tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17660236639008078722024-03-05T17:18:30.851-08:00Reclaiming ChrisYes, Pearl really does own me...Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.comBlogger135125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-34743865089608202022020-01-28T15:57:00.000-08:002020-01-28T15:57:13.269-08:00All MineThe memories aren't his, but mine...<br />
What a revelation!<br />
<br />
The Bearded One has always expressed his disbelief that I've saved all of Stubble's kindergarten and 1st grade homework. In acid free portfolios. I kind of wondered too. Why every time I took one of those portfolios to dispose of it, I just couldn't do it. Now <b>I</b> come closer to understanding because I read a book last week. And here is the line that gave me insight:<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"It wasn't yours. It was mine. You didn't even remember..."</i><br />
<i>Sharon Fiffer (Buried Stuff)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
It is so true. I'm mightily sure that Stubble doesn't remember the HOURS that we spent on early-el homework. The tears (his), the tears (mine), the bribes. The testy conference with the teacher during which I expressed my displeasure and made the announcement that I would not force Stubble to do 3 hours of homework a night. In kindergarten.<br />
<br />
Said the teacher, "It should only take 15 minutes."<br />
<br />
Maybe so, but by the time Stubble had drawn a picture and written 2 sentences about it (phonetically) hours had passed. Tear filled hours.<br />
<br />
Now mind you, Stubble never drew a picture that went quickly. There were many elements to his pictures - little details of great significance to him. Into which he put a great deal of thought and which required detailed explanations. An hour to do the drwaing and explain it to me. Then one hour each for the two (phonetically spelled) sentences to describe the picture. It might have been easier to (phonetically) write an entire paragraph so that no detail was left out.<br />
<br />
And now, just yesterday, I read an article on an online news feed about how recent research has found that early elementary homework doesn't improve learning! I could have told them that 22 years ago.<br />
<i><br /></i>Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-87743555198964504212018-05-08T11:23:00.000-07:002018-05-08T11:23:19.036-07:0080 PoundsOf Kitty Litter.<br />
<br />
It involved The Bearded One, his Corvette, and 10.5 quarts of Oil.<br />
<br />
<br />
Our usual mechanic sold his business and within a year the new owner had driven the place <u>out</u> of business. Maybe he was just a poor business man. (What auto shop is closed on Saturday?) Maybe he needed a business loss. Whatever. Not being able to find a new shop that we felt that we could trust, The Bearded One decided to change the oil himself. First we had to buy jacks that would work with the Corvette. (Ground clearance? What ground clearance)<br />
<br />
It all started so innocently:<br />
<br />
He bought the oil, the filter, and a plastic thingie to collect the used oil. The Corvette was jacked up providing needed work room. The plastic thingie was placed appropriately. Then he commenced to begin the oil change, And the oil began draining. Unfortunately the plastic thingie's cap was not open. 10.5 quarts of oil poured onto the garage floor. To say that The Bearded One was upset is an understatement.<br />
<br />
80 pounds of kitty litter and several scrubs with Dawn dish detergent later, the damage was rectified.<br />
<br />
After much extra work the new oil and filter were in place and we went for a "soothing" drive.<br />
<br />
But we still had to dispose of the 80 pounds of oil soaked kitty litter...<br />
<br />
Lesson learned.<br />
<br />
<br />Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-9110092274582770572017-05-05T09:47:00.000-07:002017-05-05T10:05:48.663-07:00hERE i AM bLOGGER<i>Thanks for finally letting me in. Why didn't you answer me when I asked for help?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>Except they did. And it is all my fault.<br />
<i><br /></i>
So. My writing time is early in the morning. Like 5 AM. In general, I write at Starbucks. My old tiny laptop that fit in my purse (OK, shoulder bag) was no longer up to new technology. I had gotten it in 2010 and it just couldn't handle the new windows programs. Windows XP - fine. Windows 10- unh uh.<br />
<br />
My new laptop is powerful. I had planned on a tablet, but the amount of RAM wasn't large enough to handle Photoshop. So the new Dell arrived and we started loading things. <br />
<br />
When I got to Starbucks I couldn't get into my blog. Blogger kept telling me that I didn't HAVE a blog. I kept requesting help. I "never got help".<br />
<br />
So I kept sending emails and requests for help. Which never arrived. I must have changed my password 10 times until I didn't even remember what it was anymore. <br />
<br />
Except that help was arriving. It was going to a Gmail account that didn't remember I had. It was all there when finally, the prompt asked me if I could possibly have another email account...I figured that since I had tried everything else, I might as well say "yes" to the question. <br />
<br />
Gee Whiz. There WAS another Gmail account. That I hadn't remembered. It was listed as my recovery account. I hadn't remembered that either..<br />
<br />
Trying to sign in, I STILL couldn't manage it. I couldn't seem to get my refound email to work .Google kept using my remembered Gmail. Did I see the little downward carrot that asked for a secondary email? No. I did not. I was ticked off and it just didn't register...<br />
But finally I noticed the downward carrot. And I was able to enter the Gmail associated with my blog. And my password worked. And I have author access.<br />
<br />
I'm getting old. That must be it. Although I would like to think that it is just that I am very busy and I'm preoccupied with other, weightier matters. But I have to be realistic.Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-38789402133231639722016-04-11T18:43:00.000-07:002017-05-03T09:48:49.749-07:00Ain't No Sunshine<i><b>You are absolutely NOT going to be able to convince me that weather patterns are not changing. </b></i><br />
<i><b> </b> </i><br />
<i>We are in the middle of what should be sunny May. Solar panels producing like crazy, warm but not too hot weather perfect for working in the garden...</i><br />
<i>Today I had to turn the heat on again. Just too dang chilly in the house.</i><br />
<i>Even though the weather forecast says that we are having sun even as we speak, we are NOT and have not for the last 4 days.</i><br />
<br />
That paragraph was written nearly one year ago.<br />
<br />
It is now mid-April, 2016. We are in the middle of what should be a mostly sunny month. Warm but not too hot weather perfect for working
in the garden...an occasional early morning sprinkle.<br />
Last night it was raining so hard that the swimming pool was overflowing into its emergency drain. We had a firelog burning. We had to turn the heat on.... The dog refused to go outside to "do her thing" before being crated... <br />
<br />Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-50664098974947277192015-05-25T11:21:00.000-07:002015-05-25T11:21:28.081-07:00Jingle TagsWhen the Bearded One travels I let the dog sleep with me because...<br />
I feel more comfortable with another living thing beside me. The dog snores. 'Nuff said.<br />
<br />
At 3 AM I woke to the sound of dog tags as they moved from window to window. Pearl was sniffing loudly. I checked the windows and doors and listened carefully. Nothing. Not even a coyote.<br />
<br />
At 4 AM I woke to the sound of dog tags as they moved from window to
window. Pearl was sniffing loudly. I checked the windows and doors and listened
carefully. Nothing. Not even a coyote. But the dog was dancing this time. This is the dog who can stay in her crate from 8:30 PM until 8:30 AM without a problem.<br />
<br />
I decided that she must be "on to something". I let her out. She tore down the grass like a big ol' black missile. She didn't growl or bark. She just ran. Urgently.<br />
<br />
I <u>finally</u> got her back inside by bribing her with treats.<br />
<br />
5:00 AM I woke to the sound of dog tags....<br />
<br />
I took her downstairs and crated her.Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-41888858576276646482014-04-09T22:31:00.000-07:002014-04-09T22:31:39.571-07:00Change Is Good, Right?<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Mergers are a bitch.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am finally able to write this without tears falling on the keyboard after spending the afternoon on the deck with Pearl, Ms. Flipper's dog.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I have been involved with an (unnamed) animal rescue organization for about a year now. I love it. Two of my brightest days of the week are when I go to spend time exercising and socializing the animals. The organization has provided excellent training so that I can do whatever is needed to make the animal a good candidate for adoption.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There was a sudden announcement of a "potential" merger - apparently it was already a done deal. It is actually a good move for the organization. I don't quibble with that. What I do mind is the constant changes that are occurring as the organizations involved with the merger "align their procedures". This alignment apparently consists of "my" organization completely revising it's procedures to mirror the other organization - also not a bad idea.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The way that it is being done is painful in the extreme - because of new rules limiting volunteer hours, "revising" volunteer procedures, and animal handling protocols. There are rules, rules, rules and more rules that appear to be a moving target. There are no real explanations for the rule and protocol changes, just a "this is how we are doing it now" no matter how nicely you ask. Many popular senior volunteers have "moved on" - some leaving on their own and others asked to leave. Many volunteers who have become my friends have given up in disgust and left the organization.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am a little bit angry and a <b>lot</b> sad.</div>
Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-23662808380489264412013-07-02T09:54:00.001-07:002013-07-02T09:54:40.929-07:00Frankie and Annette get Summer Jobs<div style="text-align: justify;">
The summer <strong><em>Idyll</em></strong> is over. Sigh. Stubble got a job at a Nationally Known Pizza Chain and Ms. Flippers is working at a Nationally Recognized Zoological Park. This means that they are finding out what it means to have a job that does not wrap itself around your college class schedule and is onlly 5 - 10 hours per week on average. Just enough to buy gas and a movie (if you don't purchase from the concession counter). Their friends are distraught. No more fire pit! No more marshmallows! At least not every night.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
We have yet to get used to Frankie and Annette's schedules. They writhe like snakes. My understanding was that Ms. Flippers was working Thursday - Saturday and Monday - Tuesday from 11 - 3. She now closes.which means that she doesn't get home until 8 PM. She is regularly called in on Sunday when she has stayed up late on Saturday anticipating a day off. Luckily they have only called her in for afternoon shifts. Stubble started working Thursdays and Fridays and Sundays (I think). His schedule (I think) is now Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. Except that he got called in on Saturday AND Sunday. And as for the TIME of the shifts. Oh, sometimes it is 11 - 2. Sometimes 3 - 6. Sometimes (for Stubble) 11 AM to 11 PM).</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
On Sunday, Stubble had made plans to "play in the pool" with The Bearded One. Literally a "date" to get into the pool together to play basketball and/or volleyball. When Stubble was called in, the date had to be cancelled. The Bearded One was sad, "He won't be here much longer and we used to play in the pool all the time. Is that silly to be sad because we can't do it today?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I assurred him that it wasn't silly. I am sad when one or the other of them is not home for dinner. I am doubly sad when <em>both</em> of them are not home for dinner.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
They won't be home much longer. It has begun.</div>
Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-76702267131807484602013-07-01T13:23:00.001-07:002013-07-01T13:23:38.573-07:00Frankie and Annette Embrace the SummerYou know summer is here when the "children" arrive. Other peoples children. Released from the repression of school (college) and unable to find a summer job, they descent on our house like a swarm of yellow jackets at a picnic. Except that they are no longer children. They are turning 21 at a rate that continues to astonish. Just yesterday they were excited munchkins headed for kindergarten in their new clothes with their new little backpacks holding their pencils and paper. Yes, they were anxious, but now they were "grown up" and didn't have to just <em>play</em> school anymore. They were <u>there</u>. They were <u>BIG kids</u> now.<br />
<br />
Fast forward to this summer. They no longer arrive in their parent's car. They no longer carry a note with their parent's cell phone number. They no longer run back to the car to hand their parent a note with <em>our</em> cell phone number on it. No. Now they arrive with a 6 pack of <em>Schmirnoff Ice</em> and a foot long sub sandwich<em>. </em>The rule at our house is if you have been drinking, you do not leave the house unless you have a designated driver. More than once I have had to break that news to gigantic hulking young men - who, gratefully, have always said "Yes Ma'm, Stubble already let me know that." God Bless Stubble.<br />
<br />
Now that it is summer they do not continually congregate in the game room like lumps on a couch with a controler and a headset (which allows them to be international lumps). They head to the backyard. To the pool and the hot tub. I would be appreciative if someone would explain to me why they did not want to use the hot tub when it was 50 degrees outside but now that it is above 90 they want to get in.<br />
<br />
And then there is the firepit. Thoughtful previous owners left us a gift. A fire pit on the deck area near the pool The kids (I mean young adults) now have a huge wood habit (they prefer leaping flames to glowing embers) and are going through a bag of marshmallows a day. I did thoughtfully provide the fixings for s'mores, but they are into "just plain burned" marshmallows. Of course after their pilfering of every skewer in the kitchen, we went on an extended search for our camping toasting forks. Could we find them? You already know the answer. A quick trip to a National Sporting Goods Store solved that probloem.<br />
<br />
It is really nice and I <u>do</u> mean that sincerely, to fall asleep on a Friday or Saturday night listening to the crackle of logs, the sound of young voices, and music played over someone's smart phone.Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-5395687827672910432013-04-29T22:09:00.003-07:002013-04-29T22:09:53.806-07:00Looking for the Little Things<span style="background-color: red;"><span style="background-color: black;"><span style="background-color: white;">I wrote this post quite some time ago - as my slide into mental "stuff" began. I couldn't post it. Now I am strong enough to look at it and laugh. I hope that you laugh also.<span></span></span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
Last month was a drippy month. The kind where the "drip, drip, drip" of life begins to get to you...<br />
<br />
Starting with a dented bumper. Another car needing a new radiator. A cold. Recurring nosebleeds. A "sick" cat. A "barfing" cat (not the same one). A pair of ruined "favorite" bluejeans. A "flu like illness". Another "flu like illness" but accompanied by a fever and intestinal symptoms. The sprouting of the post rain "sea of weeds" in the garden. The "missing" loaner text book that was actually turned in (we have witnesses).<br />
<br />
Now, mind you, all of these things did not happen to me <u>personally</u>. I wasn't the one with the nosebleeds - I was the one who got to soak the pillowcases to get the blood stains out. I wasn't the one with the "flu like illness"(es) - but I was the one who got to run to the store for gatorade and immodium. I wasn't even the sick or barfing cat - but I was the one who got to take a half of a vacation day to run the sick one to the vet and the one who got to step in the (cold wet) barf in the dark. I was the one, however, who sat on a railroad tie and got tar on my favorite jeans. And I <u>am</u> the one who is working my way through the overgrown dandelions in the vegetable garden, one small section at a time so that by the time I finish I will be able to start all over again at the beginning. And I am not the one who has to fight with the bookstore about the book. I am just the one who has to pay the bill when the fight is unsuccessful - as there is no "return receipt".<br />
<br />
This leaves me looking for little things to be grateful for:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>They now make enzyme pre-soak so that the blood will come out of the pillowcases.</li>
<li>The flu-like illnesses where short lived and not so terrible.</li>
<li>The "sick" cat was just fine - just a little bruised and tender from being pushed off of some high object by one of his sisters (they think).</li>
<li>The "barfing" cat is not sick - she just has a "delicate tummy" - she should never be plagued by hairballs.</li>
<li>In our area rain is not a year long phenomenon and soon the weeds will die off by themselves and the only things growing will be what we actually irrigate (so the current weeding is more of an esthetic exercise than a necessary one).</li>
<li>The bumper can be fixed.</li>
<li>The new radiator took care of the coolant leak.</li>
<li>My old gardening jeans were so ragged that a new pair was actually welcome.</li>
</ul>
<br />
I am not normally a "positive" person who sees the good in everything. I have to really look for it - after being reminded to actually <u>look</u>. Last month was good exercise.Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-72269117487620147622013-04-28T06:28:00.001-07:002013-04-28T06:28:33.332-07:00BrokenI fell off the world about 2 months ago. I could feel it coming - my brain had gone all "kerwhacketty" and all of the things that I have learned to do to halt the slide were not working. The list includes prayer, new projects in the house or garden, spending quality time with family, seeing my doctor...and on and on. My family referred to me as "Bungee Cord Mom". One minute I was crying and the next I was racing around like a banshee with more energy than I knew what to do with.<br />
<br />
Nothing Worked.<br />
<br />
I became suicidal. <br />
<br />
I wound up in a psychiatric ward for a week.<br />
<br />
I am still seeing that psychiatrist. Weekly.<br />
<br />
I feel like a giant human Chemistry Experiment.<br />
<br />
The medications are being adjusted each week depending on what is happening:: "Let's give you something to regulate your moods - that is the first priority." "Your manic side is breaking through - that is cause for alarm" - "We need to add more anxiety medication, lets' add a new medication to those you already take and increase the dosage of the others."- "You aren't sleeping, that needs to be addressed."<br />
<br />
Yes, after years of being treated for Major Depressive Disorder I have been "rediagnosed" with Bipolar Disorder...<br />
<br />
At least it can be treated and in another month or so I should no longer be<b> Broken</b>.Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-25806321349359947592013-02-01T12:26:00.001-08:002013-04-29T21:57:52.813-07:00The Comfort of a Nice Cheery Fireplace or "Lucy Ricardo gets the Utility Bill"We got the gas bill yesterday. To be completely honest, I was horrified to a state of shrillness that I usually only achieve when I look at the kid's rooms. I understand that my face turned white and then red and then white again while my lips got all "squinchy and wrinkled".<br />
<br />
Over Christmas, when we were "on vacation" we used our gas fireplace often - it was so warm and cozy - the cats were ecstatic. They lounged in front of it for hours (see title picture). It was a wonderful vacation. We went back to work and school as relaxed and cheerful as a body ever is upon leaving vacation for work (or school) knowing that there will be at least 200 emails to answer and a full voice mail box. We were living on a separate plane of reality from the rest of humanity. All was sunny and cheerful and flower-filled. There may even have been a unicorn or two.<br />
<br />
Then we got the utility bill and <strike>our</strike> my alternate reality suffered a quick and painful death. I stomped about blaming everyone but myself. How could you turn the daytime temperature above 65? (Well, the thermostat is only set to 68.) How could you leave the house and not set back the thermostat? (We were only gone for a half hour - it wouldn't have done any good.) We're going to need to economize starting right now! (We already eat fried rice twice a week - what next? My answer: Wrap up in blankets!) We were going to get our gas bill down or freeze in the attempt! (As much as you can ever freeze in Southern California only 30 miles from the coast but we can always chop down the palm trees for warmth should it become necessary.)<br />
<br />
All the wind was taken from my sails when The Bearded One pronounced, after doing "analysis" -that it cost us the same amount to use the gas fireplace as it did when we were burning DuraFlame Logs...<br />
<br />
The only leg that I have left to stand on is "I'd rather see the money go to Home Depot than to SDG and E".<br />
<br />
Sigh.Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-22282579690807592792013-01-10T07:04:00.000-08:002013-04-29T22:10:33.538-07:00Just Loving Them Isn't EnoughThe following is a quote from Family Circle:<br />
<i>"As kids get older, it becomes harder and harder to spend time with them. Consider inviting their friends to join you....just hanging out at home. You'll strengthen your relationship with your own children and also get a sense of the company they keep."</i><br />
<br />
This happened to us completely by accident. The boy across the street, just a little younger than Stubble, took to arriving at the house on Friday just after we arrived home. He would head back across the street on Sunday evening (or when his Mom called him to do chores). His problem wasn't his parents who are wonderful, but the fact that he was home schooled. Stubble was his brother of another mother (his mother returned the favor for us). Stubble's school friends were his "school" friends of another school (if that makes sense).<br />
<br />
And that is how it started. We would generally have 2-3 teenaged boy guests on the weekends. All weekend.<br />
<br />
Here is how to go about this in your own home (should you want to):<br />
<ol>
<li><b>Say, "Yes".</b> When your son/daughter calls or texts to say "Can so and so come over for dinner and the evening." Don't say, "No, your Dad and I have plans." At least not all the time - down that path lie unsupervised parties and trouble. If you need the company of your friends, invite them over and spend time in the living room while their offspring and yours (assuming that they get along) take over another room. If you are going out to the theater, INVITE THEM TO GO WITH YOU. For dinner and the theater, concert, whatever. It broadens their perspectives, teaches them what a quality evening (without "clubbing") is all about and they invariably rise to the occasion, holding their own with other adult guests.</li>
<li><b>Feed Them.</b> And not just pizza and soda. When Stubble had guests we set the table for company and insisted that they join us. We served real food (it is surprising that London Broil is cheaper than pizza or hamburger and if you serve it with tater tots and steamed fresh broccoli the guests think that you are serving steak dinner and comment that they wished their parents cooked like that).</li>
<li><b>Talk to them.</b> We had "real" dinner conversations and wound up sitting around the table conversing for as much as 45 minutes to an hour after the meal. There is a trick here - treat your child and their friends with respect as thinking adults. Respect their opinions and don't "pronounce" and you'll be just fine. Assure them that their opinions are valid at your table as long as they resepect other points of view and you will be amazed at what the next generation has to offer. I will admit to being much relieved that they will be in charge of my "declining years".</li>
<li><b>Give them space.</b> We regretfully gave up the family room to sleeping bags, pillows and gaming consoles. Many of the boys would arrive with an X-Box or Nintendo (or whatever) and controllers - we provided the sleeping bags and pillows. We always knew where they were and as long as they weren't making noise, let them stay awake.</li>
<li><b>Expect them to help out.</b> If they were staying the weekend, when we needed "crew" to help weed the garden, move construction supplies, or lay a floor - they would put down their gaming controllers and help - willingly - for free. Of course we were feeding them "steak dinners" - so it was quid pro quo.</li>
</ol>
I have never been Mrs. Bearded One to any of them. At best I was Ms. Christie and was really ready for becoming just plain Christie as they got older. I took my cue from "Fran", the wife of a professor at college. When I was but a wee scruffy college student, Christmas shopping after a particularly awful exam week, she introduced me to one of her country club - type friends by name with the description: "the girlfriend of one of my husband's colleagues" - that boyfriend was The Bearded One when he was also just a wee scruffy college student and a student worker in her husband's lab.<br />
I have never forgotten that courtesy. She could have just walked by and nodded rather than stopping to greet me just as though I was someone who mattered.<br />
Your kids (and their friends) are going to grow up. It has been a privilege being a part of it and watching it happen (and maybe even contributing to it - just a little).Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-34721099449963753842013-01-09T07:10:00.001-08:002013-01-09T07:10:31.360-08:00How NOT to OrganizeI had one major goal over the holidays, besides surviving them. Finishing the unpacking and organizing of the remaining boxes from our move last February. We were functional in the new house but there was a stack of boxes in the guest room containing my late Mother-in-Law's jewelry and our unorganized family photographs. Another stack of boxes lived behind our bedroom door which contained scrapbooks and letters, some of which dated back to my college days - back in the stone age before email. And when long distance calls were EXPENSIVE!<br />
<br />
Here are my helpful hints about how to NOT do this effectively:<br />
<ul>
<li>Do not open the box containing the letters and cards from your very first boyfriend. Do not sit on the bedroom floor re-reading all of those letters and sighing over the pictures of the two of you both looking oh-so-young. Do not google his name to see how he is doing now (he is just fine and living in Colorado).</li>
<li>Do not open the scrapbook assembled to cover your cheerleading years, wondering at the "I'm an INDIVIDUAL, dang it!" spelling of your name on your cheerleading sweater. The spelling that surely made your Mother wonder what the heck was going on and why the name that they blessed you with at birth wasn't good enough for you. Do not read all of the newspaper accounts of the games that your team lost during your senior year. Also do not google the names of the members of your cheerleading squad to see how they are doing now (one lives in Hawaii, one in London (and she has never married), one died of cancer, one lives in Florida and is a gym teacher, the last one I couldn't find)</li>
<li>Do not open the folder containing your son's kindergarten "composition notebooks". You know the ones. The ones where they drew a picture and the teachers and aides helped them write a few words (phonetically) to describe it. Do not read through these notebooks page by page.</li>
<li>Do not buy three boxes of snack sized zip locks and go through your MILs jewelry sorting it into sets of matching earrings, necklaces and bracelets. Well, actually do this but don't decide to keep an entire jewelry chest of it...the kind that is four feet tall and free standing and that causes your husband to say, "You are not seriously buying THAT and putting it in our bedroom!" In my defense, I am wearing many of the art deco and other vintage pieces that she had collected.</li>
<li>Do not go through your theater scrap books. Do not read every preview and review and especially do NOT read every card from other cast members and decide that you cannot recycle any of them. Do NOT google the director's name to find out what ever became of him and find that he is doing well in New York theater circles - because, in your opinion, he "just wasn't that good".</li>
<li>Do not move the boxes that you don't get to into your son's largely unused closet because you will never get to them now.</li>
</ul>
And there you have it. Do not do any of these things while organizing because, while it is fun to wallow in the past and relive old triumphs, it just isn't going to get the job done.Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-61935568666646007192013-01-08T07:38:00.000-08:002013-01-08T07:38:34.429-08:00Happy Birthday, MommyDecember 5th was my Mom's 96th birthday.<br />
<br />
My mother has dementia - the non-Alzheimer's kind. She managed, with the help of part time care givers, to stay at home for quite a few years after the memory loss began. She has been in a care facility for about 7 years now.<br />
About 2 months ago she stopped eating normally and began sleeping almost all of the time. She is currently in hospice care. She could go on like this for months as long as she doesn't stop taking liquid.<br />
<br />
Enough of the "sad" stuff.<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago I opened my 1970's Betty Crocker Cookbook. The one that Mom got for me when I got my first apartment. On the roast meats page, taped into place with very yellowed scotch tape, are her notes on making a standing rib roast: "11 pound roast was just <u>raw</u> at 375 for 4 hours". And then the addendum in a different color ink- "9 pound roast was perfect at 375 for 3.5 hours". In the cookie section are her notes on how to "perfect" the traditional sugar cookie recipe (2 Tbsp additional sugar - so that you don't need frosting). If I open my recipe box, the wooden one that holds the old recipe cards, there is her handwritten recipe for "Carletta's Barbecue Chicken" - which started with a ketchup base and added brown sugar and vinegar. Done on the stove top and having no smoke flavor whatsoever, it was much loved by our family. That recipe box has now been supplanted by a looseleaf notebook because my recipes come off the internet rather than from friends and relatives, but do you think I'll ever get rid of it? Not on your life! There are little pieces of Mom in there.<br />
<br />
Mom is all around me if I stop to consider:<br />
<br />
In the closet where I still have her blue plaid Pendleton skirt (that I can still wear if I keep exercising regularly). That dang thing is almost 60 years old now. Dad gave it to her as a gift for giving birth to me - I guess that was the 1950's version of a "push present"...<br />
<br />
In my jewelry box where I have the antique gold cross that she gave to me on my confirmation - that her mother had given to her.<br />
<br />
In my living room book case where I have an entire ChildCraft series that she saved for my potential baby, should I some day decide to have one.<br />
<br />
In my cabinet where I keep vases; in among them there is a cream colored antique decorated with ceramic ribbons that she got from a student long ago when she taught early elementary school before marriage. It is lovely with tulips in it.<br />
<br />
And then there are the memories:<br />
<br />
Birthday and Holiday dinners in a house with no formal dining room. Early in the morning, as Mom made fruit pies, Dad would move living room furniture up to their bedroom - two swivel chairs and the curved section of the couch so that we could fit a table for 12 into the space. And Mom would cook and cook and cook some more, all the while protesting that she "couldn't do this - it made her too nervous". And the dinners always came out beautifully.<br />
<br />
One Thanksgiving there was "no room on the train". It was Standing Room Only all the way to Chicago. I called to say that I couldn't come unless my boyfriend drove me - but his room mate would be all alone then - could she fit two more at dinner? " Of <u>course</u>!" was the answer - we were 14 at the table and very crowded that year.<br />
<br />
When I finally had a son and she came to visit, she brought home made "clay dough" with her on the flight. Red and green and requiring refrigeration, she and the 2 year old Stubble played with it for HOURS. I have the recipe that she brought with her laminated in my loose leaf cook book under the heading "other".<br />
<br />
She taught me how to sew by helping me make Barbie clothes by hand.<br />
<br />
She taught me to plant and care for a vegetable garden.<br />
<br />
She taught me how to can tomatoes. Well, jar them actually.<br />
<br />
She taught me how to get ANY stain out of ANYTHING - she was a genius at that.<br />
<br />
She taught me so much and gave me so much.<br />
<br />
I love you, Mom. Happy Birthday!Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-59148690549143641672013-01-07T12:53:00.003-08:002013-01-07T12:53:38.447-08:00A Most Blessed (and Restful) Christmas Day!Generally our Christmases are chaotic - early morning presents being opened followed by frenzied cleaning and cooking in anticipation of dinner guests - one or more of us generally winds up on the couch with a blue ice on his or her forehead in the middle of these festivities. This year things were made even more hectic by our (heroic) efforts to handle (and treat) the "Massive Christmas Eve Fish Tank Die Off".<br />
<br />
We have a 30 gallon tank filled with "rescued" feeder fish. They get quite large and develop very distinct personalities - which endeared them to The Bearded One as well as to their technical owner, Ms. Flippers. The fish (all 13 of them) would greet The Bearded One as he got his coat and hat each morning, begging for "just a pinch of food!" so that they wouldn't starve before Ms. Flippers got up 2 hours later. Christmas Eve morning they were JUST FINE and eating well and the chemistry in the tank was JUST FINE. By dinner time on Christmas Eve I noticed dead fish stuck to the filter intake. The pH of the tank had plummeted (yes, it was buffered). "The heck with raising the pH by 0.2 per day!" said Ms. Flippers, "This is a matter of life and death." And it was. We were checking pH every 1/2 hour and bringing the pH up as gradually as we dared. By the time I left for church we had only 4 fish left - Ms. Flippers and I held a short service for the lost under the Avocado Tree when I got home. By this time fin crud had showed up and antibiotic treatment was begun. In the end we managed to save two of the fish.<br />
<br />
By comaparison to Christmas Eve, Christmas Day was completely relaxing. Following "The Longest Christmas Eve Church Service in Recorded History" (see Guiness Book), I just fell into bed exhausted from all of that singing including that which was done in the dark when the choir loft lights were turned off. I'm sure that the long suffering choir director found it enchanting as well. Luckily the next morning The Bearded One had handled all of the Christmas Stockings, lighting the completely un-necessary fireplace (because the morning was already over 60 degrees) and feeding and watering the cats. At 8 AM we gave the first of the wakeup calls - to kids who eventually rolled out of bed between 9:30 and 10 AM. This had allowed The Bearded One and I leisurely showers, a couple of pots of coffee and breakfast.<br />
<br />
Following presents I put on my "farming clothes" and spend the rest of the day weeding and transplanting and fertilizing and such in my vegetable garden. I LOVE to muck around in the dirt (and by the time I was done with parts of it, mud).<br />
<br />
This was followed by a steak dinner and a Snooze on the couch.<br />
<br />
I have made a list of all of the things that we avoided by having a quiet, "just the four of us" Christmas:<br />
<ul>
<li>rushing presents by getting young adults up before they have slept their fill (even worse than having a cranky toddler)</li>
<li>dinner guests who arrive a) too early or b) too late (worse)</li>
<li>whiny overtired, overexcited, oversugared kids</li>
<li>complaints about the selection of food for the dinner</li>
<li>arguments about HOW TO COOK certain foods</li>
<li>at least one drunken relative</li>
<li>repeatedly biting my tongue so that I have to eventually find laundry that needs doing NOW. YES, I MEAN <u>NOW</u>!</li>
</ul>
More will come later about our large holiday meal which happened on New Year's Eve - a MUCH better time to hold an extended family meal.<br />
<br />
Yes, the two surviving fish are still doing well.Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-54217124701670700932012-11-27T11:04:00.001-08:002012-11-27T11:04:10.187-08:00Mutt and Jeff Install a DishwasherNow this is Mutt's fourth dishwasher installation. He did the first two totally on his own and the third with my assistance. For the most part, other than accompanying him to Home Depot for hoses and hose clamps, I handed him screwdrivers and wrenches on demand, much like a scrub nurse for appliances.<br />
<br />
This story wasn't funny earlier in the month, but now that the dishwasher is installed and functional and we have both had a couple of good night's sleep it is mildly amusing. In a year it will be hilarious.<br />
<br />
It all started when we bought our new house. At the inspection we listened as the dishwasher ran, we looked inside to see if there was water, we checked to be sure that the water drained out. It was after we moved in and put dishes into the racks that we noticed that several (many) of the "retainers" (that is what the little spikes that hold the dishes upright are apparently called) were GONE. We checked the "new home owners insurance policy" - dishwasher racks were "not covered" and then we checked the manufacturer cost (about $350 not including tax and shipping). We were bummed. We decided to 'just live with it'.<br />
<br />
As we lived with it more "retainers" were lost to rust. There were places where the floor of the rack rusted through. The Bearded One protected us from jagged rusty edges with shrink tube. We continued to live with it.<br />
<br />
Finally last month when yet another retainer bit the dust ("NO, don't pull it out of there, it still kind of works!") I decided that enough was enough and we were going dishwasher shopping. The Bearded One very astutely suggested that new dishwashers make wonderful Christmas presents and that then we would be all done shopping for each other.<br />
<br />
When we got to "major national appliance store" and began looking we were attracted by the "clearance models" which looked just fine and were half price. We found one with a teeny tiny dent in the top edge that wouldn't even show when it was installed. It looked fine there on the floor and so we bought it and took it home.<br />
<br />
The next night the installation began. The old unit came out easily enough and we leveled and adjusted the new unit and slid it into the cabinet. I just looked crooked. After much time adjusting legs and realigning and removing and replacing and realigning yet again, it became apparent that the "little dent" in the dishwasher had actually been a possible forklift accident in the warehouse. The entire unit had a bent frame that wasn't apparent until installation.<br />
<br />
Back to "major national appliance store" we went and <u>were very, very pleased</u> with the service that we received. The salesman who had sold us the clearance unit was quite upset that it had been placed for sale as "slightly damaged but workable" when it was actually unusable. We could get a refund if we returned the dishwasher - except by now the old dishwasher was long gone.<br />
<br />
We purchased a new dishwasher of the same model and color of the half price clearance unit and were given a discount to make up for our trouble which was very nice of them.<br />
<br />
But now we have spent twice the money that we had intended. And The Bearded One (I mean Mutt) has spent a total of three evenings "installing" a dishwasher. The total number of installations for the defective unit (counting each time it was removed and replaced in the cabinet) is now up to a grand total of 6.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, the new dishwasher is super quiet, does a great job on the dishes, and doesn't have any missing "retainers".<br />
<br />
And now Mutt has completed his eleventh dishwasher installation. It could be a second career when he retires so he won't have to be a "national big box store" greeter!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-89258076793567681052012-11-27T10:37:00.000-08:002012-11-27T10:37:58.006-08:00About That "Cell Phone Insurance"Ms. Flippers loses cell phones. She forgets to charge them regularly (ie each night), she sets them down somewhere, they lose charge and now they are "lost". The are <u>always</u> found again at some point at which time MY cell phone gets upgraded. The last time when her "lost" cell phone was replaced, The Bearded One bought cell phone insurance. The policy that is supposed to replace your cell phone if it is lost or damaged in any way. Well, of course it happened again.<br />
<br />
Ms Flippers had to pay the $50 deductible herself which she did, spending 5 hours in the weekend heat trimming shrubbery. But it wasn't just shrubbery that had to be quickly shortened. It had to be shaped also. She earned every penny of that deductible and so she and The Bearded One exercised the policy and ordered a replacement phone.<br />
<br />
What arrived was not exactly what "we" expected. It was a reconditioned phone. And the back of the phone would not stay on. Which caused the battery to fall out. Stubble resourcefully taped the back of the cell phone in place with gaffer tape. A new back to the phone was ordered. And when it FINALLY arrived - we had been charged $4.00 for a back of a cell phone that actually stayed on the phone.<br />
<br />
Buyer Beware!Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-13240992844656025012012-11-08T06:55:00.000-08:002012-11-08T06:55:23.035-08:00Getting It Right (in spite of ourselves)It came as a real surprise to me last night at dinner when Stubble announced, "I don't know anybody out there with 'good parents'. At least not <u>two</u> good parents."<br />
<br />
Ms. Flippers agreed and they proceded to run down a list of their friend's and aquaintance's parents:<br />
<ul>
<li>A_____ his Mom is great, but his Dad? Ick!</li>
<li>B_____ both his Mom and his Dad are awful. That's why he lives with his grandma.</li>
<li>C_____ Dad is such a loser.</li>
<li>D______ Dad is such a loser.</li>
<li>E______ Dad is such a loser.</li>
</ul>
The list went on and on for what seemed like forever. Moms basically OK, Dads not so much.<br />
<br />
I was stunned. I know some of these people. Of course, I've never stayed over night with any of them, or gone on camping trips with them, but I have worked with them at school functions, chatted while dropping off or picking up a much younger Stubble...<br />
<br />
They all seemed like such normal, involved, invested parents...except for the one or two who were just plain absent.<br />
<br />
I know that the young have a reputation for making harsh judgements, but they can't be ALL wrong. There must be a lot of young people out there who are becoming upstanding, contributing members of society without the benefit of "two good parents".<br />
<br />
What I hope for those young people is that they become the parents that they wish they'd had.Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-26272801305205224282012-11-07T14:42:00.004-08:002012-11-07T14:43:59.280-08:00PowerPoint!just once. <strong>Just once!</strong> I would like to sit through a training session that doesn't involve somebody's administrative assistant reading the PowerPoint slides aloud to the room. While trainees look on with photocopies.<br />
sighChristie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-10513940643646046372012-10-11T10:37:00.000-07:002012-10-11T10:37:00.035-07:00Chemical WarfareNo, not in a middle eastern hot zone - right in my side yard where nasty, awful, don't deserve to live beetles have killed one of my Agave. For those of you who don't live in the southwest - an Agave looks like an overgrown Aloe vera - but meaner. <img height="266" id="il_fi" src="http://www.smgrowers.com/imagedb/Agave_americana.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="300" /><br />
<br />
They are beautiful and as hardy as all get out - except when it comes to their one natural pest "the snout nosed beetle". This little black hellion, seeks out agave and lays it's eggs deep in the leaves of the plant.<br />
<img height="318" id="il_fi" src="http://www.penick.net/digging/images/2008_05_20/Agave%20snout%20nosed%20weevil.JPG" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="453" /><br />
<br />
When the beetle and its larvae finish with your beautiful plant it looks like this:<br />
<br />
<img height="346" id="il_fi" src="http://www.klru.org/ctg/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/john-really-dead-agave-web-title.jpg" style="padding-bottom: 8px; padding-right: 8px; padding-top: 8px;" width="506" /><br />
<br />
And you can't save it because by the time you know anything is wrong - the roots are completely eaten...<br />
The best you can do is to protect your other agave.<br />
<br />
The above are all photos that I have found on other websites as I began my search for:<br />
a) What Happened?<br />
b) What caused it<br />
c) What do I do about it?<br />
<br />
The answer is pesticide. One to kill the adult beetle, the other to kill the larvae. Treatment must be ongoing as once the soil is infested things are hard to clear up.<br />
<br />
I am so looking forward to this battle.Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-55624246132229352392012-10-11T10:32:00.001-07:002012-11-07T14:44:10.698-08:00little of this...little of thatChristie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-32550332999192606582012-10-11T08:24:00.000-07:002012-10-11T08:24:11.308-07:00PillsYou know you're getting old when...<br />
You start using those little pill sorters that your grandma used to have...<br />
<br />
It didn't really start with us - it started with Ms. Flippers. When they were trying to get rid of her chronic migraines they tried several different medications - to help her remember whether or not she had taken them on any given day we got a one week pill sorter.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dose-Jumbo-Weekly-Pill-Reminder/dp/images/B000141BDU/ref=dp_image_2_0?ie=UTF8&color_name=2&img=0&s=hpc" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="AmazonHelp"><img alt="EZY Dose Jumbo Weekly Pill Reminder" border="0" height="200" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/11YAR2PGGXL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just like Grandma used to have</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What finally worked was the headache diet and we were left with one unused pill sorter.<br />
<br />
Since we never let anything go to waste in our family, The Bearded One began using it for the handfull of pills that he takes each morning. To be sure, his pills started out as blood pressure and cholesterol meds but after dietary changes and exercise, he is now under doctors orders to cut one in half and discontinue the other and the pill taking has morphed into an handfull of vitamins and such that his physician recommends.<br />
<br />
So The Bearded One saw a really cute multicolored stacking number at CVS and bought one - because it looked "neat". It worked so well that now we have two of them so that he can take them on his travels.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Stackable 7 Day Pill Organizers - Items 368-small, 369-medium, 370-large" border="0" height="200" src="http://www.pillthing.com/sc_images/products/465_image.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="118" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NOT like Grandma's - and really cute!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
He found it so helpful in the morning to just open a container and not have to open multiple bottles that I tried it also...guess what? It is a real time saver.<br />
<br />
These containers are so NOT elderly. They are handy and stylish and don't really look like your health and mental faculties are fading. They make them now for busy people who are in a hurry every morning. For people who are into vitamin supplements. <br />
<div>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/317N2x0UiRL._SS400_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" id="prodImage" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/317N2x0UiRL._SS400_.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a grab-n-go</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/images/B002CSMYI4/ref=dp_image_0?ie=UTF8&n=3760901&s=hpc" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="AmazonHelp"><img alt="Multi-Day VitaCarry 8 Compartment Pill Box Holds Up To 60 Pills (Assorted color)" border="0" height="200" id="prodImage" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41A3myH3TUL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a Vita-Carry</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Pill sorters. They're not just for Grandma anymore!Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-3741723717197256912012-10-03T08:52:00.002-07:002012-10-03T08:52:56.822-07:00Pond -2- Go, Part 2So I'm sure that there are many of you who wonder why, when I needed an instant pond, I didn't just use my assorted bricks and blocks and the pond liner that is in my garden shed already.<br />
<br />
Well, I have an answer for that. Several, actually:<br />
<ul>
<li>The blocks and bricks are all mis-matched and the result would have been even more of an eyesore than the current rigid pond liner</li>
<li>I would have had to move all of the blocks myself (the bricks, I could handle)</li>
<li>There are a few small pieces of the liner missing. I used them to line my mini-water gardens.</li>
<li>I didn't think about it until after I had purchased the rigid liner.</li>
</ul>
Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-81037887928123491242012-10-02T11:19:00.000-07:002013-07-01T13:32:46.669-07:00Pond -2- GoOur old house had a pond. Our new house does not (yet). I have a "goldfish emergency".<br />
<br />
From time to time I have custody of largeish numbers of feeder goldfish. Now if I were a great disciple of "The Circle of Life" when I was done with the fish I would feed them to something. But I am not. Once they have survived the feeder tank at the store I owe it to them to find them "forever homes". I really can't just go to our renters and say, "By the way, could I please dump these fish into my (<em>I mean YOUR)</em> pond? It will only take a few minutes." I don't currently have any students willing to adopt the fish - one of my former students had a (large natural) pond at his Dad's house. It could absorb any number of fish and did for over 3 years. But he has moved on to other schools and greener pastures.<br />
<br />
And now I am pondless. Or at least I was until yesterday when I got the word that there were no potential adoptive families for about 20 goldfish.<br />
<br />
I lept into action. The fish MUST have a home. I went to Home Depot and bought a pre-formed plastic pond. It is now on my patio, its plant shelves supported by cinderblocks and assorted bricks.<br />
<br />
I dismantled my small water gardens with their tiny 60 GPH fountain pumps, moving the water lilies and marsh plants into the new "pond" and putting the way-too-small fountain pumps into the 95 gallon mini-pond. The Bearded One arrived home and immediately said, "What have we here? And where is the aeration?"<br />
<br />
I told him that "it was a pond" (actually, with apologies to humorist Dave Barry, "<a href="http://articles.orlandosentinel.com/1991-12-23/lifestyle/9112210098_1_zippy-stomp-stomp-stomp-yip" target="_blank">our emergency back up pond, Zippy</a>") and that there were 2 tiny pumps. He sniffed and proved exactly why it is that our garage is filled with shelving lined with labelled plastic tubs. You never know when the contents of one of the tubs will come in handy. The Bearded One quickly emerged from said garage with one much larger 250 GPH fountain pump, along with its extensions and its nozzles, and proceeded to fix the problem- and quite attractively too.<br />
<br />
In three more days, I should have the water conditioned and adjusted (pH, pond salt, etc.) and the fish can "come home to Momma".Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1766023663900807872.post-67240901971269350512012-09-28T06:47:00.002-07:002012-09-28T06:47:31.600-07:00Nook Tablet Charging CordTo those of you considering a Nook Tablet purchase for yourself or a loved one:<br />
Research the Charging Cord...<br />
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We bought a Nook Tablet for Ms. Flippers last weekend. Yesterday, the charging cable failed. She didn't stretch it to it's full length, twist or mangle it,or misuse it in any way - it just failed.<br />
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To be absolutely frank, the Barnes and Noble store where we purchased the Nook Tablet was great about replacing the defective cable immediately. They had one available and I showed them the damaged cable and the receipt and there was no problem with the exchange.<br />
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Before we bought, we researched the screen, casing, battery life, etc. But who knew that we should have researched the USB charging cable? It i, apparently, the weak link in the system and, as it turns out is NOT a standard USB/mini cable. It is a SPECIAL cable specifically for the Nook Tablet and Nook Color and is PROPRIETARY. You cannot just go to your local electronics store to replace it.<br />
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Lesson Learned.Christie Crittershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17409348100826092353noreply@blogger.com0