Four Years Ago

Spoons. Four years ago there was a brief mention of disappearing spoons. I am happy to report that the spoons didn't keep disappearing. The household wasn't rendered slowly but surely, totally spoon less.

Now, however the issue is forks. Forks are walking away (not with the spoons, the spoons are staying put) at a slow and steady pace. But oddly enough, not all the forks, only the smaller forks, what I like to call, my favorite forks.

As of today all but one (well, two since I keep a fork at work) has gone away. Though perplexed by these disappearing acts I'm not dwelling on the how or why. My focus is spot-on keeping that final fork by my side.

Or under lock and key.

Or . . . something

Meandering

Pete is sitting atop my cd/dvd/video cabinet. He isn't supposed to be there, he is not usually there. He is resting upon a placement one of the kids made in kindergarten. He is flanked by a Rubik's cube and a Rubik's(?) snake, currently fashioned into a sphere.

Pete is obscuring a blown-up, boxed framed photo of my former in-law's Mississippi front yard and road leading to (& away) from their front door.

In the background, Magda.

The sentry Magda is diligent about alerting about an open door (front or back), reminding us that it is now time to exit after she is armed and that she must be disarmed upon entering. When properly coaxed Magda will even relay a customized message, "greetings, have a pleasant day" was recently deleted.

Magda wasn't speaking during Pete's visit to the top of the cabinet. Pete isn't supposed to perch on the top of the cabinet. It is not a usual place for him to rest. Every now and again Pete sets out to explore. He discovers a nook, a cranny, a place to perch that he hadn't known existed.

Or hadn't cared.

For a few minutes, hours or days he is in kitty adventurer heaven. He is re-located to a more appropriate pet perch or he moves on, on his own, off on a new discovery.

I'm fairly certain Magda didn't object. Or, if she did, she didn't say.

Be Mine

I was tooling around the 'net, trying to find inspiration or better, some funny. I'm in need of funny today. Not funny strange, but funny ha-ha. Anyway, I was looking around and got routed to a sight that proposed to show me a video in response to my search request: artistic lesbians.

Well, of course, before I could see said video, (which by the way, had me declaring to being over 18--yes!) I had to register. Ick. I don't have time, energy, inclination or .. well, you know, I didn't wanna.

But I did. I used nuggets of my data, shaded enough to not really be me but when it was all said and done, I couldn't even view the freakin' video. Or, I didn't know which (if any) video to view. There were hundreds,thousands, heck maybe even millions.

Oh well.

Anyway, since joining I've received half a dozen requests to my junk mail box to be friends with other members.

Wha??? Why do you wanna be my friend? You don't even know me.

Oh well.

I asked for it, that's what I get for playing around the 'net, especially at work. I need for it to stop raining so I can go outside, get some lunch, clear my head and think about being a friend.

Or not.

Tone

Please advise asap! Thank you!

The email from a representative of the collection agency we use to help with some delinquent balances arrived yesterday with the ending you see above. It rubbed me the wrong way. I felt like I was being yelled at or at the very least that the agent was being snappish with me I didn't like that, not one bit.

We don't know one another and I felt that she was presuming I wouldn't take her request seriously or worse, would ignore the message altogether. My perceptions could have been off, I acknowledge as much in the email I sent back. I allowed as to how punching up her sentences and requests with exclamation points could just be her writing style with no (negative) connotation or intent on her part whatsoever.

The agent writes back (sans exclamations) thanking me for the information and for expressing my thoughts. She further writes, "I am a happy person and like to use the ! to express that although not always used properly. Thank you for advising me of that no telling how many other people feel that way."

It's pretty easy to mis-read or mis-interpret tone in emails. You don't have body language or vocal inflection to guide you. All you have are the words of the text and the images and punctuation the author chooses to add at their discretion. If the author is known to you pin-pointing their tone might be easier, but it is in no way a snap. I've stepped in some mis-read, mis-interpreted doo doo and will probably have to wipe my shoes a time or two or more in the future.

With business emails I usually just let these things go to my "oh well" bin and leave it at that. Yesterday was not an "oh well" day. I had to say something to the agent and in so doing I learned that she's a happy person. Good to know.

Before

I got my hair cut just about a month ago. It is time for another. I'll go either Friday evening or Saturday morning. I haven't decided. Much will depend on how Friday progresses. If it is anything like Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday or today, then Saturday a.m. early, is the day.One of my daughter's co-workers told her that Mamma Mia was worth seeing, that it was the perfect mother daughter film and that she and I certainly should go. My daughter who had zero interest in seeing this flick now is all, "we have to go!" Pete, the cat! Continues to rouse the house at 4:30 (or so) in search of "cat crack" as it has come to be known. Since moving into the bedroom his ministrations don't disturb. . . too much. Diamond dog had been bothered by a wee bit of a limp. A diet designed to help her shed some pounds combined with some hip and joint tabs have helped steady her peppy steps.

I'm adjusting to my new glasses. It isn't fun. Pete, the cat! and I joined Diamond dog is the pound shedding camp. We are pleased.

Kinda Out of It

D: What happened to you?

Me: What you do mean? When?

D: Last night. You didn’t hear him?

Me: No. What did he do?

D: Your crazy cat was on his crazy cat shit last night. He scratched at my door, was meowing like…well, like crazy. When I opened my door he darted in here. I can’t sleep with him in the room so I led him out. He kept up the meowing and scratching for awhile.

Me: When was this?

D: Last night, about 11:30, 12:00 something like that, I think.

Me: Hmmmm…I didn’t hear a thing. He didn’t mess with me. He wasn’t even the reason I
woke up at 4:30 this morning. What did Diamond do?

D: Nothing, she slept through it too. I even called you “hey, hey, mom” and…nothing.

Me: Well, oh well. And by the way, my cat isn’t crazy. He’s just spirited.

D: Yeah, spirited, when he’s disrupting my sleep.

It is just Thursday. Bummer. Nine More Days.