May I quote me?

I went over to the lovely and talented Maven's blog tonight and she had a funny post about ending sentences in prepositions. My comment to her was: Being from Arkansas, ending sentences with a preposition is our raison-d'etre-- it's what we're living for.

...come to think of it - ending sentences with prepositions is more a Southern thing than Arkansas-specific, so I suppose it doesn't matter so much which Southern state you were raised in.

I hope you enjoyed that. I laughed and laughed.

Update - lainy asked in my comments if I ever discussed the crazy-lady-ass-kicking Mom administered 36 years ago. I read Mom that post a few days ago, and she said crazylady just pounced on her and she was yelling at the lady's husband to pull her away - she was pregnant (HORMONAL!) and Mom didn't want to hurt her. She laughed when I got to the part about the big wad of hair springing from her fist - she said "that must have been from when I slammed her head against the car."

Go Mom! You totally rock! You've earned a lifetime of street cred, there. It was a rather ghetto touch, and my mom is so NOT ghetto. *ecstasy*

Anyway, what a splendid-and-yet-utterly-hosed-up week it has been. Isn't it funny when you think it's been 5 straight days of full-moon behavior and just when you've decided everyone you meet is hormonal and ever-so-slightly bat-shit, you realize it's YOU wot is hormonal? Eep!

Not me. Of course, this never happened to me. I'm talking about you, you silly, hormonal creature.

Did I mention I passed the real estate exam first try? They give you 150 minutes and I finished in 42. I thought that couldn't be right, and that surely I smegged it all up, but shore enough, well, I'm still pinching myself.

Anyway, today I'll take the doglet for a kennel-cough treatment and then she's off to a doggie-spa for the next several days while I trip the Ozarks fantastic. It's funny that I know she'll be enjoying herself, etc., but I have anxiety about leaving her with anyone, and I hate being apart from her. Still, I don't need a fresh haul of Arkansas Traveler ticks coming home with us - Yuck, so doggie stays in Texas. Yes, dinner tonight at Bryce's Cafeteria in Texarkana. WOOHOO! One of these days I want to canoe or raft the Buffalo River like Fathairybastard does so much - it looks like a blast. Now, I can hire a gondola with a grape peeler for that, right?

Lest you think I'm practical: I don't smoke but I want this ashtray by Yoshitomo Nara. Super-cute. It's $50. I suppose it could be a finger bowl for rose water or some such. *OK - that was really sarcastic -- did you catch it? I thought you might. Anyway. Hmm. Want. It.

__________________

Bought a house nearly 3 years ago, and had a phone installed, like you do.

Ever since then, we have been getting wrong numbers for Craig. Now, the wrong numbers have been predominantly female of a downmarket stripe, if you know what I mean: several varieties of trashy. You have to imagine strung-out, breathy female voices asking for Craig in the way you'd imagine they sweet-talk their pimp.

Now for three years I've been thinking these were booty calls. No. Tonight a woman called and let the cat out of the bag. Here's her message:

Hey Craig. I know it's been a long time. I guess this number is
a California number. Anyway, I wanted to see you and I have some friends
who wanted to buy, some, uh....

*grand pause---wait for it!*

uh.... uh.... Shoes. So, uh, give me
a call.

So, there you have it: he was a shoe salesman. It's so odd to me that these 3 years I've been thinking these were booty calls, when this one seems like a drug call. Maybe Craig is in jail.

reconnoitre
verb
explore, often with the goal of finding something or somebody [syn: scout]
WordNet® 3.0, © 2006 by Princeton University.

My path Tuesday led me to converse with a lawyer. He needed information on my company. I'm guessing he's in his late 20s or early 30s. I told him I would reconnoitre with my boss and get back with him when I had concrete details. He said "what's that? I've never heard that word before."

I said "Seriously? How old are you? Have you studied warfare or history or anything? It's a French word for finding stuff. What are they teaching kids in school these days?"

He then looked it up on his computer somewhere and read a definition that seemed to make me sound like a dork who didn't know what the word meant. After we got off the phone, I sent him an email with the information he sought, along with the cutting above from dictionary.com and I said "this is what I meant."

Out walking the bunnydog tonight, I recounted this convo to husband, and I said I'd pointed out to the lawyer that lots of war-related terminology was French. Husband said "because they've lost so many times."

Makes sense. I suppose a doormat knows a shoe when it sees one.

Monday was such a great day.

Mom got a package in the mail from my aunt in Arizona. The box contained a few things from my grandma's house - the grandma who died almost 2 years ago. My aunt had asked if there was anything particular I wanted, and I said I wanted the coffee cup she drank from every morning. My sister got her biscuit cutter. Yeah, I suppose we're odd, but we each got something we saw her use umpteen times, and I know we'll always treasure these things. In the box was also my grandfather's birth certificate and discharge papers from the Army. It's all bittersweet. Of course, none of it could ever bring them back - in the end it's all only stuff - but it's nice to see these things once more.

Took the doglet for a long walk today. Her old butt was tired when we got back to the house. I got in the pool for the first time this year, and it was glorious. I thought about putting the doglet in to cool her off, but she hates the pool and I didn't want to start the swimming season off with a bad association for her. I need to find a floating ramp which she can walk down and up for easier access - I think it's the lack of a gradual incline that freaks her out - because she loves running into ponds, lakes and oceans. Either that , or I need to just break down and get her a new kiddie pool.

PRODUCT WATCH:

I found the coolest floating ice chest called The Big Bobber - see, how cute is this??? This may be the very pinnacle of human achievement. I think it's the best pool accessory ever. I'm hoping a pitcher of iced-tea will fit in it. On this site it's $39.95, but I paid $20 or $30 at Elliott's Hardware on Maple in Dallas. You can probably get this at the Elliott's in Grapevine too. Good stuff!

This story occurred to me late Sunday, and it would have fit nicely in the mum post. Anyway, it's kinda funny, kinda odd.

We lived in Memphis when I was 5. We lived in a duplex and the family next door was the same configuration (mom, dad, daughter, son) and they were a little odd. We could hear the parents fighting nearly every night, and the woman was clearly unhinged. She was probably profoundly depressed.

One day, I was playing in the front yard when the little 3 year old boy next door came at me with a diaper pin, telling me his mother had told him to stick it in my eyes. I ran in to my mother, who told me to stay in the house. The next thing I know, I hear the crazy lady out in the yard, yelling at Mom. Then here they went, legs and arms akimbo in a pure-dee cartwheeling catfight of epic proportions.

Oh, yeah, my Mom kicked her ass, and crazy lady ass is hard to kick. Mom marched back into the house, mad, steaming, then went into the kitchen and leaned her elbows on the counter, her right fist clenched, and put her left hand to her eyes and started crying. I think it was probably more from being rattled by the whole thing than her being hurt. Suddenly, she lifted that right fist from the counter and opened her fingers, and what looked like a fair sized rodent sprang from her hand. I was in absolute awe. I'd heard tell of someone being snatched bald, but Mom had actually done it.

If that woman is alive today, I'll bet she still has a bald spot.

My mother is tough as a pine knot.

Oh, she's not one of those athletic moms who would climb a tree with you or take you kayaking, but Mom has an inner toughness and determination that is a marvel to me.

When Mom was a girl, health problems plagued a sibling and her mother resulting in very tough times for the family financially and emotionally. Mom learned to sew as a girl by making little outfits for the dolls she'd made out of twigs and twine. She was soon sewing her own clothing.

Married young, Mom and dad had my brother a year later and then I moseyed on along 14 months later. My father always speaks fondly of how Mom looked after us when we were small. Mom and Dad didn't start out with a whole lot, so they were finding their way in the world, and she would continue to turn out these little masterpieces for me and brother to wear. Dad always speaks with pride of how we'd have cousins running around snotty and dirty, but HER children would not be grimy. OH yeah, we played at the appropriate times and we did get dirty, but she didn't allow us to look unkempt. She was proud of her babies.

The day after my first birthday, my father had a hand injury that made him violently ill, and he couldn't work for a bit. Uncomplaining, Mom went to work in a shirt factory and did so and held everything together while Dad recovered. Mom was 21. I think of myself at 21, and I think how beneath that mark I fell. Dad was soon back on his feet and Mom stayed home with us pretty much for the next 15 or so years.

Mom and Dad worked hard and were frugal. Mom always managed to turn out clothing for herself that made her look like a fashion plate and did so on a modest budget. I remember her coming to pick me up at 5th grade and hearing a wolf-whistle from the back of the room. Did I mention my mom is beautiful? She is, and not in the fake, plastic, do-nothing way you associate with Dallas. Mom's the real deal with dark wavy hair and lovely, mischievous eyes.

Countless hours spent with her in fabric stores taught me much that informs my own taste in clothing today. I'll never forget the day mom called me over and said "feel this fabric and feel the one next to it." I was amazed, there was a warmth to one cloth while the one next to it felt chilly. She was advising me so I'd develop a hand for cloth. The warm cloth was silk, by the way.

It's funny, though, that Mom always told me she was shy, and I couldn't believe that, because she's a stubborn and very opinionated person. She's usually right, too. My perspective was always that she's very free with her opinions, and woe betide the hapless soul who defied her. But the truth is that a few years ago, thinking back, I realized Mom really is shy, and all her eagerness for her family to be well cared-for perhaps stemmed from a wish to not call attention in a bad way, like the poor example of some others in her family. She was happy simply to bask in the reflected glow of the triumphs of her children and husband, and has never aspired to a career or to personal gain. I once asked her why didn't she sew clothes for people as a profession, and she said she didn't want to fool with difficult-to-please people. Judging by how impeccably sewn her work was, I doubt her customers could have been more demanding than she was of herself.

When I think of the difficulties of mom's childhood and how determined she was to make a different life for her own children, well, what more can be said for a person than that? Her keen intelligence, her wry wit and her quiet determination have made our home one with lots of laughter and warmth. I am and will always be very proud of my Mom.

Happy Mother's Day!

Update on the murder in the 'hood thingie.

I'm on a Dallas neighborhood yahoo group, and several versions of the story are flying around. One person posted immediately and spouted lots of wrong information as though they were the big authority. It's like that game of whispers where the end product in no way resembles the beginning statement. I read gape-mouthed the wrong details about what _I_ saw and they didn't see, and I half expected the next line to read that the victim was wearing his Tuesday panties on a Friday. Among the more corny details she spouted was one little chestnut which puts forth that the dead guy owed money to the murderer, and the murderer called the police earlier in the day to let them know he was going to kill this guy. Now, call me naïve, but I'm guessing hoodsters bent on revenge killing are not in the custom of alerting the po-lice. If any of you disagree, let me know: I am willing to be educated on the subject.

As Tam so ably pointed out in comments, "alertness is the best defense."

Also, LawDog has a superb post from late April about awareness of surroundings. It's actually a lovely post about a walk he took, so read the whole thing here.

And yes -- me being me -- seeing what you are looking at is an invaluable aid to
surviving. Don't just look at Street, Urban, Dingy, One Ea. -- see it: where are
the ways out (both standard and non-traditional), how many people are present,
possible improvised tools, ambush points -- see all of this, but also see the
other things. The things that speak to you and lift your spirits. Decorations.
Colours. Horned toads.

I believe people should not be fearful of life, but instead should be in a state of relaxed readiness.

The whole murder thing from Friday, while upsetting, in no way changed me fundamentally - I already knew life was cheap to some people. Sad but true.

Did I mention I balmed my soul with some retail therapy? I found a fabulous dress and a new saucepan and today I'm going to get a new pair of Merrell shoes for dogwalking. I thought you'd want to know things are back to normal. Wheeeeeeee!

This is awful, and I kind of don't know where to start, and if you're someone of a fragile constitution, I advise you to switch over to cuteoverload.com and skip this post.

This was a rough week, but despite all the hardships, I feel so blessed and so lucky, so don't think I'm complaining if I tell you about something awful. I'm just kind of trying to wrap my brain around it all.

I had occasion to drive down a particular street in Dallas today where there are typically lots of homeless people, drug-peddling hang-arounders, and hookers. I drove through at about 4:45, which on Friday is a time when the pedestrian traffic intensifies as the day laborers are dropped back off by the bunk house, etc. As nearly always happens, I saw a hand-off of drugs. This pair caught my attention because they were so mutt-and-jeff. He was a large, pudgy Rerun (What's Happening?) type, and she is a skinny crack-whore type I've been seeing in that neighborhood recently. This was doubtless just another of countless scores of hand-offs that happened on that street today. What's one more?

I finished my business at an office at about 7:00, got in my car and drove up the road. I noticed homeless people standing in clusters, all looking up the street when I see the body in the road. Walking away from the body is someone who works for my company. I pulled up and a police officer had just arrived and was calling in for support. The man I know told me the guy had walked up to a silver Caprice Classic in the street and asked for a cigarette, and the driver shot him 7 times. His face was planted squarely down in the pavement, a pool of dark red spreading like a corona.

It was a terrible thing to see. The co-worker said the skinny crack whore woman told him what happened, he'd heard the gunshots and saw the car speeding away. He said he'd just run over and the guy was dead, had no pulse. I'll bet it was a transaction gone wrong, or whatver. Actually, now I feel badly that I didn't stop to see if the co-worker guy was going to be alright - I think he was pretty rattled. However, I could be of no material use to investigators, and frankly, I wanted to get out of the 'hood.

I went to dinner as I'd planned, went back to my other office and wrapped up some paperwork, and went home. I don't know quite what I think. I think I'm kind of dazed. We all know life is very cheap to some people, but other than their lack of self-respect, it's not often we see such an extreme example.

Hours later, I'm wondering if the dead guy in the road was the one I saw do the hand-off with crack-whore. Not that it matters.

I don't quite know what to think. I wish I hadn't seen that.

After I snapped this photo I switched over to color and you can go to my diorama and see a nearly identical image in a soothing array of blues.

This has been a good week, but it's been a trying one in some ways. I've worked till nearly 8pm 3 nights, and there is at least one spooling hairball looming large and bad to be dealt with toute-de-suite. I go out of my way to be as nice as I can to people. When I was young and finding my way, I think back to two particular crossroads at which my life could have taken a dramatic and irreversible turn for the worse. At one of those crossroads, someone showed tremendous kindness and understanding, and at the other I was served up a nasty dose of reality which taught me how mean a person can be.

Now, I strive to instruct with kindness. Working in this field, I often say that I'm the first solid parenting a lot of kids get-- so unprepared for life in the world are they. I try to gently nudge in the right direction in a way that is not offensive or obvious. However, several times recently, some folks have been such presumptuous, solipsistic jerks that I have been compelled to crack the whip. I am beginning to believe I'm going to have to ride herd on all these special-needs-patients until their leases are up, at which time they will pointedly not be invited to renew their leases.

Knowing I have the capacity to wield the hammer of justice, I generally opt for magnanimity. However when forced, I'll overcome all hesitancy and be as much a bitch as I need to. Don't make me go there.

Have boots, will discipline.

You HAVE to love The Cramps.
I insist.
Fabulous B-film footage to the dulcet tones of "Human Fly" to all you reborn maggots out there... WOOHOO!

You know how excited you get when someone tells you about a dream they just had? You're about to be that excited. Brace yourself for a riveting thrill-ride of inexplicable detail. From just before I woke up a bit ago:

I was current age but circa David Bowie's Scary Monsters era. He was doing a disco-sorta show with a huge combo backing him up. If David Bowie's show could be likened to the Love Boat, I was cruise-director Julie, as played by Lauren Tewes (minus the cocaine habit-- remember what a scandale that was???) I was running around, trying to make sure the 4 fabulous audience members had a good time. They needed to get up and boogie, so I jumped on stage with the Thin White Duke and we cut a rug. The crowd of 4 went wild, and when the show was over, I tried to take their photos, but someone had filled my camera with shots of the floor and of someone chewing gum.

Then we went to dinner. What does it all mean?

Yesterday was a strange day. I hope I'm not at the office until 8pm again. Yuck.

I went to bed about 11:00, and I woke up at 9:00AM, plumb tuckered out - perhaps that's why I had strange dreams. Glad a vacation is coming up. OOOH, I'm going to Arkansas in about a week, going by a friend's farm for at least a visit, and I hope I come home with more lovely cow photos. And stories, too. Her grandfather was one of those original Texas Rangers from the pioneer days, and she has lots of cool stories.

TOmorrow is Friday, right? Goody.

did you know...

Sorry for the crap photo - someone has twiddled my camera settings and I'm going to have to break down and finally read the manual to make it work again.

Anyhoo - you know when metalwork (like turquoise & silver Indian jewelry) has detail that stands in relief and the recessed spaces are black? Yeah, well, d'ya know how those recessed spaces get blackened? Do ya? Do ya? Do ya?

Well, I'll tell ya how it works. Jewelry makers use Liver of Sulphur for this purpose. Liver of sulphur is a fusion of sulphur and potassium carbonate. This combination is corrosive and will effectively blacken just about any metal, as far as I know.

I buy this from a jeweler's supply in the can shown in the photo (like a tiny paint can) and it comes in the form of these matte, stinky little rocklets that sorta look like gall stones. You choose a rock, put it in a plastic cup, and add some very hot water to it, and the rock will dissolve into a liquid you can use to etch your stuff. Once the metal is blackened, you have to polish the high relief stuff so the whole piece doesn't simply remain black. To minimize polishing time, I usually paint the LOS into the recessed areas with a toothpick.

I was using this last night for a little project and thought I'd snap a photo and tell you all about it.

When I first ordered this stuff I was bewildered. I always used it in liquid form from a bottle in the lab at a silversmithing class. However, exposure to light degrades the efficacy of LOS, so it's good if you can mix a fresh batch as needed.

Funny thing was this morning when I was leaving the house, I thought "what is that beastly, rotten-egg sewer-gas fartsome foulness?" Seriously. Those were my exact words in my wee brain.

As I left the house, I walked by where I'd been working last night and the wide-eyed innocent little vessel of Liver of Sulphur looked pleased with itself, having uttered the inaudible discord of his race.

Outdoors. Well-ventilated areas. Um, I think that's on the can somewhere. Must start reading instructions...

I know this is twisted, but since I was a girl, I imagined the perfect man was a composite of Mr. Spock and Marshal Dillon.

I was only able to entertain such silliness because I was blissfully ignorant of the following video:



So, like I was saying, Marshal Dillon is the perfect man.

moritification update: This ALWAYS happens when I post late at night, but I HATE when I review a post the following day and find laughable spelling errors. I'm going to call it a "typo" if that's ok with y'all.