Creep-o-maniac!!

This morning I drove our grandson to kindergarten at his new school for the first time. I was in a sea of rush-hour traffic, trying to keep the car in one piece as I weasled my way from the far left lane on Maryland 198 to the far right in order to turn onto northbound U.S. Route 1. Once on Route 1, I moved quickly, with traffic roaring up behind me, to secure a place in the left lane to make another turn.

Suddenly I was confronted with a guy traveling south in MY lane on roller skates!! He popped up out of nowhere, cruising along as casually as you please, VERY close to my left fender. This, despite the presence of a side walk to his right. He's lucky HE'S still in one piece. I honked and yelled, "Don't DO that!" In my rear-view mirror, I saw him clamber up onto the sidewalk, the turkey.

Then I muttered, "Creep-o-maniac!" I don't know where that came from, but my grandson thought it was a cool new word.

The Last Primrose of Summer?

Two weeks ago, the Tree Hugger predicted that our last evening primrose would bloom that night. Although the plant is gradually going dormant, it bloomed last night and looks as if it has a few more blooms to go. Meanwhile, the hummingbirds visit the feeders constantly, getting ready for their arduous trip to Mexico.

Monarch butterfllies winter in Mexico as well. I had hoped to capture a photo of the enormous Joe Pye weed in our backyard laden with butterflies. Unfortunately, we've seen hardly a single butterfly this year. The Joe Pye weed will soon be past its prime. I was so concerned about the absence of butterflies that I've joined www.MonarchWatch.org in order to find out why. A woman in suburban northern VIrginia thought that our cooler-than-usual spring and extensive spraying were probably to blame. So sad.

Whoa is Me!

If I weren't seriously allergic to horses, I would jump on one and gallop off to the four winds. Just sitting on a horse causes me to wheeze, sneeze, and weep, so scratch that idea.

I am weary of tangled, non-sequitur exchanges. Mom is fiercely protective of the laundry room, even though she has forgotten how to operate both the washer and dryer. She still wants to fold our laundry, which is fine with me, except that she can't manage kingsize sheets and bluejeans. She also seems to think I need her permission to use my own machine.

"What's in the machine? Why are you washing today?" she'll demand, with fire in her eye.

This week, I tossed a net bag full of her panty hose into a load of our wash. Draped them over her basket to dry. A little later, I found them arrayed across the stop of the recliner in our family room.

"These are your stockings," she announced. "I found them on my basket."

"They're not mine, Mom. They're yours. See, they're 'control top'. They're not mine."

"Well, they're certainly not mine, so they MUST be yours."

"Mom, I haven't worn pantyhose since Easter. They're yours."

She shook her head doubtfully and left them on the chair. The next day, she said, "I was awake half the night worrying about those stockings. Who could be coming in to use our machine?"

Yesterday I had all the carpets in the house steam-cleaned. Violet, our daughter's dog, who comes here week-days for Doggy Day Care, has a delicate stomach. Our livingroom carpet looked awful. It was all besplotched with a year's worth of spot-cleaned doggy vomit and worse. I finally decided that Violet probably can't tolerate the afternoon snack of sliced American cheese that Mom hands out. A couple of days ago, I asked Mom to stop giving the dogs cheese and bought her a bag of "Beggin' Strips" to give them instead.

Later, she summoned me.

"Why did you buy me two of these?" she asked, pointing to the bag of snacks.

"Two of what?"

She shook her head impatiently at my stupidity, opened her cupboard, and triumphantly produced an unopened jar of instant coffee, which she set down beside the snack bag.

"Mom, those are two different things. That's your Maxwell House."

"You mean Maxwell House is now making dog snacks?"

"No. I got you those snacks because I don't want you giving cheese to Violet anymore. It makes her vomit."

She had a new, irritating mannerism. After I "spout off" about something, she makes a silent "O" with her mouth and shakes her head "yes," as if humoring an ill-tempered grouch.

After the carpet cleaners left, the Tree Hugger, the Grandson, and I went to the Baltimore Aquarium for the afternoon. Back home, I found a huge puddle of watery vomit on the newly-cleaned carpet.

"Mom, did you give Violet a slice of cheese this afternoon?"

"Of course I did. You know how she loves cheese. I always give both dogs cheese in the afternoon."

"But that's why I got you the 'Beggin' Strips', Cheese makes Violet sick."

"You told me that Ramsey was the one who gets sick."

Later on, I found the "Beggin' Strips" on our kitchen counter. As with the pantyhose left on the chair, this means, "These are not mine, so they must be yours."

Just as I settled down with my book before bedtime, her door opened. "What's this?" she demanded.

"It's your Polident for Partials."

"Look what I found inside the box." She showed me the last two Polident tablets in the box, still in their foil wrappers.

"Well, those packets say 'Polident/partials'. What's wrong with them?"

"Well, they're not the same. Why can't they just leave things alone!"

I went to the closet where I keep her extras. Several months ago I ordered a half dozen boxes of Polident for Partials for her. She's gone through half of them. None of the remaining boxes says "New" or "Improved" or "Now with Green Tea Anti-Oxidants!"

I don't know. I don't know. I just don't know.

WAY Too Much Fun with Hearing Loss

Next Wednesday I go to see about a new hearing aid, to replace the one that didn't survive the spin cycle. I can't wait.

I had an OMG moment when I thought I heard them say, "Condoleeza Rice has died in Poland." Actually, she had just ARRIVED in Poland.

Then there were Goya's pagans, as in "He composed a series of pieces inspired by Goya's pagans."
Make that "Goya's paintings."