Smudge

This is Smudge. A kind of cranky persian cat that belongs to one of my neighbors. He doesn't come to eat at my back door like the other cats.

His owner is moving. I think they are going this week at some point and poor little Smudge is still here. Every evening he is crying at their door, begging to be let in and no one is there. He sort of mopes around, just out of reach so you can't even try to comfort him.

This morning I opened my front door and I could hear him crying. I went over to see what was wrong and he ran up to me and let me pet him. He ran over to his door and looked at me like, "Please lady, open the door for me!" My other neighbor Brenda was out there with her dog and I asked her what was going on with Smudge. Brenda is also concerned that Smudge is getting left behind. About six months ago his owners bought a pure bred golden retriever puppy. Smudge was replaced and now looks like he has been forgotten.

I have left food out for Smudge but he won't eat it. If his owner doesn't come get him this week, I don't know what I'll do.

A Visitor

Fifteen minutes can save you 15% or more!

Guess what Misha found in our house tonight? This little guy! We were sitting here watching T.V. when Misha went running in between the sliding glass door and behind the blinds. He doesn't usually do that. Then I saw something dart out and under the end table away from Misha. I told Tim to look because he was closest to the action. Misha was still very interested when Tim said,"what's that?" He shined his flashlight, he always has one at his fingertips, and reached down to touch whatever it was and it squirmed away at the speed of light and Tim let out a SCREECH!

A LIZARD IS IN THE HOUSE!!!!

When I was on the phone earlier with my mom, I thought I saw something dart across the floor but I chalked it up to a reflection from my reading glasses. But no, here he was, the poor little tiny Geico spokes person's California cousin, in my house.

Tim was on one side of the table and I was on the other. "I"ll scoot him towards you" he said to me. "What am I supposed to do with him when he comes at me like a bat out of hell". So I went and got some tupperware and a lid. One minute the little guy would scoot towards me, then he would scoot towards Tim, EEEEK! Finally the lizard made a break for it and ran towards Tim. He screamed, I yelled, "You big baby!" Now the lizard was under the stairs where the computer is. I wiggled a few things and poof, there he was right in front of me. I carefully moved a few things and trapped him under the tupperware. Then I had to get the top on without him jumping out at me. I went and got one of those stiff thin plastic cutting boards and slid it under. I had him!

Tim was already to release the little guy but I told him no, we need to take a picture of him.

So there he is, our little visitor in a tupperware. He had his photo shoot and I let him go in the bushes outside. Misha is still sitting post near the blinds just in case the lizard reappears.

I Blame the Wasp

It's the worst storm in October since 1960 something. It has rained all day long which is unusual around here. Today I worried about Emily driving to school in the torrential rain in Santa Cruz . I worried about Elizabeth taking Jim's class to Alcatraz for a field trip.

Emily came home early from school because of a power outage and Elizabeth and the kids got soaked but they had a wonderful time.

I was home just about to put Graham Cracker Brownies in the oven when my neighbor Brenda came to the door. I was talking to her when suddenly a wasp flew from behind me, past my head and was on the door. EEEK! Clever me decided to open the screen and pull the other door almost closed so the wasp would just fly away to the outside world and bother someone else. I pulled the door a bit to fast and it shut. CLICK....I was locked OUT. No one else was home, Emily has a key but she is in Santa Cruz. Elizabeth has a key but she is probably not back from Alcatraz yet. I was locked out. I started to freak out a little bit. I had changed my clothes when I got home and had flannel PJ bottoms on and a long sleeved t-shirt. I had Judy's knitted socks on and no shoes. No way back inside and it is raining, nay shall I say...POURING outside. The other thing that had me worried was the oven was on in the kitchen. My only hope for getting back in was my bedroom window on the other side of the house and on the second floor. Brenda went to get me some shoes at her house for me to wear and asked a neighbor if he had a ladder.

Brenda is little and has equally little feet. I, on the other hand, am tall and have huge feet. She brought me some of those Nike slip on sandals and they quit at about half way through the arch of my foot. The neighbor had a ladder but it wasn't tall enough. Another neighbor, Gary, had a big ladder but we needed to get it in the back patio. I couldn't open the gate because it was also locked. You have to understand that the whole time I am shuffling around because it is so hard for me to walk in the teeny tiny Nike sandals.

My neighbors put one ladder on the outside of the fence and another on the inside of the fence. Brenda climbed over and into the back patio. Then they put the big ladder up to the window and "Presto" she was in. She came downstairs and let me in through the sliding glass door to the patio. I was going to go in to get the key for the gate to make removing the ladders easier. The back patio had a HUGE puddle that stretched the whole length of the cement. I stepped in it and Gary said, "Watch out Peggy, your foot is going to get all wet!" I turned to him and said, "Look at me, do you really think it matters now if my foot gets wet? My hair is dripping like I just got out of the shower!" He laughed and said," Yeah, you're right!"

Tomorrow I am going to get a spare key made for Brenda to keep.

Painting is never as easy as it seems

Painting the kitchen and the downstairs bathroom.

Neither one is very big and shouldn't be a problem but, it's never as easy as you think it's going to be.

The walls in the kitchen need to be cleaned first. As I'm looking at what needs to be done, I know that the hood over the stove is disgusting and needs to go away. I went outside and turned the electricity to the kitchen off, at least I'm not a total moron. The hood looks easy enough to take down, so I loosen the four screws and wiggle it free. Damn, it's electrically wired. I know nothing about that so I guess I better put it back. Easier said then done. Of course I can't see well enough because my 53 yr. old eyes have betrayed me. I can't see where to line it up in all four corners at the same time. After about 20 mins of struggling and getting increasingly angry, I decided to ask Emily to help me. She comes downstairs and I tell her to put on gloves because the hood is gross and greasy. She lines it up and I hold it while she screws it back in.

As Emily heads back upstairs she says," by the way, the Internet is out." I said,"that's because I turned the electricity off when I took that hood down." She slumps her shoulders and says, "Ughhhhh." "Don't fret my dear, I will turn it back on now that the hood is back in place. You can chat away merrily in a minute."

I feel better now that I have sat here for a minute in front of a fan. Back to the cleaning of walls. I will do the hood another time when I find out how to do the electrical stuff.

More frustration awaits me I'm sure so stay tuned.

I moved the stove to clean the floor and wall behind it. Yeah, that took more than an hour to scrub that mess clean. I'm so totally frustrated at all of the work that's going into getting ready to paint, that I don't think I will even get paint on the wall before my vacation is over.

Sweat is pouring in my eyes and I have a big hatred for being sweaty. Every time I sit down to pout over my problem Misha jumps in my lap and wants to be snuggled.

more to come after I remove this kitty cat and take a shower.

Many days have passed since I last posted about my painting trails and tribulations. Little did I know that at that time things weren't as bad as they would be.
My first ambition was to get the kitchen and downstairs bathroom painted during my week off. HA, HA, HA! I must have lost my mind! I came no where near finishing either room while I was on my vacation. I decided to tile the wall that runs behind the stove. My cousin Mark thought it would be a good idea and would look nice. I agreed and went out to get the stuff needed to tile. I went to LOWE'S, the store is newer and nicer then Home Depot. I picked out tile and the tools I needed. The first few blocks of tile were simple. They were clean shots at the wall, nothing to go around or cause much trouble. Then I ran into a problem. A four plug outlet, this is where I wondered to myself why I let my cousin, who lives in OHIO, suggest that I tile a wall! Where was Mark when I needed him? In OHIO for God's sake! Too flippin far away for me. My brother Jeff then suggested that I go back to LOWE'S and ask them if they cut tile for their customers. Brilliant, yes! I called LOWE'S and I was assured that someone could cut it for me. I measured, marked the tile and headed for LOWE'S. A very nice young guy took the tile from me and cut it, for free no less. I was thrilled, not very often do things like this go my way. I finished that section of the wall and decided to tackle the wall to the right of the stove. That section of wall had another four plug outlet and a phone plate to deal with. I tiled as close as I could to the outlet. I measured and marked the tile that needed to go around the outlet and also the part that needed to go around the phone plate. Went to LOWE'S and started looking for the nice tile cutting kid. I didn't see him and I started to get a bad feeling. Another guy offered to help me. When I told him what to do he said, " I can only do eight cuts." "Pardon Me" actually I said "What?" Pardon me just sounds nicer. "Yeah, I can only do eight cuts". I told him the guy that did it the day before never mention anything about eight cuts. "Yeah, eight cuts and each cut is 25 cents". Another thing not mentioned to me when the first guy cut the tile. I argued a bit about the number of cuts. Kid #2 cuts some of the tile for me, but I could tell his heart wasn't in it. He handed me the cut tiles and a slip saying how much I owed. I was angry, he didn't do all the cuts I wanted. He stuck to his eight cuts so I thought screw you and I left with out paying for my eight cuts. I know, I'm evil! I decided at that point that I would buy a tile cutting contraption. They were many different ones to pick from. I of course chose the cheapest one. I took it home and followed the directions and it promptly ruined a sheet of tile. I took back the tile cutter and told them it ruined my tile so they gave me a new sheet. I went to the tile section hoping against hope that I would find my original tile cutting saint of a kid. Nope, no where in sight and I cursed myself for not noticing his name when he helped me that first day. I found another kid from the tile section and asked him if he could cut some tile for me. He looked at my marked tile and bugged his eyes out. "Wow, that's a lot of angles. I can't do all these angles". I asked him why it was a problem when the other kid cut them with no complaint or problem. "He shouldn't have cut the tile because we aren't supposed to do all these angles". Good Gravy kid, can you do it or not? I didn't say good gravy but I did ask him if he could cut it or what. He said he would try. He started cutting and then shows me that it isn't working very well. He was scoring into the tile past the mark for some reason. He claimed it was because he had a 4 inch blade and needed a bigger number blade. I don't remember the bigger number right now. When I left LOWE'S the kid had pretty much ruined the sheet of tile I gave him. There was no way I could use it. I called around to places in the yellow pages, trying to find some place that would cut this damn tile for me. After calling about ten places I found one that would do it. I dropped it off and they said I could get it the next day. I went to get the tile the next day and it was nicely cut just like I had marked it. The operative words are JUST LIKE I MARKED IT. When I got it home and held it up to the wall around the outlet, it didn't fit. I was a tiny bit off, just enough off to make it impossible to get the outlet cover to fit. My mind started scrambling. Why am I so stupid? Why can't I ever do anything the right way the first time?
After much agonizing over the tile and the outlet it was decided that the easiest way to fix it would be to cut the bottom of the outlet plate just a bit. So that is what was done. The toaster goes in front of that outlet anyway, no one will see it, and if you are ever at my house you are not allowed to look and see if it is noticeable or not.
I tiled the whole wall and was going to go over it with more grout like the instructions said to. I pulled out the stove, applied the grout and went to push the stove back in and it wouldn't fit. It was like I had entered the twilight zone or something. The stove was in its spot when I pulled it out, but it would physically not go back in its spot. I tried and I tried and got increaslingly angry and started to yell. Emily came down and thought she could magically make it fit. Nope, it just didn't line up anymore and the worst part is that my kitchen is so small that I couldnt even step back far enough to get a good look at it to see what was wrong. I had an idea that maybe the feet on the stove needed to be turned. I tilted the stove and had Emily try and turn the feet. "Ewww this is gross under here!" "Be Quiet and Turn the Feet Em!" I cleaned the floor under the stove, but I can't clean the underneath of the stove. The feet got turned and like a small miracle, the stove slid back in. Another crisis adverted.

My Uncle Jim

My Uncle Jim passed away on June 21, 2009. He was a few weeks shy of his 88th birthday. It was Father's Day.

The picture above was taken in 1926. It is of my mother Mary and my Uncle Jim. She was 4 and he was 5. Tomorrow is the memorial service for Uncle Jim. My mom can't go. The traveling would just be too hard.

Kathy, my cousin and Jim's daughter, asked us to write something for the memorial, to maybe be read since we won't be there. Here is what I wrote.

There are so many Jim’s in my family and now we have lost a great one.

My Uncle Jim was a brilliant man. When I look at all of his accomplishments, it makes it very clear to me why I always thought I never had anything good enough to say to him.

I have to make it very clear that this was something I thought, but it wasn’t true.

Uncle Jim and Aunt Bette stopped to see us in California quite often on their way to or from Hawaii. Aunt Bette is a barrel full of fun. She can talk to anyone about anything. Uncle Jim always seemed more reserved to me.

Once, maybe 20 years ago when Jim and Bette were visiting, I brought my daughter Elizabeth over so they could meet her. Elizabeth, who was 3 or 4, had a passion for a book called "Are you my Mother" by Dr. Seuss. Elizabeth took her book to Uncle Jim and asked him to read it to her. I thought, Oh NO, NO, NO he won’t want to do that! I was wrong. He took the book, sat Elizabeth on his lap and read the whole story to her. He endured her many questions and funny little comments about the bird looking for its mother.

Right then my opinion was forever changed about Uncle Jim. He wasn’t unapproachable, he just needed to be approached.

I am sad to know he’s gone, but I am very proud to say he was a part of my family.

Photo by Rick Zaidan

Just Like Marcel.

Here we are again with another Misha story. This one took place this morning. It all started when I stepped on his tail in the middle of the night because he has changed all of his sleeping places. I never know where he is going to be anymore. He is usually smack dab in front of the bathroom door, so I was planning on stepping over him at that point. He fooled me by laying about six feet away from that door. Of course he was upset and I was sorry.

Ever since the poo incident last week, I always think I smell poo. I looked around but didn't see any when I got up this morning. I took my shower and Misha was waiting for me to open the bathroom door like normal when I was done. I went downstairs, turned on the kitchen light and right next to the litter box was a piece of poop. Sighhhhhhhh..... Well, I thought, this can happen. He could have knocked it out while he was furiously trying to bury it. I clean it up and do all the things I usually do in the morning before work.

I went upstairs and got my clothes, brushed my teeth and went back into my room to get my shoes and go. I was going to wear my black flats, bare feet in back flats. I slip my foot into the right shoe, lower my heel and ... I feel something under my heel. I quickly yank my foot up and out flies three pieces of poo.

The HORROR... and IN MY SHOE! All I could think about was that episode of Friends where Marcel poops in Monica's shoe. Funny thing is that episode was on the other night. NO...no, no, no...not funny, IN MY SHOE, ON MY HEEL...GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Why, why in my shoe? Is Misha smart enough to have gotten even with me for washing his butt the other day? For having Judy clip his nails on Mother's Day? For me stepping on his tail in the middle of the night?

I tip toed to the bathroom, cleaned off my foot and picked up the poo, again. It seems like that's all I do anymore is pick up poo.

I'm sure what happened was the poo stuck to his fur again and just happened to drop off as he probably sat on my shoes.

So disgusting!

Please, no more poop.

Like trying to handle a small mountain lion.

Look at Misha in this picture. Isn't he cute with his little bunny paws all folded up on his chest? Most of the time he is a nice kitty. He has his moments of madness where he attacks you in the middle of the night because your arm is coming out from under a pillow. He seems to think it doesn't belong to anyone. Your arm is now some kind of small creature that needs to be dealt with ferociously.

This morning he was in his usual place when I got up. Right smack in front of the bathroom door. I have learned to always look down when I walk around my house just to make sure I don't step on him. I took my shower and thought when I opened the door he would be still laying there, waiting for me to go downstairs and feed him. He wasn't, strange I thought. Then I noticed a little ball of something on the floor. Poop, yes a single ball of poop. I looked towards Emily's room and there was Misha, with his head close to the floor looking very guilty. I got a tissue, picked up the yucky thing and flushed it. Misha doesn't randomly poop in my house. He is a good boy and has always used the litter box from the first moment we brought him home at the age of two months. He kept slinking around casting guilty looks left and right. Great, this means it isn't over, there is more somewhere for me to find.

**** Emily, don't read this part****

I walked towards Emily's room and there I saw more poo just inside the door. I got more tissue, picked it up and flushed again. Misha was still slinking around. Not a good sign. He could possibly be in need of a "clean up" and if I make a move towards him at the wrong time, I could be trying to get him out from underneath a bed or something. I went downstairs thinking that his stomach will get the better of him and he will come down on his own to eat.

Okay, here he comes. I am sweet talking him trying not to startle him. As he walks away from me, there it is. Stuck to his butt! Oh no!

It's 6:15 a.m. and I have to be at work at 7 a.m. I grab a bunch of paper towels hoping it is just and easy removal with no actual water clean up involved. I hold on to his tail and lift it up, he instantly starts to complain and I can see that there is no hope of an easy removal. This is going to require me holding him under the tub faucet while I hope he doesn't make Swiss cheese out of me.

I put him in the "scruff of the neck hold" with one hand and grab the two front legs with my other hand. I tuck him under my arm so I don't hurt his neck and I head for the stairs as fast as I can. I put him in the bathroom and shut the door. I yell for help because this is not easily done by one person. If I let go of him or loosen my grip once the cleaning process starts all hell could break loose. I grab a towel from the closet, which is outside of the bathroom. As I slowly open the door with my foot blocking the opening, he is too fast and makes a break for it. Noooooooo! Now I have to find him and he will probably go under something and I DO NOT HAVE TIME FOR THIS!

We find him in Emily's room, luckily not under anything. I swoop him up again and head for the bathroom, turn on the water and start to wrangle the wild animal's rear end under the stream of water. I am telling him that if he bites me, I will not be responsible for what will happen. Misha is moaning and groaning and I am getting more and more upset because it feels like loads of time has gone by. Finally, he is rinsed clean but I want a tiny bit of shampoo squirted on the "area" so I can make sure he is really clean. Mission accomplished, get the towel and wrap him in it trying to dry him off as fast as possible. "Stop complaining Misha, you are the one with poo stuck to your butt." I let him go from the towel and he disappears out the bathroom door. I look at the clock and the whole event only took 7 minutes. Pretty good!

If Misha were a short haired cat, I don't think he would have this problem, at least four times a year.