Don't Lie to Me!!

This is the last day of September.  What??  I'm really going to have to put my foot down regarding the passing of time.  Seriously, isn't this supposed to be, say, the last day of March or so?  This is getting absurd.  Time passes, I don't get older (even though I just had a birthday, it was the same as last year), we have another Halloween, another Thanksgiving, another Christmas and bam!  We're into a new year!  Father Time must be an angry old man to make every day fly so quickly.  This has been true all my adult life.  Your's, too, I would imagine.  I think it's the curse of being an adult which, by the way, actually has many curses too numerous to mention today.  I can remember just DYING to get my driver's license!  How exciting to be driving around my home town, looking all cool and signifying!  As if my mother was going to allow me to have the family car to drive around.  First time she did, a hose blew.  I stopped the car in the middle of a very busy street.  Smoke (steam, really) was flowing from the hood of the car.  I was frantic, knowing the car was apparently this side of bursting into flames.  And the very worst part?  I was NOT where I told my mother I was going.  At this point, I must confess my sister and I had a chronic habit of lying to our mother in order to survive the household.  We crafted gargantuan lies to get out of the house.  We lied about where we were going.  We lied about what friends would be with us.  We lied about what time we left or arrived.  We lied about events at school  We lied about things that happened around the house.  We lied because we had to.  Our mother grounded us every weekend for any small reason. If she didn't ground us, she would scream at us for hours.  She never caught us lying, but every time she discovered a truth, we were punished.  Walking through her minefield was a real art, and we eventually learned to perfect it.  We're still liars.  Back to my car story.  I was on the west end of town, delivering my sister and her friend somewhere they weren't supposed to be before I went to the place I wasn't supposed to be.  And then the car decides to screw us over.  As I was frantically watching the rolling steam come from the car, knowing it would explode at any second and praying it would surely take my sister and me with it so our mother would feel sorry for all the punishment she doled out over the years and wish her sweet babies could still be with her, a man pulled up and helped us.  He crippled the car to a nearby gas station and the car was fixed.  Mr. Fixit must have been a mother liar, too,  because I don't remember paying him.   Of course a lot of time had passed very quickly and now that the car was in good shape again, we had just enough time to return home.  And guess what!  We didn't tell mom what happened.  We lied our answers to whatever questions she asked because that was our habit, our only path to any kind of freedom in the household.  I do want you to know that mom was and is the only person we lie to on a daily basis.  I don't lie to anyone but her.  My sister does the same.  And a new generation of liars popped up when we had kids.  They learned to lie to her, too.  My sister and I never said, "Lie to your grandmother."  They learned through their own mistakes.  Tell the truth, you will pay.  Self preservation, friends, self preservation.  My name is Barbara, and I lie to my mother.

 

Good Autumn Morning

Bah!  I know most people will think I'm really nuts, but autumn is NOT high on my list of seasons.  Yes, I know it has pretty colors, fun activities, great holidays, and - AND....... and this is the worst - cool weather.  I simply don't enjoy cool weather.  Cool weather always leads to cold weather, and cold weather and I are not friends.  We're not even nice to each other.  I refuse to go outside on cold nights.  I wear flannel pajamas beginning in October.  I bundle up in layers and wool in order to stay alive in our house and I keep the thermostat at 76.  And still I freeze.  The thought of that unmentionable post autumn season makes me unhappy.  The sun seems to rise at 10 and set at 2 and it hangs low in the sky.  And it seems to go on f  o  r  e  v  e  r.  But back to autumn.  When I was young, it was the signal of returning to school.  I was always so very excited to go back to school.  It meant new clothes, new shoes, new books, new supplies, new classes, new teachers, new everything.  I reckon it was really kind of like Easter - a re-birth and renewal of life.  At least that was true in the life of a kid.  New beginnings were always fun for me then.  Crap, they're fun now.  Who doesn't enjoy a new beginning?  A nice white piece of paper, waiting for words or paint; a newly cleaned and ironed shirt; a new promise to yourself , a new day; a new friend; new home; new city; new job.  There are many, many beginnings each day in our lives.  One  elementary school year began as usual, with a new room and new teacher.  Usually the same kids were in my class every year.  We had two classes per grade, so we would get mixed and matched every now and then, but because we mostly all lived in the same neighborhood and our mothers were friends, we all knew one another.  This was my 6th grade year, the last year of life in elementary school.  All of us 6th graders were changing and growing in one way or another, some faster than others.  I was growing in the wrong way - up, not out.  I held the ugly distinct honor of being the tallest girl in my class.  When our class photo was taken, I was put on the back row with the tall boys.  At this point in my life, I did not enjoy being around boys.  Ohhhh, the agony and humiliation.  To add to the fun of this age, my family began calling me the charming nickname "Stringbean."   This was undoubtedly the most awkward phase of my life.  One day I was asked to pass out returned work papers in the classroom.  I was going down the rows, passing out the papers, first to last seat, and I got to the very last seat in the very last row, where a boy was sitting at his desk.  As I handed his paper to him, he looked up at me and said, "I love you."  AAACCKK!!!!!!!!  I blurted out, "WELL, I HATE YOU!"  Unfortunately,  the entire classroom and Miss Teacher heard me.  I had to stand in the corner for a while.  Sheesh, HE did the ugly deed, why was I punished??  Somewhere along the way, I learned to like boys and I'm trying to make peace with autumn.  Winter and I will most likely never be friends, but I'm working on that, too.

Something Wonderful??

I grew up in a fairly crazy, cuckoo environment.  Due to many several circumstances I won't go into here (this post, anyway), life was pretty upside down for my sister and me. Due to family instability, I was forced to be an adult in my early teens, which probably explains why I'm such an idiot now.  Although we lived in a very nice middle class house, in a very nice middle class neighborhood, had very nice middle class neighbors and friends, and while we appeared to be a normal middle class family, WE WERE NUTS!!!!!!  At least by most standards.  We had some very bizarre house rules.   Such as: One must never, never ever leave an iron turned on. (By the way, an iron is something one uses to get the wrinkles out of clothing and yes, it's hot and yes it will burn the hell out of your hand.)  Therefore, if you were ironing (the ONLY household chore I was allowed to do, and even then, I was only allowed to iron handkerchiefs and my dad's undershorts) and had to get a drink of water or re-fill the sprinkler or take a bathroom break, the iron had to be turned off, then turned back on when you returned to the chore.  Heaven only knows what would have happened had you left the iron frying on the ironing board.  Another rule was if we left the house, we had to place all the trashcans in the bathtub.  Duh.... another fire hazard.   No objects of life were allowed in the bedrooms - nothing on the dressers or chests other than a lamp.  No shoes outside the closet doors.  No clothing allowed outside the drawers or closets.  The house stayed spic and span all day, every day.  Our house could have been featured in any store furniture department.  If the day happened to be pretty (and pretty meant above 40 degrees with no driving rain or snow) you played outside.  And when you played outside, you did NOT come back inside all day except the days you couldn't eat lunch outside.  We drank from GOD FORBID the water hose!!  In the summertime, we stayed at the pool all day, swimming.   The upside of this is we rode our bikes all over the place, became very good swimmers and had loads of fun, not realizing we lived in a nuthouse.  You don't realize that your family is nuts when you're 8 years old.  Well, most of us don't.  The huzbin said he knew he was living in a nuthouse when he was 8 years old, but that's another story for another time.  And how comical is it that two screwy people got together??  I mean, really!  That never happens hardy har har....  I have many, many memories about my childhood and not all of them are purty.  And now I've laid a foundation for you, so when you hear future stories, don't say I didn't warn you.

Sweet Dreams

To quote Curly, "nyuck, nyuck, nyuck!"  Sweet Dreams in my world is simply, well, a sweet dream.  I have nights where I sleep one hour.  Or three hours.  Or no hours.  A good night's sleep means five, six hours.  And I live with someone who sleeps regularly.  Falls asleep as soon as he's down (although I've actually witnessed this man sleep while standing) and sleeps all through the night.  And to compound my sleep troubles, I have to allow him to sleep because he's still bringing home food money.  We have to eat, so he really must sleep. 
 I always gently slip out of bed and go to another room and entertain myself with quiet amusements.  Did you ever receive a knitted gift from me?  I promise it was done in the middle of the night.  Did you ever talk to me on Facebook in the middle of the night?  Yeah, well I cut that out a while back because I stopped making a lick of sense (you really didn't need to wash your jeans in Summer's Eve douche to soften them).  These days (nights) I'm  quietly watching TCM, reading, and still knitting because the huzbin needs his sleep.  And I stay out of trouble - somewhat.   I will soon be visiting a sleep doctor.  I reeeely hope he has a magic potion because I need one.  And not Ambien.  I've had friends sleepwalk while using Ambien.  Like sleepwalk 45 miles away in the car and have no memory of driving.  And no Benedryl.  I have RLS and Benedryl makes me run about 20 miles in the bed when I take Benedryl.   I've tried everything that could possibly work (within my berserk medical problems) and nuttin works.  Oh, this is not a new problem.  I've not been sleeping for over ten years.  Think of the brain power I've not been able to unleash.  Think of the ideas that are begging to surface!  Think of the creativity that could unfold!!!  My life will be changed as soon as I visit the sleep doc!!  I know I'll be a very improved version of myself!  I just know someday, I'm going to get 7-8 hours of restful sleep!  Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck....

YIKES! REINDEER!!!!

Today is a painting day, but these little guys are on my mind.  Last year I made a fabulous, colorful pompom chain and made these felt reindeer to hang on the chain.  I sent it to my daughter.  She loves Christmas as much as I do and she loves cute, colorful fun things, too.  These look like they're going to prance away!!!  I love them!  Yes, I love my own creations!  They make me happy.  The down side is they take a little time to make, but hey, what am I doing that I can't turn out a few of these goodies every now and then??  I'll get my goods and sit down with TCM and watch some really good movies and have an entire herd!  Well, that was my thinking last December.  Once daughter received her reindeer chain, she asked me to make about 175 for her to give her friends.  175 chains, that is.  That means about 8 reindeer on each chain.  That means, oh...... round about 1400 reindeer.  Okay.  Sure.  I'll get right on this.  Which reminds me.....  Waaaaay back in the late 1990's, I made a cute little purse and sent it to daughter.  She went bonkers "OMG that is the cutest thing I've ever seen!! You need to sell these!!"  I should have TOTALLY ignored that last sentence, but again, Hey - what was I doing?  So she and I cooked up the idea of selling purses.  All I had to do was sit and make the purses and she would sell them.  Sounds good.  Unfortunately, it got a little out of hand.  She is a fantastic marketer and refuses to take "no" for an answer, has many contacts in prominent places, and eventually my purses were being sold in high end stores, carried by celebrities, and even appeared in a film.  So I had everything that was necessary for huge success.  Everything but the production.  Each purse was a one of a kind and that can't be reproduced in a factory setting.  Eventually, I was my own sweat shop.  I had no life.  All I did was sew purses.  And go nuts.  Daughter and huzbin tried their best to get me to re-define the purse and get it made in a factory, but I really didn't have the drive and energy to do that kind of hard core business.  Good thing they didn't mind too much, although I did look in my rear view mirror every time I went out for about a month after I issued the "no mo purses" statement.  Daughter and I have similar trait - we tend to go overboard on the fun things we like.  Good thing the fun things are small and silly.  Like reindeer.  And stop rolling your eyes - you'll be putting out your reindeer before you know it!!

Ugh!

I'm fixin to go to the store.  Yep.  Leaving to go to the grocery store in a bit.  This is the household chore I dread the most.  I've never, ever liked grocery shopping.  I don't know why.  I've analyzed this problem to death and I've never come up with any kind of answer.  I don't like any part of it.  I go roundabout once a week and I have to force myself to do the deed.  I will tell you this - I can fly through the store at breakneck speed, using the grab and throw method.  It's the only way I can tolerate this miserable chore.  And now my grocery store has screwed me over.  Obviously,  in addition to tallying food prices, the checkout scanner has also scanned my brain and realized I hate the place and have been charging through the aisles like a rhinocerous.  Therefore, the grocery store Nazi's have decided I'm not looking at the items they have chosen for me to purchase, so it's time to turn the place into a free for all food jungle and I'm the monkey who has to find the banana in the detergent aisle.  If I can find the detergent aisle.  Yet again, my particular store is upside down because "We're bringing a better Kroger to you!"  Liars.  A better Kroger would not only scan my mind, but bring the goods to my house.  AND put them away.  And the real love would be shown if they cooked up the stuff.  This Kroger is a really wrecking ball mess.  There's no ceiling, the floor is torn to pieces, bare concrete patches are all over the place.  The food groupings make no sense right now and nothing is where it was!  It's just too much for me to handle! I know ya'll will say there's a store in this town that delivers (too pricey and not enough selection) and another that allows you to fill out a computer form and they will shop and bag it and all you have to do is pick up the goods, BUT!  How do I know their standards match mine?  I don't like ripe bananas, I like green bananas.  I don't want tomatoes that have no taste, I want fresh tomatoes.  Mind you, I'm not loyal at all to Kroger.  They don't know that (I think).  I'm a grocery ho.  I pick up a little here, a little there.  I shop at almost all the stores in town for different items, but I need Kroger for my gas points.  I really, reeeeely like the 10 cents off per gallon.  That's enough to keep me crawling back to that black hole.  Ugh.  And really, it makes no difference.  A grocery store is a grocery store.  And I don't like any of them.

Football Afternoons

Sometimes, huzbin and I cannot attend the football game.  He has this problem - it's called work.  Every now and then it interferes with our fun.  This past Saturday, his work again interfered with our fun, so we plastered ourselves on the sofa and watched every game that was played that day, including our own team's game.  Considering our opponents history and fame, I think we did ourselves proud.  Sometimes our team likes to roll over and play dead, but this game provided good entertainment on a beautiful afternoon.  Truthfully, all the teams we watched worked like dogs this past Saturday.  All in all, it wasn't a bad football day.
It wasn't a bad doodle afternoon/evening, either.  I doodled this little job while I watched games.  I think UVA scored when I was writing the "L" in "Believe," possibly WVU scored when I was writing the "n," and Georgia may have scored as I was painting red flowers.  I do know that some of the commercials were driving me sideways.  One kept re-surfacing over and over and over.... Seriously, did this happen when we were kids?  You know, back before color tv?  It was insanely annoying.  Even the huzbin was complaining.  I do have to hand it to him - he learned long ago to channel switch to another game very quickly when it's commercial time.  He comes naturally to that.  Many of you already know many years ago, his mother was a local (not in this town) television celebrity.  She had a one hour program every weekday.  And the huzbin (being momma's little sweetheart)

 got to perform many times on said program, usually as a lackey in a commercial.  He would drink milk and lick his lips "Oooo, so good!."  He would eat a pie "Oooo, so yum!"  He would point to any given object being sold.  But the family favorite (I can see them all rolling their eyes as they read this) was his dressing up as the Bob's/Shoney's Big Boy and acting the fool pretending to point to a strawberry pie or doing whatever he was told.  And these commercials were all LIVE CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!!!!  So anything could and did go wrong.  He has a basketful of stories.  One fine day he was dressed in his Big Boy costume and when it came time to point to the pie, he went a little overboard and stuck his Big Boy fist into the entire pie.  Lovely.  He still does stuff like that every now and then, although he's now wearing another set of gloves.  I married him, knowing he does these tricks.  He makes me laugh all the time.  And I'm crazy about him.  Stinkin crazy!