hooray . . .

I received an email from CK advising me that I won the "Charmed" sweepstakes I entered a couple of months ago. That's pretty cool. I won a bunch of charms from various companies. Check out page 92 in the April issue. Thanks CK!

not for the squeamish . . .

Bru has outsmarted us once again. Two adults vs one now measly 12 pound cat. Who won? Need you ask? Part of Bru's health regime is a subcutaneous IV every other day. They showed us how to do this at the vets and we came home pointing fingers at each other. I'll hold while you poke, no, I'LL hold while YOU poke . . . Frank is now he official "poker" while I am the holder. OK, so I threatened to cry. The first couple of times go fairly well as long as you don't count removing the IV before turning off the fluid flow and having the saline solution spew around the kitchen in huge snaking circles. OK, so we've done that twice now. ACK But the last few times have been rough. Bru has sized up the situation and figures if he squirms he can stop the process. Smart cat. The last time was the worst. Bru squirmed so badly that Frank ended up getting the IV in HIS finger. Ouch. So this morning, it was back to the vet for another lesson. Now might be the time to mention that Bru is good as gold at the vets, no trying to climb up my shoulder or wiggle off the counter, no big sad looks with the glint of victory when he has managed to scamper away. The tech has taught us how to make a mummy out of Bru. Now the question is who will win, the towel or Bru. I did notice that the towel the tech used was full of holes. Hummm, I'm placing my money on the cat but we will all have to wait until the day after tomorrow to see. Keep your fingers crossed for us all.

Bind-it-all . . .

my new favorite toy. I was in too much of a rush to actually bind this project, so it is nothing special, just thrown together random photos from Addison's birthday party of which I have enclosed a few. I love this machine, it gobbled through chipboard and six layers of paper as if it were butter. LOVE IT. I probably should have bound it all the way across but I wanted to see if I could center it. Don't even ask why, I couldn't make up a believable answer. Sigh. My next project might very well be an illustrated version of The Frog Story. Thanks, Leonore. And yup, you've seen the cover photo before, but I liked it so much I used it without decoration.

Sunday morning chaos

Somehow I thought there was a law stating that Sunday mornings were supposed to be calm, laid back . . . a peaceful time to lounge in bed a little longer, a morning to recharge spiritually, a time to linger unhurriedly over that fine cup of coffee . . . . Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe the rules don't apply here. Something is amiss. Did I forget to hit my weekly refresh button. ACK. Someone hates me????
So, I woke with a headache. No big deal. Decided to go grocery shopping at the crack of dawn since I was up and it had to be done. All was fine until while digging for the last of the 28 cans of cat food (Bru is now allowed to eat anything he can hold down and loves those small cans of Whiskas), my hand caught the stack next in line and all those tiny tins seems to hop from the shelve ala the lemmings into the sea. I thought that was a mess until I reached for an apple and the entire stack tumbled into applesauce on the floor. Yikes. And last but not least, the cat litter bag exploded as I pulled it out from under the cart. My headache is worse.
I finally get home to the safety of the cave, breathed a sigh of relief, and start to unpack the groceries. Again with the flying hand, I knock a shelf off the door and butter, biscuit mix and soy sauce go flying. That's it. I quit. I am safely back in bed hoping for a re deal . . . a second chance . . . an instant replay. We're having roast chicken, stuffing, gravy, mashed taters, corn and rolls for dinner. Any bets all does not go well, she asked as she pulled the covers up over her head and waited for sanity to return to her world?

We don't live in the woods . . .

. . . we really don't. But we do seem to get our share of woodsy visitors. I wasn't quick enough to get a shot of last summer's otter. I was in too much shock that he was actually loping across our back yard, to move toward a camera. I did go out and "pet" the baby armadillos once I learned they are toothless and deaf, I freak at the numerous snakes especially the coral snake the cats had cornered on the pool deck, I'm not particularly fond of the possums and the turkey buzzards are just plain yucky but this guy has become a regular visitor. He comes by just about every night. He ignores the cats, ignores us and lumbers right along the house and back into the trees. Tonight I caught him playing on the upturned wheelbarrow. He was goofing around for a good five minutes until he realized he had company and backtracked from whence he came.

Whose turn is it . . .

everyone understands the premise behind American Idol, Dancing with the Stars and the rest of that genre . . . you vote for your favorite and the contestants cringe each week waiting to see if it is their turn to go. They are ecstatic to be able to stay another week. They are SAFE. We have our own version in the cave. On any given day of a veterinarian appointment, I drag out the cat carrier and place it in the front hall. Door open. Then we watch the . . er . . . contestants. Each hoping it is NOT their turn to go. This morning, Snoop took one look, did an about face and ran so fast it took a minute to get some traction on the tile floor. Moak took one look and rolled his eyes and tried to bury his very fat body under the sofa. Think ostrich mentality here. Bru, looked and kept on going, as in I am too cool to be bothered by this. I am king. It is not I. Unfortunately, it WAS the king today and he protested the entire trip. Not only did they do one blood test, they ended up having to do another, all this on top of having had to fast since midnight. He was inconsolable not to mention starving. The bottom line is that that Bru is old and sick and won't be around for too many more rounds of elimination in the "whose turn is it now to go to the vet" game. This is one game that stinks. And I hate it. Any and all prayers for Bru would be gratefully appreciated.

ethel was unhappy . . .

people name their children, some their cars, but in the cave, let me introduce you to Ethel. She is my garbage disposal and she is temperamental. Of course she hates onions, artichokes and asparagus, but she also becomes septic on too much rice or pasta. Who am I to criticize. If I am nice to her, she is nice to me and churns our leftovers to mush. But tonight, as I turned her on, she immediately became vocal, screechingly, terrifyingly, vehemently vocal. I quickly turned her off and slid my hand down her craw, expecting to find an errant spoon. . . . surprise! . . . she was choking on a spider ring. A rather large blue, plastic spider man ring. OK, that was unexpected.

Saturday, we were invited to my sister-in-law's, grandson's 4th birthday party. You gotta love little folks parties, especially this little character who just plain makes me laugh. He is witty, wild and wonderful and very much into spider man. Ethel was apparently less enthusiastic. And how she managed to gobble up the ring will be one of those eternal mysteries.

Addison has once again provided me with scrapping material. Thank you Addison and happy birthday little man.