Tis the Weekend Writing Assignment, brought to you by...

J.M. Scalzi, bloggaire, has given us the task of suggesting how, what, where he dispose of his extra coinnage.  Weekend Assignment #36: I have a mug on my desk with $70.65 in change in it. What should I do with the money?

If the money were mine, I would use it to buy supplies to make presents for my short-list folks.  That would be Mom, Dad, my guy, and perhaps one or two others.  I realize that the money is, alas, NOT mine to spend.

So, I think Athena receives her heart's content, not that she is a spoiled child.  Rather that I think that she suffers for the want of nothing.  Her parents seem fond of her and able to provide well.

However, I am thinking that Crissie (sorry if I am spelling that wrong, Mrs. Scalzi) might deserve a well-earned luxury or two.  A few days ago, John featured her care-packages assembled just so.  She occassionally appears in some of his entries, having surprised him with decorating for the holidays...or being 16 flavors of wonderful (I think was how he phrased things) for cleaning and organizing his desk and office.

So, I say, splurge and surprise her.  I don't know if she likes massage, but even a spot-massage which concentrates on a specific area (such as neck, scalp, shoulders, or even foot rubs) can be purchased and enjoyed for that with spare change left over.  The extra errands at this time of the year might mean that Chrissie could really go for a pedicure, manicure, or some pampering that she does not routinely indulge in.

If those things are not activities that she would enjoy, then perhaps a gift-certificate to a favorite store, with a card and a condition would be best.  The condition is that she cannot spend the money on anyone but herself, exclusively.  The idea is that she treat herself however she would best like.

Since I do not know her, or her tastes, those are merely some ideas of what I imagine she'd enjoy.  However, it is plausible that she would rather something else.  I am sure that her husband, John, would have a much better idea of how to surprise and please her better than I.

Starting the wee ones out right

My guy and I went to Jackson today.  The state capital of Mississippi is about 3 hours from where I live.  Well, it's probably closer than that, it just takes awhile to navigate through traffic to get to where we need to be once we are in the big ol' city.

We stopped at a bookstore, where I amused myself with trips down memory lane in the children's section.  Amelia Bedelia is one of my favorite characters from that time period.  She is always quite literal in her translation of her task-list.

Amelia dresses the chicken (in overalls), draws the drapes (on sketch-pad), dusts the furniture (with fine white powder), hangs balls (a wide assortment of baseballs, basketballs, footballs, soccor balls, etc.) on the christmas tree with lots of (regular bulbs of) lights.

Amelia figures that an entire calendar's worth of dates ought to be enough for the date cake her employer requested.  I'd have her over for a cuppa, wouldn't you?

   Harold and his Purple Crayon are way older than me, but he will always be a toddler with creativity.  Johnson published this enduring children's book in 1955.  Harold lets his imagination run wild and he draws a hot air balloon to float across the town.  At the end of his day, he draws his bed and lays himself down.

  I love Mercer Mayer and his Little Critters!!  My favorite book of that series is:  I was Just So Mad   because it helps kids understand how to appropriately handle some of their emotions.  Often, children are not taught about anger and when and how to express it.  Sometimes, that can lead to problems later.     Madeline is also a favorite.  She was the littlest girl at the Parisian orphanage, where the girls lined up in pairs and did everything in order and with cheer.  Even getting sick in sympathy with Madeline when she must have her tonsils removed.   All in all, today was a good day.  The trip to the bookstore was just one teeny part of wonderfulness.  Thanks you, sweetie, for sharing a special birthday celebration with me.

Go ask alice...

Ding-ding-ding!  Thanks for playing, Margo!  I did allude to the traditional children's rhyme, "The Owl and the Pussycat" (by Edward Lear) in the last entry.  It was one of the poems I recited for the other eight students in third grade.   

Just a tidbit of trivia...the runcible spoon is similar to what we today call a spork.  It is a small fork, with 3 prongs, but it is curved like a spoon.  A true runcible spoon's outside prong has a sharpened edge for slicing through pickles.  The idea is that you then can scoop up the preserve and eat it, the excess liquid draining between the prongs of the spoon.  So, now ya know.  Bet THAT was keeping you up nights, causing you to lose sleep, eh?

     Edward Lear (1812-1888)

The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are, you are, you are,
What a beautiful Pussy you are."
Pussy said to the Owl "You elegant fowl, 
How charmingly sweet you sing.
O let us be married, too long we have tarried;
But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows,
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose, his nose, his nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling your ring?"
 Said the Piggy, "I will"
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon.
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand.
They danced by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

My favorite Disney owned-rights female is Alice, of Wonderland.  I can most identify with her.  She finds things to become curiouser and curiouser.  Sometimes, Alice, she cries in frustration.  Sometimes, she rails against the queen, realizing that they are all a buncha cards.  She pokes and prods and experiments, sometimes with extreme care and other times throws caution to the wind.

But all the time, she uses her head.  Even if her logic is flawed, she truly believes that she is making the right decision based on her conclusions which she came to through careful consideration.  She is a stand-up gal, with a strong sense of justice and compassion.  I admire her tenacity.

I also love Chip n Dale.  I appreciate that whole polite to the extreme routine of:  you go first; no, you; alright...then they both link arms and squeeze through together.  Kindness, consideration, facing the world with your best bud...   sounds kewl to me!!

"Life would be infinitely happier if we could only be born at the age of 80 & gradually approach

  Mark Twain (Samuel Langhorne Clemens), 1835-1910, American Humorist/Author  (for a list of better known quotes the man quipped, see Jest for Pun)

It is a tradition, my mother always gives me a calender booklet for Christmas and has since I was 13.  It fits in my purse, pocket, or bookbag.  I've been carrying the current one and several others for past years (not in consecutive order), for over 20 years now.

My favorite is a complimentary one provided by the Belz Factory Outlet World when she was a manager of one the stores there.  It's 2002's edition.  But that doesn't matter.  What I love are the profound, short, witty quotes.  There is one notable for each week.  Mark Twain is credited with the quip above (in the subject line).

As some of you know, I've been doing the pre-mid-life crisis (well, it could be mid-life, but I plan to be around for along time after my late 60s, so it's my pre-mid....think pre-engagement and there is a similar chain of thought, I think).  So, while playing Styx's Classics (omg!  I remember the original cuts being released...), I flashed back to the 8 yr old me belting out Crystal Ball.

It is true, most nothing goes exactly according to long-term plan.  I did not plan to be here a year ago.  A year before that, I would most certainly never have guessed last year would have brought so many surprises.

I never would have thought 10 years ago that within the year I would move to the South and become a transplant (or as the locals like to say, "one of them Damn Yankees...won't go back North").  I did not foresee who I would meet, the encounters I would have, the experiences I survived, or very much of anything.

AND guess what?  That is not a bad thing.  All in all, I have had a good life.  It's all led up to here, now, and made me into who I am.

  Styx's Fooling Yourself (the angry young man)

You see the world thru your cynical eyes
You're a troubled young man I can see
You've got it all in the palm of your hand
But your hand's wet with a sweat
And you head needs a rest

And you're fooling yourself
If you don't believe it
You're kidding yourself
If you don't believe it

Why must you be such an angry young man
When your future looks quite bright to me
And how can there be such a sinister plan
That could hide such a lamb
Such a caring young man

And you're fooling yourself
If you don't believe it
You're killing yourself
If you don't believe it

Get up, get up, get back on your feet
You're the one they can't beat
And you know it
Come on, come on let's see what you've got
Just take your best shot and don't blow it, oh

So, I mean to say, that things haven't been all roses...nor have the thorns been the main focal point of my life either.  And they won't be.  My life from here out will be good, bad, ugly, joyful...tears of happiness and sadness will be shed.  Frustrations may come, and hopefully go.  Life goes on and I plan to go on with it.

I've moved many times, lived in and passed through many places.  One of the most frequently asked questions I am receive is along the lines of how do I find...(where ever I am at that moment)...?  My answer has been basically the same for over 15 years, no matter where or when.

I find that what I get out of the experience depends on what I put in.  So, I don't know all the plans.  I don't know what may or may not happen.  Who I may or may not meet.  What turns my life may take.

But I got my hand on the helm, climb aboard the pea-boat with me and let's embark on the next leg of the journey, shall we?

Pencil Necked Geeks

  Today is Pencil Day.  Not #2 pencil day (that's earlier in the Fall, suitably when kids return to school), but Pencil Day none the less.  A pencil is what most grammar school children use before they choose to take notes later in their scholastic careers with pens.  A writing utensil that has amazing properties; a pencil can write in zero-gravity (NASA spent bokoodles of bucks on developing an ink-pen to do the job a simple pencil could).  It can write while underwater (the paper tends to disintegrate though).  Gotta make a notation on the underside surface?  No problem!  Whip out the pencil, it writes while upside down.  You could draw an uninterrupted line for 35 miles with a standard pencil.  Why you would want to is beside the point, pardon the pun.

Lead is no longer used (folks where mad as hatters back in the day).  Now, graphite is used.  The best graphite used to be in China, where the color yellow symbolizes royalty and respect.  So the best pencils where made in China.  Since the common folk did not write, only those of special status did and so pencils were yellow.  Tradition dies hard and 75% of our pencils are yellow today.

The wood is cedar.  Which brings me to the Cedar Key, Florida.  It is a lovely little place, about 2hrs south west of Gainesville.  At one time, before Red Tide washed away most of the good fishing, oyster beds, and shrimping industry...Cedar Key was a thriving spot.

About 8 years ago, I visited Cedar Key.  It had all the amenities of a tourist's dream, without the exotic prices.  I was able to secure quite the charming suite, complete with a kitchenette for the entire weekend for about $50.  I visited the little craft shops and enjoyed the small secluded beaches.  The nicer homes on stilts were on the market, for very cheap prices (definitely a buyer's market).

There was a bird sanctuary, a wildlife reserve, and a museum.  It was while speaking with a life long resident of the island at the museum that I learned that years ago, back in the day, Cedar Key was the hot bed of pencils.  This was before the fishing industry bloomed (and died), before the huge wave of tourists and summer residents (or rather Winter Birds and retirees from up North), and before the current economy was struggling.

This was when american children were armed with pencils.  When computers were not yet a common commodity and when accountants, shopkeepers, and other paper pushers used pencils primarily.  Cedar Key residents worked in the Pencil Plant.  The US Government (especially the Department of Education) was the largest consumer of pencils produced.

The elderly museum volunteer warmed to the subject and spoke for quite some time, explaining how the preferred Cedar Key pencil was not painted yellow, but was the soft pinkish red of sanded cedar.  He told me that some runs were fat round pencils that children could handle with ease.  He spoke with pride of how the plant provided all the employees with pencils for their own children at the beginning of each term.  His voice grew wistful when he spoke of the scent of cedar pleasantly odorizing the air throughout the entire island.  Er excuse me, KEY.  Cedar Key.

So, next time you see a plain old fashioned pencil, not one of them new-fangled mechanical do-jobbies with the refillable graphite...think of the illustrious history of the pencil, its many uses, and see if it doesn't fit in your hand just write.

running circles in my mind

 Sara Hickman's voice is very easy to listen to and easy to sing with.  Her song, "I Wish I Could Run" got me to thinking.  Sometimes, it takes little to find similar threads and connections when I am pre-occupied with a notion.

Outside the lines of baltimore
There’s a cemetary sleeping
I stopped to watch you yelling at your dog
The effect was rather creepy
In front of strangers long since gone
I watched you hammer home your hate
Someday you’ll look back at what you’ve become
A ghost behind a gate
Oh ohh oh
I wish I could run to save you
I wish I could run
I wish I could run to save you
I can’t be the one
You could blame it on the way he would hit you
The taste of blood mingled with shame
And there’s a feeling that lies deep within you
But you cannot give it a name
No one can understand me you say
No one knows your pain
You shake your fists and raise your voice
Here comes the madness again
Oh ohh oh
I wish I could run to save you
I wish I could run
I wish I could run to save you
I can’t be the one
No I can’t be the one
You wish you were more like me but I’m not
Who you make me out to be
You wish you were more like me but
I’m not who you make me out to be
No one can understand me you say
No one knows your pain
You shake your fists and raise your voice
Here comes the madness again
Oh ohh oh
I wish I could run to save you
I wish I could run
I wish I could run to save you
I can’t be that
I wish I could run to save you
Ohh I wish I could run
I wish I could run to save you
I can’t be the one
No I can’t be the one
No I can't be the one So, what's the current notion looping through my mind?  Well, not surprisingly the completion of another year of life (wahoo!) has brought on the usual evalutions.  The thing is, I ain't no spring chick-a-dee...sure, my life is not oooooooover but there are certain things that ought to be taken into consideration soon, if I plan to consider them at all.  What I mean is that in many ways I feel like I have not been very attentive, sorta disassociative, sorta disconnected, sorta coasting along...I feel like I am awakening in some ways.  Every now and then, I gotta remind myself to stay in the moment, with some short-term goals for the near future, some long-term goals for the next few years to work toward and guide my progress.  Since becoming derailed last year, I have been focussed so much so on just getting through the day, situation, and sometimes just the moment or the next breath was a challenge.  I am in a strange place now, because I can think more clearly than I had for quite some time, but I still tire so easily and quickly.  I think I am feeling some pressure (from myself) to figure out what's the plan, man?  What are some goals I want to set for myself to give myself some purpose, some guidance, some parameters to work within?  I had hoped to return to my PhD program.  While I haven't abandoned all hope, the truth of the matter is:  I don't think can take on those demands, perform well, and still remain healthy at this point.  And what's more is, I don't know when I might be able to do so.  In many ways, this is a hard pill to swallow.  I've been teaching in colleges and universities for over 10 years.  I started conducting stats workshops for graduate students while still working on my Bachelors' degrees.  For so long, academia has been my world.  I defined my very Self by how well I did in my academic pursuits.  I always looked to education as my ladder of success, my bedrock of safety, my escape from the real-world.  I miss it.  I miss it so very much.  I research almost everything exhaustively, even now.  Anything and everything that I ever have any questions about, I am poking around, til I feel satisfied with my newfound knowledge.  I write constantly, scribbling notes here and there, typing, journalling, short blurbs, stories, memories, fiction, poetry, factoids, non-fiction, and yet, I can't seem to focus on any ONE thing long enough to follow it through to completion.  I feel like an utter failure.  I KNOW I am not.  But that's how I FEEL.  Ya know what I mean?  Time is not on my side.  It's not against me.  I just don't have the same flexibility anymore.  My resilience is worn.  If I ever want children, I have to do some serious thinking.  For lots and lots of reasons.  One is that there are certain health issue to take into account and as I age, the probability of a birth-child having complications (Down's, etc) increases.  Yes, adoption is a consideration.  But will I be able to?  And what if my guy and I decide to wait til he is through with school, established in his career and home, to marry and then have children (birth or adopted)...how far down the road is that?  What sort of parent would I be any way?  If I do become pregnant, it should be planned.  Not only for financial sake, attention abilities, etc. but also because I would need to discontinue any and all medications prior to prenancy (how far prior, I haven't yet figured out, still researching, just in case).  If I became pregnant, unplanned...well, the damage from some of my medications could be done before I even know I am pregnant.  Yes, there is the possibilty that all will be fine.  Healthy children do come manage to beat the odds of mother's age of pregnancy and mother's health and such.  I just want to optimize what I can, to control what I can, to minimize and prevent what I can.  Then too, there is the whole marriage question.  My guy and I have discussed all these matters and more.  So, we know that eventually we want to marry each other.  But we are not sure of the timing, and I need to do all sorts of searching about that and how it might affect my monies and ability to contribute to the marriage, financially.  If I move from this area, to join him in that area, then I need to establish new healthcare support.  There's just so much to take into account.  Not the least of which is what am I going to DO.  Ideally, writing would fit the bill, so to say.  I would be able to have some flexibility, so if I needed to nap, or take a break, well then ok.  But there are stiff deadlines in some areas.  Publishing is not exactly a world one just slips into without the right connections and knowing the ins and outs, the who's and hows.  So, what's my purpose, who am I, what am I to do, will I marry (and when), and what about the entire child/parenthood issue?  WHAT DO I DO?  What are some goals?  What do I want to do?  It's enough to spin my head, making my brain whirl until it spirals out of control, and then, I end up thinking, "what's the use anyway?  Oh, who am I kidding?  If I can't even cope with just contemplating these things, HOW can I hope to actually do any of these, let alone all of them, let alone do them well?"  Oh, I know nothing needs to be decided right now, this very minute...but I have been thinking of all these things and more for months now and seemingly no further than I was then.  So, what to do, what to do...?  I can not even PLAN things, let alone DO them.  May be, this is just frustration speaking, the birthday-thing prompting a pre-mid-life crises of sorts...but, I don't think so.  I think I gotta get my ass in gear, or rather my head straight, or hell, it'd be nice if I could get both my head and ass to agree.  So, got some soul searching, mind scouring, brain shaking, butt scuttling to DO...sigh, wish me luck.

Weekend Writing Assignment #35

Ya better be thankful that Blogfather John Scalzi's such an easy going guy...

Weekend Assignment #35: Tell us something you should be thankful for -- but that you're usually not.

I am thankful for my vision and the joy I derive from reading.  I know I could learn Braille, if I lost my vision.  But, I have tried to learn before and all them tiny little bumps are very indistiguishable for my insensitive fingertips.  So I'd either have to request BIG extra BIG Braille, spaced just so.  Or I'd have to use some other more sensitive appendage to decipher my pages (and we are NOT going there).

I love to read.  I know I have made that clear in several entries.  But I'll say it again, I LOVE TO READ and am thankful I can do so.

But I don't think I have ever spoken of eye-surgery in my AOL journal.  I did have an operation when I was about 12.  Although I wear glasses, the only other impairment of my eyes is that they are light-sensitive.  I am usually extra careful of any danger concerning my eyes.  Sight is a precious thing, not fully appreciated until it is lost.

Diner dinner

I caught a ride to town with the landlord today.  My tire had a flat a coupla weeks ago, so I had driven about 150 miles on the donut/spare which is much smaller than my other tires.  I parked it in my yard and there it's sat for the past week as I did not want to temp fate moreso.

So we go to town, to the tire place, all that.  Then she went off to work her part time shift and I went to the library (Elmore Leonard is my pick this time out), to the pharmacy (where the majority of the women who work there are pregnant), and then I met a friend for lunch at the local diner.

Now, I am closest to Pheba (pronounced "feeeeeebeeeeee") but when we say we going to town, we mean Starkville.  Starkville is home to Mississippi State University.  Those of us who are extremely found of the big ole city call it The Starkpatch and those of us who are a bit more cynical refer to it as Starkvegas.

It's a nice little place, big enough to have some good restaurants and stores and such, but small enough that you can cozy into town with the intimacy of knowing that rumors and gossip fly faster than camel crickets hop and become much more colorful with each retelling.  I feel at home here.  Well, as much as I feel at home anywhere.  Been living here longest I've lived any one place at any one time...going on 3 full years now!

So, our diner is about what you'd expect for a small town that's growing gradually.  We have the big rush at lunch-time.  Most every one orders the special of the day (catfish, meatloaf, hamburger steak, etc. and veggies like greens and beans) and washes it all down with sweet tea.  In and back out in less than half an hour, for most folks it works well.  Just as fast as tables empty, they fill with new customers, who push stacked plates to the edge and grab some napkins to wipe sticky circles left behind from the tall red or amber tinged plastic cups of bottomless tea.

There is a side room that is huge and actually can seat more than the front room.  But if you want to keep your finger on the pulse of the town, be seen and see who's to see...you sit in the front room, overlooking Main Street.  So, I don't rush, I know there is room.  I take my time, I am not worried about 1/2 hour lunch breaks and such.  I tip well if the waitstaff deserve it.  I don't demand service, I am in no big hurry, I can wait for my food.  Just get to me when you can.

So while I was waiting for my friend, I watched the good ole boys greet one another with handshakes, nods, and the two-finger salute/wave.  I listened to college students and tables of retired men alike debate our local sports, mostly focusing on college (foot)ball.  I read some.  But mostly, I observed the older couples shuffling in, the men holding the door for their ladies.  The women stepping to the side, letting him hone in on a table or booth.  There were no children today, no babies (ever, that I can recall), and a booth of four young women with loud gasps, breathless exclamations of astonishment, and faces that were in expressions of perpetual surprise.

There is a waitress (Joyce Palmer) there whom I thought was the owner, or at the very least the manager.  She definitely has seniority and carries some authority over the others.  She's a fixture while others come and go.  Most of the others defer to her, some seek her approval.  She's a nice woman to her customers, knows most of them well and serves with efficiency.

But, perhaps she takes her love for the place a bit too far...hey, if it works for her though, who am I to say?  There was a big write up in the local paper, featuring Palmer.  The framed article hangs on the back wall, heading towards the restrooms.

Basically, the story of Joyce and the Liar's Club goes like this...one of her customers proposed.  She accepted.  They got married at the diner, the next Saturday right after she worked the early shift.  THAT'S dedication.

I suspect she has a cot in the back...I see her every time I have ever been there.  And I have been there at various times, early, midday, late into the night...over the years.  It's open 24 hrs.  She is there always, watching over things as she moves about, taking orders and ringing up tickets.

Sometimes the truth makes a better story than fiction.

My friend and I had a wonderful lunch, catching up with each other.  I shared some stories of the past that kept her in laughter.  She made me feel glad to be able to celebrate my birthday with her.  It was great.

Let them eat cake...or krunchee kibbles

   Look!!  A birthday-cake hat!!  Thanks for all the well wishes from all of you to me for my birthday...I plan to go sight-seeing through some other journals this evening, so if you left a comment recently, expect to see me come calling.  Most likely, I'll be borrowing a few eggs here and a cuppa sugar from there, to assemble my cake  , in the literary sense of course...

Sometimes, my journal entries stem from ideas sparked by others' jottings.  In that way, I feel journals can be conversational in tone.  Other times, I just share my own experiences and thoughts.  Like below...

Now, I don't know if y'all know what I mean when I say I have camel crickets, so lemme splain...Camel crickets are sometimes called cave crickets or water crickets or other rather hideously accurate descriptive names.  They are rather gruesome with big ole juicy bodies and well-developed thighs.  These are crickets but they sort of resemble spiders because their lower legs and antennae are spindlee and they move really fast.  BUT they don't crawl, they hop.  Their feet have little dagger-like grips that cling tight to my shirt when I startle one and it jumps only to land on the very beast it was fleeing.

I've lived here for years and have not encountered camel crickets before, but each year and season brings its own abundance of some new critter.  One spring brought lady bugs that bite.  Another summer brought red-ants that boldly marched in formation a la army ants (but with red bodies) that bite and sting.  One fall brought an amazing amount of mud wasps and other hornet looking flying stinging things.

Right now it's the camel cricket. 

I get mice too, but then whatja spect?  I live in the midst of a 200+ acre field, ya know?  It's getting colder, the mice are coming in for the winter...that's a routine thing, the landlord brush-hogs, bales the hay, destroying the mouse homes and they say, "hey!  must be time to move to the winter quarters" and they stake their mice-family spaces...in my ceiling, walls, and such until they get tired of my killing them off.  Then they say, "hey, she's the Hit-beast that gran-pappy told us about" before moving back out and finding safer abodes (probably under my home, which I can deal with alot better than them scurrying about overhead).

Anyway, this morning, there was a camel cricket doing the lazy, one legged stroke in Shaddow's water bowl.  My hypothesis (I donned my thinking cap) was that the critter jumped in there, smelling the water, and could not jump out (cuz its feet with them daggers break the surface of the water instead of allowing it to skate on the surface, using it for a spring (ahem) board).  As you can see, I put alotta thought into this.

So I reach down for the bowl to dump it out, wash it, etc.  The water bowl is one of those slick plastic wider base models that supposed to be stable, can't move it nor tip it over, neither Shaddow nor I.  The manufactors left little raised edges to act as handles so I could move it (Shaddow hasn't figured that out yet, or maybe it's just that she does not really care to move the bowl.  Come to think of it, she is rather smart, I mean why would she want to knock over her water bowl?).

Ok, so I am moving slow and sluggish, cuz it was this morning, and I had just stumbled into the kitchen, eyed Shaddow's dish, which was now a swimming pool for the camel cricket.  All these things are important, because when I curled my fingers under the edges, a furry little field rodent sprinted out from under the dish.

My heart lunged, my brain lurched, the adrenaline dumped, and I flung the dish into the sink (thus freeing the cricket and enabling it to find purchase on the enamalled surface, it sprung outta the sink, clung to me for a moment and then hopped off) .  Now you know how time can stretch and you notice all them little details that would normally be not remarkable because of the fact that mere seconds have elapsed?  My brain was sending out the anti-adrenaline, soothing, "thank god it couldn't bite me" message.

Why, you ask, COULDN'T the mouse bite me?  Gosh, I am SOooooooooo glad you asked.  Cuz clutched in its little sharp buck teeth, stretching its jaws as full as they probably could go, was one nugget of Shaddow's food from the next bowl over.  Wonder the kibble tastes like chicken?

Good thing I did not have a birthday cake to leave sitting out on the counter...lord knows, the mice woulda had a field (snicker) day with that!!

WAHOO!!

Thanks to Judi, I am having a chance to see some other folks' journals as they stop by to say, happy birthday, to me.  THANKS JUDI!!!

My guy, such the guy he is  sigh, has scored with an A on one of his tests.  Looks like his first semester as a PhD student is going great and although he is still sweating, there are only about 3 more weeks, 3 more tests, and then he is done with this semester.  THAT is one of the best birthday presents a girl could want, for a loved one to be happy and satisfied!!