Thursday, January 26, 2006
She Would Have Been 98
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Airbed Adventure
Sunday
7:PM Tennisfiend’s cold becomes exponentially worse. Fiendish propaganda from the Vick’s and Robitussin did not deceive us, especially after $22 of medicine seems to actually increase his coughing and sneezing.
Midnight Continued and interminable coughing and misery for Tennisfiend. When he’s awake I pour infusions of red hibiscus, honey and lemon down his throat. When he’s asleep, I listen to him cough and wriggle, outlining the nasty letter I will to write Theraflu in my head.
Monday
3:AM After three hours of composing mental letters and contemplating smothering my mate with a pillow, I drag my fool self up to bake muffins and get some work done. Clicking away on the computer, I can hear muffled coughing in the background. I feel ashamed for being (temporarily) unsympathetic.
7:AM Miracle cold improvement! Sunlight vanquishes his worst symptoms. I theorize that his cold is a purely a nighttime phenomenon genetically engineered and mass distributed by big business to sell Nyquil and Robitussin p.m. After breakfast, I take a nap before starting my own busy day.
11:AM So much for my theory. He left work early and I crawled into bed to sleep for the remainder of the afternoon. I’m cranky, so to increase my suffering, I pick up when my Mom calls.
4:PM I suck. Can’t get any quality work done and I’m preoccupied with getting sick. I make chicken noodle soup for Tennisfiend and take vitamin C. Succumbing to irritability; I become petulant, ruminating on how aggravating my mother is and avoiding reaching out to my savior, Ewbliette.
7:PM The vampire cold is back, but watching the Australian Open has but a big smile on Tennisfiend’s face. He insists that I sleep in my office until his coughing subsides. (Yay!) I drag out our two Aerobeds hoping that one will inflate and we divvy up our bedroom accoutrements. Custody of the vaporizer, air purifier and ginormous down comforter go to Tennisfiend, while I walk off with our dog Misty and four pillows.
8:PM Both airbeds fail. Further investigation revealed that a release valve was improperly closed, so one bed was finally salvaged.
8:30 Dogs love airbeds.
9:PM Bedtime! The evening has taken on an adventuresome aspect. Next to my Aerobed, our camping clock and a flashlight wait expectantly. If I had graham crackers and marshmallows, I’d make S’mores and put on some bug spray. I read Cosmos for a half hour and turn in.
Tuesday
12:30 AM Brrrr! Sleeping on an air mattress is like sleeping on a glacier. I can feel my body heat slowly draining away. I place an extra fuzzy blanket over the mattress and that does the trick. The bedroom light is on and Tennisfiend coughs in the background. I make us some herbal tea, but he’s asleep when I bring it to him.
4:AM Sleeping on an air mattress is like sleeping on a melting glacier. The bed has partially deflated, so I wake up with my butt making floor contact. For some reason, this seems outrageously hilarious. Filling the bed makes a racket that startles Misty into an alarmed grunt, adding to my amusement.
8:AM Tennisfiend calls in sick for work and after breakfast we both go back to bed. My nose tickles and throat is sore. I wonder if I will be sleeping in my office when it’s my turn to cough all night. Probably so. I’ll add graham crackers and marshmallows to my shopping list.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Wooo-hooo!
Egor just had his name published by the Associated Press in article about natural gas leak detection:
Understandably, remote detectors risk missing smaller leaks, because they sense at a distance. However, they are becoming more sensitive. At Lasen, a company in Las Cruces , N.M.
Holy Cow (pun intended)!
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Stranded In My Jammies!
One advantage to working at home is being able to wear your pajamas all day long, but I don’t recommend it.
At 3:45 p.m. I slipped out the front door to pick a newspaper off the front porch. Unbeknownst to me, the front door closed behind me, and yes, it was locked. Stranded on the front porch in my unlovely but very comfortable J.C. Penney grandma-jammies, I had to resist the impulse to ring the bell repeatedly and scream at the dog for help.
My options were to climb the tall fence that surrounds the back yard and then slowly squeeze through the dog door or go to a neighbor’s and call for rescue. If Sioux, my favorite neighbor, had been home, the decision would have been an easy one. I’d pop over to her place, enjoy some exotic tea, juicy gossip and willfully delay my rescue call by an hour or two.
I determined that the only thing that would have put my pajama-clad self on any other neighbor’s doorstep was a gunshot wound. Surveying the fence, I decided that scaling it would result in a frantic 911 call by whoever found my crumpled body. Then as luck would have it, Sioux pulled up in her golden Taurus. She was quite startled when I ambled up to her and explained my predicament.
Amused and sympathetic, she invited me in just as Egor drove up with a very puzzled look on his face. I had forgotten that he was leaving work early for an eye exam. D’oh! Anyway, I went home and immediately changed into jeans and a tee-shirt. Ten minutes later, I began baking muffins to bring over to Sioux’s. I think they will go well with tea and gossip. I intend to hide a key on her property, in case the next time I lock my fool self out, I’m in my underwear.
At 3:45 p.m. I slipped out the front door to pick a newspaper off the front porch. Unbeknownst to me, the front door closed behind me, and yes, it was locked. Stranded on the front porch in my unlovely but very comfortable J.C. Penney grandma-jammies, I had to resist the impulse to ring the bell repeatedly and scream at the dog for help.
My options were to climb the tall fence that surrounds the back yard and then slowly squeeze through the dog door or go to a neighbor’s and call for rescue. If Sioux, my favorite neighbor, had been home, the decision would have been an easy one. I’d pop over to her place, enjoy some exotic tea, juicy gossip and willfully delay my rescue call by an hour or two.
I determined that the only thing that would have put my pajama-clad self on any other neighbor’s doorstep was a gunshot wound. Surveying the fence, I decided that scaling it would result in a frantic 911 call by whoever found my crumpled body. Then as luck would have it, Sioux pulled up in her golden Taurus. She was quite startled when I ambled up to her and explained my predicament.
Amused and sympathetic, she invited me in just as Egor drove up with a very puzzled look on his face. I had forgotten that he was leaving work early for an eye exam. D’oh! Anyway, I went home and immediately changed into jeans and a tee-shirt. Ten minutes later, I began baking muffins to bring over to Sioux’s. I think they will go well with tea and gossip. I intend to hide a key on her property, in case the next time I lock my fool self out, I’m in my underwear.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Get Well Soon!!!
Cthulumas Appreciation!
Thank you eshugh for thinking of me on Cthulumas! Your package finally made it through the notoriously inefficient New Mexico Postal Service!
Yay! I'm going to drag my lame self to the post office this week (translation: by the end of January)to ship out reciprocal goodies. If anyone would like to be added to my to my Cthulu-related holiday list, drop me an email.
Yay! I'm going to drag my lame self to the post office this week (translation: by the end of January)to ship out reciprocal goodies. If anyone would like to be added to my to my Cthulu-related holiday list, drop me an email.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Tennis Shopping
Sunday Tennisfiend and I spent a few hours in El Paso’s leading athletic store to ogle its sprawling wall of tennis rackets. Swarms of jubilant screaming children and their unconcerned parents greeted us as we entered the store.
We discovered that the World's Most Unbelievable 50% Off Sale was taking place for One Day Only and apparently the savings was only obtainable if you brought an uncontrollably squealing child. After ten minutes of browsing we realized that the only way to survive the onslaught of boisterous children was to discard our adult shells and think like a child.
Once you embrace the peculiar drunkenness of an eight year old's brain, the riotous noise and commotion are no longer a nuisance but an impetus to grab a tennis racket and swing crazily. Thus, two hours passed most pleasantly. Flushed with the joy of handling an abundance of tennis rackets and the purchase of two stylish but overpriced tennis shirts, we fled El Paso.
On the long drive home, Tennis Fiend expressed his amazement at the profusion of goods in America and told me the story of his first pair of tennis shoes. To do his long story justice, I’ll post it separately, perhaps tomorrow.
We discovered that the World's Most Unbelievable 50% Off Sale was taking place for One Day Only and apparently the savings was only obtainable if you brought an uncontrollably squealing child. After ten minutes of browsing we realized that the only way to survive the onslaught of boisterous children was to discard our adult shells and think like a child.
Once you embrace the peculiar drunkenness of an eight year old's brain, the riotous noise and commotion are no longer a nuisance but an impetus to grab a tennis racket and swing crazily. Thus, two hours passed most pleasantly. Flushed with the joy of handling an abundance of tennis rackets and the purchase of two stylish but overpriced tennis shirts, we fled El Paso.
On the long drive home, Tennis Fiend expressed his amazement at the profusion of goods in America and told me the story of his first pair of tennis shoes. To do his long story justice, I’ll post it separately, perhaps tomorrow.
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Pool Pity
This week flitted by without making me blink, until last night.
We decided not to repaint the pool until next fall/spring. Devastated, I debated with Tennis Fiend for over an hour until we reached the point where he said, “If you really want it repainted this season, we will.” Naturally, I replied, "No, you're right, let's wait." Sigh.
The conflict arose from his new work responsibilities, which thwarted our DIY pool renovation plans. To finish the job, we must hire someone and that will be expensive. I will dearly miss the pool. Full moon evenings and fireworks will be less glorious without it to reflect serene and festive lights. Hot desert afternoons will be more oppressive and summer parties will lack the much-loved riotousness of Marco Polo and bellyflops.
Most of all, I will miss the concept of a finished pool. Few things are more odious than major projects left undone for months on end. It reminds me too much of my parents. At my folk’s house, under every sink lives a cluster of bleach bottles, but lurking elsewhere, uncompleted household projects burgeon. I remember my high school days, when our family cooked on a single burner stove from Kmart for three years after the demise of Mom’s favorite GE range.
The perfect replacement could not be easily found. When finally located, the fancy gas range sat in the garage for a year until the perfect installation specialist was located. Recently, my folks spent a year without carpeting. The house could not be re-carpeted until the cement floor was properly sterilized (a two-week exercise in OCD ecstasy).
After seven months of living with bare cement floors, I dragged my mother to the carpet store and bought them the carpeting required to finish the job. I made sure to have the workers come the very next day and requested an army of furniture movers, not wanting to leave room for a single excuse or delay. Despite the new carpeting, Mom and Dad have still not moved back into their bedroom, preferring to sleep on a floor-bound decrepit mattress in the TV room.
Yes, you guessed it—they must buy the perfect bed before moving back into their old room. Sheesh. So, that’s why the idea of leaving the pool unfinished for a year freaks me out. Ultimately, I realize that waiting is the best policy. I am resigned to the postponement of our project, although I’m still feeling a bit sorry for myself. I think a Tim Burton movie marathon is in order.
We decided not to repaint the pool until next fall/spring. Devastated, I debated with Tennis Fiend for over an hour until we reached the point where he said, “If you really want it repainted this season, we will.” Naturally, I replied, "No, you're right, let's wait." Sigh.
The conflict arose from his new work responsibilities, which thwarted our DIY pool renovation plans. To finish the job, we must hire someone and that will be expensive. I will dearly miss the pool. Full moon evenings and fireworks will be less glorious without it to reflect serene and festive lights. Hot desert afternoons will be more oppressive and summer parties will lack the much-loved riotousness of Marco Polo and bellyflops.
Most of all, I will miss the concept of a finished pool. Few things are more odious than major projects left undone for months on end. It reminds me too much of my parents. At my folk’s house, under every sink lives a cluster of bleach bottles, but lurking elsewhere, uncompleted household projects burgeon. I remember my high school days, when our family cooked on a single burner stove from Kmart for three years after the demise of Mom’s favorite GE range.
The perfect replacement could not be easily found. When finally located, the fancy gas range sat in the garage for a year until the perfect installation specialist was located. Recently, my folks spent a year without carpeting. The house could not be re-carpeted until the cement floor was properly sterilized (a two-week exercise in OCD ecstasy).
After seven months of living with bare cement floors, I dragged my mother to the carpet store and bought them the carpeting required to finish the job. I made sure to have the workers come the very next day and requested an army of furniture movers, not wanting to leave room for a single excuse or delay. Despite the new carpeting, Mom and Dad have still not moved back into their bedroom, preferring to sleep on a floor-bound decrepit mattress in the TV room.
Yes, you guessed it—they must buy the perfect bed before moving back into their old room. Sheesh. So, that’s why the idea of leaving the pool unfinished for a year freaks me out. Ultimately, I realize that waiting is the best policy. I am resigned to the postponement of our project, although I’m still feeling a bit sorry for myself. I think a Tim Burton movie marathon is in order.
Monday, January 9, 2006
At the Dentist's
Only two things make dentist office visits tolerable, and neither one of them is an enduring love for teeth scraping or X-rays.
Every appointment, I arrive thirty minutes early to visit with the robust community of Oscars that live in Dr. Mihlavich’s mammoth aquarium. One day I will convince Tennisfiend that Oscars are not slimy evil devil-spawn, he will realize that they are the most adorable, lovable fish on the planet. Eh, I digress. The second thing that makes office visits endurable is spending an hour with Tammy, my dental hygienist. Imagine a fusion of Bill Cosby and Kathy Bates with a talent for relating captivating tales of her family life, cats and many boyfriends.
When I sit in her chair I forget I’m at the dentist’s. Every appointment seems like a beauty treatment at a well loved salon. She makes me feel special and pampered. So, imagine my distress when a bony, humorless girl marched me to Tammy’s station, murmuring that Tammy was ill and that she was my replacement hygienist.
Despite my disappointment, I tried to engage the girl in small talk, but it was fruitless. During the entire procedure she was mute, not even uttering a “spit” or “open wider.” The silence made me especially vigilant to the monotonous scrape, scrape, scrape of the dental scaler. As her passive face loomed indifferently over mine, I had the feeling that I was a cadaver being attended to by a mortician’s competent, but thoroughly bored daughter.
I felt depersonalized and alienated. When the ordeal was over, Dr. Mihlavich slunk into the room. He, too, was unnaturally quiet and looked twenty pounds underweight. His hands briefly flashed in and about my face and he pronounced me “just fine.” The mortician’s daughter then stuffed a plastic baggie with floss, toothpaste and a toothbrush I’ll use for cleaning the bathtub fixtures in my hand and told me to “Have a nice day.” As I exited the office, the rest of the staff was enjoying a moment of levity by reception, disproving my theory that a tragedy had struck the office. I handed in my paperwork and crept into the lobby to spend a few comforting moments with the fish. Whew.
Every appointment, I arrive thirty minutes early to visit with the robust community of Oscars that live in Dr. Mihlavich’s mammoth aquarium. One day I will convince Tennisfiend that Oscars are not slimy evil devil-spawn, he will realize that they are the most adorable, lovable fish on the planet. Eh, I digress. The second thing that makes office visits endurable is spending an hour with Tammy, my dental hygienist. Imagine a fusion of Bill Cosby and Kathy Bates with a talent for relating captivating tales of her family life, cats and many boyfriends.
When I sit in her chair I forget I’m at the dentist’s. Every appointment seems like a beauty treatment at a well loved salon. She makes me feel special and pampered. So, imagine my distress when a bony, humorless girl marched me to Tammy’s station, murmuring that Tammy was ill and that she was my replacement hygienist.
Despite my disappointment, I tried to engage the girl in small talk, but it was fruitless. During the entire procedure she was mute, not even uttering a “spit” or “open wider.” The silence made me especially vigilant to the monotonous scrape, scrape, scrape of the dental scaler. As her passive face loomed indifferently over mine, I had the feeling that I was a cadaver being attended to by a mortician’s competent, but thoroughly bored daughter.
I felt depersonalized and alienated. When the ordeal was over, Dr. Mihlavich slunk into the room. He, too, was unnaturally quiet and looked twenty pounds underweight. His hands briefly flashed in and about my face and he pronounced me “just fine.” The mortician’s daughter then stuffed a plastic baggie with floss, toothpaste and a toothbrush I’ll use for cleaning the bathtub fixtures in my hand and told me to “Have a nice day.” As I exited the office, the rest of the staff was enjoying a moment of levity by reception, disproving my theory that a tragedy had struck the office. I handed in my paperwork and crept into the lobby to spend a few comforting moments with the fish. Whew.
Sunday, January 8, 2006
Getting It Out of My System
I don’t like to write about my worries, but sometimes I find that I can write nothing until I address them somehow. So, dammit, I’m going to get this over with by listing what’s been bothering me of late.
Whew. All done, I feel much better. On the bright side, Tennisfiend and I finally bought a new TV for New Years. We wound up buying a modest HDTV instead of the lottery-winning monstrosity we lusted after two month ago. A quick call to Comcast and we added a small handful of HDTV stations to our programming.
Our first morning with the new TV set up, we gazed slack-mouthed at Discovery HD’s Sunrise Earth, which featured an hour of nature footage in the Florida Everglades. It was so serene; I expected to be euthanized any second
- I’m damn tired. My doctor ordered blood tests to check for problems (i.e. anemia, since I hate green freakin’ leafy vegetables). Everything came back fine, but I am such a hypochondriac that I stressed myself needlessly for two whole days. Sheesh.
- My serious conversation with Mother two weeks ago about her seeing a doctor for a simple check up (she hasn’t had one in many years) did no good. She is already backing away and making ridiculous excuses. I could pull out all of my hair, plus some of hers, too.
- Tennisfiend’s younger brother is having some serious health problems in Russia. Andrei’s condition is not life threatening, yet his quality of life has been dealt a serious blow. Poor kid.
- Petty annoyances have been conspiring to bombard me all at once. I’ve had my fill of Netflix shipping problems, insurance company incompetence and those check loosing fools at Wells Fargo. And if one more f***** from the police/fire/sheriff association calls to pressure me into another donation, I’m going to commit a crime just to spite them.
Whew. All done, I feel much better. On the bright side, Tennisfiend and I finally bought a new TV for New Years. We wound up buying a modest HDTV instead of the lottery-winning monstrosity we lusted after two month ago. A quick call to Comcast and we added a small handful of HDTV stations to our programming.
Our first morning with the new TV set up, we gazed slack-mouthed at Discovery HD’s Sunrise Earth, which featured an hour of nature footage in the Florida Everglades. It was so serene; I expected to be euthanized any second
Saturday, January 7, 2006
S Rozhdestvom!
Or in English, Merry Christmas! Today is Eastern Orthodox Christmas so S Rozhdestvom to Egor's family in Russia!
BTW, the little girl in the photo is my mom!
Wednesday, January 4, 2006
Happy Anniversary
Mom and Dad in Central Mexico on their anniversary, 1969.
Mom and Dad, I love you guys and Happy Anniversary!
My folks met when my spirited mother moved to New Mexico to attend college under the auspices of her elder brother Leo. Dad was Leo's devilishly handsome and eccentric roomate. For the first year they squabbled, then one day they went camping together. Three weeks later, they eloped. I joined them years later (but that's another story).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)