tenth, and blessedly last: hair gel for men is silly and foppish, but if you INSIST on using it, you might want to look in a mirror first. If you have thinning hair, and you think you really MUST part your hair in the middle and slick it back, don’t be surprised if people think you look like Alfalfa.

SO, there you go. And the chicken fingers were very tasty, thank you for asking.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:14 PM | Comments (40)

May 17, 2005

BABY ANIMALS!

Yet ANOTHER foal from the sprawling ranchland of resident tractor botherer, Dave Helton!

Congratulations all around--he's a cutie. (The horsie, that is.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:16 PM | Comments (2)

It is--

--an absolutely gorgeous day here today. Bright blue sky, light wind, warm but not humid. It is days like this that I wish I had invented something cool like the personal computer, and that I was just rolling in dough, because I would take the entire day off, and go play in the park.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:12 PM | Comments (0)

Apparently, I am a bad influence.

How else to explain yet another couple engaged in a Great Big "I'm A Moron" Project? I will say they have stepped things up a notch by getting local law enforcement agents involved. Very nice turn of events, that.

Thankfully, Lucy remains a free bird today, and the motel seems like a much more hospitable place than the alternative.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:08 AM | Comments (2)

May 16, 2005

Oh, and the story about the pole lopper?

This one is from many years ago--after college, but before marriage. At my folks' house, we had several hackberry trees, which are basically elm trees with bad reputations. They grow big and bushy and they grow fast, which means a constant need to tend them so they don't get too dense.

We had purchased a pole-mounted lopper--the kind with the long fiberglass pole and the saw blade on the end--and I had spent the better part of a Saturday morning pruning and clipping the innards out of one of our hackberries.

Time to head in, and in what turned out to be an extraordinarily bad idea, instead of wrapping up the long cord used to operate the lopper head, I just let it drag along the ground. I was carrying the pole swinging low in my left hand, letting it drag just a bit on the ground, when, quite unexpectedly, the handle of the cord trailing back behind me got hung up on a stump. It did this just as my left hand was coming forward as I walked. The lopper stayed motionless, caught by the cord, and my hand jerked forward and then up into the hook part of the tool, and just as quickly the cord pulled down the lever and the lopper blade closed around the web of my hand between my left thumb and left index finger.

I said several bad words, and after freeing my hand, opened my thumb up a bit to see what the damage was. I saw a bright sliver of white down in there, which probably wasn't a good thing. I quickly closed my hand back up, and kept it immobilized with a gauze bandage for a couple of days. It managed to heal back on its own, with no need for stitches or anything else. In fact, very little blood.

Although, when I think back, I suppose I could have lopped my thumb clean off if I had pulled on the cord just a little harder.

Anyway, be safe around yard tools, and don't let things dangle!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:10 PM | Comments (7)

And then, I dug holes!

Sorry for the abrupt ending on the last post.

But there come moments in a person's work life that just cause one to have to take a moment and reflect.

I don't want to discuss it here--it's too personal even for a relative blabbermouth like me--but I will say this: if I ever hear another liberal blow wind about how kind and compassionate and inclusive and thoughtful and empathetic and benevolent all liberals are, you will come uncomfortably close to having every single negative stereotype you might have ever held about openly-heterosexual Bible-thumping gun-toting conservative white Southern men fulfilled. Frankly, there's enough hypocritical idiocy to go around, and your voting record or the color of your skin doesn't magically make you incapable of being just as much of a narrowminded weasel as the guy on the other side of the fence.

So, I don't care who you are or what you look like--if you're going to put on that cloak of moral superiority, you better learn to treat people right, or God's gonna give you the beat-down you deserve.

There now! All happy again! BUTTERFLIES! KITTIES! PRECIOUS MOMENTS FIGURINES! SADDLE OXFORDS!

SO, I was washing the wheels on the van, and decided it wouldn't hurt a bit to see if the spray would work on the Volvo wheels. Which have those ugly flat "aerodynamic-style" hubcaps with the little vanes on the edges. I popped them off the driver's side and spritzed, and...well, not much. Twenty years of caked on brake dust is a bit of a bear to get off. I sprayed them and even gave them a bit of a scrub, but this is going to be much more of a job than the van wheels were. But, no matter. While the chemicals were working, I also cranked it to let it run and then did some more checking of wiring and fluids and such like, and cleaned a little more grime off the engine. (I like cleaning.)

It's also a convenient way to avoid digging holes.

But not really a way to eliminate the possibility entirely, which only death seems to be a sufficient excuse.

SO, to the backyard again. Got my posthole diggers, grabbed a couple of rose bushes, and started hurting myself.

We live on top of a hill; a hill made mostly of sandstone and clay. Sandstone and clay are pretty hard, and won't grow grass, so the developers of the neighborhood were kind enough to add a thin layer of topsoil on top of the hard, hard sandstone and clay. Which is fine for yards, but when you want to dig a hole to plant several bushes, it is a bad thing. CLANG. CLANG. OOMPH.

::sigh::

Time to get out the pick. I hate having to use the pick. It's not a cool tool like a posthole digger, and it's hard to use it with any grace, and it's just plain hard to use, because it means that there's something hard underneath it that probably shouldn't be disturbed.

Three rose bushes, two azaleas, one hydrangea, and I felt like I had been hit repeatedly with a pick. BUT THAT'S NOT ALL!

Time for the last little bit of stuff--fixing some potting soil for Ashley's seeds. We already had some long planting trays, so that was nice--nothing to go buy. Sat down in the rocking chair and proceeded to mix up several bags of material in a big pot, poured it into the six long trays, and then, the ordeal of planting.

This required that I get down at the level of the planters, which were sitting on top of the patio. I somehow managed to get all the way down and sat next to them, although it would have been much easier with one of those little garden scooters old people like to use to roll around on. Tore open each package and carefully arranged the seeds, then covered them up, then gave them a drink.

Finally. Finished.

Well, except for cooking the pork chops. Reba did volunteer to wirebrush the grill for me, which was very nice, but she's a little too girly to give it the manly scrubbing that it truly deserved. Then again, by the time the day was over, I wasn't feeling very manly either, which I think explains why there seemed to be a little too much rusty grit left on the meat when it came off the fire.

Supper, birthday cakery with much singing and candle-blowing-outitude, shower, bed.

Snore.

Dream of weevils, and inexplicably, the newspaper.

Wake, get ready, get kids up, answer call at thirty minutes before time to leave from one of the teachers saying she couldn't make it this morning, and oh, could you find someone to cover for me?

::sigh:: Yes.

Got to church, taught Boy and Middle Girl and some others that sometimes the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, worship--which was very good with few distractions this week, then off to the other side of the county for lunch with Ashley's grandparents, then back to, where else? WAL-MART! Yea! Had to get some shampoo for Miss Reba, because she picked up conditioner the day before instead of poo, and had to return a present for Boy so he could get what he really just had to have (Pokemon Emerald Version for GameBoy!) and I got a giant box of Stanback to keep in my desk drawer for days like today.

On back to church, meeting, discuss all kinds of important things, evening worship--in which I struggled mightily to stay awake. It was a losing battle. (The old spirit/flesh thing, I suppose.) Home, supper, go get gas in Reba's car, bed.

And now? Why, as my friend down in the computer department says, "Just another day in paradise!"

Indeed so!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:49 PM | Comments (6)

MOWING!

Oh, wait. I forgot.

There is that whole issue with lopping that needs to be discussed.

I lopped. Started with the wild hedge over in the stone planter bed, where also grows poison sumac, poison oak, and poison ivy. It is a testament to Divine Providence that I was somehow spared from getting this stuff all over me. Anyway, it sure is satisfying to use a new pair of loppers. SLICE! Did that, then went to work on the wisteria.

Catherine was very worried about the bird's nest that is up in the middle of all this, but I was much more concerned about getting snakebit. All those long green tendrils, you know. I told her the nest would stay, but we had to get down all the long vines because they were tearing up the arbor and were climbing up the tree.

"Oh. Can I help?"

Hmm. I don't know. She pulled one long runner out, and then decided to go bother the lizards over by the house. "DADDY! HERE'S ONE!" I had to go see, because she caught one the other day, and I am almost certain that if she catches another, she'll let it loose in the house. She left this one alone. I had a branch in my hand and we gently chased it across the side of the house, which she thought was quite a grand diversion. I went back to lopping the wisteria, and she came by after a while and asked if she could pull another limb. Sure.

I turned around and she had a giant branch holding it out to chase the lizard with. ::sigh:: I made her get one slightly less ridiculously large.

Finally finished off the wisteria, and was left with a pile of limbs the size of a Volkswagen. All that, off of one little arbor. Did some other minor trimming of the maple trees, and then Boy's pear tree (and managed to jamb one of the thorns deep into the side of my thumb--yes, it left a mark), then Rebecca's sycamore. Quite a pile, I must say.

THEN, MOWER TIME! YEA!

Just did the back yard, because after the mowing was over was time to get out the hole maker. I wasn't confident I could do the front and back and still have time to kill myself digging holes.

Mow, mow, mow.

See Dad mow.

Usually, it is during this time that I think of solutions to the world's ailments, and, in fact, have managed to solve most of them. At least in theory. But Saturday my mental meanderings were devoted to prioritizing things that needed to be checked into on the I'm A Moron Project. Odometer fix, windshield, a brisk cleansing, better looking wheels--stuff to keep me indebted for a long, LONG time. That is, IF I could ever get time to play with it--there being, after all, several other persons in the house who count on me to assist them in projects of their own. ::sigh::

Finally got the yard all neatly mowed, and decided that doggone it, I WOULD play with the car a little bit, under the pretext of cleaning the ugly mess off the van wheels.

Got out my cleaner junk and sprayed the wheels, rinse, wipe, rinse, spray, wipe. Say, now THAT looks nice! They never had such chemicals when I was a youngster. All we had was a scrub brush and cleanser.

[Heaven help me, I just got out of another meeting--an hour and a half of the most frustrating pile of garbage, and I really would like it right now if I could just say, "Hey, I quit," get my junk, and walk out the door. I'm going to go eat lunch right now, and I'll be back when I'm in a better mood.]

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:26 AM | Comments (0)

Trip Two

Back down to the foot of the hill, get back in line at the checkout, shoving the bucket ahead of me on the floor (ick, weevils), and when it got to be my turn, I hoisted the bucket onto the counter--"Hi, uh--I was just in here, and I bought this, and when I got home and opened it, it was full of weevils."

"WHAT!?"

"Yes, ma'am--see?"

I popped the lid off and the woman--a hearty, stumpy, strapping, leathery thing visibly blanched, despite her tanning bed tan. She looked at the critters for a moment and said tersely, pleadingly, "Please put the lid back on." I think she was given something that will return to her in her nightmares. Heh. I know they were in one of mine.

Anyway, she let me go look for another bucket, and told me to be sure and open it first. The one that had been there before was gone (I wonder if it had weevils in it), so I just got a bag. Paid, then went back to see if they had some loppers. That wisteria vine was going to have to go, and there were several other hedges and unidentifiable trash plants coming up, and for some reason, I have never had a good set of loppers (other than the pole lopper I nearly severed my thumb with). They had several, but they were somewhat pricey, so I figured I'd swing by Kmart on the way to get gas and see what they had.

Off then, stopped at the gas station and got a car wash, eventually, after having to get out and go in and get a car wash code. Finish that, got out to screw the antenna back on and hmm. The grimy wheels were less grimy, but only in spots. The rest was a swirly mess of black brake dust and goo. ::sigh:: I would have been better not to have done anything. Maybe when I get home I can clean them.

On up the hill to Kmart, where I saw that a group of young women in shorts and halter tops were having a free car wash. I very nearly decide to let them clean the wheels, but figure it would be more entertainment than I am allowed, so I just went on to Kmart.

[Interruption here for staff meeting--I KNEW it was going to happen in the middle of this!]

Wandered around, found an absolutely precious lopper/hand pruner gift set by Martha Stewart, vaguely remembered I was supposed to be looking for something else, wandered around some more, remembered I was supposed to be looking for a trellis for the running rose bush in the planter, didn't find one, then checked out. On to Sam's for gas, then back down the hill to Dairy Queen for an ice cream cake. Waited forever for them to decorate it and then to pay for it, then got it to the van and turned the A/C down to "meat locker" and sped home so it wouldn't be a squishy milk cake.

HOME, freezer, lunch, time to feed the birdies, no weevils, time to mow! Hooray!

NEXT: MOWING!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:20 AM | Comments (5)

False Alarm

Well, the staff sat for twenty minutes waiting for our betters to come back from the Big Kids meeting. No show, yet. So, back at it until they decide to come back, at which time I'll probably be right in the middle of something exciting.

Or not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:58 AM | Comments (5)

Gifts and Glasses!

Went to Walmart Friday night with the entire brood to pick up various glasses and contacts, and to do a little gift shopping for our birthday boy. Yep, Little Boy turned 11 on Saturday, and as a gift received eyeglasses. He also managed to stock up on several Star Wars action figures, and some Mega Man action figures, but those were hidden until Saturday--the glasses, he got to wear right away. They look pretty good on him, but I think it's because he's just so darned cute.

While we were there, I let Reba and the older two girls go shop for him, while I kept him and Cat with me in the car parts section. We sniffed air fresheners until we reached olfactory overload. But I think I finally found one that will smell okay in Moby. It's not too florally, or chemically, or fruity, or coconutty, or vanilla-y. I have yet to find something I really like. The Febreeze begins to smell too much like Aqua Net, and the Glade evaporates too quickly. Anyway, I'd rather not have to smell it for a long time, no matter what, so if you need a van, please buy Moby so I can get on with my I'm A Moron project.

Home, supper, admonish children before they go to bed to please stay in bed on Saturday morning and not wake up Daddy and Mommy, who were very exhausted, and not in a good way.

Saturday. Ahhh, Saturday.

Up, dress, run to store for potting soil so the herb seeds Oldest bought could be planted, then to Marvin's for some bird seed and weed killer, then back up the hill to home. (Trip One, of Several)

Dump potting soil and weed killer outside, run out to bird feeders to fill them up, zip open bucket full of seed, and AAAGGGHHHHH!

The whole top surface is covered with weevils! It looked like the whole bucket was alive. Never seen THAT before. Slammed the lid back on, and now it was time for Trip Two. Almost. Got Reba to explain to me one more time where all the stuff was supposed to go in the backyard--she'd gotten two new rose bushes the night before at Wally World, and I need to know exactly where they went, as well as the azalea, and her hydrangea, and the other roses that have been patiently growing in pots. I think she must have gotten tired of reminding me, because she pretty much just said she didn't care.

But first, de-weevilling. Oh, and I needed gas in the van. And to pick up Boy's birthday cake. And those spiffy alloy wheels are looking kinda grimy on the van--it won't sell if they're dirty, you know. Maybe a car wash.

ONWARD!

(But first, staff meeting.)

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:33 AM | Comments (9)

Boy, am I sore AGAIN!

Stay tuned for all sorts of fantastic, lurid yarns of life high atop Talladega Hill, including Birthday Shopping, Potting Soil & Bird Seeding, EEEK! WEEVILS!, Caking, Bird Feeding, Foliage Lopping, Fountain Filling, Lawn Mowing, Wheel Scrubbing, Hole Digging, Seed Planting, Pork Chop Grilling, Snoring, Churching, Wal-Marting, Churching, and Yet More Snoring, With Added Groaning!

Fascinating, I know.

Oh, and somewhere in here this morning we have a staff meeting, so be prepared for interruptions in the flow of drivel.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:39 AM | Comments (0)

May 13, 2005

Weekend?

Well, okay--if you insist. It's going to be another one of those soreness-inducing ones, I can tell already. Putting out plants. Nandinas, roses, the Mother's Day hydrangea, azaleas. Then trimming the wisteria so it doesn't clamber on up the maple tree. Obviously, all of this digging will require the full use of my PhD. (Posthole Digger.)

I would also kinda like to take a more indepth look at the Volvo and see what all needs to be fixed. I saw already a repair that looks too jackleg even for me. There's a piece of flexible metal piping that runs from the exhaust manifold to the air cleaner (called a preheat hose), and for some reason the former owner's mechanic cobbled together a fix for the hose to keep the middle part together. The hose is kinda flimsy and eventually falls apart (and sometimes off), but it's also cheap. But the fix on this one involved a Rube Goldbergian piece of thin flat aluminum. with the two ends bent over slightly to hold underneath two plastic zip-ties that circled the pipe on either side of the break. Seems like an awful lot of effort to hold the thing together. Not that it was really working as "designed." Still big gaping gaps in the hose. That little detail could use some fixing with an actual length of the proper hose. And there's other stuff, too; I'd still like to clean it a bit more inside, and clean the trunk out.

But I don't know if that's going to get done this weekend. And then there's church on Sunday, and a trip across town, and a meeting Sunday afternoon before evening worship, and I imagine all sorts of other stuff that will come up. (And hopefully not come up on the carpet.)

ANYWAY, all of you have a great weekend, and we'll see you around here Monday morning sometime!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:43 PM | Comments (0)

I think...

...I'd like some soup.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:09 PM | Comments (0)

Busy-ness

Her first job application. It's a big step, although I'm not sure she will realize it for a very long time. Kids who get sent down into the mines early in life are like that, you know. Got home yesterday and swooped inside and picked up Rebecca and coordinated with my better half on the meeting place at the high school for the concert, and then was off again down Main Street.

Arrived at the facility in question--a small house converted into a hospital for cats--with about ten minutes to spare before closing time. Walked in and spoke to the nice girl at the desk as Rebecca hid behind me. I finally shoved her around so she could be seen, although I never could get her to do much more than smile. She's very quiet, you know.

The assistant let us go back to the back and look at the kitties, most of whom seemed very aloof. Go figure. She explained that they had a couple of other people who had asked about working during the summer, but they always needed some help. Although most of the work would be in the kennel.

She didn't really explain all that was involved in this, but I did later after we left. Cleaning cages and feeding. Which isn't fun, but as I told Rebecca, you have to start at the bottom. You don't just be a vet. Which she already knew, but I'm so used to trying to convince her older sister that anything worth doing requires some hard work, and that you can't just be something without training, that I felt I had to make it clear to her in no uncertain terms. I used the example of when she was learning to ride horses, and they had to help clean them and clean the poop out of the stalls.

Anyway, the assistant gave her an application, which was obviously geared to people older than 12, but that was okay. She filled it out mostly by herself, although I had to explain what was meant by "experience." "I've never worked before." So, what you have to do is tell why you want to start working--I told her to put down that she wanted to be a veterinarian and needed to learn what all goes on in an office. Should be sufficient, I think.

As she filled that out, one of the various resident cats who has the run of the office came by and started swiping on my legs, so I obliged him with various head scritches and pats. And then realized he was shedding all over the bottoms of my black pants. ::sigh::

All done, and she turned her application back in, and now we wait to see if they'll be able to use her.

I wonder if she'll remember filling out an application when she gets to be an adult? I hope so.

THEN, on to the high school for the concert. In a hard-to-believe coincidence, we managed to get there right as Reba and the rest of the kids did, and parked right beside them. Amazing, I know!

Walked in, paid our nine bucks, waited in the lobby for a while for the beginner band parents to clear out. It's a bit like hot bunks in a sub--as soon as one group finishes, another group starts and all their families and friends take over the seats. We managed to sneak in and grab a row after the beginner band and before the start of the middle school concert band's performance.

As always, I am surprised at how good the kids sound, even though most of the middle school pieces are real heavy on the percussion rhythm--variations on oompah and boom-chicka-boom--and just ever so slightly on the slowish side. But no squeakers, so you figure that's pretty good.

Next on the list was the middle school symphonic band--less boom-chicka, more horns, slightly more rapid tempo. The last thing they played was a medley of TV comedy theme songs, and they did a darned fine job of it, especially the theme from "I Love Lucy." Very nice.

FINALLY, time for the high school concert band, which is what Ashley was in. BIG difference. These kids have won a lot of awards this year, and they deserve them. They are good, and not just proud-parent good. Their set included "The Last Battle" by Ralph Ford, which various sources on them there Internets says was written by Mr. Ford as an homage to the last siege of the Civil War, fought at Fort Blakely down in Mobile. To me, not knowing the story behind it, it sounded like a swingy jazzy edgy piece like something from a '50s gangster movie. Cool, daddy-o. Or huzzah. In a similar vein (although I didn't know it at the time) was a medley of Civil War marches called "The Blue and the Gray" by Clare Grundman, which was identifiably pertaining to that particular era, and finally the music from The Incredibles, which really IS a swingy jazzy edgy piece intended to evoke '50s gangster movies. And it was great! I love that hard-edged, synchopated percussion, horn-heavy sound. Wonderful job all around.

Problems?

Well, it shouldn't bother me.

By now, I should be used to people without the common courtesy not to cough up a lung when the band's playing. I should be used to oafs knocking over their expensive tripods during the quiet bits. I should be used to everyone's proud deaf meemaw bugling like an elk in heat during the music about HOW GOOD THEY ARE WITH THAT THERE MUSIC. I should be used to the ::bip::blip:: of someone's Nextel radio going off. I should be used to people sitting there in the dim din of the chairs with their screaming brat and loudly shushing him. I should be, BUT DANG IT ALL, I'M NOT! Would you people PLEASE. SHUT. UP! You sit there and act like you're so proud of your kids--then show THEM, and EVERYONE ELSE, a LITTLE RESPECT! Sit DOWN. SHUT UP. AND QUIT FLASHING THAT FRIGGIN' CAMERA IN MY FACE BEFORE I TAKE IT AND STOMP IT INTO A MILLION LITTLE BITS AND FEED THEM TO YOU THROUGH A STRAW.

Maybe I'd had too long of a day. Maybe I need to just not care--no one else seems to. But, doggone it, it's just not right. Good thing I'm a very calm and rational person. And that I didn't have a shovel handy.

After they got done, it was time for the high school symphonic band, and they are just great. Began with the overture from "Also sprach Zarathustra" (and given the behavior of the audience, I would not have been surprised for them to have begun jumping up and down and throwing bones in the air, although I must confess in my mind I was kinda hoping for a big black slab to crush the worst offenders), "Poet and Peasant Overture," and "Bugler's Holiday," with three buglers drawn from the ranks of graduates, including the former director at the school. That was pretty neat. Then a musical comedrama of sorts called "Godzilla Eats Las Vegas," by Eric Whitacre, which was pretty darned cute, and played well, to boot. A finale of "Pas Redouble," and then the band awards, and then gift giving, and then a final finale with the combined group marching band, who are tighter than wax. They can really put out the volume, and they know their stuff.

A long night, but pretty fun, even though we didn't get home until nearly ten, and had to choke down some burgers from Burger King. Good thing that plastic-headed ninny didn't show up at the house, or I would have gone and FOUND a shovel.

Kids off to take their baths, at which time Rebecca informed me that she needed some pictures for her Decade Box project in social studies. They're studying the 1960s, you know. And each group has to make something of a time capsule of stuff related to that wondrous time in our history. And to decorate the box, pictures from the era. I tell you, the Internet is a blessing and a curse.

Anyway, I managed to stay up until 1 a.m. printing off pictures--Nixon and Elvis (yes, I know this was 1970, but let's face it, what better way to end the '60s?), JFK, MLK on the Mall, George Wallace, Rowan and Martin, Jimi at Woodstock, a '66 Corvette and Corvair ad, Gilligan's Island cast, Rolling Stones "Paint it Black" album, Raquel Welch (don't worry--I used a demure version, although one with an admitted emphasis on her very large....hair), an infantry M-60 gunner in Viet Nam.

My, what a strange decade.

Anyway, I am a bit punchy this morning, so later on when I get my wits about me, I intend to introduce to you a BRAND NEW WEEVIL! And he writes about baseball, whatever that is.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:40 AM | Comments (0)

May 12, 2005

Again, with the risk of jinxing myself hanging heavy over me...

...tonight promises diversions such as Oldest's last band concert. Of the year, and possibly forever. Band just hasn't worked out the way she thought it would. One, it takes a lot of effort. Effort is hard. Two, the teachers seem to have read deeply from the book How to Berate and Belittle Youngsters, especially the chapters on "Having Favorites" and "Moral Inconsistency." Three, the students are all high school students between the ages of 14 and 18, meaning they all have an incredible capacity for both playing victim and victimizing others. "Golden rule"? Shyeah, RIGHT! (Oldest is right there with them on that score, though--wonders why she has no friends, yet can't quite seem to not treat people civily. Go figure, eh?) Anyway, teachers and fellow students are pretty much going to have to remain in the equation, but band doesn't. So, the last concert of the season.

But, she might be volunteering at the library this summer. She seems excited about that, and I think it would be good for her. She loves to read, and she's much nicer around strangers than she is around people she knows. So, we might run by there this afternoon and let her talk to the volunteer lady.

And then, there's Rebecca, who wants to be a veterinarian when she grows up. I encourage this, because she needs to make enough money to support me in my old age. Anyway, I had suggested to her that she might see about being a summer helper at one of the numerous vet's offices around our home town, and she is excited about doing that. Never having had to deal with rancorous animals before and all. SO, I called around a bit for her, and we might run by a small office this afternoon, in addition to all the other running.

So, there's a lot to do. I just hope there's no one sitting beside me with a full glass of milk.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:19 PM | Comments (0)

Ahh, city life.

Just now thought I heard a disturbance outside my window. Sounded like shouting or something.

Sure enough--way out in the middle of the park, a fellow in a dirty t-shirt, walking around, fidgeting with his arms, jumping up from a park bench, pacing, twirling, then slamming himself back down, screaming streams of curses at no one. Maybe two hundred feet away, through two panes of glass, and I can still hear him.

But it's a lovely day outside otherwise.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:22 PM | Comments (8)

I dare not say things are looking up...

for to do so would surely cause me further schlamazelry, but I will say that the seminar was okay. Why? Catering by The Fish Market! Greek salad, slaw, fried okra, roasted potatoes, corn on the cob, hush puppies, fried fish fillets, broiled Greek-style shrimp that would cause you to slap your own mother, and a tasty triangle of baklava. I went light on the breaded stuff and filled up on salad and shrimp, and I'm going to take the baklava to Reba. Boy, am I sleepy.

Sprinkler piping? Well, it's important, if you have sprinklers in your building. And plastic pipe is a different thing from black iron, if you can believe that!

For example, it is forbidden to use edible oils such as Crisco as a gasket lubricant. Second, you should not allow pipe sealant to plug the sprinkler head.

Who knew!?

Best malaprop was the information that the chlorine atoms in CPVC are "bounded" to the other molecules. I think he either meant "bonded" or "bound."

Or not.

Second best was the information that the CPVC piping is suitable for potable water supply. With "potable" pronounced using a short-O pot. But, what do I know? It's not like I'm from Cleveland or anything. Anyway, I wouldn't drink out of a sprinkler pipe, no matter what.

Anyway, back to work! Or a nap. I am awfully sleepy now.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:37 PM | Comments (11)

An auspicious start.

Got up this morning, showered, saw wife off early so she could be at a 7 a.m. meeting at work. Meaning that I had to get all the kids to school this morning. No big deal.

Went about the house to urge them to ever greater levels of swiftness in their preparations, then went back to my room get dressed. Pants? Hmm. I think gray today. Tie? Red background, with a fine, vertically-oriented pattern of swishy swirly things in taupe and gray. Belt. Shirt--reached into armoire and pulled out a white cotton oxford cloth button-down shirt. Buttoned front, buttoned left sleeve, buttoned right sle… No button on the right sleeve. ::sigh::

Take off shirt and lay it over back of chair to repair later. Reached into armoire and pulled out another cotton oxford cloth button-down shirt. Button check. Front? Check. Sleeves? Check. Collar butto--hmmm. The right button seems to have been repaired by the laundry. A tear-out, thinly repaired with what looks to be equal parts spit, laundry starch, and string. A quarter-dollar sized thin spot all around the button. I try to see if it would be noticeable if the collar was buttoned.

Oh, yeah. And how.

Hang that one back up, and reach in and pull out yet another cotton oxford cloth shirt, although this time one with a spread collar. Run the button check. All in place, with no bad spots or loose threads. Collar stays in, button up front, left sleeve, right sleeve, tuck in, belt buckled, and finish up by strangling myself with a lovely length of brightly colored silk.

Inform children of the need to go downstairs and eat breakfast (mini muffins this morning!) and they start moving toward downstairs, somewhat. (Except for Oldest, who would never deign to do anything her siblings are having to do, saving her slavish behavior-copying for the cool kids at school.)

Boy had already finished his muffins, since he’s a boy and had long been dressed and ready to go, but for the rest, I got down three plates, and placed three muffins on each plate--orange, blueberry, lemon poppyseed. Cup of milk for Cat, glass of milk for Bec, glass of iced tea for Oldest. I moved Rebecca’s plate over to the spot usually reserved for Mom, so that she wouldn’t have to clamber over to her normal seat by the window on the backside of the table. Saving time, don’t you know.

Cat sat down and finished up quickly, then Bec came down and began eating. I got myself a glass of tea and sat there at my spot, reviewing some of her tests with her. At this point, she also began carrying on a conversation with Boy, who was wandering around the kitchen, and in order to magnify a very important point about science or video games or other such important matters, Rebecca decided to make a sweeping gesture with her right hand. This gesture reinforced her point by sweeping the entire 8 fluid ounces of bovine lactational product that had been contained in her glass into my lap and down the right leg of my gray pants, and finally into the floor.

::sigh::

I got Jonathan to hand me some paper towels to get the major portion of cow juice up, then squished my way back upstairs to change into my black pants.

::sigh::

Took them all to school, got here, and found that the work pixies must have gone on strike or something, because the pile of garbage I left on my desk yesterday evening is still here this morning. And I have an exciting continuing education class today from 11 to 2 on the sexy subject of chlorinated polyvinyl chloride sprinkler piping. Oh, and when I went to the manufacturer’s website to make sure of what I was talking about, I accidentally clicked on a .pdf link, which caused my computer to shut completely down, taking with it this entire little tale of mundanity, and made me have to attempt to recreate it as you see it now. It was much funnier before.

::sigh::

BUT, by gum, there IS a Thursday Three today!

Many thanks to Jordana Adams for hosting today’s festivities, in which the question all revolve around gradumicating!

(1) Who was the most memorable (good or bad) graduation speaker at a ceremony you've attended -- not necessarily your own?

Honest to goodness, I can’t remember. I don’t remember who did my high school or my college one. And I can’t remember anyone at my sister’s, either.

(2) Approximately how many graduation ceremonies have you been in as a graduate and how many others have you gone to?

Two for me, and I went to my sister’s three--HS, college, and med school. And my kids have all had kindergarten graduations (for some reason--I don’t understand the fascination with such events, either.)

(3) After finishing high school and/or college what did you do for the summer?

After high school, I had a job during college where I worked for a few months at Southern Research, but it wasn’t strictly a summer job. After I transferred to Auburn, I went to school every summer quarter. I had a two week break after graduation then went to work at my real job.

Bonus Question: What was your favorite graduation gift?

I would have to say my class ring, which is what my mom gave me. The one I wear now is actually a replacement--the one she actually bought for me I flung off my hand one night as I was throwing some tomato peelings into the compost pile in our backyard. Reba and I were married by then, and we looked and looked for that ring but never found it. I even got a metal detector from Radio Shack but couldn’t come up with it. So, I had to get another one. Homeowner’s insurance paid for part of it, oddly enough. But somewhere in the Hampton Place subdivision in Irondale, to this day there remains an Auburn class ring with my name in it. If you find it, please return it to me. Thanks!

NOW THEN--for the rest of the day, I will be busily shoveling manure.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:17 AM | Comments (5)

May 11, 2005

What a meeting.

Thank goodness we had three deletions and a no-show, or the thing would still be going on.

We used to run these things much more efficiently, before certain folks decided they wanted to be spoonfed and not have to use their brains.

Yes, it's probably better to have more information, but at some point, you still have to make a decision about things.

And sometimes, there's such a thing as having so much information available that it all becomes a useless muddle.

And it also helps if you're going to cause a big stink about something in one meeting, to have the common courtesy to show up at the subsequent meeting to see it through; otherwise, the people on the staff who have to try to cater to your imperious whims begin to doubt your sincerity, and start thinking to themselves that maybe you're just trying to show off.

And don't complain about the length of meetings if you yourself sit there and continue to spout snide comments and take up time with impertinent and immaterial jibber-jabber that you think is clever, but that everyone else sees as you being a clueless dunderhead.

Oh, and pay attention to the flow of the conversation. And if you find that task difficult, at least have the courtesy not to blame the person speaking for your lack of attentiveness.

Boy, how I hate going to these meetings.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:09 AM | Comments (8)

Suicide Possum!

How is it that Miss Janis has missed commenting on this story from her favorite columnist, Smiley Anders?!

As if we drivers didn't have enough to worry about just watching the roads around here, now we have to watch the sky too.

Amy Carmouche says it was "the most bizarre thing that has ever happened to me."

She was driving down Highland Road one afternoon to pick up her son at school. Her 3-year-old daughter was in the back seat singing "Pop Goes the Weasel."

She says, "All of a sudden, the sunroof of my car explodes with a loud crash … shards of glass start to fall into my car. I'm able to keep my car on the road, but there's no place to pull over on Highland."

At her son's school she gets out to find "a gaping hole in my sunroof the size of a watermelon!"

Back home, she and her husband decide to go back to the scene and find what caused the damage, assuming it was a tree limb:

"There was no branch, rock, stick or brick to be found -- only a dead possum! It had fallen out of a tree and crashed into my sunroof. [...]

Elegiac poetry follows.

I, however, am still alive and well, not having decided to plunge headlong into any sunroofs. Yet. There is, after all, the matter of making sure the NINE HUNDRED DOLLAR and SIXTY-SIX CENT BILL TO THE WAL-MART VISION CENTER GETS PAID! Everyone got an exam. Jonathan required glasses for the first time ever. Rebecca required a stronger prescription and new glasses. Ashley required a stronger prescription, and contacts, and glasses. Reba required contacts. Only Catherine and I escaped not needing anything done, other than paying for the exam.

Hmm. "Pop Goes the Weasel," eh?

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:33 AM | Comments (22)

May 10, 2005

Wal-Mart Eyeballs!

In just a couple of hours, I will be meeting my lovely family at the WallyWorld Vision Center to have our eyes checked. Nothing says high quality, low cost ocular health like a trip to a place where you can also buy tires and deodorant.

And then tomorrow, I really will be out of the office at a meeting, although not in the premeeting for the supergigantoterrific Moron Project meeting. All of you will just have to carry on without me. Just remember to bring coffee, or nothing will get done.

Anyway, until later on tomorrow sometime, all of you have a pleasant evening.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:14 PM | Comments (6)

It's time for lunch.

Because if I don't go on and forage for something, I'll fall asleep at my desk. It has been a difficult morning to stay awake, and I'm not quite sure why. I've had several gallons of Diet Coke, and yet just can't get perked up.

Maybe some grease and salt will do the trick.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:33 AM | Comments (0)

THEATER!

It was a banquet for the kids in theater at the high school, not choir or band. And afterwards, AWARDS! ::sigh:: Didn’t get home until nearly 9:30. That’s way too long for something like this.

Maybe I’m just being a mean-spirited grouch, and I just don’t understand the intricacies of the theatrical mind, but you know, there’s an awful lot of pride going on there for an awful little amount of reason. The productions are fine, and the adults in charge do fine, and the kids learn stuff, but it’s the little details of things that just bug me. The banquet, if it can be called that, was a study in disorganization and inedibility, which is fine--if that’s the best you can do. But, I know these people, I see the cars they drive, and the houses they live in. And they certainly seem to have attitude aplenty. Thus, I expect more than a tough bit of “Salisbury steak” and mac and cheese, served with little-kid plasticware.

The recognitions afterwards? Well, if the best you can do is a fourth-generation photocopy of a cheesy handmade certificate, hurriedly filled in during the course of the banquet with a scrawl of pen, well, fine--if that’s the best you can do. But in a high school filled to overflow with computers and printers, and a year to get things together, and several days to know who the winners are, it seems as though a nicely done certificate printed off on the computer might be just as easily done as some scrap of paper dashed off between the slima beans and the trip to the restroom. The guy in our church who runs the VBS does certificates every year--it’s really not a big deal to give every kid a nice certificate that doesn’t look like a ransom note.

But again, if that’s the best you can do, that’s fine, but I really can’t understand the overweening snootiness of some of these folks, given the general level of half-assery that goes on. It reminds me of the story of the rooster who thought his crowing made the sun come up, and sometimes you sit there eating your cold mashed potatoes from a flimsy plastic spoon, and you just want to look at someone--anyone--and ask just who they think they’re trying to impress. If it’s worth giving the kids a banquet and awards, go on and do it the right way. Don’t give them stage prop awards that sorta kinda look like what a real certificate might look like. Don’t act like the clotted gravy and wilted salad you’re getting is just like what they serve at the Vanity Fair Oscar party--it’s worth springing for something a bit nicer, like maybe some barbecue from Jim and Nick’s.

Anyway, it’s not about me--I was just an observer, standing in the wrong place in the wrong group. Ashley had a good time, and that’s what matters. I just hope that one day she learns that there’s more to the ocean than just wading in the shallows.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:46 AM | Comments (9)

May 09, 2005

And tonight?

I have to escort Oldest to a school function of some sort--I have been told about this an inordinate amount of times, which makes my vague recollection of why and where and all that very unsatisfying. I believe it's a semi-dressy function for the choir kids, or band kids, or someone, but I can't remember, and would have felt horrible asking Reba exactly what it was, seeing as how she already had to call and remind me I was supposed to be taking Oldest with me.

I do promise I will not try to act cool or witty or anything in front of her. That would be SO! EM!barrassing. And I suppose we'll go in the van, just to keep her from feeling bad about arriving in a car with faded paint.

I just wish I could remember what sort of function this is. And I wish that I wouldn't be sporting a 5 o'clock shadow for it--it starts at 6 and I'd never be able to get home in time to shave. Oh well. I'm sure she'll look pretty, and that's what counts.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:10 PM | Comments (0)

How to hurt yourself.

Well, first go home on Friday and decide to start things off with a rousing swing through the front yard with the lawnmower. It had gotten tall again (the back has, too, but I didn't feel like cutting it), and it's probably a good thing I went ahead and cut it when I could, otherwise all of my snooty sorts of neighbors truly would have been shocked and aghast at the veritable hoopty yard I had going on Saturday afternoon.

Got up early Saturday, full of glee at the thought of the culmination of the seconds (maybe even minutes) of planning and forethought I had given to my purchase. Rousted the kids, then hopped in Moby to drop him off at the car cleaners for a shampoo of his carpets. I tell you what--four children can be very messy. Thank heavens for floor mats, although they were nearly black themselves. I do wish that the car wash place would have hit them just a little bit harder with the dirty water sucker machine, though. When we got the van back, I had to kneel down and move or fix something inside, and came back out with two big muddy spots on my jeans. Thanks for nothing, Splish Splash on Morrow Road! They also slathered the dashboard with Armor All or some other suitably snotty stuff, and it looked ridiculous. Had to damp that down with a cloth, and thank heavens it did cut the sheen a bit.

Anyway, we got on toward Gardendale (Reba came by and picked me up at the car wash place) and we sat in the parking lot at the Shoney's for a long time. Long enough for me to take this picture of the kids in the back seat.

You will notice them all engaged in a variety of activities--none of which involve interaction with each other. Which is probably a good thing. That's my shoulder on the bottom right. Cat's watching the DVD player mounted between the two front seats, Ashley is reading a book, Rebecca is staring out the window and listening to her CD player, and Boy is somewhere behind Ashley, also watching the DVD player. Ahhh. Quiet.

Man showed up, we did some paperwork, swapped cash, and visited for a while, then his wife and Reba talked forever, and all I could think about was A) I wanna drive my new toy, and B) I wanna go pick up Moby so I can get on with cleaning him up because I don't have all day, y'know, so we need to cut the palaver and GIT!

Luckily, my internal monologue never became audible, so I stood and acted pleasant. THEN we left!

YAY!

Nice ride--and I'm being serious. It's a bit buzzy at highway speed, but really no more so than Reba's Focus. It tracks straight and true, and for some reason feels much heavier and more substantial than her car, even though they have the same curb weight and about the same power. A lot sure has changed in automobiles in the past twenty years, though. The interior plastic is very hard, and has very deep graining in it, and there's no "Objects In Mirror Are Closer Than They Appear," and no computerized idle control. It does have a marvelous cupholder, however. Attached to the end of my arm. Makes you wonder how people ever did without built-in cupholders.

Home, and then back to pick up Moby, then home again, and NOW, time to set in to clean him up nice and shiny (but not snotty-slick--eww.)

This is really where I got myself started being sore, too.

First step, cleaning the seats. I had them out from when we moved the mattress, so they were pretty easy to get to. While they dried, it was time to move on to the door jambs and underhood area. I don't know what it is, but no one seems to clean their cars up anymore before they try to sell them. I don't get that. I realize it's work, but it sure does help them sell faster.

It should be noted that the work that comes later than the next paragraph would have gone by much quicker had I not taken some time to dote on the Swedish lump in the driveway. The poor guy had slaved over the thing for years, but in doing so had gotten polish all over the rubber. Nothing looks worse than gray filmy black rubber, so on an off chance that I might have a good idea, I grabbed a can of WD-40 and squirted a bit on a corner of the bumper. JUST AS I THOUGHT! Stuff cleaned the polish haze right off the rubber. SO, instead of taking time to clean Moby, I HAD to go all the way around the Volvo with the WD-40 and a rag--all the lower body rubber, the bumpers, the doors, the windows, the windshield, the rear window, the roof gutters--all of it. It looked MUCH more presentable, and ten years newer (if you ignore the faded paint). But now it was time to do what I was supposed to be doing.

I had gotten some vinyl cleaner wipes from the car parts place, and I set in to clean all around the door rubber and the jambs on Moby. Probably should have used Simple Green, but the wipes worked fine, too, although probably more pricey. Driver's door, side windows, rear hatch, side windows, sliding door, passenger door, underhood. It's good to at least knock the greasy dirt off the engine pieces and accessory bits and the filler caps--again, it doesn't have to be perfect, but just a few judicious swipes with a cloth can make it seem much cleaner and better cared for. So, I did that--battery, master cylinder, air cleaner cover, jack, A/C stuff, fan shroud, labels, junk like that. Looked very nice when finished. THEN it was time for the shiny stuff. I don't slather it on, though--just enough to do some good. Start back where I did the cleaner, and then went all the way around again. Very nice. And tiring. BUT--I wasn't done.

Because now it was time to paint the bumpers. This is where my neighbors COULD have gotten mad, because I moved the van right out to the end of the driveway, and had all my painting junk all over the place. Good thing I cut that grass, because it would have just been intolerable with that scene of automotive restoration combined with a crop of dandelions the size of sunflowers.

Anyway, I mentioned before these bumper covers are urethane skins, and the base plastic is a bile yellow color that has been progressively peeking out more and more all the way around. Looks horrible, and I would think make it much harder to sell. I had gotten a price from a local paint shop of $389 to do what I was about to set out to do. For that much, I could screw up pretty badly and still come out ahead.

But I didn't screw up. It helped that my dad and I used to dabble in car painting, so I have at least an idea about the proper way to mask and prep the surfaces. That doesn't mean it's particularly easy--lots of twisting and hunching over and getting up and sitting down. I guess I made it worse by only doing a section at a time rather than the whole thing at once, but that turned out to be a good thing.

SO, masked off the front bumper first--base mask first of a tape line around the grille, lights, side markers, fog lamps; then some added protection for the upper parts and tires with some newspaper. (By the way, always use autobody masking tape--keeps from pulling the paint off.) Degrease the surface, shake up the cheapo can of bumper paint, and have at it.

Few minutes and WOW! That looks darned good! I wasn't quite sure what to expect, but it turned out looked very nice. And probably just as good as what the paint shop would have done. Cool.

Next, the rear bumper--open hatch, base mask on lamps and body, then some newspaper on the sides, and the addition of a piece of stiff poster board to use as a movable mask. This is easier on certain areas because of the difficulty in papering the hatch area. Scraped off the dried flecks of traffic striping paint from where I ran through a wet line several years back (grrr), degreased, paint, PRESTO. Man, this stuff does good!

Unmask, then start on the driver's side. By now, with all the bending and squatting and hunkering and sitting and scooting and trying to do it all at a madman's pace, I was starting to feel some twinges. And it was getting dark. It was pretty obvious I wasn't going to get the whole thing done on Saturday. ::sigh:: Masked off the molding on the driver's side, again, piece by piece. Back, middle, door, and the bit behind the front wheel. Finished up at a bone-weary 8 p.m., and only because I couldn't see anymore, even with the streetlight. One of the young ladies around the street came by on a jog with her dog and asked how I was doing all that in the dark. "Very carefully." I told her I actually couldn't see anything, and was calling it quits for the night. As if she cared.

Next day, errrrphgr. Hmmmmph. ::creak::POP:: Hungh. And that was just me rolling over to turn off the alarm clock. Got everyone up and to church, taught my class, Jonathan learned from me that you can't go dipping your toe in Satan's pond and still be okay with God, good sermon on Eve (who made some bad decisions) and then on to meet my mom at the Golden Toilet. Ate heartily of germ-encrusted things, and then we drove around looking at some new subdivisions. She's ready to move, and wants less house. I keep trying to get her to move closer to us, but she's still reluctant.

Took her back and dropped her off, and then back to home. Hmm. Two hours before church. TIME TO PAINT! URPH!

I changed back into some work duds and got my masking tape and paint out again. This time I had the sliding door, which actually worked out just fine. Rear molding, sliding door, passenger door, and the bit behind the front wheel. Ta-DAHHHH! And finished with time to spare. As well as a soreness that lingers to this very moment. But also much pride of satisfaction at not spending $400 to have someone else paint the bumpers.

It all turned out looking very nice, and I finally felt good about selling him. He's not perfect, but he looks much sharper now than he did.

So, anyone wanna buy a '94 Plymouth Grand Voyager SE Sport Wagon? $3,250 and he's yours! (Comes with remainder of can of paint for the bumper.) You've seen the outside, so here's the inside--

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:46 PM | Comments (8)

Sob.

I just had an entire entry right here, of the ordeal with cleaning and painting the bumpers on the van, and it was a spectacular post full of information and pathos, and was doing an image upload of the van, and now the post is all gone. All gone! I feel like crying.

BUT I WON'T.

But I do have to go to staff meeting now, and then to the courthouse. Dang it all. But, I won't say stupid STUPID Movable Type. Yet.

Grr.

But here's what Moby looks like in his freshly cleaned and bumper-painted glory--

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:27 AM | Comments (6)

Boy, am I sore.

Being a moron'll do that to a person. GOOD MORNING! A long weekend, full of extreme physical exertion, heat, and paint fumes, about which you will hear more as the morning progresses. Lots to do today--have to go get a car tag, have to go eat lunch with My Friend Jeff, have to blog, and have to try to move without saying "uhhAAghhumph."

Anyway, stay tuned for more lurid and unseemly tales of suburban naughtiness as the day proceeds.

Oh, and the newest baby in the family says "hi,"
and so does the FORMER baby in the house, who has her own set of wheels--

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:26 AM | Comments (5)

May 06, 2005

You know,

I suppose I really should cut the grass this afternoon. I will probably be too excited tomorrow when I get to play with the new toy. And there's also the matter of getting Moby cleaned up as well. We're going to drop him by the detail place on the way out tomorrow morning so they can bathe his carpets, which are actually medium gray, and not black. Thank heavens for floor mats, I say. If all else fails, I can just swap those out for some clean ones. But I sure hope they're able to get them clean, just the same.

And after the bath, he gets to come home and I have to paint his bumpers. Chryslers of this era (as well as a lot of cars) had flexible painted bumper skins with a hideous yellow inside color. Once the paint starts to wear off, they look terrible, but thankfully a nice coat of new bumper paint makes them look nicer. And then, out comes the For Sale sign. I don't think I will bother with anything like E-Bay, though. Too many squirrels. First, take it to Carmax and let them give me the absolute bottom dollar, then do a little online research to find the upper range, then pick something in between.

AND THEN, there's Mother's Day Sunday. We've decided that Mom can't do without a trip to the Brazen Trough, so we'll do that, and then she wants to go look at houses. She lives in a nice place over in Southlake, but she's getting the itch to move again. Maybe something a bit closer to us. But not too close. She doesn't want to be in our business. Or be called upon at all hours to tend to our rugrats, I think is a more likely reason. Anyway, we'll haul her around awhile and let her wander around the houses and see what she likes. She's got a good eye for construction.

Reba's gift from the children was a pretty little hydrangea (that I will have to plant) I got from the nice lady I always go to at the flower shop over in the AmSouth-Harbert building. Miss Reba was quite tickled with it, as well as the presentation. And there'll be CARDS as well! And dinner with my mom at Golden Corral! Oh well, two-and-a-half out of three ain't so bad. (She loves my mom but has a hearty dislike for the GC.)

SO, anyway, all of you have a wonderful weekend, and if you still have your mom hanging around, give her a call or a visit or a germ-infused meal and tell her that you love her. She'll appreciate it.

See you Monday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:43 PM | Comments (0)

That went well.

A good couple of guys who run the place. This was the first time we'd met in person, all the rest of the business having been taken care of over the phone. Everything looks fine on the survey except for one odd problem over on one side where a road was cut several years back--some overlapping ownership issues. Luckily nothing close to the building, but it's still something that needs to be seen to.

As for the whole process about the new addition, Jim Smith wanted an update of all that's been going on. Well, the best thing was that a couple of the building committee members went and visited a building up in Florence to look at their new addition, and came away with a plan drawing showing the layout. This helped them more than anything else because it gave them an idea of how much room stuff took up, and how big things needed to be to hold it all. A couple of weeks back, I took that diagram and figured on some square footages and the rooms we're going to need and came up with a preliminary program. Basically, a list of the rooms, and how big they need to be. A multi-use space (i.e., an eatin' room) for about 300, a kitchen, two classrooms (one disguised as a reception room), restrooms, storage for tables and chairs, and utility space. Probably going to come to around 6,000 square feet.

Our building committee sat down back at the end of last month and I explained what I had done, and how big the whole thing was going to be, and we hashed out and discussed all the various pros and cons, and finally I got them to all agree on something. (I think it helped to have the meeting on a Saturday afternoon.) In any event, now that we have a survey in hand, and have finally figured out what we think we need for rooms, it's time to go start shopping for an architect.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:57 PM | Comments (2)

MEETING!

Gotta take off now and go meet with the surveyors for our church's property. We needed an updated metes and bounds and topo survey, and this one seems to have taken forever. And for some reason, they think they need to point out some things on it to me. That can be good or bad. I sure hope it's nothing bad.

Anyway, I have to run out to Irondale for a little while, and when I get back, I'll write more things.

OH, and don't forget the ongoing contest we have ongoing! Fabulous prizes for the winners, you know!

See you in a little while. I hope.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:50 AM | Comments (0)

Mom.

I wrote this a couple of years ago, but as with some of the stuff I write, I can't think of anything different or better to say than I would have said then. A few of the details have changed due to the passage of time, but it's mostly the same, so here it goes again:

My mother was born in Walker County, Alabama in August of 1929. She was the youngest of six children (three boys, three girls) born to a shopkeeper who lost his store and his livelihood only a few months later as the Depression swept the United States. They moved from a comfortable home in town to a windowless, dirt-floored, two room dogtrot. One of her first memories (she couldn’t have been more than about three or four) was of her brothers cutting a small hole in the side of the wall of the house and filling it with the glass from a junk car. She particularly remembers how excited everyone was. A window, finally!

Her father went down into the mines. When she was still young, her mother died of breast cancer, and she was more or less raised by her oldest sister. She and her father and her brothers and sisters grew most of their own food; hunted; fished; and got by. They never asked for anything, but she tells me of one family they looked on with equal parts awe and pity who received government clothes. They would leave these outside on their fence until the clothes literally rotted away. What could not be eaten of the government food they received was thrown out to the dogs. “Sorriest bunch of people you ever saw. None of them would work; never would take care of what they had. We sure could have used those clothes. But Daddy didn’t believe in that.”

There were no toys, but she knows how to whittle a hickory whistle, and knows how to make a click and wheel, and once she even built a playhouse with her siblings out of pine logs. And very nearly lost part of her foot to the axe that slipped as she was cutting a notch in a log. There was no card playing of any sort. My grandfather was a religious man and believed card games led to trouble. The only game her brothers and sisters were allowed was checkers. She can whip anybody at checkers. Later, as an adult, she learned to play canasta. She’s pretty wicked at that, too.

She went on to school, and excelled. When she graduated in 1948, she even got a small scholarship to the University of Montevallo. But they had no way pay for her to live or buy books or pay for the rest of her education. She went to work as a bookkeeper at the commissary in Praco, where she met my father, who pumped gas there.

They married not long afterwards, and had a little girl in 1954, and along about 1955 or ’56, they moved to a neat little cedar-shake-covered house close to the western side of Birmingham. At the time it was still pretty rural, but it was right on Highway 78 and close to the steel mills where my father had started working. This is the house where they brought me in 1962, and where I spent the first fourteen years of my life.

She has seen a World War, a Korean police action, a Viet Nam, and two Persian Gulf Wars. She has buried two sisters, two brothers, her father, and her husband. She has seen men walk on the moon, and has seen a moonshine still. She has seen thirteen men serve as President of the United States. I just got off the phone to confirm this with her, that of those, her favorite is Ronald Reagan. Her least favorite is Bill Clinton. “He’s a sorry piece of sh*t.” Make no mistake, my mother is a very devout, God-fearing woman, but she has seen her share of presidents, sorriness, and sh*t, so I wouldn’t try to suggest an alternative wording if I were you.

She has lived through the Depression, the Cuban Missile Crisis, Bombingham, the Cold War, and Watergate. She raised a doctor and an architect. She has seen her daughter through a bitter divorce, and continues to see her son through a wonderful marriage. She saw herself through a marriage to a husband she loved more than any man, and late in his life managed to change him into a man truly worthy of her love.

She has four grandchildren. They like to look through her old pictures and listen to her tell stories about their daddy when he was three, coasting a ’59 Mercury down the driveway in Neutral, straight toward the highway, and how at the very last moment the car swerved into the ditch. They giggle bashfully when they hear her tell about looking up one day in study hall and seeing a handsome young Navy man just back from the Pacific, standing there in civilian slacks and a light blue shirt that matched the bluest pair of eyes she had ever seen. They tell her about school, and she always tells them to read and study hard. They tell her about their bumps and bruises and hurt feelings, and she tells them that all that stuff is a learning experience. My mother has always been big on learning experiences.

She'' be 76 on her birthday, but she still works a full forty hours a week as a bookkeeper and office manager for an electrical contractor. She drives an Eldorado, mainly because it’s American and it has a V-8. “When I mash the accelerator, I want to GO!” She has moved twice since the old green house on the highway, and works outside in her yard just about every day cutting grass, pulling weeds, picking tomatoes and okra and squash from her little postage-stamp sized garden in the back. We always try to get together and do something with her, and I suspect this year we'll go over to her house and sit and talk for a while. I'm hoping she doesn't want to go to Golden Corral, but if she does, we'll take her and have a good old time.

I love my mother.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:46 AM | Comments (6)

May 05, 2005

Is it just me?

Or is it an EXCEEDINGLY slow day around here?!

Maybe we need to fire up the grille and cook us up some nice tender manatee steaks...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:15 PM | Comments (9)

May 04, 2005

Kids? Oh, yeah.

I keep forgetting I have to take off in about an hour to go get the kids after school. Grandmom and Grandad have taken off for a jaunt and so SOMEone has to make sure the kids are corralled. So, I think I'd better start putting away my toys and get ready to go, AND get the place all nice for tomorrow, which is Thursday. And yes, that is a hint!

Of what, I'm not sure.

ANYway, see you tomorrow, if I don't forget to come to work.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:20 PM | Comments (0)

Finally!

I might have some time to play today! Still have a few loose ends to tie up, but after that there'll be all sort of fun activities! And cookies and juice!*

So stay tuned, and we'll see what sort of trouble we can get into.

*DISCLAIMER--Cookies and juice available only in selected markets.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:40 AM | Comments (8)

May 03, 2005

Not just once, not just once in a while, BUT EVERY DAY!

Sitting here typing and eating my lunch at my desk in order to get something done, and here he comes. Same routine every day.

Older fellow, built exactly like Dilbert, walks with a shambling sort of squirrelly civil-service gait, who comes down to our side of the building to use the toaster oven. It's on a table right outside my door, along with the microwave. He pops in two pieces of bread, and leaves. Since he does this every day, by now I should just get up and go turn it off before it burns, but I'm usually preoccupied with mundane goop and don't realize he's been by until I smell the tell-tale sign of singed bread. And every day, he comes back and acts surprised that his toast is burnt. He stands out there and mutters to no one and gets it and goes on back to his office.

I think one or the other of us needs to get out more.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:05 PM | Comments (13)

In case you haven't figured it out...

I'm still having to wade through some stupid work junk that I really don't want to do, and that's just not good.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:40 AM | Comments (0)

You want to feel old fast?

How about the realization that your 12-year-old is studying history in school, and it's stuff from back when YOU were 12 years old. ::sigh::

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:18 AM | Comments (16)

May 02, 2005

Well, Good Morning!

As you've read below, the weekend excursion to west Georgia didn't quite turn out the way I had intended, but hey, that's the way them things go. On to bigger and better things today. Or not. And just now an added stack of crap to do! I realize my usual routine of obsessive posting throughout the day seems to have taken a hit, but for some reason things are busier around here. Nothing substantive, of course, but lots of futility exercises that simply MUST be done!

Anyway, I will be checking e-mail and stuff today in case you've got something interesting, but aside from that, I need to fulfill my paying obligations today, so I'll ask your indulgence. Or, you know, hire me to write this crap full time so I can quit my real job.

Yes, yes--I know--"don't give up your day job." ANYway, as I usually say when I have to go inside and do my schoolwork, take a tour of the blogroll up top or over on the side where all the Munuvians hang out and see what all there is out there, and I'll see you later on today sometime. Possibly with an interesting car story...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:59 AM | Comments (0)

April 29, 2005

Almost that time of day!

And yes, aside from all the fun with the "I'm a Moron" Project, there is still plenty other stuff to do this weekend. Our neighborhood is having the annual (and much despised by me) community yard sale, which means that the streets will be clogged with all sorts of people looking for their OWN seed for their own moron projects. And I have to set out our old mattress, because one of the local charities comes around afterwards and picks up everything that doesn't get sold.

So, there's that.

And I have to get the oil changed and the tires rotated on the Honda tonight AND take Cat back up there with me. Seems she has some birthday money and is just beside herself wanting to get a scooter with it. Yes, she'll have to wear all the protective padding and helmet and such, and yes, I've heard all the stories. But, you know, she comes by this desire for wheeled conveyances honestly, so it's hard to deny her. Although, I did set my foot down in opposition to her getting the Bratz version. Yes, just as Lileks opined against yesterday, the Bratz have invaded all avenues of pop-culture, and so now we have Hoochies on Wheels (or Scooter Hoochies). Sorry, Cat. I realize it's all purple and pink and stuff, but I think the plain old shiny aluminum is just gonna have to do. So, she gets to go with me tonight to do that.

And there's laundry. And cleaning. And a baby shower/tea thing that Reba will go to on Sunday. And church, where I will have to ask absolution for being a moron.

And then, the biggie, that whole trip to lovely Newnan tomorrow! Maybe the traffic won't be so bad. The big race isn't until Sunday, and we will be leaving pretty early. Of course, if I say that, it'll be a sure-fire recipe for it being a 50-mile-long rolling roadblock between Leeds and Talladega, so I won't express any optimism about that.

ANYWAY, lots to do, and maybe even something worth hearing about when you come by on Monday. So, all of you have a wonderful weekend, and wish my long-suffering family luck as they deal with their demented pater familias.

See you Monday!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:17 PM | Comments (3)

Well, now, that was an hour I'll never get back.

We're shorthanded of secretarial staff today, so I got short straw on minding the phone while our remaining Administrative Professional went to lunch. I spent the time staring at the lobby, reading two old issues of Time magazine, and perusing a guidebook about all the world's animals. And as for my lunch? Well, I'm sitting here eating it at my desk. Wouldn't want to miss an important call from a citizen, you know.

Anyway, it also gave me time to ponder the fact that the newest addition to the family will require a name. I've been thinking it needs to be something male, because it's not the least bit sleek or sexy in any conceivable feminine sense, unless your ideal of feminine sleek- and sexiness is East German female shot-putters. It obviously needs to be Teutonic (or, depending upon my lunch fare, Tootonic. Oh, I'm sorry--juvenile poot humor brought on by too much exposure to pooting juveniles.) Something direct and monosyllabic and krauty. Maybe something that relates to its mechanical nature. And to its dull, yet oddly compelling, slowness.

I'm think something along the lines of Karl. After Karl Benz, obviously...

...as well as the famously slow Karl Childers, who did have a savant-like ability with small engines. Mm-hm.


You know, I also just got to thinking that back when my new old car was built, there still was such a thing as East and West Germany.

Anyway, back to my food.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:23 PM | Comments (25)

Now, today...

I've GOT to get some of the paying work done. In addition to calling the insurance guy, and going by the bank and getting a check, and all that other junk that's got to get done.

The kids are all excited about getting to go to Georgia tomorrow--not for the car, but just to pretend they're on vacation. We had to make a Wal-Mart run last night (baby shower gift for a couple at church, plus make eye appointments, plus get some shoes for Rebecca) and in order to fully bring the entire family in on my dementia, we made a quick side trip to the Mercedes shop at the foot of the hill. Yep, sure enough--an electric blue 240 was in the back lot awaiting attention, so I drove around there to let them know what my new pet was going to look like. Except not electric blue. They were suitably unimpressed, although Reba quite liked it. "It can be our date car!"

Heh. My evil plan continues to bear fruit.

Anyway, let me get some stuff done, and I'll try to come out and play in a bit. IN THE MEAN TIME--all of you go see what all's to be seen up in the blogroll!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:08 AM | Comments (8)

April 27, 2005

::sigh::

I don't really like it when I don't get to come out and play.

But there is still a stack of stuff here, and I'm only making the slowest of headway against it. Maybe I need to find myself an intern.

I did get to run next door and get some lunch (sorry Dr. Smith--lotsa bad stuff), and was once again stymied by the presence on the curbside of another odd bit of cast-off stuff. You remember when there was a wheelchair sitting out there? Well, today there was a tiny tricycle. A little kid's tricycle, the cheap Chinese kind, with a bent set of front forks, just sitting there on top of a tree grate. Why would anyone put that there?

It is a mystery.

BUT LUCKILY, there is NO mystery that there's going to be a Thursday Three! On Thursday!

As for anything else fun here today, well, maybe or maybe not. In amongst all my paying work, the "I'm A Moron" Project has suddenly received new life. We'll see how that goes...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:18 PM | Comments (2)

BLAH!

Good grief--another one of THOSE meetings. Long, ill-tempered, and the repercussions continuing long after it's over. Lotta crap to process today, so forgive the dearth of posting.

In other news, the "I'm A Moron" Project was dealt a setback by someone willing to pay more than me for something they'd never seen before. Which I have to say was rather brave of him. Wound up losing it by $76.99, but I was already a couple hundred over where I wanted to be. Too many vague answers, followed by a repetition of the mantra, "Well, you know, I'm not a mechanic or anything, so..." There are other moron baits in the sea, though, so I don't feel bad about it at all. Which I guess proves I'm still not quite as deranged as I could be.

Yet.

Anyway, let me get some junk hauled here, and I'll be back after while to play some.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:49 AM | Comments (0)

April 26, 2005

Happy Fun!

Tomorrow's dose of Possumblog will be reduced somewhat due to it being the fourth Wednesday of the month, meaning that I will not be here, but elsewhere, doing all kinds of really, REALLY fun stuff like taking notes! I'm sorry you can't be there, because I am a WHIZ at note-taking. And paper throwing-away.

SO, tune in a bit later than usual for the new stuff, or, as always, go check out the folks in the blogroll and see what they're plotting.

OH, and if my so-called bidding "strategy" is successful, I might be able to report tomorrow that I have become a full-fledged moron!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:57 PM | Comments (0)

Moron Project Update!

Well, obviously with all the junk I had to do yesterday, there would have been no time to go peruse my potential money pit, and add to that the fact that the guy couldn't bring it with him Monday due to some goings-on at work that required he take his company car. But, no matter. Based on my conversations with him, and after running a Carfax report on the car, I felt okay enough about it to bid on it. I'm not the high bidder anymore, but I'm going to wait a bit longer before offering any more than what's already out there. Hubcaps can be expensive, as Miss Janis reminds us, so I have to leave myself a bit of cushion for necessary repairs and such like.

And there's also a 300D right close by in my hometown that I just noticed in the paper, and that might be an even better buy. Of course, with double the horsepower of the 240, it would have all that blinding fast acceleration and stuff that's just so show-offy.

Oh, and when you're looking for a car, it's really a pretty good idea to sign up for one of the various services such as Carfax. They might not tell you everything, but they get pretty darned close.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:35 PM | Comments (0)

UPWARD!

Grabbed the new box spring and edged toward the stairs. Up, up, WHOA!

Plastic is very slick.

I think the protective sacks on these things must have Teflon in them. Up to the first landing, turrrrrrn, move, turn, twist, then up to the hall landing. YEA FOR ME! Into the room, took out my trusty pocketknive and sliced off the hateful plastic anddd...

Hmm.

I wonder again if I should put those three flimsy crossboards back in.

Nah.

Grabbed the foundation and after knocking off various bits of ephemera and effluvia from Reba's nightstand, it snugged down into the wood framerails just perfect! Ahhhhhh.

Back on with the bed skirt, and then downstairs for the final prize.

I grabbed up big fat Juliet and directed her towards the stairs. HUUUMMMMMMPH! ERRRRRRPHFFF. Whew. She's a spirited Veronese signorina alright! First landing--umph, push, twist, umph, move, ouch my finger, FLOP, then up again to the hall landing. Turn, into the bedroom, gently remove her delicate see-through cover, and then proceed to try and get the fool thing onto the top of the box spring. Oops. Probably didn't need that lamp. Or my clock. Or that stack of receipts that I just knocked off.

BUT! There is it! FINALLY! IN all of its incredibly thick glory! My--it sure it BIG. And thick. I'm not a tall man, but only because I have tiny short stumpy legs. And this thing comes up to above my waist. That's tall. I think I'm going to have to have a ladder. Or maybe a rope swing, which you have to admit would be pretty cool.

No matter--it's new and pretty and comfortable and it's nice to have after so many years of Mr. Mushy.

Now then, the matter of sheets. The set we had just put on the other mattress was just a slight bit bigger than necessary--on the old mattress--so I figured they wouldn't work at all on this new one. Sure enough, it needed another four inches or so to have actually wrapped around the bottom edge. Well, I had figured on a new set of sheets to christen it anyway and to make it all special-looking for when Reba got home from class, so the next step was to go see to that.

AFTER a trip to the oil change place.

I figured since I had some free time, and since I'm preparing to bid the Plymouth a warm farewell, that it would be good to go ahead and recharge the air conditioning. It's probably an unnecessary extravagance, but I will be driving it around with a For Sale sign on it, and I would like to comfortable and cool this summer until is does get sold.

SO, down to Express Oil, where they also do air conditioning. Sorta. The guys who work on this side always seem very hesitant and unsure of what they're doing. I liken it to when the kid at the grocery store can't make change in his head when you give him a $10 bill for something that cost $6.93, and he has to rely on continually looking at the cash register or he can't figure it out. The A/C guys have a machine they hook to the system, and while they can read the dials, I'm not convinced they really understand the refrigerant cycle.

I don't suppose it's absolutely required, but it would be nice.

Anyway, waited there for 40 minutes while the system was recharged. Went over to Winn Dixie and got a Diet Coke and a snack. Read Home Handyman magazine. Stared at a lovely Monet print hanging on the wall.

Finally he got through, and after wading through some kind of worker misunderstanding, in which the guy who did it refused to write the ticket and instead asked some kid from the oil change side to do it, I was on my way in icy cold comfort. Which I had to stop, because it was already cold outside.

Next, I figured I'd see about getting the carpets cleaned in it. They are pretty nasty, the result of ten hard years and four nasty children. Down to the car wash place, where there were a bunch of rowdy guys hanging around waiting for the shop to close so they could go home (it now being nearly 5 o'clock). Made an appointment to come back Saturday, but I'm going to cancel it because it's supposed to rain.

Now then, sheets! Oh, and I needed gas. And at some point in here I have to go back and get the bedframe and take it to the in-laws, and have to go back and get the Honda and pick up the kids, who'd stayed with Grandma all day because school was out yesterday. Whew.

Off to K-Mart. Found some nice eggshell-colored sheets that match the comforter and which I was assured by the nice lady in the store would fit over a ridiculously tall mattress. They were, after all, Martha Stewart sheets. Lah-dee-dah.

On up the hill to Sam's, where I passed by a horrible-looking accident at the exit from the shopping center--a late model Cougar flipped over onto its roof and resting in the landscaped median of the exit drive. Wow. All sorts of ambulances and fire trucks and police.

On up and gassed up, then back down the hill, stopped at the library to check my email (no time to wait for the dial-up at the house) and then back to the house.

Upstairs to get the unneeded trundle bed frame, down the stairs, out the door, into the van. HOORAY! Off to the inlaw's, let Grandmama do her deal with the broom to get the dust off, into the den, under the daybed with it. Done. Finally.

Told the kids to wait a bit while I went and got the other van, did that, then got them home and told them to start getting ready for school tomorrow (today). Nearly SEVEN O'CLOCK. Good grief, where does the time go?!

While they started that, I started supper and ran upstairs to dress the bed. Broke open the fitted sheet annnnnd. Hmm. It went to the bottom edge of the mattress and rolled under about an eighth of an inch. ::sigh:: Good enough.

Top sheet, comforter, pillows, folded up the stuff I'd just taken off the other mattress, and DONE! Very pretty. And tall.

Supper, baths, and then the arrival of Miss Reba! Yay!

I led her upstairs and presented her present--"Wow. It's tall!"

Yes, I know.

We finally got the kids into bed and it was time to finally test it out. Ahhhh. Nice. I had sprawled onto it the way I normally do, with a magazine to read and the television news on, and Reba clambered up with me and then decided to go get her shower. SPRONGTHUMP!

"WHAT WAS THAT!?"

I didn't know--a funny odd noise with a bit of a shift in the bed. "Hmm. I guess it was just the box spring seating itself down onto the frame rails. I guess it wasn't all the way down."

She went on and gathered her stuff and went in the bathroom and I kept reading and SPRONGTHUMPCRASH--SLUMP! Oh crap.

I got off the bed and saw that the box spring had managed to work itself off the narrow ledge on the frame rails and FALL THROUGH! GRR!

I got under the bed and tried mightily to push it back up. No go. The frame of the box spring wouldn't go past the ledge. GRR GRR GRR!

So, yes. Those boards I'd so cavalierly disregarded earlier? I needed them. And in order to fix everything, I was going to have to take off the pillows, and the comforter, and the top sheet, AND THE MATTRESS and the BOX SPRING and put them back in place.

::sigh::grr::

All that work. All that careful effort that left no mark on any wall. And now this. So, I went back downstairs and got the boards, came back up and took everything apart, put the boards back in place, dropped the foundation back down, slud the mattress back on, and remade the bed.

Yes, it sleeps just fine.

I woke up with no aches or pains or anything else except a rather long story to post. And more importantly, Reba woke up without any pains, which is really the point of this whole exercise.

Now then--time to Be A Moron!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:16 PM | Comments (1)

First things first, you know.

Okay, so I've got a bed in, and on, the van, and I also have another one upstairs in the bedroom. Obviously, the logistics of this will require some thought.

So, I went to the reading room with a magazine for a while.

That done, the plan had formed in my mind. Strip the bedding, take the mattress downstairs, take the foundation downstairs, and FINALLY get out the little twin-size trundle bed frame we had stored under our bed back when we first moved. Then, I would unstrap the box springs, take them inside, pull the mattress out and take it in, then take the springs upstairs, then the mattress, then be done with it.

When we moved, I watched how the movers negotiated the switchback landing at the stairs. Very cleverly--by bringing the mattresses up, then doing a rotation over the handrail, then on up the other set of steps. Of course, it helps to have two people. Two strong people.

But, at least the first part of the ordeal was downhill.

Off with the bed sheets and comforter and pillows and junk, HUGGHHHHN pick up the now floppy and flaccid mattress. It was a Restonic, the one with the Marvelous Middle. Much like me, after so many years it now had a mooshy middle. Anyway, it was still heavy and floppy and cumbersome (again, like me), but off the bed with it, out to the hallway, down the first set of steps, twist, flip, down the second set of steps, nearly took out the kitchen table, made the turn, and DONE. Leaned it up against the countertop and went back for round two.

Took off the bedskirt, UMMPHHHed the box spring up. This is harder because unlike mattresses, box springs are rigid. Unlike me. Up out of the frame, drop it on my toe (lightly), out into the hall, down the first set OF WHOA! steps, flip, rotaAAAAATE! AAAH! Whew. Turn, sliIIIIIIIIIDE! and nearly took out the kitchen table AND the window. Made the turn and SUCCESS! Leaned it up against the mattress.

NOW THEN.

The underside of the bed was a lovely forest of fuzziness, so I determined I would get the Dustbuster and the regular vacuum and...oh, wait. That stupid trundle bed frame. ::sigh:: Heavy, unbending, and full of razor-blade sharp edges and needle-like wire.

That I managed to carry it from the bedroom to the upstairs landing (and later on, downstairs, and even later on, out to the van, and then still later over to my in-law's house, and EVEN MORE LATERER into their downstairs den) without doing myself an injury is truly evidence of the hand of God protecting idiots and innocents.

Anyway, took out the three wood slat and laid them aside, then got the surplus bedframe out and out of the way, and then decided I might better get the new stuff inside before it did something bad like start raining.

Downstairs to the van. Sliced off the strapping tape and gently eased the box springs off the top and laid it on the ground and HUMMMPHHHH picked it up by the plastic bag around it and ooched it into the garage and into the kitchen and leaned it up against the other old bedding. Back out and finished clipping off the other bits of strapping, then popped the lid on the rear hatch.

ERRRGGHHHHUUUH! Boy, that's one big heavy hunk of a mattress. "Juliet" it said on the end. I tell you what, that Romeo musta been one stout kid to have been able to deal with a heifer like Juliet. URFFUHHHGHH! It must have looked for all the world to the neighbors like I was midwifing a whale birth.

OOOCHOUOUROHEORHOH! Flop. Well, now.

Closed the hatch and picked up the baby and took it inside, once more relying on the handy slick plastic wrapper to move it around through the garage and into the kitchen. Which was now jam-packed with beds.

Next--rather than start right in with moving more stuff, I thought I would rest a bit and clean some, so I went back upstairs and grabbed the Dustbuster and made a move toward the dustbunnies. It must have looked overwhelming, because I promise you the Dustbuster looked up at me and said, "You're kidding, right!?"

Then the big mama, and after some determined effort, the underside of the bed was cleaner than the surrounding floor, which if you follow along with any regularity means you know that ain't saying much. But at least I felt better about it.

Now then. New stuff. Hmm. I wonder if I should put those slats back in? The bed frame has a foundation ledge, and since the whole assembly was now so ginormously tall, I figured it wouldn't hurt anything to leave them out. Save a half inch or so, you know.

Whatever. Time to get the new stuff upstairs!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:26 AM | Comments (5)

Of weak mind and strong back.

Well, now, that went just fine.

Despite my own misgivings, last night was spent high atop a pile o' gigantic heavy stuff.

Left and went over to the warehouse located over by the seedy edge of the UAB campus, confident that my weekend removal of the rear seats from the van would leave plenty of room for both mattress and box springs.

That's because a size comparison based on memory or upon estimation is generally trumped by reality. After waiting an inordinate amount of time by the loading dock and carefully keeping a watch on the screaming guy who kept wandering around across the street, the men came out of the warehouse with the goods. These were actual men--one was carrying the mattress by himself and talking on his cell phone.

They stopped at the edge of the dock and sized up the situation. "You gonna tie it on top?"

Hmm. I was kinda thinking they'd both fit. "Are you sure they both won't fit in the back?"

"Nah--the mattress too thick for 'em both to fit."

What else could I do?

They first shoved the mattress into the back, and sure enough, BOY that thing was thick! Then the delicate procedure of tieing down the box springs. Luckily, there is a roof rack up there, although this was the first time in ten years we'd ever used it. I was kinda worried it might just unfasten itself and I'd be left with a very expensive pile of junk in the road and a roof peeled back like a sardine can.

After about fifteen minutes of careful strapping with nylon strapping and tieing and pulling and wiggling and grunting, I was pronounced ready to go. I wasn't really so sure. The roof rack bars are bowed slightly upward, which meant the box springs could teeter-totter back and forth, even after it was tied down tight. Oh well.

ON TO HOME!

I did have sense enough not to even think about attempting the Interstate. I didn't want to be one of Those People. You know, the ones who are buzzing along at 80 when their mattress comes flying off and starts a 20 car chain reaction pile up. That would be bad.

So, the long slow drive down 1st Avenue North (aka US Highway 11), which is what people used to use before the Interstate was even a gleam in Papa Ike's eye. North Avondale, Woodlawn, East Lake, Roebuck, Huffman, Roebuck Plaza, and home. Not a bad drive, even at a blazing maximum speed of 30 mph. And since it was the middle of the afternoon, it didn't take too long, maybe 45 minutes or so. But then, there was the getting-it-in-the-house chore.

That took longer...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:08 AM | Comments (9)

April 25, 2005

Okay--that's it.

Gone for the day--see you tomorrow!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:17 PM | Comments (0)

Mattresses!

Upon seeing the mention of my recent purchase of a mattress, Dr. Smith asks:

Please tell me what you learned about buying a mattress. We have not bought a new one in years and it is confusing since every store sells the same brands but not the same models.

I’m serious about this as I need advice but don’t think I need a sleep number bed.

Serious advice from Possumblog, eh? Well, you get what you pay for, I suppose.

Which isn't necessarily what you get in a mattress.

First of all, everything wears out, so if you've been sleeping on the same mattress for more than ten years, it's probably about time to change it. We've had ours for fifteen, and it was a pretty good one and has served us well. But it's got about a 3 inch droop in the middle, and the top edge of the box springs has a big bend in it. I'm not sure if this came about when we moved, or just the effect of sitting on the edge of the bed. Which, according to the lady at the store, really isn't a good thing to do to your mattress.

So, anyway, after you've figured out you need a new one, what to do? As Jim mentioned, it's very confusing, because they all pretty much look alike. Sorta like computers. And many times the closeouts are cheaper only due to a style change in the exterior covering for the next year's model, kinda like clothes. And off-brands are sometimes made by the same people who make the big names, like tires. And despite the fact that they seem pretty simple straightforward, there actually is some science and research that goes into them, like Possumblog. Or not.

Anyway, there are all different price ranges, and all different construction types. The biggest surprise for me from when we bought ours 15 years ago is that hardly anyone builds a two-sided mattress anymore, except for the very cheapest types. From what I can tell, no one was turning them properly, and the manufacturers decided they could make a better product if they just went ahead and designed them to be used only on one side. Another thing is that it's not necessarily a good idea if you have back problems to sleep on an ultrafirm mattress. The fancy foam mattresses that conform to your body and give it support are better for what ails you in that regard.

Anyway, what I did was to first go and look at the different consumer websites such as Consumer Reports and Consumer Guide, and even Yahoo! Shopping, and get familiar with the terminology, construction, price ranges, etc.

I first looked at the foam mattresses, just because of the idea of being able to sleep without all the movement and bounce from my bedmate's wallowing about, but that quickly went out the door when I saw how much they cost. Another industry they remind me of is the diamond trade, where you're supposed to be convinced that the only true measure of your love is how much of your salary you put down on a hunk of carbon. Yes, I realize I spend a third of my life in bed, and I realize that my sleepy-time health is important, and no, you shouldn't scrimp on things that are NECESSARY and PRUDENT and all that, but 2 or 3 thou for a hunk of foam is asking a bit much. I'm sure NASA swears by them, but you know, NASA has all of my money already.

SO, a more conventional mattress. The second thing I looked for after price was price. I got an idea about how much the various manufacturers sell for, and watched the sales papers, and took a look at Sam's Club when I was in there buying a hundred pound box of laundry detergent, and came up with a range of around $500 to $600 as an appropriate amount to spend for something with a tolerable warranty, an attractive appearance, acceptable quality, and a comfortable feel. I don't know how good of an idea that is, because, again, it's rather confusing, but this seemed to be a good midrange of price for a nice quality, good-wearing mattress set.

The next step was going and looking, which I did by myself because I knew getting the kids in the mattress store was a recipe for my hair to turn even grayer. SO, Saturday, I took off on my rounds of places--first stop, K-Mart to get some zipper vinyl mattress covers for the kid's beds (always do this, or whatever money you spend will be pee saturated almost immediately), then up to Sam's to see what they had. Spent twenty minutes thinking I was going to get a super closeout deal on a Sealy Posturpedic (model changeover) only to find out only had a mismatched set--different foundation, different mattress. ::sigh::

Then I went to one of the small mattress stores close to where we live who advertise in the Sunday paper with an annoying tag attached to the edge of the comics section. I HATE that! It's a wonder I even decided to go there, but they're close. And have good prices.

Mattress dealers are just like car dealers--they will put a tremendously expensive price on something, then be your buddy and pal and boon companion and let you in on the insider deal and act like they're knocking a bunch of bucks off. It's just silly, but they all do it.

Anyway, the thing to do is walk in with a ridiculously low price that you know already is wrong. This gets them to show you their cheap stuff, and you can then work up to the type of quality you really want. The only difference is that usually they don't have to run back and "ask the sales manager" like a car salesman will do, although I'm sure there are some that operate like that.

The girl I spoke with is real good, though--I've bought stuff from her when she was with another company, although she didn't remember me. But she's honest about the products, and is willing to admit that a lot of the expense of the expensive brands is made up of marketing costs, just like green beans or potato chips in the grocery store. It's not really necessary to get the premier name to get the same quality.

While I was there, I did try out one of the Tempurpedics, and I wasn't too taken with it just on the first lay-down. I'm sure they are great to sleep on, but I was put off a bit by the squishiness and then the feeling you were locked in place. I then went on and looked at the regular mattresses, starting at the cheapo flimsy stuff and worked my way up to the one I linked to earlier. It's one of those with the one-sided construction, and had foam blocking on the sides that helps keep the sides from squishing down like a pancake. It has a nice pillowtop, which is an attempt (I think) to give it some of the conforming ability of the foam stuff--you sink down in the sink-down spots and it's supposed to fill in the rest. Or not. But it looks nice, and is in the right price range.

BUT, I still had to get Reba to look at it.

SO, after eating at the Golden Feed Trough (which actually wasn't nearly as busy as it has been) with my mom and sister after church on Sunday, we went back to the store so she could look and so I could fuss at the kids to quit making us look so much like uncouth white trash who've never seen a real mattress before. Walked in and the girl asked if she could help us find something. "Yes, I came in yesterday? I told you I was going to bring my wife back today?" Still no recognition. "I looked at that Southerland over in the corner?"

"OH! I am SO sorry--I didn't recognize you!"

I her defense, I had on my white trash shopping clothes when I came by on Saturday--gimme hat from some company that makes icemakers, faded Auburn tee shirt, ratty jeans, no socks--another of my ways of getting better prices. Anyway, after I admitted that I do clean up pretty well, I steered Reba over to what I had picked out, and proudly pointed it out for her and told her to try it on.

She was completely noncommittal. "It's a mattress."

She finally warmed up a bit and eventually got on it and lay down, then Catherine got on there and started wiggling and bouncing. Apparently, it passed the test.

SO, I paid the lady as Reba and the rest of the kids started looking at all the incredibly expensive stuff and playing on the adjustable bed. ::sigh:: AND now I get to go in a bit and go get it from the warehouse, because I saved $50 doing that. Probably not the wisest way to save fifty bucks. It's a chore to get a mattress up a set of stairs, especially ones that switch back. Oh well.

ANYway, that's how I went about buying a mattress. It requires some effort to get out there and see what's available, and what you feel comfortable on, and I can't really give you much advice beyond that--meaning, this whole exercise was rather a waste of your time.

But great for adding blog content!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:56 AM | Comments (4)

HOORAY!

--For Direct Deposit! I checked the bank account over the weekend, and found that our ever-efficient federal revenue agents had given me back my money!

YEEEEHHHHHAAAAAAA!

So, in a manner similar to Slim Pickens riding down his atom bomb--wild-eyed and full of vim--I managed to find us a new mattress (which I am going to have to go pick up from the warehouse today, so Possumblog will only be broadcasting for another three hours or so) AND managed to FINALLY, SUBTLY, drop the hint to Miss Reba about my "I'm A Moron" Project, which she thought was OKAY! (Of course, I couched it in terms of it being the "I'm A Genius" Project--no use taking any chances.)

SO, not only do I have to go pick up a mattress set, I ALSO have to swing by Tallapoosa Street today and go look at this. It was more or less a fluke find--I have been keeping an eye on E-bay just to know how much these are going for, and then this one popped up and coincidentally the guy works here in town, so I can go look before I bid. I may be a moron, but I'm not stupid, you know. Well, not a lot, anyway.

Other stuff? Let's see...yep. There's more alright. I'll get to what I can, and then we might have to get the rest of it tomorrow.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:18 AM | Comments (10)

April 22, 2005

4:15!?

How'd it get so late? No matter--that just means it's closer to going-home time.

My sister's up from Mobile this weekend, so we're going to take Mama out to the Golden Corral (the one out toward where my mom lives) after church on Sunday. I love my mother, and I love my sister, but the Golden Corral isn't my idea of fun on a Sunday afternoon. Too many people, too many people picking their noses and then grabbing a serving fork, too many people with loose children. It's probably as close to an open food air market in Timbuktu as I'll ever get, though, so I suppose I can always pretend I'm on an exotic adventure. I might need to make sure my immunizations are up to date.

And before that, our meeting I called for Saturday. I've got me something on paper now, which seems to help everyone. They're all still getting lost a bit--the old trees/forest thing. But, a few scratches with a pen and maybe things will make better sense.

It finally did rain this afternoon, but nothing really bad. Although bad enough to where I don't have to worry about outside chores this weekend, other than maybe some sprucing up of Moby (the van, not he singer) and taking his picture.

AAGH! 4:27!? Where DOES the time go?!

Anyway, all of you have a great weekend, and I'll see you Monday, and we'll sit around and talk about uninteresting things in an interesting way!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:28 PM | Comments (4)

Fixing to come a cloud.

We're having our big Magic City Art Connection deal outside my window in the park. Always a fun time for local artists, including a guy I work with. But it seems to never fail that it rains at least one day. And I just now looked out the window (because I was greatly annoyed by some sort of hippie noseflute worldbeat music) and it's as black as night and looks like its about to come quite a storm. They have tents set up for the artists to sell out of, but they don't offer much cover.

At least the hippie music quit.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:43 AM | Comments (4)

Prepare to be jealous.

I just talked to Miss Janis! On the TELEPHONE!

She's been sorely neglected by Lyman, who has been burning up the phone lines talking to little old ladies enthralled with his rich Southern accent, and in order to receive some justice (however misplaced her notion of it might be) she accessed the super secret hotline to Possum Central and we had a wonderful conversation.

As always, talking to a fellow blogger for the first time is always a keenly interesting experience--you get an idea about people from the way they write in public and in their e-mails, and then when you hear them it's always at first odd, then not so much so, and then it just gets all odd again.

Anyway, for those who want to know, Miss Janis sounded almost as I expected, although a bit throatier--she seemed to be battling a cough and losing--but it was something along the lines of Suzanne Pleshette with a touch of Dixie Carter. And, of course, Mamzelle Hepzibah.

Topics included blogging, which has gone to pot the last year or so as all the trolls and flamers have migrated from the message boards; flamers; trolls; peregrine falcons; politicians; Hillary '08; soft hands; air freshener; Lucy the Parrot, who is now learning to say Possumdaddy; lawyers; journalists; condos; Southern Women--in particular Miss Reba, who has been known to talk a bit; Fritz Schranck, who is a nice man; and planning for the day when Lyman and Janis show up at my house and I have to explain to Reba my secret blogging life.

All in all, one of those good conversations.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:12 AM | Comments (3)

Oh, that wasn't so bad.

The evening mee(a)ting I had last night went quickly enough--I spent more time at the grocery store afterwards looking for something else to fragrantize the interior of Moby. Those two solid discs of whew I bought a few weeks back had been stewing in the van and so when I decided to drive it last night, I had to roll the window down to keep from getting choked. Just a little too intense, and a little too unlike any known naturally occurring odor.

So, I stopped at Food World on the way back and looked over my options. Of which, there are about 48 billion--stuff that's waxy, stuff that's oily, stuff that's solid, stuff that will play you a soothing song as it stinks up the place, stuff that makes a cute cloud, stuff that clips onto the car A/C vent blades, deodorizer, ionizer, deionizer, antimicrobial, antiseptic, antisocial. And little cutout cardboard pine trees.

I finally settled on a bottle of Febreze (hey, did anyone know it's Couch Appreciation Month!?), even though I absolutely hate the name Febreze. Sounds too much like Feeble Breeze. They didn't have the car version, so I just got a bottle of the plain stuff. Although I hate the name, I really do like the product--it doesn't smell like perfume, but it does smell clean. Interesting, too, is that after I finally got out of the store and doused the interior, the overwhelming odor of the first smelly things seemed to evaporate much quicker. I figure it should smell even better once the carpet and seats are actually cleaned. I took it several months back and had the car wash halfway clean it out, and then took it home and did even more myself, but the rugs really need a good steam.

ANYway--I have some OTHER stuff to get done this morning for our church building committee meeting (that I stupidly set for 4 tomorrow afternoon), so I'm going to mess with that for a bit.

IN THE INTERVENING TIME, go wish Skillzy a Happy Birthday!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:48 AM | Comments (4)

April 21, 2005

It's almost that time of day.

You know, when I go to the restroom. And then come back and shuffle more papers, and then go home. Long night again tonight--after missing a meeting last month, it's time to show up at the Hall of the People in lovely downtown T'ville and take my place on the dais to hear some more variance requests. And then there's other stuff to do, although I'm not really sure what. I'm sure I will be informed.

And yes, the "I'm A Moron" Project continues with all deliberate speed. There's a particularly nice piece of moron bait on E-bay being listed by a guy who lives up the road a piece in Pell City. Sure do wish Uncle Sugardaddy would give me my refund check!

BUT BEFORE I GO--a word of admiration to those of you who filled in your Thursday Three today--you people sure do like to read!

I think I might take that up someday.

Or not.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:24 PM | Comments (0)

You know what I want?

Well, I'll tell you!

UPDATED!

A cold, refreshing 20 ounce Diet Coke!

So there.

UPDATE! And best of all, I went at the exact right time, because petite perky local reporter Charnel Wright was coming in the building! She's usually the reporter covering the local Bo Bice cheering match--last night she certainly had her hands full with some kid who was standing right under her elbow. At one point she had to push him out of the way so she could do her report.

Anyway, she didn't have to do that to me.

Then again, I couldn't get out of the elevator because of the guy standing in front of me.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:40 PM | Comments (0)

OH! And Space Camp!

I did misspeak about the amount of money brought back by our intrepid explorer--according to him, it was a nickel, two dimes, and six pennies. I told him he could keep it, and he was quite happy.

He said he had a very good time--he got to sleep in a bunk bed, and his hot air balloon that he made with his partner got the prize for going the highest AND staying aloft the longest, and one of the kids got homesick the first day and his dad had to come get him, and they got to eat astronaut ice cream, and he got to be a mission scientist on some sort of mock exercise.

"What kind of science officer stuff did you do, buddy?"

"Uhmm, I talked. And I had to do some other stuff."

"What'd you talk about?"

"I don't know."

Fascinating, Captain.

As was the fact that although they did have little shower cubicles for the kids, there was apparently no place to hang up street clothes, so he decided to put them in the floor outside the shower. Which, as you can imagine, was wet. Good thing he was only gone for two days or else he would have been growing mildew as his science officer job.

The only glitch in the otherwise successful mission was the little matter of homework. He'd brought some home with him last Friday, and then took his backpack with him to school Monday. Came back last night, and come to find out, all of his makeup homework was left undone. Because they didn't get to take their school backpacks. Because the homework was SUPPOSED to have been done over the weekend. Which he conveniently forgot to do. MEANING, he had to stay home from church last night with Mommy and get it all done. And it was a lot. And took a long time.

The main reason it took so long is that while Reba was downstairs washing his wet clothes and cleaning up after supper and such, Boy kept quietly showing up at her elbow. "I sure did miss you, Mommy."

I think he might have even missed me.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 11:06 AM | Comments (6)

You can't spell "meeting" without "me."

Or without "tin," for that matter.

ANYway, I have been in a meeting for nearly the last two hours, which is why there has been little in the way of anything fresh and funny here on Possumblog for the last two hours--well, okay--years.

But it was a good meeting, if there can be such a thing. Interesting project about which I can say nothing, other than BOY, it sure takes a LOT of electrical power to run a hundred thousand square foot room full of computers. And more than a couple of D-cell batteries. I can also say it sure is nice to run into the occasional smart guy who knows the technical side as well as the arty side of stuff, even if it's just plants. Because that type of guy makes you kind of ashamed to say something so crass as "just plants," and you come away saying to yourself, "that guy knows his business." It's a good thing to work around smart people. Would that there were more of them.

SO, now, on to more inanity.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:45 AM | Comments (7)

April 20, 2005

The Eagle Has Landed!

Didn't think the little stinker was ever going to get home!

I called home just now and Boy has made a triumphant return from Space Camp with a bag full of wet clothes, a Space Shuttle pin, a pair of Pathfinder wings, a group picture, a certificate, a raft of stories about all the rides and activities, and two nickels out of the $27 worth of spending money he took.

A full debriefing to follow tomorrow. Along with something we always do on Thursday.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:57 PM | Comments (2)

More Baby Animals!

Dave Helton's place is getting just a wee bit more cramped.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:01 PM | Comments (3)

Speaking of Adam Sandler...

This is rather more on the bizarre side--Sandler named Grand Marshal of May NASCAR race at Talladega

TALLADEGA, Ala. (AP) — Actor-comedian Alan Sandler will visit Alabama in early May. He'll serve as Grand Marshal of the Aaron's 499 NASCAR Nextel race at Talladega Superspeedway. Track officials said Sandler will participate in pre-race events and will utter the well-known racing phrase -- "Gentlemen, Start Your Engines." [...]

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:55 AM | Comments (0)

Hey, Catherine!

"Hey, Daddy."

"Guess who I saw this afternoon before you got home!"

"WHO!?"

"Your little rabbit friend! Remember? The one that you tried to catch last year? When you walked out here at night?"

"Casey? Katie--YES, Katie the Bunny! Where was she, Daddy?"

"She ran out from under the grass over there at the back of the yard when I came by with the lawnmower."

"Can I go catch her!?"

"Sure!"

As if she could--she makes WAY too much noise. But it was good to see Katie the Bunny back again. Although it might be Katie the II, or Bob. It looked a lot smaller than the rabbit we saw last year.

ANYway--it was grass-cutting time yesterday. Since I missed the weekend, and since the weeds didn't, and since I had yet to cut the backyard, it was definitely time to crank up the Murray and get after it.

After first being mauled by the neighbor's big slobbery golden retriever. Dern thing's as big as a horse now. He and his owners were out yesterday doing some yardwork as well, when for some reason Guy Neighbor decided to unhitch Dog from his mooring as I was getting the mower out of the Not A Utility Shed.

Click::BOUND::BOUND::SLOBBER::

Gal Neighbor fussed at Guy Neighbor for letting Dog loose, and as they gently bickered back and forth in the tentative way that young marrieds have, Dog crawled all over me and nearly knocked me down in his irrational exhuberance. I love dogs, although I don't really enjoy dog slobber spewing everywhere and the uncomfortable feeling you get when said dog is so happy that he mistakes you for a girl dog. Guy Neighbor FINALLY came over to pull Dog off of me, and after he was sitting down, I gave him a friendly pat (Dog, not Guy Neighbor) and Guy Neighbor finally got the hint that I needed to be about my mowing, so he sadly wandered back over to his yard.

Crank, putter, drone, mind wander. I thought some more about the "I'm A Moron" Project; clicked over some of the things I need to do to get Moby ready for a new home--paint the bumpers, steam clean the carpets, some fog light lenses; saw that the last application of week WEED killer didn't; ran over two fire ant beds and decided I needed some fire ant killer, too; marvelled at the weather--sunny, warm, breezy, unhumid, blue sky; wondered how Boy was doing up there in Huntsville; admired how beautiful our azaleas look this year; thought the whole papal election process would be much more interesting if the College of Cardinals had a football team and cheerleaders like Notre Dame does; startled Katie the Rabbit and reminded myself that I had to be SURE and tell Catherine when she got home. Something about weekday mowing isn't conducive to getting all worked up about life's little indignities, I suppose.

After Reba and the girls got home, I had gotten around to the back yard where I had the conversation with Cat about the rabbit, and then decided she needed something to do if she was going to be outside with me. So, I got her to fill the bird feeders. She enjoyed that. And we looked at the wrens up in the tangle of wisteria on the arbor. She liked that, too.

After that, she took herself over to the swingset and began acting like an orangutan. I looked up one time and she had somehow managed to climb up and hang from the top bar by her arms and legs. I started to make her get down--she's a big chunk of a little girl, and if she'd fallen it could have been very bad. But, you know, I did the same thing when I was little. I just told her to be extra careful and not to fall. Which she didn't, but I think that's more due to Divine Providence than her gymnastic skills.

She eventually wandered into the house and I finished up around 7:30 or so, and unlike the days to come in the choking heat of summer, I actually didn't feel all worn out. I sat and rocked for a bit and talked to Miss Reba, then came in and headed down to the drugstore to get our prescriptions, then drove by the Mercedes Doctor to look at the stuff on their backlot waiting to be repaired, then on to home for a good supper, a part of which will also be lunch today, caught the latest episode of The Office, despite my ban on teevee watching at the supper table (it's good to be the king, you know), then cleaned up the dishes, went upstairs and showered the grime off of me, helped fold the last of the weekend laundry, and turned in for the night.

Quite a productive afternoon.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:24 AM | Comments (2)

April 18, 2005

Never fails.

I get ready to have fun and work happens.

::sigh::

Be back in a bit.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:36 PM | Comments (0)

So...

The Weekend, Part II. Long, as usual. I'll use the extended entry to keep from taking up so much room...

As I mentioned last week, Reba stopped off on her way home and went to see Miss Alisha at the hair place, who proceeded to do her do up right with a cut and a color and an hour or so of pleasant conversation. She's a good kid--only 21--full of wit but thankfully not silly or flighty, and she does really good work. Reba was quite pleased with the result and the company AND with the fact that it was about a quarter of the cost of the expensiver place. (I like that, too.) Anyway, I just hope she stays around for a while. I hate having to find someone else. (I suppose that goes equally well for both wife and hair stylist.)

First thing to do Friday after I got there was to load our tiny bit of stuff into the Focus along with the kids' stuff, and make a quick run by the grandparents' house to drop it off. That done, with the requisite time spent hugging on various children and telling them to go back inside so we could leave, we went on to Sam's to fill up on some cheap(ish) gas for the trip. Upon going up the hill toward the companion Wallyworld--Sam's retailing district on Chalkville Road, one of the oddest things I had seen in several hours, that being the sight of a perfectly restored postwar Rolls-Royce chugging along up the lane to make the left turn into the Wal-Mart shopping center. There ARE other stores in there, and a movie theater, and the fancy Chinese joint, and it IS prom season, so I'm sure they were going somewhere other than Wal-Mart. Although the whole idea is kinda interesting. Anyway, it was a beautiful car--I'm not sure which model (a Silver Wraith, I suppose), but it had the crisp knife-edged Mulliner coachwork and bustleback trunk that supposedly inspired the 1980 Caddy Seville, the ugliest GM car ever made until the Pontiac Aztek. (And a style that was also ripped off for both the Lincoln Continental and the Chrysler Imperial. I think it is a credit to the sheer horror of the Aztek that no other company has decided it was worth copying.)

We turned up the hill to the right, got our gasoline, and then--well, we had to go to Wal-Mart, too. Reba wanted to get her watch battery changed out, so we went to the jewelry counter where the staff was as helpful and attentive as jellyfish.

"If it didn't come from here, we caint take the back off it."

Thank you!

I wound up having to do all the prying and battery replacing myself. BUT, it works now. For some reason, when the battery went dead a while back, rather than take it and have a new battery put in, Reba inexplicably just bought a cheapo watch. It had quit too. For some reason, cheap, non-waterproof watches don't take well to being immersed in water. Go figure, huh?

ANYway, grabbed some burgers from the in-store Mickey D's and we were FINALLY on our way.

Uneventful drive, and pulled into the nice, relatively new Wingate Inn and carefully signed in under our assumed names of Mr. and Mrs. Doe. It's really a nice place--the room was clean and hadn't been smoked in, and it was still in one piece, and the place was nice and quiet with no one running up and down the hall screaming. Our room was on the second floor at a little mezzanine level that looked right down onto the lobby and desk, which might have something to do with the quietude.

Ironed some clothes, watched some History Channel, set the alarm clock, went to bed, awoke with a start because it was light and the alarm still hadn't gone off. Because it hadn't gone off. I hate hotel alarm clocks. Thankfully, it was only about ten minutes past 6:30, so we upped and showered and repacked and stole the tiny soap and headed downstairs for breakfast, which was also included in the room price.

Lots of German men lounging about eating breakfast with us. I don't know why. There were at least three different small groups of them, with none of them acting like they knew the others. Sneaky Germans.

Check out, load the car, make the quick run over to the school, escort Reba to the bookstore so she could get the rest of her books, while she does that I look through the phone book for the nearest library. They had one on campus, but someone said they didn't think it was open, and I HAD to do something other than just sit all day in the student lounge. Found one I thought was close-ish, but since I don't know anything about Montgomery, it took a while to actually find it.

Walked Reba back to her classroom, and left out heading back down Eastern Boulevard, made the turn onto South Boulevard, stopped at Food World, checked the Yellow Pages map, turned around, headed back up South Boulevard, then back up Eastern Boulevard, turned east onto Troy Highway, stopped at the Chevron on 71, turned around and went back down Troy Highway the way I'd come, turned north onto Bell Road, drove, drove, drove, thought it might have been good had I written down the address, stopped at the Shell on Vaughn Road, looked at the Yellow Pages map, found out I was only about a half-mile short of the library.

Hooray!

It had only taken forty-five minutes to get to a point that I was later to find out was only ten minutes from where I had started out. I had made one gigantic loop.

No matter.

The branch was small, but it was well equipped with some books, which are pretty important for a library to have. I lolled around at the computers (finding myself to be on the naughty list) and read several magazines before it got to be time to head back over to the college and eat lunch with Reba.

They put on quite a spread for them--it's included in their fees, of course, but everyone thinks of it as a free lunch. Which there ain't none of. And yes, even though it was a buffet and even though I probably could have sneaked through without any of the staff being the wiser, I paid my five bucks so I could enjoy my bone-riddled pork chop and limp green beans with a clear conscience.

I felt kinda bad for Reba, because everyone gave us plenty of privacy--I know she probably would have like it better if some of her classmates had sat with us, but I guess I scared them all away. (And no, I did not scream "TREEEE" at any of them. Much.)

After that, it was time for her to head back to class, so I walked her back to the building and gave her a quick smooch and a pinch on the bottom when she turned around, and then drove on back to the library for a few more hours of uninterrupted reading. Absolutely wonderful.

On back again around 3, picked up Miss Reba, and headed toward home again, and once again, an uneventful trip, and a pretty one--Saturday was one of those beautiful Southern spring days. Bright blue sky; warm, but not hot. And none of the humidity that'll be coming on in a month or so.

Got to her parent's house, they were gone with the kids, so we went on to refill the gas tank (32 mpg this time--pretty darned impressive, I think) and got some groceries. Home, unload, get the van, get the kids, eat some supper, back home, into bed with the whole wild lot of them, up early Sunday, and to church.

Class was good, and as usual I asked Rebecca and Jonathan if they learned anything. Jonathan said he learned what that "R-word" was that I had just erased off the board. Whatever it was.

"Reconciliation?"

"YES, SIR!"

"And that's all?"

"Daaaad..."

For some reason, Rebecca had more questions than usual, and after class we used up nearly the entire 20 minutes of break-time before worship just discussing Bible stuff. That was nice. I wonder sometimes how much gets through, but apparently a lot.

Then on to worship, where we were treated to being pummelled in the back by Tasmanian devilchildren for an hour, as well as treated to being unwilling audience to an hour-long, unquietly-whispered conversation amongst the three people in front of us.

Don't get me wrong--I want people to visit us, and not be made to feel unwelcome or unloved or uncared for. And I realize that some people don't think of worship as being something you do, but rather think of it as something that you watch. But, you know, if I was just coming to watch, I don't think I would sit and talk all the way through the show.

Yes, I know the show's a bit on the boring side--no magicians, no laser lights--but, still. Surely you can tell that NO ONE ELSE IS SITTING THERE ON THEIR SEATS CARRYING ON AN UNINTERRUPTED CONVERSATION AND HAVING A WONDERFUL SILLY LAUGH-FILLED ESCAPADE LIKE YOU'RE HAVING!

Is it so impossible to be reverent for an hour? You have the whole day to yammer about your nails and lunch and every other thing and about how funny you think everything is--could you just please hush for a little while?

And, hey--people behind us--I really don't blame your children for being ill-behaved. I blame you. Please tell your children that constantly hitting the pews with their feet and poking people with songbooks and pulling the girl's hair in front of you and screaming and fighting internecine battles is really not a good thing. Maybe you could take them out to the nursery and tell them.

Obviously, it was difficult to concentrate Sunday morning.

Left, drove over to see Ashley's grandparents and eat lunch, home to get Boy's stuff packed, and I took him to get his hair cut. Miss Alisha wasn't there, but he'd gotten so wooly that there was no way to wait. And now he looks like a perfect little Mercury astronaut. Got gas in the van and got it washed (after several stops to find a carwash with the cloth strips instead of nylon brushes) then home again to finish packing, then back to church where it was MUCH quieter for the evening sermon, then to home, some nice quiet soup for supper, and then, to bed.

What a weekend it has been. But oddly restful. A few hours alone in a library'll do that, I suppose.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:43 PM | Comments (8)

You know what I REALLY dislike? A lot?

They moved our staff meeting from 8:30 to 9:30, so the big boys could have their meeting first. But their meeting never gets over on time. So you're stuck in some kind of unproductive limbo like when you're waiting on the guy from the phone company.

I'd much rather go ahead and ruin the day right off, than have to wait for it.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:44 AM | Comments (2)

Sputnik

Oh, and in amongst all the other turmoil, today marks Boy's departure for Huntsville with the kids in his RLC class to attend a three-day jaunt at Space Camp.

This entailed both the packing of a suitcase and the cutting of apron strings, it being the first time the lad's gone off on his own so far from Mama. He's excited, obviously, but Mama's looking on this as something akin to him actually going to the moon.

And what can I say? I let him and Catherine out this morning, got his big rolling bag out of the car, patted down his cowlick, gave them both a big hug and kiss, and sent them both inside the building, turned around and got back in the van, and felt that terrible thud you feel in the pit of your stomach when you realize one of your children is taking another step away from you.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:09 AM | Comments (11)

What happens in Montvegas--

--stays in Montvegas.

Well, not really. Otherwise I'd have nothing to talk about!

A nice weekend, mostly. We did have to return home Saturday, though, and that meant coming home to a houseful of children who had been entrusted to the care of their grandparents for a day and a half. Our children, being that they lead a repressed life under the thumb of their autocratic father who stands ready to castigate them for even the slightest transgressions, when loosed from those strictures often take on the personalities of sailors on shore leave after a year at sea. Especially when in the presence of doting grandparents, who seem to think themselves powerless to call them to task.

SO, it was that Miss Reba and I returned Saturday afternoon after the entire lot of them had been to Vulcan Park. Yes, it is still standing.

Grandmom and Granddad were beside themselves with fatigue. The children were tired as well, but only tired in the sense of a momentary plateau in their voltage level. After a brief recharge, they would have been ready to let loose again. However, the SPs arrived in the form of Mom and Dad, and order was restored. At least on the surface.

Anyway, the longer version of events will be up in a bit--actually, not too much to tell, since Friday and Saturday were spent doing nothing productive.

OH, and the deal with being banned in Montgomery? Well, as Reba toiled away in class Saturday, I drove over to the E.L. Lowder branch of the Montomery Library System on Bell Road, and after a few minutes of surfing to check my mail and the news, I thought I would head over here and click around and see what folks on the blogroll were up to. IMAGINE MY SURPRISE when I entered the address and this message popped up on the screen--

The Montgomery City-County Public Library in compliance with the Children’s Internet Protection Act (CIPA), Pub.L.106-554 has chosen to limit viewing of this site (http://possumblog.mu.nu/), due to the rating of its content (digital music,entertainment).

WICKED, WICKED Possumblog!

Such pride I don't think I've ever felt about any other endeavor I have undertaken!

Now, some of you might wonder where the digital music is--I imagine it's kept in the same place as the entertainment. When I find it, I'll let you know.

Anyway, back in a bit with more.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:36 AM | Comments (9)

April 15, 2005

ONWARD!

I'm not gone for the day, because I have yet more bilge to pump around here, and if I keep playing I won't get it done.

In a break from the usual, as I noted earlier the weekend promises to be enjoyable, and even more so since Miss Reba has gone to see Miss Alisha to get the roots of her hairs colored up. Nothing like a little color to lift the spirits, you know.

Anyway, all of you have a great weekend, and I'll see you all Monday--although if that library down there has computers, you might hear from me earlier. But I'm not gonna make ANY promises!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:39 PM | Comments (0)

Bully for Favorable Coincidences.

It has been a long couple of months at our house. And, tempers have been inversely proportional.

I’ve likened it before to that guy who used to appear on the Ed Sullivan Show and would spin plates on sticks. Start out with one, then work from there up to a whole forest of spinning plates on sticks. Quite a show.

After a while, it gets harder and harder to keep running back and forth from the ones on one end to the ones on the other end. Inevitably, one begins to wobble and then falls off with a big crash. The audience usually gives you a pass for that one, because they see the other hundred plates madly spinning, and you sprinting breathlessly back and forth giving each little stick underneath each spinning plate a quick wiggle to keep it going.

Now, on Ed Sullivan, the guy could just stop and let the plates all wobble and fall and crash and then take a bow. In life the plates have to be kept spinning, you can’t just stop and take a bow. Which is kinda stressful because you can only spin plates for so long before you have to stop and go to the bathroom or something.

Anyway, so, we’re busy. But big deal, you know? Everyone else is, too. But when you’re in the middle of it, and you look at your wife and she says, “You know, we need a date,” and all you can do is sigh and agree and keep plugging along--well, it just gets to be less entertaining than it otherwise might be.

And the plates just keep coming. As part of Reba’s classes, every three months she has to go to the main campus down in Montgomery and spend the whole day for a class. Not the worst thing in the world, but just another layer of stress--I stay at the house with the kids and she’s off on the road alone for several hours, and in an unfamiliar town for the day. She’s a big girl and can handle herself just fine, and I’m not really worried about her. But I am. She’s fully aware she's a full-growed adult, so it's not like she's really apprehensive about it. But she is.

So, with all the lack of one-on-one time, and crush of things going hither and yon, you just put your head down and keep going.

Last week sometime she said, “You know, it sure would be nice if Mom and Dad would keep the kids this weekend. And you could drive down with me. Maybe even go down Friday night.”

A glimmer, that.

“I don’t know what you’d do while I was in class, though…”

“Well, I suppose I could stay in the library and just read all day.”

We both looked at each other, and with the recognition that it was pointless to hope too much for such a silly thing, we both said, “Oh, well,” and let out a sigh. Silly thought. Head down, keep going.

Got home last night and she’d already started getting the clothes into the washing machine so there wouldn’t be so many to do the rest of the weekend. She was sitting with Rebecca in the laundry room floor separating clothes, so I gave them both a â€hey’ and went upstairs to get out of my work clothes and put on something more comfortable. Kid’s laundry in folded piles all over the bed. Well, not quite the whole bed. I sure would like the laundry not to ALL be on MY side of the bed. ::sigh:: Snotty and selfish thought, quickly brushed aside. I’ll help them put it away after supper sometime.

Back downstairs, start getting plates and napkins ready for supper. “Hey, did you see those clothes on the bed?” How could I miss them? “Mm-hm.” “Well, don’t move them.” As if I was going to. “Come here.” ::sigh:: Not like I wasn’t already doing something else.

“You remember what I said the other day?”

“Uh, no.”

“How it sure would be nice if my mom and dad would watch the kids? I came in to pick them up this afternoon, and she asked what we were doing this weekend, and I told her I had class Saturday, and she said the Dad wanted the kids to spend the night Friday so that he could take them all up to Vulcan Park Saturday. The clothes on the bed are what I'm packing for them to take over there.”

Whoa-wha-waaaitttt--

“Which means if we wanted to, we could go down Friday night.--and I wouldn’t have to get up at dawn Saturday to get to class--and…”

SAY NO MORE, SQUIRE! Wink, wink! Nudge, nudge! Ay? Say no more, ay! A nod's as good as a wink to a blind bat! Ay?!

I believe is was Homer who said, “WHOOO-HOOO!”

NOW, there are probably some of you who cannot fathom the lure of a night spent in Montgomery, Alabama, it not being, after all, a wild, cosmopolitan, entertainment-laden burg like, say, Valdosta, Georgia, or even like Poughkeepsie, New York.

Well, that’s because you just don’t know.

My friends, there are few things more interesting than being able to get a quiet room with a big bed, in a town where no one knows who you are.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:30 AM | Comments (18)

April 14, 2005

Glad THAT'S over!

I mailed my state income taxes in yesterday, after going back through and correcting them to get back a few dollars. As you all recall, the instructions via our lovely and talented Department of Revenue seemed to indicate (by using the words, "Taxes you cannot deduct") that our local Birmingham and Jefferson County occupational taxes could not be part of the deductions for taxes you've paid. The occupational tax subtraction has been there for years, and this was the first year I can remember them being ineligible for a deduction.

SO, I had everything all filled out last weekend, said something about it here on Possumblog, and then thanks be to the great help of Stan, the Gummint Man, who pointed out that the state had issued a correction. It seems the instruction booklet was wrong, and you CAN deduct local occupational taxes!

Now, despite the fact that I cannot believe this was a simple "error" in printing the instructions (being that it wasn't just a typo, but a complete revision), I have no proof of rampant bureaucratic malfeasance in the Revenue Department. SO I said 'let it go.' And then I went and redid my return to get back the bit of money I had thought I was going to have to pay.

WELLLLL, let me tell you--it's a darned good thing I went back through and did it again, because not only did I get a reduction of about 30 bucks for the taxes, I also found out that I had based my original tax-owed number on the WRONG INCOME. I had looked at the line $1,000 more than my actual income, so I saved another fifty bucks.

Wound up writing a tiny check, which is the way I like it. Much better to owe a bit at the end than have a big refund. Big refunds are a whole year's interest-free loan to Uncle Sam.

OF COURSE, had I actually been allowed to keep that money, I would have gone and spent it on stuff instead of having it to spend all at once on an extravagant big-ticket item.

This year, I promised Reba that we'd replace our mattress. Fourteen years is a bit on the longish side for mattresses, even good ones, and even ones that get turned regularly. And even one with such good memories.

But it's gotten beyond turning now, and Reba complains of backaches all the time, and we just can't have that. SO, time for a new one.

I had thought about one of those 'spensive Tempur-pedic ones that allow you to jump up and down without rocking the other person (and no, I don't normally need that kind of isolation), but if we spend all the refund money on that, I won't have any left over for funding my latest "I'm a Big Moron" Project.

Yes, it is car-related.

At this time, only Larry Anderson is aware of the actual depth of my dementia. Of course, he is what psychologists call "an enabler," and I think actually enjoys the prospects of the blithering moronitude that will surely follow in a few months.

I'm just hoping a nice mattress will make up for it with Miss Reba.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:26 PM | Comments (16)

Much Better.

Just printed out another 69 pages of Miss Reba's paper (it grew a bit due to the necessity of making each chapter title start on the top of the page) and took it back across the street to A-1.

Reba and I looked again last night in the requirements, and although the comb binding had at one time been okay, it looked somewhat as if they had tried to mark it out with a black line. But the line wasn't quite covering it up. It wasn't real clear of the intent, but I know that I don't like comb bindings just on general principle, so I figured we might as well do it right.

Explained to Miss Vicki that I had gotten the wrong thing yesterday and today told her I needed the tight little coil with the bunch of little round holes in the side. And this time, I made sure to twirl my index finger out in front of me in tight little coil shaped movements, just to be sure she understood.

She went to the back and I wandered around the place. Smells like ink, you know. And paper. Passed the time chatting with the woman running copies at the big machine. She thought it wasn't supposed to rain today, and suggested that all the weather guys on teevee should be fired. "But as long as the weekend's like it was last week, that'll be okay." Yeah.

I did have one heart skipping moment when I couldn't remember if I had properly oriented the front "I did not plagiarize this paper" cover sheet. It was a separate sheet, and I wondered if I had given it to her upside down or something. The other woman ran back and checked, and everything was okay. And I saw through the window that the edges of the paper were filled with a bunch of tiny round holes.

And, done.

Only one more like it to go. But at least it's not anytime soon.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:24 AM | Comments (4)

April 13, 2005

Now then.

It's almost time to go, and MAYBE this week I won't have to substitute for the Wednesday night teacher for the 3rd to 6th graders at church like I did last week. Sundays are ALWAYS much better--the kids have had some sleep, and are still sleepy, and are generally on their better behavior. But on Wednesdays, they're amped up on an entire day spent confined in state custody amongst all the heathen and barbarians and infidels and such, and they come in ready to rip.

As always, I blame parents.

(Not really so) Long ago, parents cared how their children acted when they were out of arm's reach, but now, parents act about as wild. The kids in our classes are good and have parents that care, but the kids are off running with the bulls during the day, and it rubs off on them. Especially that sarcastic snottiness so common on television, where every adult is a dolt, and kids are impossibly glib and witty. In real life, however, kids don't have writers, and what comes out of their precious little mouths isn't particularly cute. Or funny.

So, they get The Look. The Look is bad to receive, because it says "you are not funny, and you are going to stop that, because if you don't, you and me are gonna go 'round and 'round."

It's not fun, for them or for me. (Well, okay--maybe a little fun for me, but only because I'm a control freak.)

Anyway, last Wednesday they were fit to be tied, and had I had longer shoelaces, I might have done it. Maybe this week their regular teacher will be there. And then I'll be able to rest until Sunday, when it's my turn.

ANYwho--the day's about shot. I'm fixin' to git, but before I go--a reminder that TOMORROW is THURSDAY, and THURSDAY means...SPECIAL SURPRISES!

Yay.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:18 PM | Comments (10)

Once again, I am proven right.

When I got back from the printer, I went straight downstairs to purchase a cold and refreshing Diet Coke, still clutching my just-punctured copies, neatly concealed within a manila folder.

Coming back to the elevator, I passed one of the executive secretaries in the corridor who works with the big people. Super nice woman, but hasn't been here a real long time. It took her a while after she arrived to be able to remember my name and such, which is just fine--she probably does a better job of it than I do.

Anyway, we nodded and spoke, and just as I got even with her, she stopped and said, "You know, when I first got here, I didn't realize you worked in our department. I thought you worked up in Legal--you're always dressed up nice with a shirt and tie, and you seem like you always have all kinds of papers and things with you, and you always seem to be doing something serious."

BINGO!

Proof once again of my Primary Rule of Work--"If you look busy, you ARE busy."

In order to pretend that you are a busy professional, you must dress like a professional, carry things around with you, and walk with purpose.

Sloppy people obviously need something to do. People who don't have anything to carry can't REALLY be busy. If you wander and dawdle, it means you're goofing off.

Remember, avoiding work requires real effort to pull off successfully.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:19 PM | Comments (6)

That was disappointing.

I took the copies over--two, this time, because Miss Reba said she wanted a copy for herself that was bound. Not in so many words, but when I was asking how the last one she did was fixed, she said, with a rather put-out, sad tone, "I don't know--you only would pay to have one of them bound." ::sniff:: Well, NOT THIS TIME!

I passed them across the counter to Miss Vicki--no, not THE Miss Vicki, the lady who owns the joint--with instructions that the cover should be clear plastic, the back cover black, and the binding to be the black plastic coil-type binding. Thinking to myself that, by holding my fingers closely and moving my hands together and apart rapidly, I would convey the idea of the spring-type coiled wire binding that goes through all the tiny loops. Except, of course, in black plastic.

Ten minutes, and two freshly bound copies. With the clunky comb-type plastic binding that is an ever-lovin' [very naughty word redacted] to handle. I'm not sure the requirements even let you use this type of binding strip--I think it pretty much has to be ANYthing else. ::sigh::

What could I say? There was no way to make the tiny holes and redo it, and Vicki's too nice to fuss at. So, I paid her $6.50, and I figure we'll look at the instructions again tonight to see if this'll do. If not, there's always tomorrow, I suppose.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:58 PM | Comments (2)

Then again, maybe not.

I thought I might get a chance to play some today, but signs are not encouraging. Especially the large sign around my neck that says "Get to Work."

SO, this might be it for today, or there might be a drop of inanity later on toward quitting time.

I did want to mention that Catherine really REALLY enjoyed the planetarium yesterday, and then came home after school and played in the backyard with Rebecca and rolled all in the grass and got eaten up by chiggers.

On the whole, though, she seemed to have thought the day was a good one, despite the bugs.

Now then, to work.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 10:16 AM | Comments (4)

April 12, 2005

Now then...

It's time for me to get ready for my semi-monthly off-site meeting tomorrow, so I must shut down the drivel spigot for awhile and tend to my paying gig.

See you all much later tomorrow!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:59 PM | Comments (0)

The Worst Blog Topic of All.

Yes, dreams.

I'm sorry--making your dreams a blog post is one of those things that is simultaneously creepy, unentertaining, and boring, like Elton John; but this one is one of those that has stuck with me for more than a day. I can usually figure out what triggers some of these, but this one was a cypher.

Skip it if you wish--it's really dumb.

Or not--here goes:

It started out like most of my dreams do, in a shabby decrepit old building. I'm not sure why--you'd figure an architect would have dreams of glassy shiny new places, but the places where I have my dreams have all seen their better days.

Anyway, I wander into this dimly lit building with someone, and I think it was Reba, or not, but we plunder and explore and finally I come to something like a storeroom full of old books and furniture and junk and piles and piles of junk and cobwebs. There is an upper mezzanine that you can get to by a set of iron steps, and then you can go outside, but I stayed inside and found a small ell-shaped room off the main junk room that had a window looking out onto a small weedy courtyard. A window, I guess, implies it had glass in it, but it's just an opening in the wall, with closely spaced vertical bars on it.

It's a very pretty sunny day outside, and the building I was in--which looked like an old white stuccoed building--wrapped the little patch of green weediness on three sides, and then the open side spread out into a nice park area beyond. It was very nice to look at--something almost like what you would see in old towns along the Gulf Coast. It was nice even in spite of the tangle of junk all around where I was standing.

I was about to go upstairs and go out, then looked back outside to the corner of the building wing that stood over to the right. There was a shrub planted there, and as I watched, it grew like a corkscrew all the way to the top of the building! Quite amazing and amusing. It looked like something out of a cartoon.

Okay, now the weird part.

A lady dressed in very stylish Edwardian clothing walked up to where the tree was, and was about to walk up a small set of steps into the building. She was very pretty, with light-colored hair, a dark green dress, carried a parasol, and looked for all the world like a Gibson girl model. For some reason, at that moment, it was as if the whole scene was something out of an old movie. I hunched down and pressed my face down in the corner of the window between the bars, and started shouting, "TREE! TREEE!" like I was a drooling deranged idiot or something. Apparently in this "movie," this was what I was supposed to portray.

The lady stopped, and I just kept yelling TREE! TREEEEEE! TREEE! and she had a look of pitiful compassion on her face that anyone would mistreat a blithering mental case like me by locking him in a room full of junk. And for some reason, I couldn't break character--I just kept slobbering and yelling TREE with my face pressed to the bars, because me was 'fraid tree gonna get lady!

She finally turned and went inside, and then it was like the scene was done, so I left the room and went someplace else in the building and looked at some more junk, and then I woke up wondering what the heck I had eaten that made me have THAT kind of dream.

Stupid brain.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 01:26 PM | Comments (9)

Speaking of Cat--

She and her class of second graders have gone here today on a field trip. Probably one of the neatest little out-of-the-way attractions in town, the planetarium has been part of a memorable childhood for just about everyone in town who got to go there on a class trip. I still remember going, although I'm not sure how old I was. Maybe Cat's age or so, and I thought it was the coolest thing in the world.

I hope she has a good time, too.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:52 AM | Comments (1)

Birds!

Miss Jordana notes the robins who have nested on their front porch seem to have had some babies.

I have a feeling we're going to have some pretty soon, as well. This weekend I was outside cooking again (hamburgers--mmmm) and as I was standing there with my usual vacant look and slack jaw, something flitted by just outside my peripheral vision. I looked and couldn't see anything, but for some reason, the pressure sprayer attracted my attention. I don't know why, but I went over to look at it--it's had the bung and pump handle out of the top all winter, and the hose was hanging down off of it--I figured it wouldn't hurt to neaten things up a bit and get it off the table and put it in the Not-the-LEAST BIT-Shedlike Plastic Playhouse. Until I saw something inside--stinkin' little birds had filled it up with straw and made themselves a nice tin can home.

So, I left it alone.

I figure that gives me an excuse for not spraying the weeds in the flower beds. I don't know what kind of birds they are--I haven't actually seen any. And I made the mistake of telling Catherine, so she now feels compelled to go out and peek inside every day after she gets home from school. I keep telling her she's going to make the birds scared and they'll leave, but for some reason she's immune to such reasoning.

Anyway, we might have us some birds. I just hope they don't decide to fly inside like the one did at Christmastime...

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:34 AM | Comments (4)

Finis.

Reba's paper, that is. 14,348 words, 65 pages. I just wish that was the only one--I think there are one or two more, and I have a feeling that my assistance will be required on those, as well.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:16 AM | Comments (6)

April 11, 2005

Hey, Pictures!

As noted previously, I managed to take a minute away from paper typing to get a few photos transferred so that you can drink in the loveliness that marks the lush grounds of Maisson d'Possum.

First of all, the wisteria--

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There's not much of it, which is plenty. Next up, MEAT! (Not for the faint of stomach)

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Yes, I really, REALLY need to get the innards of the grill fixed up. One feature you have often read about is the stone bench--

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I made this myself--I went to the garden shop and landscaping place down by the tracks and found a limestone stair tread--that's the sitting part. It's about 8 inches thick, 15 inches wide, and maybe 4 feet long. Stupid thing probably weighs over five hundred pounds. (The slab, not me.) I also got a natural piece of limestone that had two dressed sides that I split into three pieces with a sledghammer. These serve as the three legs underneath. It was quite an undertaking, and the fact that I managed to do all of this without crushing my hands is a testament to the power of prayer. In the background you can see the little pond I build last year, as well as all the wooly stuff that looks much nicer when it's all greened-out.

This is my rocking chair. As noted in the photo title, it really needs to be painted.

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And this is a picture looking out toward my next-door-neighbor's house. There's a dog in that wooden enclosure named Bear. He barks. A lot.

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There were more, but I figure this is enough for now.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:58 AM | Comments (23)

Good Morning!

No, really; it is!

Because for once you will be spared a 4,000 word dissertation and dissection of my weekend. Why? Because all I did all weekend was type on Reba's paper. Fifty some-odd pages (some more odd than others), and I didn't have to do any laundry, or wrangle any children, or make any supper, or anything else. And boy, are my arms sore. This paper (which I'm still not through with, by the way) is part of a larger effort, and basically it is one of several self-directed studies she has to accomplish, in which she goes through one of her textbooks and answers a series of assigned questions from each chapter. This one was about international business, and it was full of stuff about how businesses can compete better globally, and the various pitfalls of language, culture, yada, etc., blah-blah. Interesting, I suppose. Although there was one non-sequitur that set me off on a snotty, unscripted four-page ramble that she had not anticipated.

All of the talk had been about communication and stuff and objective and subjective judgments in business and things like that, and then one question popped up about how this related to the situation between Iraq and the United Nations. HUH!? Completely out of left-field, probably in more ways than one. There was nothing that would have led one to believe the text had anything to do with non-business-related politics, and nothing in any of the subsequent chapters. It was a completely stupid, thinly-veiled, political jab. Or, that's the way I took it, because I'm very much a reactionary like that, you know.

So, I gave a quick rundown of Saddam's rise to power; the Iran-Iraq war; the invasion of Kuwait; the subsequent peace deal that allowed Saddam et Fils to continue their reign of terror; the perfidious nature of the back-stabbing, double-dealing members of the UN who either openly supported a megalomaniacal sociopath, or who publicly deplored him while simultaneously lining their pockets with Oil For Food funds; the stepped up effort to reinstitute inspections after 9/11 culminating in a final ultimatum to both Iraq to allow inspections; and to the UN to either be serious about all their rhetoric or face further irrelevance; and the final discovery that despite twelve years of international intelligence reports saying Iraq had WMDs, none had been found, with them either having been spirited out of the country to Syria or Iran, or not having existed in any large quantities to begin with.

I suppose it would have been better to examine what shrewd businessmen the French and Russians were and how they managed to create such good working relationships internationally. But, whatever.

I DID get a chance in amongst all that to finally get my photos from last week of the first cookout of the spring transferred, so those will be up a bit later, AND I got a nice surprise from a long-time reader, also to be discussed in just a bit.

RIGHT NOW, I have some busy-ness to get done--all kinds of FAXING! and DISCUSSING! and MEETING! Whee.

Be back in a bit.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 08:52 AM | Comments (4)

April 08, 2005

That was one long night.

It actually started yesterday morning when I was driving the kids to school, and we passed by the library. I asked Oldest if she was through with all of those Shakespeare books she had checked out.

You know, so we could maybe return them early.

“Mm-yeah. I just need to copy the pages I used.”

“Do what?”

“I have to copy the pages from the books that I used. You know, the books on the works cited page?”

“YES, I understand that--but…” grr. GRRGRR. GRR. And then some.

Copies of the pages. And the books were still at home.

“I have to have it tomorrow.”

GRR! And she has to have it tomorrow. I.e., today. And there was no time to go back and get them so I could make copies myself on something like a high-speed digital copier. Since I didn’t know when Reba was going to get home last night, there was no way of knowing if I would be free enough from cooking and kid-tending to be able to take the books someplace with a copier, which meant that I was going to have to use my achingly slow scanner and then print them out.

I just sat there in silence for minute, wondering what next drop of informational water torture she would let fall onto my forehead. I finally calmed down enough to quietly ask her to please in the future allow us some time to make copies, if they are needed, so that we can take the books with us. “M’kay.” Grr.

So, last night, got the call from Miss Reba that the inspection team was finished and she was actually going to get to come home early! HOORAY! And could I put the steaks on to cook?

Well, yes, I suppose I could, but it would mean that I would have to wait longer before starting my scanning and... “Sure, thing sugar! Sounds good!” Well, it was time to start cooking outside again. I needed the break.

Got home, got the kids unloaded, I changed into my grilling clothes, and with sounds of dreamy harp-like music playing on the internal mental soundtrack, I swooshed off the grill cover, laid it aside, and raised the lid.

Yikes.

That’s gonna need some cleaning.

I suppose.

I got the grill brush and started scrubbing off the major rust from the rack and then, in order to REALLY knock the klinker off, I dropped the rack from about waist-high flat down onto the patio.

THAT got the rust off! Of course, it being as old as it is, there’s not much left to the rack except rust. There’s also a little sheetmetal cover that fits over the burners to keep hot grease from falling directly onto them. It’s looking a little eaten of the tinworm itself. Time for some upkeep, methinks.

Got the rest of the loose rust off, and grabbed the lighter. Gas on, gas flowing, wait a minute or two to let it get that garlicky smell build up all over the place, click, FOOOM! (Not really--just turned the knob and lit it. I’m not that foolish.) Then I got the can of PAM no-stick goo and sprayed it onto the rack so the meat wouldn’t stick. (Okay, I AM that foolish. But it was quicker than having to turn the flames back off, spray it, and relight it.)

Went back inside and prepped the meat, which was about the size of something Fred Flintstone would eat. Salt and pepper, then got the knife out and cut them into six so I could share with Wilma and Barney and Betty and Pebbles and Bam-Bam, back out, lid up, singe all my body hair off, and throw the cow on there and listen to it sizzle. Seared it, turned it, seared it, turned it and then cut the heat down low and closed the lid.

Ahhh. Time to finally sit down for a while and take in the atmosphere.

Nice and cool after the rain. I sat down on the stone bench and noticed the wisteria on the arbor has finally gotten started blooming, Rebecca’s sycamore and the big maple tree at the back are leafing out nicely, several birds were making use of the feeders. It sure was nice--summer evenings you have to listen to everyone’s air conditioning condenser running full blast, or screaming kids, or cicadas, or various combinations thereof. This was just about perfect--since it was wet, no kids; cool enough not to need the A/C; and there were no loud bugs.

Of course, it was too quiet and restful, so I decided to jump back into the flower bed behind where I was sitting and break off the old dried up canes from the hosta. I guess you’re supposed to cut these when they drop their blooms, but I just always leave them until the new growth starts coming in. That way, they just pull right up or break right off. They actually look pretty neat--I suppose you could probably make something out of them all artsy-craftsy. I squished out to the compost pile and dropped them on there.

I then decided it would be nice to get a few pictures of the tranquil surroundings to share with you. I took some of the bench, and the fountain, and the trees, and the steaks and the neighbors’ houses. I fully intended to transfer them last night and post them. But, surely you haven’t forgotten the Teenaged Undisclosed-Info Torture, have you?

Steaks done perfectly, inside, salad, beans, strawberry shortcake (only a little for me, thanks, I’m watching my figure. Expand.) Kids upstairs, clean up, get trash together, take can to curb, and FINALLY get ready to go upstairs and start scanning.

Computer on, sit down. “Dad?” Uh-oh.

“Here.”

“What’s this?”

“That’s the rest of the corrections to the draft by [Some Girl Whose Name I Can’t Remember Now]!”

::sigh::

This is the second person to “proof” her paper. And she apparently has all the verbal and grammar skills of the typical American 15-year-old. She had gone through and marked all kinds of stuff in big swirly teengirl purple-penned handwriting, including several snotty admonitions that dates such as 1492 needed to be spelled out; and that sentences, which had, no commas, needed, commas, where none were, needed. And then there were further twittering comments regarding various passages that needed further exposition. “WHO!?” “WHAT!?” “WHAT DOES THIS MEAN!?”

In fairness, they were probably fair questions, and the paper could have used a bit more thought--thought that I was incredibly unwilling to provide, seeing as how I am so stupid and old and out of touch.

“Ashley, what are you going to write where she has these marks? Are you going to write any more to go with this?”

“I DON’T KNOW! I DON’T KNOW WHAT SHE WANTS! I COULDN’T ASK HER WHAT SHE MEANT! I DON’T KNOW! NO? SHE NEVER SAID WHAT SHE MEANT!”

::sigh::

Fine.

I went back and fixed a couple of things that didn’t need fixing, and was about to print it off when Reba came up behind me and hugged me.

Awww! I love her! And since she was about to take her shower, she had stripped down to her slip. Rrowll!

“Did Ashley tell you she needed a manila envelope to put her paper and copies in?” ::sigh::

I laughed.

I laughed the laugh of various insane men in several Twilight Zone episodes who go stark raving mad about aliens or demons or waitresses or monsters, and they just fall down on their knees and laugh and laugh and laugh. (It’s to keep from screaming, you know.)

“Ah, no, Reba. She did not tell me she needed a manila envelope to place her paper in. And I suppose it HAS to be a manila-colored envelope, and any one of the several thousand white, or pink, or green 10 x 13 envelopes we have would be entirely unacceptable?”

“Probably. When you go to the store, would you get me a Coke? You can go in my car--it’s even got half a tank of gas!” And then she hugged me again.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha,” I laughed. And LAUGHED AND LAUGHED! Good thing I still had my grilling clothes on. And likewise a good thing that she had just her underwear on.

Off to the foot of the hill, where I walked in to the Food World as the night floor-cleaning crew was going about jabbering and waxing, got a three pack of manila envelopes, then decided we probably needed milk, and frozen waffles, and a Road & Track. DANG IT! They were all out of crack.

Home, print final copy of Shakespeare paper, and then start the process of scanning and printing. Luckily, I had forced Oldest to go through and mark each page I was to copy. It made it approximately three minutes faster. Which means a lot when you don’t get through with things until around midnight:30.

So, I am very sleepy this afternoon.

And the weekend? Well, I have to leave early today to go pick up Boy and take him for his orthodontic checkup, so there’s that. He also wants a haircut, so we’ll have to go see Miss Alisha sometime in the next few days. There’s a stack of laundry, and church, and someone keeps mentioning all the pretty plants at Marvin’s. I just hope I remember to tell the kids before they go to bed tonight not to get up at dawn tomorrow and begin their science experiment in creating the world’s loudest noise.

ANYway, it’s been a long week, but I have a spiffy new blog home, that still doesn’t remember people who have left comments. I thought I might be able to find a fix, but it seems this is somewhere in a set of templates and instructions that I don’t have access to. Jim Smith found a kinda sorta work-around, noting that if I have an extended entry, when that popup box pops up, it somehow remembers you (if you click “yes” to “Remember my Information”) when the other popup screens won’t. I don’t know why. It is a Munuvian mystery. But anyway, in order to help out, I will add just a bit more below in the extended entry section, and let you see if it works.

All of you have a great weekend, and I’ll--

--see you Monday!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:04 PM | Comments (15)

Guess who I just talked to?!

Spring peeperphile Fritz Schranck! I always enjoy it when Fritz calls--he's all smart and everything. He had called to pick my brain a bit (difficult due to the tiny size and hard covering) about his hometown embarking on building a new high school. I sure hope if he heeds my advice that he finds someone local he can blame when everything goes wrong.

Anyway, good to talk to you, Mr. Schranck!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:17 PM | Comments (0)

April 06, 2005

That was fun!

Although I am a moron.

We'd agreed to eat lunch at the Cameo Cafe place we've eaten at before, and Pam said she thought it was closed, but it was just weeks ago--it seemed like--when sugarmama and I ate there, so I said, "Naaaah, it's open!"

Well, it's not. Been closed since the first of January. ::sigh:: Such a dolt.

Anyway, I sat down on a bench and waited for a little while, and watched some even bigger dolt stop in the far right lane of 5th Avenue, back up into oncoming traffic, stop, and then turn across all three lanes to get into a parking space on the LEFT curb. I don't think I've ever seen anyone want a parking space THAT bad before.

Not long after, Pam drove up and I mentioned that the cafe was closed.

"Yeah, I thought so."

"It's not busy, though!" See, there's a bright side to everything!

She volunteered to drag us somewhere else, so I hopped into her spiffy Mazda Tribute and we wound our way over to the new Sarris' Fish Market location on Southside. Wow. That's some good food, and the new location in the old Harris Transfer Company warehouse is full of that swankily urbane funkiness that makes eating in an old cold storage warehouse really, REALLY cool.

Pam got the shrimp and crabmeat marinated salad, and I got the crabcake po' boy. Excellent food, although even at 2 in the afternoon there was still quite a crowd, which meant the food took a while to fix. Good time to talk though--I always enjoy having lunch with Pam. Topics of conversation included forgetfulness, road rage, stupid people, eyebrow piercing, trying to teach college students the difference between Martin Luther and Martin Luther King, Jr. (who was not Lutheran, by the way), teenagers, women, food, forgetfulness, work, rain, her stepgrandbaby who calls her Ama in lieu of Grandma Pama, and then it was time to head back. ::sigh:: I sure wish she still worked here.

Despite the fact, or maybe even BECAUSE she's a liberal Democrat, AND one who's not insane with rage about everything, and doesn't see a conspiracy behind every imagined slight. It's impossible to have any sort of civil discussion up here in my little corner of the world, because it's filled with loons who would like nothing better to have all the bones taken out of their knees to make them easier to jerk.

Before Pam let me out downstairs, she said she had to ask at least one political question to finish off the lunch with, and she asked my thoughts on the Terri Schiavo debacle. Which is pretty much what I said it was--there is little good to go around in this one. Everyone in it had some culpability in the way it played out, and no one has clean hands. Except, I hope, for the young lady herself.

There are so many different views, and I know some of mine would not align with some of Pam's, but as I told her, she and I could sit there in that car all afternoon long and disagree time and time again, and never for once think the other was evil, and we could depart friends after it was over. As I've said before, that's one of the reasons I keep writing this blog--there's no one here sane enough to talk to on a regular basis. And I can't afford to eat lunch with Pam every day.

Still, I'm glad I got to today.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:56 PM | Comments (5)

Uhgh.

That would be the sound of me when the clock went off this morning.

But, you will all be glad to know that I am no longer in danger of being the neighborhood pariah. Yet, anyway.

Got the kids and went home, and decided I simply had to get the grass cut. It, or rather, the gigantic patches of clover, had just gotten to the point of being ridiculous, even for me.

But there's still other stuff I needed to get done. Which means, I had to organize. Oldest upstairs to study, others outside to play in the backyard, chicken gotten out of the freezer for supper, me upstairs to change into my grass-cutting clothes, back downstairs, swing wide the doors of the Giant Plastic Shed Badly Disguised as a Playhouse and get out the birdseed, fill the feeders, drag out the ol' Murray, check the oil, briefly think about sending Middle Girl to the garage for a quart of oil, think better of it, go get it myself, add some to the nearly dry crankcase, fill up the gas tank, prime the carb, yank the cord and...

IT STARTED! First pull, too. Amazing. SO, off to the front yard to knock down the weeds and zone out and cogitate for about an hour as I'm dragged around by the mower.

Long-time readers will know that lawn-mowing for me is a time to meditate and rage and think and come up with all the solutions to the problems of mankind. Carbon monoxide is very helpful to this task. Anyway, I was just getting back into practice, so there wasn't much to rage about.

The thought did strike me as I was pondering the life and times of John Paul II how much longer it would be that we would have Margaret Thatcher with us. She's not been in good health lately, and since it seems that we have begun an increasingly rapid loss of people who were instrumental in winnning the Cold War, you just have to wonder how much longer she'll be with us. The Left hated her with the same vim and passion as they did Reagan, so I figure she's alright. She and Churchill defined the UK during the 20th Century, much as Roosevelt and Reagan did, and she certainly earned her place in the history books.

Anyway, more mowing. Got finished and noticed the girls had gone inside the house. They'd been all over the swingset, so I figured they'd gotten tired and went in to watch television. Sure enough, when I breezed through they were sitting there with the SpongeBob DVD playing. "Has Mom called?"

Nope.

It would be a long time before she did.

I got Rebecca to put the chicken in the oven for me while I ran back outside to put down some more weedkiller. The last dose worked pretty good on the dandelions, but they keep growing in other places. AND, it's still supposed to rain today, so I really wanted to get it out so it could get watered into the lawn.

Threw out the rest of the bag, took off my shoes, came inside, asked about the telephone again, got my clothes off in the laundry room and grossed the kids out when I came back out with ONLY MY UNDERWEAR ON! AAGGHHHHH! "EWWWW! DAAAAdeeeeee!"

Hey, my clothes were covered in chemicals and grass clippings, what was I going to do, drag it all over the house?! No. Just walk around in my lumpy hairy glory.

I got Cat to leave the television alone to go take her bath while I jumped in the shower and washed the yard off of me, got out, dressed, and walked in to see her still in the tub. "I have a scratch."

"Well, whatever--just hurry and bathe so Jonathan can."

"It's big, 'cause I fell on that thing, the swings, the thing that goes back and forth, the see-saw, because I fell, and it scratched me and I came inside and Rebecca put ice on it because it hurt."

"Well, JUST BA--"

Then she turned a bit and WHOA! Dang if she DIDN'T have a big angry red welt on the side of her tummy/back/waistline area--must have been 6 inches of scraped hide, about an inch wide.

"CATHERINE! Didn't that hurt!?" Duh.

"Uh-huh, yes sir, that's why I came in. But I didn't cry."

I would have. I went downstairs and turned the chicken in the pan and came back upstairs and got her out and dried off and set Boy to bathing while I looked for the Neosporin. Three drawers of stuff in our bathroom, arranged by someone who Is Not Neat. No luck. So, peroxide. Even after bathing, it still bubbled up smartly on her scrub mark. Ouch. Poor critter.

But, she was fine after that. As they say, though, that'll leave a mark.

On downstairs to finish supper. Salad, green beans, set table, serve food, watch The Office (despite the official ban on watching TV while eating), clean table, send Cat and Boy to bed, unload dishwasher, send Bec to take her bath, reload dishwasher, clean stove and sink and table, finally head upstairs. Turn on computer, start working on Reba's paper. What a mess. Fix what she started, tell Rebecca for the fiftieth time to get out of the tub, type, help Oldest with a math problem, type, Bec to bed, Oldest in tub, type, FINALLY got the call from Reba. At 9:45 p.m., they were just about to wrap up for the night. She said she just had a few more things to do and would be on the way home. Oldest in bed, type, get about eight pages done, quit, get homecoming call at 10:40.

Greet Reba at around 11, hear about the wonders of the nursing home inspection, especially interesting being a happening during the afternoon. It seems one of the residents has a bad habit of grabbing Reba's shirt and tugging on it when she's around, and in this instance, the little old lady grabbed the hem of Reba's top, and PULLED IT UP OVER HER CHEST. "HEY! I WANT THAT SHIRT!" Of course, this happened in a corridor, with the nursing staff, the inspectors, and a clutch of administrators milling around. Reba kindly told her she might want the shirt, but she didn't need to try to take it off of her.

Of course, my question was, "Which bra did you have on?"

Luckily, it was one of the nice newer ones with flowers and that was opaque and provided full coverage of her breastal regions. (Since I got so much done on her paper, she let me look.)

We finally got in bed around midnight, and were back up again this morning at 5:00. She had to be there this morning at 6:00, which meant I had to get all the young'uns to school, so THEY had to all get up early, too.

And now, I'm here!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:07 AM | Comments (7)

April 05, 2005

More of the same!

Now then--for any of you new folks who've never been here before, the following is what I like to call "blather." I do it a lot.

Pointlessness is very liberating, you know.

ANYway, got off the phone with Miss Reba a bit ago. I had big plans this afternoon to go home and cut the grass while she had big plans to come home and cook a regular meal. She was very excited about her part, because she is between classes for a week and has no studying to worry about.

AND THEN THE CRUEL HAND OF RAMPANT STATISM fell upon us.

She told me the state inspection team has showed up at her work today, and she can't leave this evening until they leave, and then she has to be there in the morning when they show up, and stay again until they leave, and arrive and stay and arrive, etc., until they get through doing their inspections. So, she doesn't know what time she'll get home today. SO, I have to make sure the children get fed. SO, I don't get to go breathe in some nice lawnmower fumes. Which all means that it's going to be at least Saturday before I get to try again, because we have church tomorrow night, and it's also supposed to come another rainstorm tomorrow, meaning even if I didn't have church, I still couldn't cut the grass. And it has now gotten WAY out of hand, and I fear the snooty folks are going to leave a snooty message on my answering machine or in my mailbox that I'm destroying everyone's property values. More.

Which ALL means that I'm going to have to start typing for Reba.

She started last night doing her second big paper that's due in a couple of weeks, and she reverted right back to her fidgety-fugue state where she freezes up and can't do anything without getting upset. I would have started on it last night, but my arms were hurting from yesterday, and I kinda wanted to rest. But, every five seconds she was complaining about not being able to do it, or not knowing how to get from page 1 to page 2 (really) and I was basically having to hang over her shoulder and tell her every keystroke to make. ::sigh:: I finally just told her we were going to it off and go to bed. Which made her mad. Have I ::sighed:: already? Well, another won't hurt. ::sigh::

At least she was over her angriness this morning.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 03:25 PM | Comments (3)

Annnd WELCOME!

Well, it's more or less official now--after our soft opening where we get all the chairs and stuff in the right place, it's time now to swing wide the door of Possumblog to the world!

Yes. This is about it.

Sorry.

I still have some archive toting to do, and some few things to fix, AND MY JOB TO DO, and there's that deal with the comments where it won't remember your information and junk. I'd be quicker, but Chet the E-Mail Boy has gone to the dump with some garbage, and I'm having to do everything by myself.

Well, almost, but Jimmie Neil and Clew are actually more problems than they're worth.

Anyway, welcome to all of you from the old site, and all of you who've made your way over from mu.nu.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 12:59 PM | Comments (33)

I realize

...the level of frivolity seems to be at a low ebb around here at the moment, but I am busily renovating my little grass shack in Munivia and it's been a slow process, being that I don't know how to use a computer or anything.

For whatever reason, I have very particular tastes about how I think this pile of crap should look--has to be Garamond, has to be big enough for me to read it comfortably at my desk, has to be shades of gray, and I like having all the links up at the top. In the new place, things will look similar, but not, and I have yet to figure out a clean way to get the blogroll in the banner. I know I could--eventually--but that'll probably take way more time than I'm willing to invest. So that might change.

Which means I'm gonna have a lot of niggledy fiddly work to do to copy the links and take out the vertical line spacers and   code between each one. AND I STILL HAVE PAYING WORK I HAVE TO GET DONE! AAAAGGHHHH!!

If you want to see what the new place looks like--REMEMBERING THAT IT WILL CONTINUE TO CHANGE THROUGHOUT THE DAY--you can go to possumblog.mu.nu., and feel free to leave a comment.

(It is interesting to note that now that I am making a move elsewhere, Blogger has been trouble-free. If they were just trying to drive me away, there were certainly easier ways to tell me. Maybe a card or something.)

AND, I do like the extended entry feature. Very spiff. It's like turning it up to 11 or something.

Anyway.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 09:03 AM | Comments (9)

April 04, 2005

Other Stuff!

After spending most of the day scribbling on tax forms and wandering aimlessly around town, and doing laundry in between, and getting supper ready, and getting the kids to take their baths, I was, at the end of the day, asked to look over the paper the lovely Miss Reba had typed up for her class tonight.

Ten pages, and not quite the easiest read in the world. I did some heavy editing on it, made very difficult by the fact that every time I started typing, SOMEone would rush over and ask me what I was doing. Standard answer: “Oh, just cleaning something up a bit.” I did a lot of cleaning up, but I could have rewritten the entire paper if I had only been that energetic. She’s got a good topic--reducing anxiety among elderly persons being admitted to nursing homes--but her research and conclusions are a bit scattered. And she’s put so much effort into it that it’s very difficult to suggest changes without her getting defensively offended. But, it’s better than it was. AND, I didn’t have to type it.

Bedtime, up an hour earlier Sunday, grr, get everyone else up and ready to go to church, referee disagreement over which DVD to watch by threatening the nuclear option--i.e., the DVD player gets put in the attic, and finally make it to the building with minutes to spare. First day of the new quarter, and I was truly thankful everyone showed up to teach that was supposed to. And I’m teaching Rebecca and Jonathan’s class again--6th graders down to 3rd graders. Not really a good split and not really conducive to deep discussions, but next quarter I’m going to redo all the classes and get them divided up a bit more logically.

Worship, then on to lunch at Ruby Tuesday, which was really a mistake, since Catherine (and later I found out Jonathan) had been invited to a birthday party for a little girl in Catherine’s class, and the party started at 12:45, and we didn’t get through with lunch until 12:30, which meant a mad dash back down the hill and up the other to get home and get Cat and Boy changed into play clothes. BECAUSE, it was not just an ordinary party, but one at Pump it Up. A large new metal building full of all the big bouncy inflatable things you usually see outdoors, with an adjoining room for the cake and stuff. Quite a place--according to their website, there are only three in Alabama, but it seems like a good idea. Renting these things is always a chore, and they ruin your yard, and you have all the liability when someone breaks their dernfooled neck on one. This place, you just show up, bounce, eat, and leave. In that order--no eating before bouncing. Again--going to lunch right beforehand was probably not the best idea, although we didn’t have any sudden explosive gut launches.

And the little girl enjoyed her present from Catherine--I’m surprised she even knew she’d gotten something, with all the horde of screaming 8 year olds crowded around her, but when she pulled out the floppy fluffy curly white Scotty dog, everyone oohed and aahed. Which means I’m going to have to go find another one for someone for her Christmas present.

Finished that up around 3, then back home with two sweaty tired sugar-hyped kids, read a few pieces of the newspaper, then it was time to head back to the building for a meeting. ::sigh::

Did that, then evening worship, then home, then supper, then MORE TYPING! Oldest has a paper she has studiously avoided doing anything on, other than feigning great ignorance about what she should do. Four pages on symbolism in Shakespeare--she managed to scrape and plagiarize about three pages in the past couple weeks, and last night said that her teacher was very serious that it had to be four pages NOT INCLUDING THE BIBLIOGRAPHY! SO! UN! FAIR! Four pages--I could do four pages in half an hour. But then again, that requires work, which Oldest is even more averse to than the inimitable Maynard G. Krebs.

She would go and write a sentence, then give it to me, then a paragraph, then a sentence, then want to know if she’d filled her allotted four pages yet. No. On and on. We finally got about 3 3/4 done, after which I told her to go to bed. Because it was late, and I was tired, and I’m STILL tired.

AND NOW!? Well, now I’m trying to wrangle the new blog location into shape, which means more silly junk to mess with, and I have to fix my tax forms, and I’d REALLY like a Diet Coke about now.

I think I’ll go get one.

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 04:01 PM | Comments (0)

OKAY!

Sorry about the delay--I got busy on wasting time on the new site trying to make it look like this one (for some unknown reason related to obsessive-compulsive blogging disorder), and then I got all messed up and had to redo a bunch of stuff, and THEN there was WORK! AGAIN! The nerve of some people.

ANYWAY, as noted previously, this was a weekend spent doing several onerous tasks, the primary one being taxes. Up bright and early Saturday, sat down at the dining room table with all my junk and got busy. This year seemed to go a bit smoother than last, and I’m not quite sure why, because we had more stuff to figure out. I had intended earlier, if you recall, to get some of that spiffy tax software to help out, but I guess I’ll do that next year. Maybe.

The only glitch was that when I got ready to do my state return, I couldn’t find the forms. I don’t know whether I mislaid it and it got covered up with kid junk, or if it got stolen from the mailbox by an identity thief. The state has a very bad habit of printing both spouse’s Social Security numbers on the mailing label, and it’s out there for anyone who wants it. Doofuses.

So, I got through with the Feds, (and a tidy refund this year--I think $40,000,000, but I might be off a bit) and then went to the library to pick up a state booklet. (I also hopped on the computers for a minute to see if there was any e-mail that Chet had neglected to tell me about.) Back toward home again, and decided to make a quick pit stop at the AutoZone at the foot of the hill. I had decided to take Moby with me to the library for his monthly exercise, and when I got in, the combined effect of being outside in the weather and a host of icky stuff that I haven’t been able to clean out of the carpet, and just the general smell of machinery and old car had conspired to give the ol’ box the smell of a barrel full of burnt clutches. I drove over and back with the windows down hoping to get rid of the smell, but that can only do so much. So, some deodorant.

Blech. Nothing smells any good--all the coconut vanilla pine berry rain leather orange fresh Passion garbage just smells horrible. And that “new car” junk--no matter WHO it’s made by--does NOT smell like a new car. Unless all new cars are now made in a Tijuana cathouse.

I got two.

Home, and to work again on the state returns. Where I found out that politicians are not nice people. At least ours.

There is a spot on the deduction schedule sheet that allows you to deduct other taxes you’ve paid--mainly stuff like car tags, and I THOUGHT local occupational taxes. Both Birmingham and Jefferson County make you pay to work here, and the tab comes to a sizeable chunk. But this year, after I had gone through and done everything, I noticed that these occupational taxes were now supposed to be put in with other unreimbursed employee expenses. WHAT!? Surely not--those expenses have a 7.5% of adjusted gross income threshold. Of course, the total isn't quite 7.5%, and of course, I couldn’t deduct them. This bothered me, especially after I went looking in the booklet to see if this was a new change for this year. Nope. Not listed anywhere as a change, which can only mean…EEK! I might have done it wrong LAST YEAR!

I went back and looked at the instructions for last year, and sure enough, they CHANGED IT THIS YEAR WITHOUT TELLING ANYONE! Jerks. It cost me thirty extra bucks not to be able to deduct it. Pretty sneaking and conniving, but I’m not surprised. The amount they get from people who are able to make the deduction is probably miniscule, but to those of us who wind up having to fork over more dough in order for them to sit around and debate the merits of the queen honeybee versus the monarch butterfly, well, it’s rather galling.

It’s a shame tarring and feathering has gone out of style.

UPDATE! 3:30 p.m. Regular reader Stan the Government Man just sent me a link to a January 25, 2005 State Department of Revenue news release (.pdf file) that says I might be in luck!

Montgomery—The Alabama Department of Revenue issued an immediate taxpayer advisory today urging Alabama taxpayers who were mailed an Alabama Form 40 (Long Return) or a Form 40 NR (Non-resident Return) Tax Booklet and who have city and county occupational license taxes withheld from their wages or salaries to note errors contained in the booklets’ instructions directing those specific taxpayers to claim the local occupational taxes reported on their W-2s as miscellaneous tax deductions on the Schedule A. This direction is incorrect. Alabama law allows the occupational license tax to be claimed as a full tax deduction and as such, should be claimed on the Schedule A, under the section entitled “Taxes you paid.” The instructions for both the Form 40 and the Form 40 NR advise taxpayers who have city and county occupational taxes withheld from their wages or salaries and reported on their Form W-2s to report the amount on Schedule A, Line 19 or Line 24, respectively. This is incorrect. Taxpayers should report the amount of city or county occupational taxes withheld from their Alabama wages or salaries on Schedule A, Line 8, regardless of which return they are filing. […]

I say it means I might be in luck, because although I haven't mailed in the forms, to fix it would require me to go through and redo EVERYTHING. Again.

I'm thinking a bucket of tar and a pillow would be much less expensive. As well as much more satisfying. I suppose I'll redo it, just on the principle of the thing.

AND NOW, back to the drivel.

In amongst all the tax stuff, I also decided to get around to doing the other government-mandated interference in my life--changing the clocks forward. Going ahead and setting them forward early in the day makes it a bit easier to get used to the new time. Kinda. The clock count was up this year due to each of the kids having a timepiece--by my count, there were 14 to be fidgeted with.

And yet, we are still late all the time.

NEXT--Other stuff!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at 02:50 PM | Comments (6)