I Have a Confession to Make

Sometimes we play a little game in the barn called, Tell Me Three Things I Didn't Know About You. It is a good way to get to know the people you're working with. I'm often at a disadvantage since every detail of my life for the past six years has been spelled out on a blog for public display. I have to dig deep to find something nobody knows about. Generally that means something from a past that now seems a lifetime ago. In the spirit of that little game we play, in order to tell today's story, I have to make a confession.

I am a geek. 

As in card carrying member of Bill Gates certified geek squad, complete with a former subscription to PC World. I could take a computer apart and put it back together, I walked around with one of those little loose screw grabber things to prove it. I knew BASIC. I blame that on my parents for buying that first TRS-80 and later the Commodore 64. I built networks. PC networks. I certainly wouldn't have been seen fiddling around with one of those MAC computers. Heavens no.

Problem was, I was a girl. A farm girl no less. A career in technology at the time pretty much required you to play D&D, drink a case of Mountain Dew a day and have body odor control problems. I didn't exactly fit in. Unlike my coworkers I was able to communicate effectively. I would attend meetings where all the men in the room would look at me as if they were thinking, "She's cute, but why is she here?"  Then, eventually, I would say something, their thoughts quickly turning to, "Dear God! She knows stuff. How can that be? I thought she was here in case we ran out of Mountain Dew." 

Eventually I became a technology consultant. I met with C-level executives and gave them my opinion on their corporate networks. I can assure you that I never, ever recommended anything other than a PC. Why would any corporation ever use a MAC anyway? I mean what would Bill think? Would he end our long term relationship by taking away my certification? *gasp* Throughout the years I have maintained my loyalty. Sure, I had a marketing job where I was provided with a MAC. I rarely used it. By then I felt I had a decent desktop publishing program on my PC. I didn't need a MAC.

Then, just recently, my laptop starting having problems. Major problems. Like it would get so hot it would nearly set my pants on fire or if I tried to watch an online video the fan would kick in and sound like the space shuttle taking off. Never mind that I had to archive my photos off every few weeks because the hard drive was miniscule. I've been told by experts I should drop Bill and go with MAC for years. I just couldn't let go. What if MAC wasn't better? Would Bill take me back?

Then, one day, I happened to meet an Apple genius while perusing the mall. All he had to do was show me how processing photos in a MAC works today and I was ready to drop old Bill like a hot potato. "I'll take that one," I said pointing to the solid state retina display model. Unfortunately, as in true Apple style, they released a product but didn't actually have any available to sell. I had to wait a month for it to be built and then show up in the mail. 

It arrived today. I've been using the new laptop for a couple of hours and can't even tell the darned thing is on, it makes no noise and is cold as can be. MAC is better. Much better. 

All I can say is, "I'm sorry, Bill. We've just grown apart. I feel I have changed and you are still the same you have always been. It's me, not you. Don't feel bad. I'm sure you will meet someone new. Goodbye Bill."

 

 

 

 

The Eagles Are Hatching!

The eagles are hatching!  The Eaglecam at Alcoa DavenportWorks is capturing it all on live video.  Check it out, but be aware, it is a little addictive. You may not get much accomplished the rest of the day.

Working For a Living

I’m going on vacation this week. Funny thing is, I already can not wait to get back home. Why? So I can go to work next week! No, the sheep didn’t knock my head into the wall again.  You see, I went out and got myself a new job.

Interpreter at Conner Prairie

Hee, hee! Can you believe that they’re actually going to pay me to do this? Bah, ha, ha!

Okay, sorry, I’ll try to compose myself.

*snicker*

Please, come see me at Conner Prairie this summer, you’ll find me in or around the Loom House, The Civil War Journey or in the Animal Encounters barn.

You Can’t Fix Stupid

When I asked why there was vinyl covering the wood floors in the dining room, the previous owner said, “There was some black stuff on the floor so we covered it up.”  That might have been the biggest understatement I’ve ever heard. I was envisioning some water damage or something to that effect. Not wall-to-wall tar. 

It took about an hour to, first chip up the underlayment, then scrape off the tar of a 4 inch by 3 foot strip - and then it was still black. Pitch black. That, coupled with the fact that we know there must be a couple of huge plumbing holes in the floor since this was once used as the bathroom, means all hope of refinishing the floor is gone.

Luckily, we were able to remove the vinyl from the underlayment though and will be able to reuse it. Which is a darn good thing, because it is nailed down every two or three inches and has melded to the tar.

You can’t fix stupid.

I’m contemplating our options. Wood laminate would probably seem out of place against all the antique wood floors in the rest of the house, so I’m leaning toward putting back a vinyl. Something about the same color as the wood so it wouldn’t stand out so much as the old white floor.

In other news, the internet, once again, saved me from an impending breakdown.  Thanks to all of your suggestions, I have figured out the problem with the loom. I don’t have it warped yet, but I know what the problem is – it’s me.  I’m an idiot. It is a counterbalance loom. Counter. Balance.  As in, if you want to lower one shaft, you have to counter it with another in order for it to balance.

There are dents in my desk from where I banged my head.

You can’t fix stupid.

Space Invader

This is a big old house, it originally had seven bedrooms. There are all sorts of places for a cat to curl up and take a nap. Yet, she insists on claiming the divot in the sofa. The divot that my butt made because it is my seat. What the heck is up with that?

Greetings From My Office & Another Giveaway

I’ve made enough progress to start calling it my office, versus the giant craft closet at the top of the stairs.  For just a mish-mash of cast off furnishings, it is turning out to be pretty functional. I still have much to do, but I can actually sit and work at my desk. This makes me very happy, not to mention that all of my yarn and knitting books are organized and cataloged. Sweet!



The shipping and receiving department in the corner leaves a lot to be desired, but there is no closet in this room, and not a whole lot in the entire house for that matter, so I’m stuck with some empty boxes. At least they are broken down and not taking up the entire room. My favorite part about this space is the window that looks out onto the barnyard; I can keep an eye on everybody.



I do still have to deal with this pile. I feel confident I’ll do it today. Everything will be listed on Etsy by the end of the day. If not, check back for another giveaway tomorrow. I’m finding the possibility of giving away everything I own highly motivating.



Which brings me to today’s giveaway. That mohair. In all honesty, I didn’t buy it. It came with the loom that I bought in November. I figured I’d keep it and make it into something, I mean it is really good mohair. However, teal isn’t really my color and, well, the fuzziness of it really isn’t my thing either, but it is good mohair so I had to keep it. Then all the clutter in this room triggered a memory of my grandmother’s house. Anita was a crafter extraordinaire, she had boxes of stuff stacked to the ceiling with paths going through each room. This is where the Thou Shalt Not part of my title the other day came from. I refuse to become a hoarder, so somebody out there is going to get all this great mohair. Someone who will use it and not keep it in a box collecting dust.  Just tell me your Grandmother’s first name and what she was like. I’ll draw a winner this same time tomorrow.



Yesterday’s winner of the quilting books is Benita!  Send me an email with your snail mail address to frontporchindiana at live dot com and I’ll get your books out to you right away.

I keep asking the kid to shout out a random number and he hasn’t even bothered to ask me why. Interesting.

Giveaway Number One

I’m giving something away every day here until I reach the surface of my desk. First up…



a lovely copy of Felted Knits by Beverly Galeskas. Just leave a comment explaining which animal is your favorite here at the farm and why. Twenty-four hours from now I’ll draw a random winner.

Thou Shalt Be Done

The small room at the top of the back stairs has become my crafty dumping station. I try to at least keep all of the yarn somewhat organized, but it was starting to overflow. The room is stacked with boxes, both full of rubber stamping and scrapbooking supplies that I intend to sell and empty boxes that are just hanging out until I need one. I can only stand clutter for so long. I need to be able to use the desk that is under all of that, because I’m pretty sure the drum carder is under there somewhere. I would like to process a few fleeces. Winter has finally come, and seems like it will stick around, so there’s no time like the present to get started. 

Yesterday I pulled out all of my yarn stash, photographed it, and categorized it on Ravelry so I’ll know what I have -- and force myself to use it. I even assigned most of it to projects in my queue; I plan to plug away at it all year leaving me with a pile of finished objects in December. I’m working on some Vancouver Fog fingerless gloves in an alpaca/wool blend right now.



I also started photographing a few items to finally get posted in my Etsy store. This, I’ve been putting off forever. The room looks worse now than when I started, but after a short break this afternoon for a class, I’m planning to buckle down and spend the weekend in there getting the job done. I like the feeling of accomplishment and hopefully I’ll find that drum carder in the process.  I see a give-away in my blog future. Teal mohair anyone?

The Camera Issue

Some of you will recall my old Nikon D70s decided to stop working just before the holidays. I had issues with it for years. I would be happily clicking along then it would just jam up for no reason. I would have to remove the CF card and replace it or turn the camera on and off to restart it. It was a known issue I could have had repaired, but that would mean I’d have to send it off and be without a camera for months, so I never bothered, I just muddled through. Right before Christmas though, it decided my tinkering was no longer sufficient and it just jammed up all together.



After hyperventilating during my panic, I placed an order for a reasonably-priced camera that I thought would be good enough for me. I don’t always use all the bells and whistles a dSLR affords anyway, so I figured I could make do. I was wrong. Trying to take pictures of moving livestock with a dSLR is hard, trying it with a point and shoot is nearly impossible. It seems once you use a nice dSLR regularly, you can never go back.
So I thought, “Hmm, maybe I should send my old D70s in to Nikon and have it fixed?” As I was preparing to send it in, I discovered it had miraculously healed itself and was back to its usual intermittent-only issues. I packaged up the new camera and sent it back so fast it would have made your head spin.



It wasn’t long though before I realized the D70s really was on its last leg, now the sensors seemed wonky, and it was only a matter of time before I was going to have to do something. I knew I wanted the D7000 but it was sold out EVERYWHERE. I hemmed and hawed and debated and maybe even moaned a little. Then the other night, sleep deprived and worried out of my mind about Louise, I found a refurbished model offered for sale through the local camera shop. Local as in Indianapolis, which really isn’t local at all, but closer than say, Dallas, if you know what I mean. I had done business with the company before and decided it would be safe to try it; I knew I wouldn’t have any problem returning it if I didn’t like it.



The only issue with this company is that they are located in downtown Indianapolis. Don’t get me wrong, downtown Indy has lots to offer, obviously, otherwise they wouldn’t be hosting the Superbowl.  I lived in the city for three years and can even navigate the streets pretty well. I just don’t like to. I feel like they leave about a half-inch of space between my car and the next guy’s and the Roberts Camera parking lot is even tighter. I can barely walk through a door frame without hitting one side or the other, let alone drive a car through it. I prefer the wide-open space out here in the middle of nowhere. So I ordered the sucker online, leaving the navigation issues to the UPS guy.  Then Louise took a turn for the worse and I completely forgot about it.



During one of my bathroom breaks, while I was nursing Louise, the phone rang. It was Nick from Roberts Camera. Apparently the bank thought it was a little strange that a woman who normally only shops at Tractor Supply and yarn shops would be buying, returning and buying again electronic equipment, and so declined the transaction thinking it was fraud. I apologized, sighed, and said, “I’m kind of in the middle of nursing a sick llama.”

Nick replied, “Yeah, I know I read that on the blog. How is she doing?”

I sat there stunned as a bat, not able to respond. Finally muttering, “Excuse me? You read my blog?”



He proceeded then to explain that they research all their internet orders to make sure someone isn’t ordering it fraudulently,  so they had Googled me to make sure I was a real person, when he stumbled across the blog. His wife liked llamas, so he’d stopped to read what was going on.

It was all rather surreal given my mental state at the time.

In the end, I explained what was happening and I have to say they were the nicest people, saving the highly-sought-after camera for me and telling me not to worry about it until things here were settled, whenever that might be.

Something tells me they wouldn’t have done that at Best Buy. 

On Friday, after not leaving the farm or even showering for days, the Engineer was anxious to get me out and about. He chauffeured me downtown to pick up the camera, and as you can see it is working properly. I’m still not a fan of driving around downtown, but I am a fan of Roberts Camera, so if you find yourself in need of a camera or accessories I would highly recommend you give them a call.
As for the D7000? I’m still learning it, but have to say I was quite smitten after just the first two photos. Lightning fast shutter speed and settings out the wazoove, erything I always wanted. I think we’ll develop a good working relationship. I should mention, all the photos on this blog are straight out of the camera, completely unedited. Not only do I not own a copy of Photoshop, I wouldn’t know how to use it even if I did.

Where the Wind Blows

Living on the wide-open prairie always makes life more interesting. Those news clips of weathermen in raincoats during a hurricane can’t hold a candle to everyday life out here. I feel like I need a tether to get to the barn and back. Even the sheep don’t want to go outside.



“Are you going to feed us or are you just going to stand around making clicking noises with that black thing?” asks Tula.

This century-old farmhouse wasn’t designed with aerodynamics in mind. A wind advisory here can be translated to non-stop whistling. During the past 48 hours of nature’s serenade, I’ve given it much thought and have determined it has something to do with the wrap-around porch. At least that is where it sounds like it is coming from. The same place it came from at the old farmhouse I lived in as a child. This explains a lot, really. I’ve always lamented  a homeowner’s decision to enclose their wrap-around porch, but now I realize they were most likely driven stark raving mad by the blasted whistling. They were trying to make the whistling go away. No different than lining the walls with tinfoil to block out the voices.

Yee Haw!!!!

It’s been one heck of a ride. Looking back through my posts of 2011 actually made me tired. It has been one crazy kind of year. I’ve accomplished a lot and learned many things. I supose that’s all a person can really ask for.

My hope for the new year? Just a tad bit of serenity. I don’t see it on the calendar so I’m going to start penciling it in. Next week, for instance, do not call, write, or stop by. I will not answer. I have a week-long date with the loom room. If you bother me, you’d best be bleeding profusely.

After that, all heck breaks loose again. I’ll be back to school part-time. I’ve committed to blogging for GRIT magazine at least once a week. My son is graduating. My daughter is getting married. And that, of course, doesn’t’ even begin to include life here on the farm.

Buckle up and hang on, this ride doesn’t stop.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Mystery Revealed: The Case of the Missing Clothespins

Three years ago, about this time of year, I tucked my clothespin bag away for safekeeping until the next spring. I can remember it like it was yesterday; my mind being a steel trap and all. So when the next spring rolled around, and I couldn’t find the darn bag, I was a bit miffed. I knew exactly where I had put it, but it was no longer there. I searched the entire room, they had to be there somewhere. Nothing.

These aren’t just any clothespins. These are the old-style clothes pins. Ones that actually work. Ones that you just can’t go out and replace now days. Some were my grandmothers. I wanted these clothespins, not to mention the handy little bag.

I expanded my search. First, just focusing on the first floor of the house. I mean, why on earth would I have taken them upstairs, right? Nothing. I finally gave up and put the clothes in the dryer.

For three years now, every spring and a couple other times throughout the year, I’ve left no stone unturned in my house in an effort to locate the missing pins. I inspected every surface and every hole, no matter how small. If I couldn’t see into the space, I poked a stick in it to feel around. From the attic to the basement I looked EVERYWHERE. At this point it was a challenge. A quest to find the holy grail.

This summer, I had resigned myself to the fact that someone had broken into my house and stolen my clothespins. I mean, they are irreplaceable after all. I’m sure I’m not the only one who understands the value of a proper working clothespin. They probably stole them and sold them on Ebay. What other explanation could there be? I can remember EXACTLY where I put them, they were on a hanger in the mudroom.

My in-laws are visiting this week. It is snowing today. When my father-in-law put on an extra pair of work overalls to go out in, he found this inside. Exactly where I had left them three years ago.



I’m glad to have them back, but if I ever figure out who hid them from me in the first place, they’re a dead man. Gah!

God Jul (Merry Christmas)

My Dad’s family has gathered on Christmas Eve longer than I’ve been alive.  My grandfather immigrated alone from Sweden as a young man. He married my grandmother and had seven children. I’ve lost track of how many descendants there are now.  A few years ago, my aunt started decorating one of her trees with old photos of all the cousins when we were little kids. The toys under the tree are all ones we remember playing with. They’ve certainly been around longer than I’ve been alive. 



A shot of apricot brandy has always been part of the evening’s entertainment. It is passed around by the patriarch of the family. He hands you the shot, and you salute him with a hearty “Skol” (cheers) . Not sure how or why it was ever started or if it is even a tradition in Sweden, I just know it goes down smoothly, warms you up and it wouldn’t be Christmas without it.



Things change. Children grow. People pass on. I hope to carry these traditions on though, so my children can say they remember them for as long as they’ve been alive. I think it is important.
Does your family have Christmas traditions you still practice?

Their Mugs on a Mug

Through blogging, I have met some of the kindest, most talented people I have ever known. Tonya, at Flat Creek Wool & Pottery, is one of the best. I’ve followed her for some time now, watching her little one grow up, while wondering how on earth she manages to accomplish what she does with a toddler in tow. Her pottery is beautiful, I have purchased a few of her yarn bowls as gifts and even one of her famous Ewenice mugs for myself. So, when she said she was taking orders for custom mugs I jumped at the chance.

I sent off a couple of my favorite photos and she worked her magic. First, Louise.



then Peter.



How cool is that? I now have their mugs on a mug and can enjoy their company anytime I want. Next best thing to bringing them in the house.

Tonya even sent along Peter as Christmas ornament.



And included one of her super-cute note cards.



The woman is crazy talented. Check out her etsy store. You’ll find good things there.

NOOOOO!! It just can’t be!

It’s the G word. I mean. I love the little kid that will soon be part of my daughter’s family, but Grandma? Grandma”! Are you kidding me? It doesn’t really hit you until you see it on a package.

*faints*

We celebrated Christmas at my mother’s house yesterday. I walked away from it knowing two things.
1. I’m officially old.
2. My daughter and her fiancé are made for each other.



Here they are, sporting the gifts they exchanged. Clearly, it was meant to be.

The Spirit of Giving: Why I Won't Give To Some Christmas Charities

You've probably already seen this photo. It has been all over the internet. It sums up how I feel about this holiday season in just two words.



I've never been a fan of all the hype and grotesque consumerism that goes on this time of year. Well, never is not the right word, I'm sure I was all about it when I was a little kid.

There are two Christmas seasons in my past, that stand out more than any others, that have greatly influenced my distaste for the excess. First, was the year my parent’s divorced. I was in the fourth grade and struggling to learn my times tables. My Dad had taken an apartment in town, above a flower shop. You had to climb a rickety stairway on the outside of the building to reach it. The stairs were only treads, with no back to them. I always thought I was going to slip through them and fall to my death. Luckily, I never did, and looking back now I realize the worse that could have happened would have been a sprained ankle.

The apartment was very small, but had an open kitchen/dining area and living room that made it comfortable. It was sparsely furnished with cast-off furniture that friends and relatives had given Dad. I can remember he had old wooden barrels that he turned upside down to use as end tables. There was plenty of room left to put up a Christmas tree, just no money to buy one. I didn't know that at the time. If you would have asked me then, I would have told you my Dad was rich.

My Dad often piled us kids up into an old Chevy passenger van and went out driving through the countryside on safari, making up stories as we drove. This Christmas was no different, except this time we were hunting the perfect Christmas tree. Anybody could go to the store and get an artificial one, or go to the tree farm, but not us. We were going to go out into the woods and find our own. Just like the pioneers! We drove and drove--probably in circles--faces plastered to the windows, hoping to spot "the one". Finally, we stopped, Dad pulled a saw out of the back and we started tromping through the woods. We found the straightest, tallest tree in the bunch, cut it down and dragged it back to the van. Boy, were we ever proud of ourselves.

When it came to decorations for the tree, Dad had none. Not a single one. One of my aunts gave us a tree stand, a strand of lights and some funky turquoise ornaments; I'm sure she was thrilled to get rid of them. She owned a gift shop in town and we picked out a beautiful angel tree topper. I don’t remember if we paid for it or if she gave it to us. Then we popped popcorn and strung it for what seemed like hours. When we were finished, we had the gaudiest looking Charlie Brown tree you'd ever seen.



But you know what? I still think it was the best one we ever had. It wasn't the quality or quantity of the decorations that was important. It wasn’t the number of presents under the tree. It was the process. The can-do attitude. The memories made.

The other Christmas that stands out in my mind, was the year my daughter was born. I was only 19 years old and dirt poor. I mean there were weeks I couldn't scrape together enough money to buy a box of macaroni and cheese ,let alone a loaf of bread, poor. I mean, if it weren't for the Women Infants and Children’s government program I don't know how I could have fed my baby, poor. Had to make the choice of buying gas to get to work over eating, poor. These were not good times.

Somehow, I don't know if it was because of the WIC program or what, but somehow our name ended up on one of those adopt-a-kid for Christmas lists. I had no idea. So when someone showed up the day before Christmas with a huge box of gifts for my 6 month-old, I darn near died. You'd think I would have been grateful or overwhelmed by the generosity, and I guess in a way I was. But more so, I was humiliated. Absolutely humiliated. I swore right then and there my name would never find itself on a list like that again.

It wasn't that I was ungrateful, please don't think that. We just didn't NEED it. Sure, the diapers they included were helpfu,l but the toys? She was six months old for crying out loud. What I needed was a better job. I needed an education. Or some other method of improving my situation. We didn't need toys.

There are plenty of folks out there who donate to these Toys-for-Tots type programs, and I would never want to come right out and discourage this. If you are feeling generous, and this makes you feel good then by all means continue. However, I choose not to participate. I have done it in the past. I guess I felt obligated to give back or whatever. Now though, I don't feel that encouraging consumerism is the right way to give. Having been there/done that, I'd much prefer to donate to a cause that provides the children with books, for instance, or the adults with a scholarship or teach them to grow their own food. Something, anything that will help them become self-sufficient and gets their name off that list. Things happen. People fall on hard times. When they do, they need a helping hand, not a box of toys. There are a lot of people out there right now that don’t want to be on that list any more than I did. Give. Just give wisely.

Before I Kick the Bucket

A high school friend, I've recently reconnected with, has started an adventure club based on the book 500 Things to Do Before You Kick the Bucket. Each month, she schedules something from the list for the club members to participate in. The activities vary from easy to borderline crazy. For instance, I was grateful this month she wasn't able to locate a mechanical bull for us to ride and scheduled a visit to a train show instead. Whew!

When I first read the book, I was surprised how many of the things I could already mark off my list.

2. Learn to waterski.
4. Go tubing down a lazy river.
5. Go kayaking.
6. Paddle a canoe.
8. Take a helicopter ride.
9. Take a hot air balloon ride.
18. Jump off the high dive.
22. Ride a motorcycle.
23. Ride one on the worlds fastest roller coasters.
28. Ride in a limousine.
36. Try caviar.
38. Make bread from scratch.
43. Order only dessert.
45. Plant a garden and grow your own produce.
51. Create a family tree.
61. Tell your life story to a stranger. (I believe this blog qualifies, yes?)
63. Buy your favorite childhood story.
64. Watch reruns of a television show you loved as a kid.
65. Climb a tree.
66. Ride on a tire or tree swing.
68. Twirl a hula hoop.
70. Attend your class reunion.
88. See the circus.
91. Attend a laser light show at a planetarium.
99. Sing at a karaoke bar.
103. Start a collection.
105. Make a snow angel. (I confess I do this a lot.)
113. Look at the moon through a telescope.
124. Write a letter to your political representative.
125. Volunteer on a political campaign.
127. Shake hands with a U.S. president. (Bush, Sr.)
132. Buy a membership to your local museum.
134. Witness a solar eclipse.
142. Skip in public. (Doesn't everybody?)
143. Have a pillow fight.
161. Learn to can fruit.
163. Take a first aid class.
164. Learn CPR.
170. Attend a Renaissance festival.
183. Visit Mammoth Cave in Kentucky.
197. Visit the Lincoln Memorial.
200. Visit the Capitol Building and watch Congress in session.
270. Read a classic novel.
272. Write a children's book, even if it's just for your own children or grandchildren.
274. Learn how to play "Chopsticks" on the piano.
280. Visit the Grand Old Opry.
284. Attend an opera.
287. Attend a performance of Cirque du Soleil.
359. Take a cruise.
366. Snorkel in the Caribbean.
410. Attend the Indianapolis 500 (well, of course).
413. Learn to drive a stick shift.
431. Take a horse-drawn carriage ride.
433. Ride an elephant.
451. Adopt a pet from a shelter (ahem, got that one covered.)
454. Tour an aircraft carrier.
455. Visit a historic battlefield near your home.
459. Visit the WWII Memorial in Washington, D.C.
463. Visit the Korean War Veterans Memorial.
464. Visit the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C.
473. Make an anonymous donation.
483. Gather friends and sing at a retirement center.
495. Break a bad habit.
499. Be kind to a stranger.

I was also surprised at how many things will NEVER happen, such as skydiving and bungee jumping. I guess that rules out “facing my greatest fear” of falling as well, whittling my list down to a mere 497 things to do. So what do you think? Have you marked all these off your list? No? Well, then are you up for a challenge? Let me know and maybe we’ll try a virtual club.

The Story of the Three Wise Men

So, this one time, these three camelids were hanging out on the street corner, when they noticed someone shoot a road flair in the sky. They knew that should mean something to them, but they were up late smoking frankincense the night before and couldn't remember exactly.



But, this camelid dude named Harold knew. It was a challenge to take over his street corner. He was tired of being in charge anyway, so he sent the three home boys out to initiate the new leader...



(ring ring, ring ring)

I’m sorry, I need to interrupt this story, I'm getting a phone call.

“Hi Mom. Huh? What? What do you mean they RODE camels? Ohhh…”

Dear Cat

You will note, there is an assembled Christmas tree in the front hall. I wanted to thank you, personally, for leaving it alone for two whole days while there were no decorations on it. You have set such a fine example of willpower, restraint, and refinement in your behavior I cannot help but feel as if I might be able to trust you. In fact, I even pulled out the box of "good" ornaments for use this year.

However, now that it is decorated, I spotted you eyeing it this morning. Please know that each ornament was carefully chosen and placed in an eye pleasing arrangement. It pleases ME. I don’t care where YOU think the ornaments should go. I have also counted them. I know exactly how many are on that tree. I WILL notice if they go missing. The lights, you will notice, are working perfectly. I would prefer they stay that way.

Each package under the tree was wrapped with the utmost care. Do not chew on them. Do not shred the ribbons. Do not use them as launching pads to the upper branches. It is just a small tree and you, um, are not. 

Human family members will be arriving on Christmas Eve and staying until New Years Eve. That is only nine days from now. Surely, you can delay any tree climbing activity, such as you have done in the past, until after that time, Yes?

Good, I'm glad we've got that covered. I'm proud of you. Keep up the good work. I fully trust you will make the right decisions.



“Yeah. Whatever, lady.”

Sweet Cheeks

The new camera has arrived. Now all I need to do is figure out how to use the darn thing.