She pedals the bicycle slowly down the middle of the street weaving between imaginary dotted lines. Sharp eyes peer vigilantly from under a faded green visor searching yards, porches and open doorways for anyone to whom she can call "You. Who". The sound of her voice causes me to hunch my shoulders and wince. She can be heard a block away, two blocks if the wind is right.
I can never remember her name though she's undoubtedly told me a hundred times. My brain goes into panic mode whenever I hear her distinctive "You. Who." Given enough warning I immediately grab the dog and run for cover. Sometimes, thankfully not often, there will be no neighbors outside in the block preceding mine allowing her to make it to my house in stealth. One minute I'm enjoying a perfect evening and the next I getting blasted with "You. Who."
Not Hello, hi or hey; she's never says good evening or calls anyone by name. It is always "You. Who." Just like that. You. Who. And delivered in a yodel-like trill. Perhaps the yodel is why it carries so well.
"You. Who." and the bicycle is guided into a figure-8 for she never actually stops to talk. Remarks are flung my direction. If I'm lucky I get to respond. See, that's what drives me nuts. I do not like being talked at. She may prove to be an interesting person if she'd just stop for a minute. But it's "You. Who" a few comments and then she's gone.
I want to know how she got into the "You. Who" habit. Who told her this is a cool way to greet your neighbors? The last person I heard repeated use "you who", I was 16 and working in a nursing home. If you're counting that was 1976 and the patient was 70-80 years old. This gal isn't much older than me. Maybe it's typical to wherever she grew up in the South. I'd ask but I can barely understand her for her thick accent.
So what we have here is a 50-60 year old Southern woman who yodels "You. Who." Maybe if I laid out spiked strips, poured up a glass of sweet tea and had a Southern-to-West Coast interpreter on hand, I could learn her story.
Friday, June 15, 2012
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Sunday Ponderings
My collection of people is fluid like a kaleidoscope constantly in motion as they go about living day to day. A remark here, a gesture there or glimpse into their thought process fuels my creativity.
It's how people respond to changes, good or bad, that captures my attention and has me waiting poised with fingers over the keyboard for the next installment or final outcome. Presently there are two people I'd love to shake the living daylights out of, or hold them with one hand while repeatedly slapping them with the other. I want to get right in their face and scream "What is with you? Snap out of it already!" Good thing for them there is an entire continent between us. Yeah, it's a good thing for me too. I refuse to go to jail for assault on an idiot.
The irony is I could write about them here. I could tell their entire story, provided I don't divulge their full names and they would respond with "See, I'm not the only one going through this."
Ok, I'll give them that. I'm sure currently in the US alone there are a few tens of thousands people in the same situation. Seriously, I'm not being sarcastic. Everyday people lose their jobs, their homes or their marriages. Often the loss is a combination of all three. While this is a sad statistic it really has no bearing on why I want to slap two people.
Person #1 has gone out of her way to bring about catastrophic events. When the water is rising most people pray it will stop raining. Apparently she went shopping for dynamite to blow the dam. I've never seen anyone so determined not to accept and act on sound advice. In fact, the measures she has taken pretty much ensures her drowning.
Person #2 is pissed off. Reluctantly I will admit there initially was grounds for her anger. And then I learned the rest of the story and went "huh?" Now she wants her pound of flesh, or ton if she can get it. The part she's failing to comprehend is how extracting revenge will affect her. Like Person #1, she's running around shopping for dynamite. Luckily to date she's only found cherry bombs. I wish I had a way to prove to Person #2 how her mindset and actions are going to bite her in the butt big time and with long term consequences.
Will I write about these two? Maybe. If I do, they will be very minor characters given a few lines in passing. "I saw your neighbor's house listed under foreclosures. What happened there?" Reply, "Oh she got religion and decided God was going to supply her needs so she quit working."
We all go through ups and downs. We all have times we need a shoulder to cry on, a different perspective or just someone to let us rant. Sometimes our inner house requires a good airing. Think of it as Spring cleaning. Open up the windows, pull everything out of closets and drawers. Out with the old, slap on a coat of fresh paint and you're ready for new experiences.
It's when you turn your inner house into a hoarder's nest that you become flat one-note personalities and that acts as a repellant to good, positive things entering your life.
It's how people respond to changes, good or bad, that captures my attention and has me waiting poised with fingers over the keyboard for the next installment or final outcome. Presently there are two people I'd love to shake the living daylights out of, or hold them with one hand while repeatedly slapping them with the other. I want to get right in their face and scream "What is with you? Snap out of it already!" Good thing for them there is an entire continent between us. Yeah, it's a good thing for me too. I refuse to go to jail for assault on an idiot.
The irony is I could write about them here. I could tell their entire story, provided I don't divulge their full names and they would respond with "See, I'm not the only one going through this."
Ok, I'll give them that. I'm sure currently in the US alone there are a few tens of thousands people in the same situation. Seriously, I'm not being sarcastic. Everyday people lose their jobs, their homes or their marriages. Often the loss is a combination of all three. While this is a sad statistic it really has no bearing on why I want to slap two people.
Person #1 has gone out of her way to bring about catastrophic events. When the water is rising most people pray it will stop raining. Apparently she went shopping for dynamite to blow the dam. I've never seen anyone so determined not to accept and act on sound advice. In fact, the measures she has taken pretty much ensures her drowning.
Person #2 is pissed off. Reluctantly I will admit there initially was grounds for her anger. And then I learned the rest of the story and went "huh?" Now she wants her pound of flesh, or ton if she can get it. The part she's failing to comprehend is how extracting revenge will affect her. Like Person #1, she's running around shopping for dynamite. Luckily to date she's only found cherry bombs. I wish I had a way to prove to Person #2 how her mindset and actions are going to bite her in the butt big time and with long term consequences.
Will I write about these two? Maybe. If I do, they will be very minor characters given a few lines in passing. "I saw your neighbor's house listed under foreclosures. What happened there?" Reply, "Oh she got religion and decided God was going to supply her needs so she quit working."
We all go through ups and downs. We all have times we need a shoulder to cry on, a different perspective or just someone to let us rant. Sometimes our inner house requires a good airing. Think of it as Spring cleaning. Open up the windows, pull everything out of closets and drawers. Out with the old, slap on a coat of fresh paint and you're ready for new experiences.
It's when you turn your inner house into a hoarder's nest that you become flat one-note personalities and that acts as a repellant to good, positive things entering your life.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Packing Light
For years you have criticized me saying I'm too emotional when I get frustrated and cry. You tell people I'm difficult when I fail to respond fast enough to suit you. It feels like a lifetime in which you've made a point of treating me like I have an "off / on" switch like a vacuum cleaner that can be stored in the closet.
Sadly for years I have taken your contempt. I've acted as if your ruthless words were falling upon deaf ears. I have acted upon every demand to the best of my ability despite knowing you will find fault. There was never a compliment without a slap down.
When you said "I love you" the words were actually a declaration of your love for you.
I have often wondered what you see when you look at me. Thankfully I cannot see me through your eyes. You have done your best to behave your worst.
But my universe does not revolve around you. My future is a wide open road. The most important question is, what will I pack for the journey? Pain and anger are as useful as painting the windshield black. Regrets are like trying to drive with flat tires. Still, there is in one tiny box a little bit of you I take with me. The keepsake is a reminder of how not to be.
I want to drive with the windows down and my sunglasses on. Yet care-free is not interchangeable with "could care less". There are those I care about and for them I will make detours along my journey. At times they will join me and then veer off to follow their own path.
Sadly for years I have taken your contempt. I've acted as if your ruthless words were falling upon deaf ears. I have acted upon every demand to the best of my ability despite knowing you will find fault. There was never a compliment without a slap down.
When you said "I love you" the words were actually a declaration of your love for you.
I have often wondered what you see when you look at me. Thankfully I cannot see me through your eyes. You have done your best to behave your worst.
But my universe does not revolve around you. My future is a wide open road. The most important question is, what will I pack for the journey? Pain and anger are as useful as painting the windshield black. Regrets are like trying to drive with flat tires. Still, there is in one tiny box a little bit of you I take with me. The keepsake is a reminder of how not to be.
I want to drive with the windows down and my sunglasses on. Yet care-free is not interchangeable with "could care less". There are those I care about and for them I will make detours along my journey. At times they will join me and then veer off to follow their own path.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
I Played with Barbie
I had to behave like an adult again recently. It gave me a rash. The trauma was so severe I spent the afternoon playing games on Pogo.
Growing older is a good thing if only because I can now group experiences together and refer to them as eras.
Early on there was the Lego Era, which overlapped with the Sending Barbie into Space Strapped to a Bottle Rocket Era. Poor Mother; she tried her best to turn me into a girlie-girl. I had the whole tea party set complete with table and chairs. Mom would rush to the store to purchase the latest Barbie. She even made additional outfits. I played with Barbie. Barbie made a great crash test dummy, or bomb disposal tech, or astronaut. The latter being my personal favorite. Hey, it was the late 60's - early 70's and NASA was putting men on the moon. I did my best to launch Barbie into history as the first woman in space.
This was not Mother's idea of how to play with dolls. The Barbie Era came to an end the day I mouthed off and said "they are my dolls I can do with them what I please. If you don't like it, then keep Barbie for yourself." As punishment I was "forced" to relinquish my dolls. Alas, Barbie never made it into space.
Looking back I will credit the Barbie Era for introducing very valuable life lessons. First the difference in parenting between my folks. Father's version was summarized by "Barbie is yours. If you destroy her then fine but that doesn't mean I have to replace her." For the record Dad never purchased a Barbie. Now ask where I got the explosives.
Second life lesson: thinking outside the box and improvising are good things. Basically the lesson is not to accept anything as set in stone just because it's tradition, or the socially dictated norm or just simply because.
I played with Barbie. My Barbie had no social, religious or economic restrictions. If she failed her mission I collected the pieces, placed her in a box and got out another. Third life lesson: set a good example, blaze a trail so that others will want to follow in your footsteps.
Growing older is a good thing if only because I can now group experiences together and refer to them as eras.
Early on there was the Lego Era, which overlapped with the Sending Barbie into Space Strapped to a Bottle Rocket Era. Poor Mother; she tried her best to turn me into a girlie-girl. I had the whole tea party set complete with table and chairs. Mom would rush to the store to purchase the latest Barbie. She even made additional outfits. I played with Barbie. Barbie made a great crash test dummy, or bomb disposal tech, or astronaut. The latter being my personal favorite. Hey, it was the late 60's - early 70's and NASA was putting men on the moon. I did my best to launch Barbie into history as the first woman in space.
This was not Mother's idea of how to play with dolls. The Barbie Era came to an end the day I mouthed off and said "they are my dolls I can do with them what I please. If you don't like it, then keep Barbie for yourself." As punishment I was "forced" to relinquish my dolls. Alas, Barbie never made it into space.
Looking back I will credit the Barbie Era for introducing very valuable life lessons. First the difference in parenting between my folks. Father's version was summarized by "Barbie is yours. If you destroy her then fine but that doesn't mean I have to replace her." For the record Dad never purchased a Barbie. Now ask where I got the explosives.
Second life lesson: thinking outside the box and improvising are good things. Basically the lesson is not to accept anything as set in stone just because it's tradition, or the socially dictated norm or just simply because.
I played with Barbie. My Barbie had no social, religious or economic restrictions. If she failed her mission I collected the pieces, placed her in a box and got out another. Third life lesson: set a good example, blaze a trail so that others will want to follow in your footsteps.
Friday, March 2, 2012
thoughts on me and The Mommy
I have heard adults say if they are reincarnated they want to come back as Debi's dog. Well, that's all fine and dandy but the pickup is still mine. The Mommy bought it for me; I look wonderful in Atlantic Blue. It is my mobile doghouse. And it may take you a life or two to get all the hair out of it.
For all those people who refuse to ride with us because of my hair all over the truck, despite The Mommy spending hours vacuuming - just take yourself off in your sterile bubble. Easy to see you are not a dog person.
And yes, those are my nose and tongue prints on the windows, mirrors and dashboard. It's my truck.
Oh yeah, and that's my drool too.
People say I am spoiled. Maybe it's a reaction to the word "spoiled" that prompts children to announce they want to come live with The Mommy and me. I'll wait while those of you who know The Mommy well to stop laughing.
Actually you know, I can see The Mommy snapping a leash on a human child and taking him or her to obedience class.
Now as I think about it, really what is the difference between doggie daycare and childcare facilities? Both have playtime, snacks and [usually a chainlink] fence.
Today I got very angry with The Mommy. She got out the dreaded Dremel signaling it was time for my toenails to be trimmed. I tried to run. The doors were shut. I tried to hide. When The Mommy reached for one paw I whacked her with another. Or spun around in hopes of crawling away. I did my best "woe is me" expressions. Looking up at The Mommy I pleaded with big brown, sad eyes. None of this worked. It never does. We'd have a real fight on our hands if she even entertained the notion of clipping my nails.
Now I'm sprawled across the clean laundry, half asleep and wondering what kind of fit a human child would pitch if someone took a Dremel to his or her nails?
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
The FarmVille Police
When I first signed up for Facebook several friends convinced me to be their neighbor in FarmVille. My impression of the game back then was 'a somewhat boring FarmTown knock off'. After I acquired a few more FB friends and FV neighbors it got a little more interesting.
Around this time FV introduced "Co-ops". It seemed like I couldn't get near the computer without someone wanting me to join their co-op. I got IM's and direct messages: "Help me get my co-op badges and I'll help you get yours." Right off the bat there were two major problems. One, it seems more than a few people figured out if they joined a co-op and didn't plant/harvest they'd still collect the reward provided the goal was met. Two, all those people I helped - I'm still waiting. I don't have my badges, thank you.
Obviously it didn't take very long for me to begin ignoring 'join my co-op' pleas. However, truth be told the biggest turn off came when the self-appointed FV police got involved. You know who you are; I don't have to list names.
A small group of players separated into a splinter sect and began making threats. "I found your name on such-and-such web site. Remove your name and block the site or I will de-neighbor you on FV".
Seriously? You've got time to search obscure web sites for FV neighbors names? I think the clearest message is "you don't have a life". Names got on these web sites via email, offers in other games or because a FB friend got hacked. Thank you for telling me I'm on your list.
Incredibly I got direct messages and emails regarding friends of mine, not necessarily FV neighbors whose names were found on a list. Talk about gall - unbelievably I was informed if my friend's name wasn't removed from the site I would be blocked. The FV police actually went through my personal FB friend's list! At first it pissed me off. Then I found it funny.
My stock response was "calm down and walk away from the computer; it's just a game". Good grief, it these people are getting all bent out of shape over a free game, can you imagine how they behave in a casino where there's real money on the line?
Heaven help the unsuspecting soul who posts a non-police sanctioned FV message or freebie. Several times I toyed with the idea of sharing the post just to get the police in an uproar. Alas, sanity got the better of me. Those of you who know me personally or have been following my blogs know I have a blatant disregard for authority. Perhaps because they are friends I've behaved, until now.
Months ago I bailed out of FV, (see blog: Zynga and the afterlife). Though I eagarly took the option to block all requests, postings and notices from FV, somehow I'm still getting those posted by the FV police. Curious how theirs are getting through.
Attention FV police: I grew tired of saying "it's just a game, chill out". Several times I'd remarked on the irony of your bullying and whining as you have proven time and again to be the biggest offenders in the game. (read that as meaning all Zynga games.) It's nice to know you have the time and money to spend on something non-productive. Imagine the impact you could make if you did volunteer work or visited with real living breathing neighbors.
This is an issue I can no longer ignore. Quite frankly I'm tired of you. Mostly I'm embarrassed you're still on my friend's list.
Around this time FV introduced "Co-ops". It seemed like I couldn't get near the computer without someone wanting me to join their co-op. I got IM's and direct messages: "Help me get my co-op badges and I'll help you get yours." Right off the bat there were two major problems. One, it seems more than a few people figured out if they joined a co-op and didn't plant/harvest they'd still collect the reward provided the goal was met. Two, all those people I helped - I'm still waiting. I don't have my badges, thank you.
Obviously it didn't take very long for me to begin ignoring 'join my co-op' pleas. However, truth be told the biggest turn off came when the self-appointed FV police got involved. You know who you are; I don't have to list names.
A small group of players separated into a splinter sect and began making threats. "I found your name on such-and-such web site. Remove your name and block the site or I will de-neighbor you on FV".
Seriously? You've got time to search obscure web sites for FV neighbors names? I think the clearest message is "you don't have a life". Names got on these web sites via email, offers in other games or because a FB friend got hacked. Thank you for telling me I'm on your list.
Incredibly I got direct messages and emails regarding friends of mine, not necessarily FV neighbors whose names were found on a list. Talk about gall - unbelievably I was informed if my friend's name wasn't removed from the site I would be blocked. The FV police actually went through my personal FB friend's list! At first it pissed me off. Then I found it funny.
My stock response was "calm down and walk away from the computer; it's just a game". Good grief, it these people are getting all bent out of shape over a free game, can you imagine how they behave in a casino where there's real money on the line?
Heaven help the unsuspecting soul who posts a non-police sanctioned FV message or freebie. Several times I toyed with the idea of sharing the post just to get the police in an uproar. Alas, sanity got the better of me. Those of you who know me personally or have been following my blogs know I have a blatant disregard for authority. Perhaps because they are friends I've behaved, until now.
Months ago I bailed out of FV, (see blog: Zynga and the afterlife). Though I eagarly took the option to block all requests, postings and notices from FV, somehow I'm still getting those posted by the FV police. Curious how theirs are getting through.
Attention FV police: I grew tired of saying "it's just a game, chill out". Several times I'd remarked on the irony of your bullying and whining as you have proven time and again to be the biggest offenders in the game. (read that as meaning all Zynga games.) It's nice to know you have the time and money to spend on something non-productive. Imagine the impact you could make if you did volunteer work or visited with real living breathing neighbors.
This is an issue I can no longer ignore. Quite frankly I'm tired of you. Mostly I'm embarrassed you're still on my friend's list.
YOU ARE GOING TO BE DE-FACED
this is not a threat
Monday, February 13, 2012
My Protectors
The other day we were having some pretty good wind, as in gusts over 20 mph. Holly is not a fan of wind storms and I can't say I blame her much. She and I grew up in tall tree country where a good blow means flying debris, falling limbs and downed power lines not to mention whole trees toppling over wrecking havoc on anything and everything on the way down.
Now we're in the southeast corner of North Carolina, flat land - and wow does the wind blow! A while back a shutter tore off the next door neighbor's house and came visiting. It didn't ring the doorbell. It tried coming through the side of the house. Holly looked at me and said "heck of a place you brought us to Mom."
The stove in my niece's kitchen is in the island. Instead of having a hood, exhaust fans pull fumes down and then push them out through an opening in the foundation. Keep this in mind.
Most the time the wind broadsides the house hitting either porch but every now and then it shifts around to hit one of the ends. Such as was the case when the shutter got us. Ok, regarding pertinent details of the stove exhaust system, you need to know it terminates on the north side of the house, aka, an "end".
So the other day the sustained wind had Holly and D*O*G periodically running around [inside] the house convinced aliens were dispatching zombies to steal toys, treats and pillows. Tommy really didn't care what was going on outside, he was dozing atop the dryer.
Around evening time I kicked back in the living room to watch television. Holly took position between me and the French Doors to keep an eye out for alien / zombie invaders. D*O*G gave up patrolling the front of the house and went to search his mommy's room for buried treasures.
Suddenly the wind shifted swinging around to blast the north end of the house. It vibrated the garage doors. Large gardenia bushes rustled and slapped against the house. And the wind, being wind, found an opening. Banging and clattering it rushed up the exhaust tube. Holly leaped to her feet prepared to challenge the enemy. D*O*G charged out of the bedroom barking. Not spotting any aliens / zombies, the little fellow stalked around the house growling until he was convinced all was good.
I told the three it was just the wind. I could tell they didn't believe me. Tommy hopped down from the dryer and came into the living room where he promptly settled onto the ottoman. Holly's attention was focused out the French Doors. D*O*G was scanning the front door with x-ray vision. Nothing and no one was going to get into the house with my three protectors on the job.
A strong gust of wind rattled the windows on the north side of the house. The garage doors shuddered. Bangs, clangs and a burst of fresh cold air signaled that our defences had been breached.
Tommy jumped straight up in a manner only cats can do. If D*O*G had a tail it would have been tucked between his legs as he ran for his bed and dove under his blankie. Holly stood her ground, or more accurately sat on my feet.
Less than five minutes later another strong gust loudly found its way inside. I have a brief recollection of D*O*G's toenails on the hardwood floor. The next thing I knew he was burrowing between me and the side of the chair. Tommy was plastered to my left arm, all four paws holding on tight. And my beautiful blonde was tried crawling in my lap but the black small ones refused to share.
A hoard of zombies, an army of aliens or the entire 81st Airborne Div housed down the street at Ft. Bragg would not have been able to pry us out of that chair. Twenty minutes, a half hour; it wasn't until the family came that D*O*G raised his head out of my jacket and Tommy let go of my arm. Holly would like you to think she was protecting her mommy from the "other two". I think we all know otherwise.
Now we're in the southeast corner of North Carolina, flat land - and wow does the wind blow! A while back a shutter tore off the next door neighbor's house and came visiting. It didn't ring the doorbell. It tried coming through the side of the house. Holly looked at me and said "heck of a place you brought us to Mom."
The stove in my niece's kitchen is in the island. Instead of having a hood, exhaust fans pull fumes down and then push them out through an opening in the foundation. Keep this in mind.
Most the time the wind broadsides the house hitting either porch but every now and then it shifts around to hit one of the ends. Such as was the case when the shutter got us. Ok, regarding pertinent details of the stove exhaust system, you need to know it terminates on the north side of the house, aka, an "end".
So the other day the sustained wind had Holly and D*O*G periodically running around [inside] the house convinced aliens were dispatching zombies to steal toys, treats and pillows. Tommy really didn't care what was going on outside, he was dozing atop the dryer.
Around evening time I kicked back in the living room to watch television. Holly took position between me and the French Doors to keep an eye out for alien / zombie invaders. D*O*G gave up patrolling the front of the house and went to search his mommy's room for buried treasures.
Suddenly the wind shifted swinging around to blast the north end of the house. It vibrated the garage doors. Large gardenia bushes rustled and slapped against the house. And the wind, being wind, found an opening. Banging and clattering it rushed up the exhaust tube. Holly leaped to her feet prepared to challenge the enemy. D*O*G charged out of the bedroom barking. Not spotting any aliens / zombies, the little fellow stalked around the house growling until he was convinced all was good.
I told the three it was just the wind. I could tell they didn't believe me. Tommy hopped down from the dryer and came into the living room where he promptly settled onto the ottoman. Holly's attention was focused out the French Doors. D*O*G was scanning the front door with x-ray vision. Nothing and no one was going to get into the house with my three protectors on the job.
A strong gust of wind rattled the windows on the north side of the house. The garage doors shuddered. Bangs, clangs and a burst of fresh cold air signaled that our defences had been breached.
Tommy jumped straight up in a manner only cats can do. If D*O*G had a tail it would have been tucked between his legs as he ran for his bed and dove under his blankie. Holly stood her ground, or more accurately sat on my feet.
Less than five minutes later another strong gust loudly found its way inside. I have a brief recollection of D*O*G's toenails on the hardwood floor. The next thing I knew he was burrowing between me and the side of the chair. Tommy was plastered to my left arm, all four paws holding on tight. And my beautiful blonde was tried crawling in my lap but the black small ones refused to share.
A hoard of zombies, an army of aliens or the entire 81st Airborne Div housed down the street at Ft. Bragg would not have been able to pry us out of that chair. Twenty minutes, a half hour; it wasn't until the family came that D*O*G raised his head out of my jacket and Tommy let go of my arm. Holly would like you to think she was protecting her mommy from the "other two". I think we all know otherwise.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)