Yesterday Lady M, Little S and I had a lovely trip to a very large fair with Lady M's parents. We'll call them "Jorge'" and "Cinderella" for the purposes of this post. (just randomly chosen names, no specific reason for them)
We began our adventure by forgetting the stroller for little S and having to return home to get it. Thankfully we were only about 10 minutes into the 2+ hour trip. Now, I am not at all fond of these type of events, so when we pulled back into the driveway to retrieve the stroller, I did consider running away to hide under a shrub. Unfortunately, we don't have any shrubs,
so off we went.
Our drive was lovely. Only one pit stop was needed (by me, mostly) and it would have been a quick one, had it not been for the three tour buses filled with senior citizens - mostly ladies - who filed into the restroom just before my fair maiden Lady M got there. (oops) Then, of course, there was the bus that parked directly in front of the parking lot exit because, in the words of the bus driver who I found strolling out of the rest area, "well, first thing's first, ya know." I used my "authority" and "gently" requested that he pull the bus forward a few feet so the cars could get out.....he kindly obliged and we were once again on our way.
We arrived at the fair, and my educational experience began.
(A bit of history)
Growing up, I recall attending a few festivals/fairs. The memories of the one annual festival that we attended consist of riding the Ferris Wheel with "Pap.", throwing ping pong balls in goldfish bowls, and getting annoyed with the other little kids who were riding the train with me and kept ringing the d@mn bell. (yes, I was prudish even as a little tyke.) We attended the other semi-local event primarily for the horse shows, if memory serves correctly. All in all, I know little of Fair etiquette.
(Back to the present)
As it turns out, the main goal of fair attendance is to eat as many different things as possible and play as many inexpensive games as quarters will allow. Shopping must also be squeezed in throughout the day. The way to attain these goals is simply to PACE yourself. Do not eat too much at one time. Choose the order of cuisine based mainly on the layout of the fair, and choose one's path through the fair based on the level of hunger (or nausea as it may be). My personal goal was to have a semi-nutritious lunch and some rice pudding. So, we started off with pierogies (very nutritious). The rice pudding, although nearby, was to come later, when it was time to leave. (This was where I learned my food lesson - Lesson One.)
After snack number one, we began the migration. We formed a sort of train. Jorge' and Cinderella on the motorized scooters, Lady M with the stroller containing Little S, and I following the slow moving caravan, not sure of where to go and somewhat afraid of getting lost among the farm animals.
We soon came upon a balloon man trying desperately to hold onto his large supply of character/animal balloons. (It was a bit breezy and he had a LOT of balloons.)
Grandma (Cinderella) wanted to get Little S a balloon, so a lovely pink dolphin was chosen. Unfortunately, as I was attempting to tie said dolphin to the stroller, the wind blew it at little S, thereby frightening little S and eliciting blood curling screams any time the pink dolphin floated in her direction. The dolphin spent most of the rest of the day tied to the back of Grandma's scooter and I spent most of the day chasing Grandma on the scooter to re-attach the dolphin to the seat so that it wouldn't whack her in the head. The good thing about the balloon on Grandma's scooter was that it made her much easier to find. It is amazing how easy it is to lose "elders" on scooters at a fair. (I should mention that it was senior citizen day and scooters can be rented at the fair).
(Lessons two and three - bring a fish net? or Buy a smaller balloon (2) and Attach a blinking light on a pole to the rear of the scooters (3))
Little S enjoyed her first fair game. She got to pick up swans from a little pool. She's a good picker and even gave the swans back to the game lady. She won TWO prizes - a stuffed beetle and a crab - she picked them out herself. Little S continued her string of victories throughout the day, winning a stuffed frog, dog, unicorn, and lizard of some sort. Not bad for a 10 month old, no? (ok, so she had some help)
(Lesson Four - bring a wagon for the "loot")
All in all, it was a "fair" experience. I learned important lessons, we left with a trunk full of stuffed things, and I got my rice pudding. The best part (for me, anyway) is that the adventure will not occur again for a full year!
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Monday, September 04, 2006
Where Are My Pants?!?
Have you ever asked yourself (or someone else, for that matter) the question, "Where are my pants?"
It happened to me a couple of weeks ago . . .
Wow, that sounds a bit risque', doesn't it? Hmmm....well, read on. It will all make sense in a moment.
As I prepared to leave the house for the gym/martial arts school where I train a few times a week, I realized that I had a Gi (Karate uniform) with no pants. Perplexed, I looked around the basement, in the laundry, in my gym bag, any place I could think of where my pants could be hiding. I have an uncanny knack for putting things in strange places when I get distracted, so believe me when I say that I looked everywhere. No pants. Of course, I'm now running late and feeling quite frustrated that I have no bottoms. (I do have other pairs, but that's not the point.)
"How can someone possibly lose a pair of pants?" I asked aloud, exasperated.
"Did you check the laundry?" offered "Lady M", trying to be helpful.
I'm sure she was stifling laughter, however, at my latest frantic search for some important article/item that I absentmindedly misplaced at the most inopportune time. (Not that this happens often, or anything.)
So, off I go, pantsless, to the gym. (How's that for a mental image?)
Let's clear that up. I was wearing shorts, and I had a complete uniform in my bag. Just not that particular pair of pants.
I tend to do my best thinking while driving in the car. (Whoever decided that hand held cell phones are the hazard is wrong, btw, it's the thinking thing that gets me in trouble. I do digress, however.) So, as I'm driving, I go through in my head the last time that I was at the gym. I mentally finished class, went to the locker room, changed my clothes, packed my bag...WAIT....back up....finished class.....YES......that's it.........
On this particular night, I had rushed to change clothes and scamper out because I was meeting some co-workers for a late evening cocktail. OK, so now I know that I had been in a hurry to leave, but that just didn't explain the missing pants.
Then, another image came to mind. I had been at the gym one afternoon since then. I had seen a pair of pants lying on the counter in the locker room. Of course, I had no reason to think that they were mine, but now I was not so sure.
When I arrived at the school (gym - interchangeable, really), I asked "Ms. R" (a friend and lovely lady who works at this place of fitness fun) if she had, by chance, found a pair of pants in the locker room. Her eyes widened with a look of shock and a hint of disgust.
"Geesh," I thought, "what's the big deal?"
Ms. R confirms that she did find a pair of karate pants, then she adds, "They had a pair of panties with them."
PANTIES?!?!?!? (she said panties - this always makes me giggle. I don't know why.)
Sheepishly, I asked what kind, then realized, before she replied, that this may not have been appropriate. I mean, it's one thing to find someone's pants, but quite another to find two pairs. Really, in that sort of situation, are you going to check out the brand of underpants that someone wears?? Ms. R's reply pretty much supported that statement. I never knew her voice could go that high.
"I don't know, I threw them in a locker, I didn't look!" She retorted in a high pitched, faced paced tone.
I slinked my way to the locker room and checked the locker in question. There, in a balled up heap, was a pair of karate pants. I carefully extracted and unrolled them. In the mess was a lovely pair of pink jockey underwear. Yep. They were mine. Of all days to leave my britches behind, I pick the day that I wore PINK UNDERPANTS. How un-macho. I'm not sure which was more embarrassing. The fact that I forgot my pants, or the color factor. (I'm kidding - any color of forgotten underwear is quite disconcerting.)
As I was self-consciously stuffing my pants into my bag, Ms. R. walked in.
I informed her that they were indeed my pants and told her how sorry I was that she had to find my sweaty drawers.
"Hey, at least you know that they were mine," I said, trying to ease the grossness of the situation. (This, apparently, was little solace.)
In the end, we had a good laugh over it, but, from now on, I will DEFINITELY check and recheck to make sure that I have all of my pants.
It happened to me a couple of weeks ago . . .
Wow, that sounds a bit risque', doesn't it? Hmmm....well, read on. It will all make sense in a moment.
As I prepared to leave the house for the gym/martial arts school where I train a few times a week, I realized that I had a Gi (Karate uniform) with no pants. Perplexed, I looked around the basement, in the laundry, in my gym bag, any place I could think of where my pants could be hiding. I have an uncanny knack for putting things in strange places when I get distracted, so believe me when I say that I looked everywhere. No pants. Of course, I'm now running late and feeling quite frustrated that I have no bottoms. (I do have other pairs, but that's not the point.)
"How can someone possibly lose a pair of pants?" I asked aloud, exasperated.
"Did you check the laundry?" offered "Lady M", trying to be helpful.
I'm sure she was stifling laughter, however, at my latest frantic search for some important article/item that I absentmindedly misplaced at the most inopportune time. (Not that this happens often, or anything.)
So, off I go, pantsless, to the gym. (How's that for a mental image?)
Let's clear that up. I was wearing shorts, and I had a complete uniform in my bag. Just not that particular pair of pants.
I tend to do my best thinking while driving in the car. (Whoever decided that hand held cell phones are the hazard is wrong, btw, it's the thinking thing that gets me in trouble. I do digress, however.) So, as I'm driving, I go through in my head the last time that I was at the gym. I mentally finished class, went to the locker room, changed my clothes, packed my bag...WAIT....back up....finished class.....YES......that's it.........
On this particular night, I had rushed to change clothes and scamper out because I was meeting some co-workers for a late evening cocktail. OK, so now I know that I had been in a hurry to leave, but that just didn't explain the missing pants.
Then, another image came to mind. I had been at the gym one afternoon since then. I had seen a pair of pants lying on the counter in the locker room. Of course, I had no reason to think that they were mine, but now I was not so sure.
When I arrived at the school (gym - interchangeable, really), I asked "Ms. R" (a friend and lovely lady who works at this place of fitness fun) if she had, by chance, found a pair of pants in the locker room. Her eyes widened with a look of shock and a hint of disgust.
"Geesh," I thought, "what's the big deal?"
Ms. R confirms that she did find a pair of karate pants, then she adds, "They had a pair of panties with them."
PANTIES?!?!?!? (she said panties - this always makes me giggle. I don't know why.)
Sheepishly, I asked what kind, then realized, before she replied, that this may not have been appropriate. I mean, it's one thing to find someone's pants, but quite another to find two pairs. Really, in that sort of situation, are you going to check out the brand of underpants that someone wears?? Ms. R's reply pretty much supported that statement. I never knew her voice could go that high.
"I don't know, I threw them in a locker, I didn't look!" She retorted in a high pitched, faced paced tone.
I slinked my way to the locker room and checked the locker in question. There, in a balled up heap, was a pair of karate pants. I carefully extracted and unrolled them. In the mess was a lovely pair of pink jockey underwear. Yep. They were mine. Of all days to leave my britches behind, I pick the day that I wore PINK UNDERPANTS. How un-macho. I'm not sure which was more embarrassing. The fact that I forgot my pants, or the color factor. (I'm kidding - any color of forgotten underwear is quite disconcerting.)
As I was self-consciously stuffing my pants into my bag, Ms. R. walked in.
I informed her that they were indeed my pants and told her how sorry I was that she had to find my sweaty drawers.
"Hey, at least you know that they were mine," I said, trying to ease the grossness of the situation. (This, apparently, was little solace.)
In the end, we had a good laugh over it, but, from now on, I will DEFINITELY check and recheck to make sure that I have all of my pants.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
My Morning's (mis)Adventures
What a morning!
It started off great with a trip to the car doctor, AKA Toyota Dealership service center to get the oil changed in my lovely wife’s car.
Somehow, I find it quite entertaining to sit in these places every now and then. It’s not like I go there weekly just to sit at the little make-shift cafe tables or anything, but when the opportunity arises (when a car needs some professional attention), I sometimes prefer to wait rather than leave the premises.
It was oddly quiet in there, library-like, most everyone reading a newspaper or jotting notes on paper. Their was a lovely lady to my right (an older lady) who was enjoying a small snack (which she had brought in a plastic bag) while sipping her FREE cappuccino that she had obtained from this new fan dangled machine after a brief lesson from another customer. She, too, was reading the newspaper.
Then, of course, their was the lady who walked in wearing one pink and one yellow sneaker. What’s that about? hmmm....
I always enjoy people watching. Whether at a car dealership, coffee shop, or just out on the street. I can be entertained for hours. As it turns out, the dealership was BY FAR the best time of my morning’s adventures. The rest of the trip went something like this:
While at the dealership, I discover that the registration for wifey’s car was two months overdue. This is not good. Driving with expired registration is bad. So, with fingers crossed, I leave the dealership en route to the DMV. Quick phone call to Lady M, and she says not to worry, it’s registered and the card is in her wallet. “Phew”, I say, and direct my travels to Shop Rite to purchase Lassie’s best dog food for our canine companions.
Phone rings (I have now passed the DMV).
Lady M: “uh...this is a 2005 card...I guess it’s not registered”
Me: “ugh...great....all right, I’ll go back to the DMV after Shop Rite...I’ll just get cash at the store”
I arrive at Shop Rite and head directly to the rest room - too much coffee. I enter the rest room to find three young female employees laughing and having a loud conversation. As I walk in, the three become silent for the moment that it takes me to enter the stall, then their conversation went something like this:
Obnoxious teenager # 1: “Fag”
Obnoxious teenager # 2: “You’re gay”
Obnoxious teenager #1: “You’re a faggot”
Obnoxious teenager # 2: “Lesbian”
Obnoxious teenager # 3: “You know it. That’s actually a complement for me”
All three obnoxious teenagers break into hooting laughter and indecipherable profanities and other rude utterances as they make their way into the hallway.
Perhaps I am becoming a prude, or just a bitter old maid, I don’t know. Regardless, I was beyond irritated with these three, and perhaps even a bit intimidated. Actually, I think I was most aggravated by the fact that I couldn’t pee until they left....fight or flight had set in. I was ready to fight, and my bladder decided to help by not releasing anything that may come in useful in battle.
As I left the rest room, I could still hear the obnoxious laughter and banter making its way down the steps and out into the store. As a former store manager (clothing), I would have been mortified to see my associates behaving like this in front of customers.
“The ‘Warrioress’ must take action,” I thought. Since I left my sword at home, I decided to march straight to customer service and request the presence of a manager. In a very “Warrioress -like” way, I explained the situation to the manager and he immediately knew the three individuals that I was referring to. He assured me that he would turn the matter over to his HR manager and the situation would be dealt with accordingly.
Mission accomplished. Almost. Still need the dog food and have no desire to speak with another store associate. Thank goodness for self-checkout. (NOT! and the hits just keep on coming.....)
With my trusty bag of Lassie’s Best, I pitter patter over to the self checkout aisle where Earl (not sure of his name, but we’ll call him Earl, the keeper of the Self-Checkout lanes) watches my every move, then provides me with a pretty orange paid sticker on my bag. Earl continues to hover behind me as I complete my transaction using the pin pad device as directed by the computer terminal. I happily request a cash back amount of $50.00 (DMV, remember?) and press ENTER.
The machine whirrs, and whirrs, and whirrs, and doesn’t give me any money. Earl, observing the travesty, comes to my aid. He feverishly punches in his password and code, and like any hero would, reads the instructions on screen. The screen says that it is having a problem dispensing $10.00 bills and that the tray should be removed and checked. Earl exits the screen and valiantly struts to his phone to request assistance.
I hear: (Earl) “Oh, really, court? Not here, huh? OK. So, I should just ask him to leave his name and phone number and tell him that we’ll call him when Mike gets back?”
At this, I interject, “If you are referring to ME when you say Him and His name and number, that is completely unacceptable and I am not leaving this store without my money!”
To make a very long story a bit shorter, it took 3 store associates and me nearly shedding a tear to come to the understanding that I would absolutely not leave my name and phone number in the hope that “Mike” would soon return from court to retrieve my money from that particular register. AND, I am not “Him, His, or SIR”. (I was wearing shorts and a tee shirt, for G’s Sake! I know I’m not well endowed, but there is something visible above the waist!)
What were these people thinking? I have been out of retail for a few years now, but has it changed that much? I never would have dreamed of sending a customer away without their change, let alone a direct debit from their bank account!
Finally I got my money, and do you know where they got it? Such trouble these people went to....they had to reach below Earls terminal, into a zippered bag, and pull out $50.00. Wow. Later, they will have to replace it from the drawer of the bastard register that would not dispense $10’s. And, Gee, the customer left (somewhat) satisfied - after nearly 20 minutes of “discussion”.
The DMV, btw, was not a success story either. As it turns out, the registered owner of the vehicle must register in person or have a notarized form indicating permission for another individual to complete said transaction.
This all occurred prior to 10:00 AM.
The Moral of my story?
Hmmm....People-watching is fun, Shop Rite is not, and you might as well just sleep ‘til noon.
It started off great with a trip to the car doctor, AKA Toyota Dealership service center to get the oil changed in my lovely wife’s car.
Somehow, I find it quite entertaining to sit in these places every now and then. It’s not like I go there weekly just to sit at the little make-shift cafe tables or anything, but when the opportunity arises (when a car needs some professional attention), I sometimes prefer to wait rather than leave the premises.
It was oddly quiet in there, library-like, most everyone reading a newspaper or jotting notes on paper. Their was a lovely lady to my right (an older lady) who was enjoying a small snack (which she had brought in a plastic bag) while sipping her FREE cappuccino that she had obtained from this new fan dangled machine after a brief lesson from another customer. She, too, was reading the newspaper.
Then, of course, their was the lady who walked in wearing one pink and one yellow sneaker. What’s that about? hmmm....
I always enjoy people watching. Whether at a car dealership, coffee shop, or just out on the street. I can be entertained for hours. As it turns out, the dealership was BY FAR the best time of my morning’s adventures. The rest of the trip went something like this:
While at the dealership, I discover that the registration for wifey’s car was two months overdue. This is not good. Driving with expired registration is bad. So, with fingers crossed, I leave the dealership en route to the DMV. Quick phone call to Lady M, and she says not to worry, it’s registered and the card is in her wallet. “Phew”, I say, and direct my travels to Shop Rite to purchase Lassie’s best dog food for our canine companions.
Phone rings (I have now passed the DMV).
Lady M: “uh...this is a 2005 card...I guess it’s not registered”
Me: “ugh...great....all right, I’ll go back to the DMV after Shop Rite...I’ll just get cash at the store”
I arrive at Shop Rite and head directly to the rest room - too much coffee. I enter the rest room to find three young female employees laughing and having a loud conversation. As I walk in, the three become silent for the moment that it takes me to enter the stall, then their conversation went something like this:
Obnoxious teenager # 1: “Fag”
Obnoxious teenager # 2: “You’re gay”
Obnoxious teenager #1: “You’re a faggot”
Obnoxious teenager # 2: “Lesbian”
Obnoxious teenager # 3: “You know it. That’s actually a complement for me”
All three obnoxious teenagers break into hooting laughter and indecipherable profanities and other rude utterances as they make their way into the hallway.
Perhaps I am becoming a prude, or just a bitter old maid, I don’t know. Regardless, I was beyond irritated with these three, and perhaps even a bit intimidated. Actually, I think I was most aggravated by the fact that I couldn’t pee until they left....fight or flight had set in. I was ready to fight, and my bladder decided to help by not releasing anything that may come in useful in battle.
As I left the rest room, I could still hear the obnoxious laughter and banter making its way down the steps and out into the store. As a former store manager (clothing), I would have been mortified to see my associates behaving like this in front of customers.
“The ‘Warrioress’ must take action,” I thought. Since I left my sword at home, I decided to march straight to customer service and request the presence of a manager. In a very “Warrioress -like” way, I explained the situation to the manager and he immediately knew the three individuals that I was referring to. He assured me that he would turn the matter over to his HR manager and the situation would be dealt with accordingly.
Mission accomplished. Almost. Still need the dog food and have no desire to speak with another store associate. Thank goodness for self-checkout. (NOT! and the hits just keep on coming.....)
With my trusty bag of Lassie’s Best, I pitter patter over to the self checkout aisle where Earl (not sure of his name, but we’ll call him Earl, the keeper of the Self-Checkout lanes) watches my every move, then provides me with a pretty orange paid sticker on my bag. Earl continues to hover behind me as I complete my transaction using the pin pad device as directed by the computer terminal. I happily request a cash back amount of $50.00 (DMV, remember?) and press ENTER.
The machine whirrs, and whirrs, and whirrs, and doesn’t give me any money. Earl, observing the travesty, comes to my aid. He feverishly punches in his password and code, and like any hero would, reads the instructions on screen. The screen says that it is having a problem dispensing $10.00 bills and that the tray should be removed and checked. Earl exits the screen and valiantly struts to his phone to request assistance.
I hear: (Earl) “Oh, really, court? Not here, huh? OK. So, I should just ask him to leave his name and phone number and tell him that we’ll call him when Mike gets back?”
At this, I interject, “If you are referring to ME when you say Him and His name and number, that is completely unacceptable and I am not leaving this store without my money!”
To make a very long story a bit shorter, it took 3 store associates and me nearly shedding a tear to come to the understanding that I would absolutely not leave my name and phone number in the hope that “Mike” would soon return from court to retrieve my money from that particular register. AND, I am not “Him, His, or SIR”. (I was wearing shorts and a tee shirt, for G’s Sake! I know I’m not well endowed, but there is something visible above the waist!)
What were these people thinking? I have been out of retail for a few years now, but has it changed that much? I never would have dreamed of sending a customer away without their change, let alone a direct debit from their bank account!
Finally I got my money, and do you know where they got it? Such trouble these people went to....they had to reach below Earls terminal, into a zippered bag, and pull out $50.00. Wow. Later, they will have to replace it from the drawer of the bastard register that would not dispense $10’s. And, Gee, the customer left (somewhat) satisfied - after nearly 20 minutes of “discussion”.
The DMV, btw, was not a success story either. As it turns out, the registered owner of the vehicle must register in person or have a notarized form indicating permission for another individual to complete said transaction.
This all occurred prior to 10:00 AM.
The Moral of my story?
Hmmm....People-watching is fun, Shop Rite is not, and you might as well just sleep ‘til noon.
Warrioress
Thanks so much, Ciar Cullen, for the great quiz you posted! After years of soul searching, I have finally found my true identity!Look out world, here I come!
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Dilemma
Today I am taking a slight diversion from the style of my previous posts. The fun, sarcastic, silliness shall give way to my introspective, moral side. Well, maybe. Anyway, I have found myself in a quandary this morning. May I begin, however, by saying what a beautiful morning it is! It rained a bit last night, just enough that I won’t be needing to water the plants, and the air is cool and energizing. Not chilly, just comfortably cool. The dogs and I are actually outside right now, blogging. Okay, so the dogs are actually checking their e-mail (that is to say, wandering around sniffing the grass and whatever else they can find to sniff or roll in).
My dilemma.....
I was flipping channels earlier and came across the Science Channel’s “How It’s Made” program. I love this show. I love all of those Discovery type shows and channels....anytime I can find out what makes something or someone “tick” I enjoy. I do digress.
So on this particular installment, they were talking about chicken hatcheries. I have seen fish hatcheries, but never a chicken hatchery. Do you know what these poor little chickies go through just a few days after hatching???
First, all of the eggs, hundreds of them, are in these large trays that are incubated. The chicks hatch, all jam packed together, they dry off, then off they go in the large trays which are stacked on top of one another. They are rolled down the stark hallway of this institution like building by a skinny man in a white coat. Then they go on a conveyer type thing where the chicks are separated from the shells. How, you may ask. Well, the conveyer is made of rolling metal bars that are just far enough apart for the little chicks to fall through onto another conveyer. So here go all of these cute little fuzzy chicks, scrambling over one another and clutching at smooth steel with their little tiny feet to avoid the fall into the unknown and suddenly FLOOMP.....there they go, one by one....down to the gender sorter.
The next conveyer takes them round and round while other people in white coats with earpieces in their ears (I didn’t get that part....are they communicating with the mother ship?) snatch them up one by one and check the gender. (this, by the way, is done by comparing two rows of feathers. If one row is longer than the other, it is female. If both are the same length, it is male) After the gender checking, they are tossed, not placed, but TOSSED into a tube which sends them plummeting to a gender specific conveyer belt.
From this one, the get tossed again into large (but not that large) trays, or as they called them, “special shipping containers” (plastic trays with holes in them) - 150 chicks per tray. If the buyer has requested vaccinations, the tray gets misted with a spray to ward off bronchitis infection.
I’m not sure where they go from here. I was too upset to watch any more. The chicks all had looks of panic in their eyes and were breathing so hard that it’s a wonder any survive.
Here is my dilemma. I eat chicken. I eat eggs. I like green eggs and ham, Sam I am. (oops sorry)
I no longer feel morally sound eating this. I thought about changing to the free range option. I mean, why support such a horrible industry, right? I don’t eat veal or lamb because of the treatment of the animals. (I don’t eat red meat at all...mostly because of the physical issues that I get after eating it.)
Free range chickens are happy chickens, right? They run around, free to do and eat as they please, snacking on their organic grains (which are probably grown right next to the pesticide ridden farm next door, but that’s a whole other discussion). So, I thought for a fleeting moment, no more institutionalized chicken for me. It’s free range all the way.
Wait....why should I eat the happy chickens who live the good life? Shouldn’t they enjoy their life? I should eat the ones who are destined for misery. But wait. If I do that, I’ll be supporting their miserable existence and thereby perpetuating the cycle of violence and destruction.
And what about eggs? For me this one is easier. I think I will switch to free range eggs. They are more expensive but I will just limit my consumption of them.
So, do I not eat chicken anymore? What about turkey? Ham/pork? It’s all basically the same process, right?
I have dabbled in a meatless diet before. It’s not the easiest thing or cheapest thing to do. I think, today at least, I may be headed in that direction once again.
What do you all think? (this is my pleading way of soliciting comments so that I know if anyone actually reads my dribble drabble.)
My dilemma.....
I was flipping channels earlier and came across the Science Channel’s “How It’s Made” program. I love this show. I love all of those Discovery type shows and channels....anytime I can find out what makes something or someone “tick” I enjoy. I do digress.
So on this particular installment, they were talking about chicken hatcheries. I have seen fish hatcheries, but never a chicken hatchery. Do you know what these poor little chickies go through just a few days after hatching???
First, all of the eggs, hundreds of them, are in these large trays that are incubated. The chicks hatch, all jam packed together, they dry off, then off they go in the large trays which are stacked on top of one another. They are rolled down the stark hallway of this institution like building by a skinny man in a white coat. Then they go on a conveyer type thing where the chicks are separated from the shells. How, you may ask. Well, the conveyer is made of rolling metal bars that are just far enough apart for the little chicks to fall through onto another conveyer. So here go all of these cute little fuzzy chicks, scrambling over one another and clutching at smooth steel with their little tiny feet to avoid the fall into the unknown and suddenly FLOOMP.....there they go, one by one....down to the gender sorter.
The next conveyer takes them round and round while other people in white coats with earpieces in their ears (I didn’t get that part....are they communicating with the mother ship?) snatch them up one by one and check the gender. (this, by the way, is done by comparing two rows of feathers. If one row is longer than the other, it is female. If both are the same length, it is male) After the gender checking, they are tossed, not placed, but TOSSED into a tube which sends them plummeting to a gender specific conveyer belt.
From this one, the get tossed again into large (but not that large) trays, or as they called them, “special shipping containers” (plastic trays with holes in them) - 150 chicks per tray. If the buyer has requested vaccinations, the tray gets misted with a spray to ward off bronchitis infection.
I’m not sure where they go from here. I was too upset to watch any more. The chicks all had looks of panic in their eyes and were breathing so hard that it’s a wonder any survive.
Here is my dilemma. I eat chicken. I eat eggs. I like green eggs and ham, Sam I am. (oops sorry)
I no longer feel morally sound eating this. I thought about changing to the free range option. I mean, why support such a horrible industry, right? I don’t eat veal or lamb because of the treatment of the animals. (I don’t eat red meat at all...mostly because of the physical issues that I get after eating it.)
Free range chickens are happy chickens, right? They run around, free to do and eat as they please, snacking on their organic grains (which are probably grown right next to the pesticide ridden farm next door, but that’s a whole other discussion). So, I thought for a fleeting moment, no more institutionalized chicken for me. It’s free range all the way.
Wait....why should I eat the happy chickens who live the good life? Shouldn’t they enjoy their life? I should eat the ones who are destined for misery. But wait. If I do that, I’ll be supporting their miserable existence and thereby perpetuating the cycle of violence and destruction.
And what about eggs? For me this one is easier. I think I will switch to free range eggs. They are more expensive but I will just limit my consumption of them.
So, do I not eat chicken anymore? What about turkey? Ham/pork? It’s all basically the same process, right?
I have dabbled in a meatless diet before. It’s not the easiest thing or cheapest thing to do. I think, today at least, I may be headed in that direction once again.
What do you all think? (this is my pleading way of soliciting comments so that I know if anyone actually reads my dribble drabble.)
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Our Beach Umbrella
How about this beautiful weather we've had recently? Wow! Such a difference from the heat wave, no?! I thought that, in honor of the glory of Mother Nature, I would post a little something about the "fury" of Madam Mother Nature. (No, this is not a Katrina story or anything so dramatic....merely a recent experience of mine at the wondrous Jersey Shore) Read on, my little sea turtles, read on......
A few weeks ago, my sister flew in from the Midwest to visit with us. We thought that it would be lovely to take a day trip to the beach, so we packed up our things, our many, many "things" and off we went. For those of you who are not readily familiar with our "group", the "things" included a cooler (obviously, I mean, we ARE going to the beach!), chairs, blanket, umbrella (which we purchased JUST for this trip), personal beach gear for three adults and ALL the fixin's needed for an almost 7 month old who had never been in the sand before.
We headed out about mid-morning, amid sunny skies and a lovely inland temperature. On the way we stopped for sandwiches to fill the cooler, (What ELSE would go in there? Geesh!) along with our water bottles. We parked nice and close (sort of...there was a mini-dune hike involved) and unloaded the goods. Now, I pride myself in the ability to carry a LOT of stuff at one time, but this was a load that even I couldn't handle. (or could I.....) Anyway, off we went, three adults, sharing the carrying duty, and one little "monkey", in the arms of her Aunt.
We found the perfect spot and set up camp. It went something like this:
Blanket down....uh oh....."Wow it's windy down here".....Okay, blanket down....ugh...."someone put a shoe on the corner"....Okay, blanket down, cooler on this side..."yeah, that's it".....aargh......"now you got sand all over it!"......oh well......"I'll get the umbrella ready" (that's me, SM)......umbrella in the sand.....oops....forgot the twisty posting thing....twisty posting thing in the sand...."hmmm, should it be that deep?".....umbrella in the post...."Wow, that's short, well, we do plan to sit under it"....crawling under the umbrella......"uh, should it be this short?"........
So camp was set up and we ate our lunch amid the sand and wind and sun. Quite tasty and relaxing (yeah right) so far. As I attempted to adjust the umbrella a bit, the "little Monkey" was carted off to check out the shoreline. (I should mention that just prior to this, we looked down the beach and noticed quite a bit of haze forming.) Apparently, the ocean is quite intimidating to a 7 month old.....she did calm down after a few minutes and some sea shell distractions. (NO, she was NOT in the water, just near it and held by her mother). It was about this time that I headed back to the car for something. I gingerly picked my barefoot way across the stone covered parking lot and just as a reached the car, I felt rain drops. "Gee, glad I came back", I thought as I put up the windows.
As I turned to head back to the beach, (a little rain never hurt anyone and a passing shower is to be expected in the summer, no?) I noticed the rather ominous clouds that had made there way up the coastline. I had almost made it across the stones before the first CRACK of thunder. Over the stones, up the dune, down the dune I ran....Sprinting towards me with the (now screaming) "little Monkey" is Aunt K, closely followed by the nearly EMPTY HANDED (remember all of the "stuff" that I mentioned earlier...Yeah, well anyway....) lovely "Lady M". The rain was really coming down now. Big, HUGE drops. Very cold. Our dialogue went something like this:
Me "Here, take the keys"
Lady M. (breathless) "It...Gone....Uh....There (pointing into oblivion)....Gone...."
Me "WHAT?!? What's gone? Huh??"
Lady M. "Thing....Gone....Wind.....Blew....Away.....there...."
Me "The umbrella??"
Lady M. "YES....gone....there" (pointing down the beach)
There it was. Tumbling down the beach amid stirring sand and blowing sea water. Our beautiful new $19.99 beach umbrella which we planned to use on our deck after the trip to the beach. Now I had a choice to make. Obviously, I was about to test the limits of my pack-horse capabilities, so did I want to try to salvage the umbrella, or did I want to let some lucky stranger find some free shade down the beach. I looked again, and there it went, further down the beach. Now, the choice was obvious. I MUST HAVE THAT UMBRELLA! I looked at our low lying blanket, anchored down by shoes and cooler and folded up chairs and bags, then back at the umbrella (now at least 300 yards down the beach and blowing).
The race was on. There's nothing like a good run in the sand. (NOT) Down the beach I raced, sea spray, wind and sand particles coating my face and lungs, getting closer, hoping the wind will cooperate for just a few more seconds. Not going to happen. Another gust and into the ocean goes the umbrella. I MUST HAVE THAT UMBRELLA! "Determination and effort" was the motto of my high school athletic department. I felt it kick in.....(I do not like to go into the ocean....big waves, lot's of water, many things on the bottom that you can't see).....Into the water I went....out went the umbrella with the tide....further into the water I went.....IN CAME THE UMBRELLA WITH A WAVE.....toward the beach I ran away from the wave....out went the umbrella with the tide....except, THIS TIME, I grabbed it as I stepped off the sandbar and ended up in the water up to my chest. Not to worry, I can swim just fine, I just choose not to do it in the ocean when possible. That being said, have you ever tried to swim or even wade while dragging an open umbrella (beach umbrella) through the water? Yeah, it's rather challenging.
All right, use your imagination for the rest. Suffice it to say, I retrieved the umbrella and on the way back to our "campsite" I dropped off the beach chairs that belonged to the people nearest us. Upon arrival at our little site, I stuffed the soaked and sandfilled umbrella into its bag, packed up all of the "loose ends", hobo style in the blanket, hoisted the yet to be unpacked folding chairs onto my shoulder, draped the bags around my neck, scooped up the cooler, looped the umbrella pack around my other shoulder and tossed the "hobo-pack" over my back. I began the trek back to the car as the rain poured down and thunder cracked all around. Frustration had just begun to set in when I suddenly realized that I was carrying a lightening rod (my beautiful new beach umbrella) in the middle of a beach during a thunderstorm that was directly above us. "OMG...."
Imaginations again, please.....picture a fairly small person "running" - term used loosely here -through the sand with a whole lot of stuff in their arms.....
I made it back to the car where everyone else was nestled quite comfortably. They were rather inquisitive as to why I was soaking wet and covered in sand. (I won't repeat my retort here....it might be flagged as objectionable content.) Oh, and by the way, at this point the sun was out and the rain had stopped. (Just in time to rinse off the sand, pack the car and head home)
The umbrella sure looks lovely on our deck.
A few weeks ago, my sister flew in from the Midwest to visit with us. We thought that it would be lovely to take a day trip to the beach, so we packed up our things, our many, many "things" and off we went. For those of you who are not readily familiar with our "group", the "things" included a cooler (obviously, I mean, we ARE going to the beach!), chairs, blanket, umbrella (which we purchased JUST for this trip), personal beach gear for three adults and ALL the fixin's needed for an almost 7 month old who had never been in the sand before.
We headed out about mid-morning, amid sunny skies and a lovely inland temperature. On the way we stopped for sandwiches to fill the cooler, (What ELSE would go in there? Geesh!) along with our water bottles. We parked nice and close (sort of...there was a mini-dune hike involved) and unloaded the goods. Now, I pride myself in the ability to carry a LOT of stuff at one time, but this was a load that even I couldn't handle. (or could I.....) Anyway, off we went, three adults, sharing the carrying duty, and one little "monkey", in the arms of her Aunt.
We found the perfect spot and set up camp. It went something like this:
Blanket down....uh oh....."Wow it's windy down here".....Okay, blanket down....ugh...."someone put a shoe on the corner"....Okay, blanket down, cooler on this side..."yeah, that's it".....aargh......"now you got sand all over it!"......oh well......"I'll get the umbrella ready" (that's me, SM)......umbrella in the sand.....oops....forgot the twisty posting thing....twisty posting thing in the sand...."hmmm, should it be that deep?".....umbrella in the post...."Wow, that's short, well, we do plan to sit under it"....crawling under the umbrella......"uh, should it be this short?"........
So camp was set up and we ate our lunch amid the sand and wind and sun. Quite tasty and relaxing (yeah right) so far. As I attempted to adjust the umbrella a bit, the "little Monkey" was carted off to check out the shoreline. (I should mention that just prior to this, we looked down the beach and noticed quite a bit of haze forming.) Apparently, the ocean is quite intimidating to a 7 month old.....she did calm down after a few minutes and some sea shell distractions. (NO, she was NOT in the water, just near it and held by her mother). It was about this time that I headed back to the car for something. I gingerly picked my barefoot way across the stone covered parking lot and just as a reached the car, I felt rain drops. "Gee, glad I came back", I thought as I put up the windows.
As I turned to head back to the beach, (a little rain never hurt anyone and a passing shower is to be expected in the summer, no?) I noticed the rather ominous clouds that had made there way up the coastline. I had almost made it across the stones before the first CRACK of thunder. Over the stones, up the dune, down the dune I ran....Sprinting towards me with the (now screaming) "little Monkey" is Aunt K, closely followed by the nearly EMPTY HANDED (remember all of the "stuff" that I mentioned earlier...Yeah, well anyway....) lovely "Lady M". The rain was really coming down now. Big, HUGE drops. Very cold. Our dialogue went something like this:
Me "Here, take the keys"
Lady M. (breathless) "It...Gone....Uh....There (pointing into oblivion)....Gone...."
Me "WHAT?!? What's gone? Huh??"
Lady M. "Thing....Gone....Wind.....Blew....Away.....there...."
Me "The umbrella??"
Lady M. "YES....gone....there" (pointing down the beach)
There it was. Tumbling down the beach amid stirring sand and blowing sea water. Our beautiful new $19.99 beach umbrella which we planned to use on our deck after the trip to the beach. Now I had a choice to make. Obviously, I was about to test the limits of my pack-horse capabilities, so did I want to try to salvage the umbrella, or did I want to let some lucky stranger find some free shade down the beach. I looked again, and there it went, further down the beach. Now, the choice was obvious. I MUST HAVE THAT UMBRELLA! I looked at our low lying blanket, anchored down by shoes and cooler and folded up chairs and bags, then back at the umbrella (now at least 300 yards down the beach and blowing).
The race was on. There's nothing like a good run in the sand. (NOT) Down the beach I raced, sea spray, wind and sand particles coating my face and lungs, getting closer, hoping the wind will cooperate for just a few more seconds. Not going to happen. Another gust and into the ocean goes the umbrella. I MUST HAVE THAT UMBRELLA! "Determination and effort" was the motto of my high school athletic department. I felt it kick in.....(I do not like to go into the ocean....big waves, lot's of water, many things on the bottom that you can't see).....Into the water I went....out went the umbrella with the tide....further into the water I went.....IN CAME THE UMBRELLA WITH A WAVE.....toward the beach I ran away from the wave....out went the umbrella with the tide....except, THIS TIME, I grabbed it as I stepped off the sandbar and ended up in the water up to my chest. Not to worry, I can swim just fine, I just choose not to do it in the ocean when possible. That being said, have you ever tried to swim or even wade while dragging an open umbrella (beach umbrella) through the water? Yeah, it's rather challenging.
All right, use your imagination for the rest. Suffice it to say, I retrieved the umbrella and on the way back to our "campsite" I dropped off the beach chairs that belonged to the people nearest us. Upon arrival at our little site, I stuffed the soaked and sandfilled umbrella into its bag, packed up all of the "loose ends", hobo style in the blanket, hoisted the yet to be unpacked folding chairs onto my shoulder, draped the bags around my neck, scooped up the cooler, looped the umbrella pack around my other shoulder and tossed the "hobo-pack" over my back. I began the trek back to the car as the rain poured down and thunder cracked all around. Frustration had just begun to set in when I suddenly realized that I was carrying a lightening rod (my beautiful new beach umbrella) in the middle of a beach during a thunderstorm that was directly above us. "OMG...."
Imaginations again, please.....picture a fairly small person "running" - term used loosely here -through the sand with a whole lot of stuff in their arms.....
I made it back to the car where everyone else was nestled quite comfortably. They were rather inquisitive as to why I was soaking wet and covered in sand. (I won't repeat my retort here....it might be flagged as objectionable content.) Oh, and by the way, at this point the sun was out and the rain had stopped. (Just in time to rinse off the sand, pack the car and head home)
The umbrella sure looks lovely on our deck.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Language Barriers
I would like to start this off by saying that it is not intended to represent political views of any sort. I write based only on my own experiences or the experiences of those close to me and represent only my own perception of things. blah blah blah
Not long ago, there was a fair amount of chatter in the newspapers and on the news about an area establishment that had posted a sign indicating that non-English speaking folks were not welcome. Apparently what they really meant was that if a customer did not order in English, then the employees would not understand them, as the employees were unfamiliar with other languages. I hadn't thought all that much about it at the time. It really didn't affect me, I mean, I don't eat cheese steak and I do speak English, so why be bothered. At the same time, however, I thought (think) that it is a matter of respect that, when taking up residence in a new place, one learn the language or dialect of said place. (At least carry with you a handbook of common phrases.) I realize that this is a very touchy subject for some, and I don't wish to ruffle any feathers (if anyone even reads this) - my apologies if you're already ruffled. In any event, a give and take is necessary here. We would all do well to expand our minds with some "extra phrases".
To get on with my own experiences with the language barrier, I seem to be running into this type of obstacle more and more lately. It is not always a "language" issue, but rather a general communication barrier. It may be something that occurs at work, where I will present instructions to someone only to have them do the complete opposite of what I said.....is it in my delivery, or is it a problem with the reception? It may come in the form of a simple misunderstanding....Me: "What?!? You want me to put the dog in the fryer??" M: "No, you J*ck*ss! Check the clothes in the dryer!"
Or, it may be an actual problem with language. For instance, I was in Staples the other day looking for a refill for my favorite pen. Of course, I was having quite a bit of trouble locating the proper refill and said to the kind looking customer next to me, "why is it, when you find a favorite pen, you can never find the right refill". The lovely lady looked at me with the blankest (is that a word?) expression I have seen in a long time. She pointed toward customer service and said, "You go ask help there". Yeah, English was not exactly her first language. Oh well. So much for small talk in the pen aisle.
This would not have struck me so funny if not for a recent softball game that I played in. (yes, there is a connection between pen shopping and softball playing)(?huh?)
So, in this game, I thought that I recognized one of the players on the opposing team as someone that I played basketball with a few years back. At one point in the game, while we were on defense, I took the opportunity to ask one of the base runners the name of this player. I looked at the runner on second base and said, "Is your teammate's name Jennifer?"
The runner looked at me, right in the eye, pointed to her ear and mouthed the words, "I'm deaf".
What are the chances of that??
I love to talk to people, so tend to do that wherever I go. Perhaps the recent situations are a hint to me to just shut up. Hmm.......
Not long ago, there was a fair amount of chatter in the newspapers and on the news about an area establishment that had posted a sign indicating that non-English speaking folks were not welcome. Apparently what they really meant was that if a customer did not order in English, then the employees would not understand them, as the employees were unfamiliar with other languages. I hadn't thought all that much about it at the time. It really didn't affect me, I mean, I don't eat cheese steak and I do speak English, so why be bothered. At the same time, however, I thought (think) that it is a matter of respect that, when taking up residence in a new place, one learn the language or dialect of said place. (At least carry with you a handbook of common phrases.) I realize that this is a very touchy subject for some, and I don't wish to ruffle any feathers (if anyone even reads this) - my apologies if you're already ruffled. In any event, a give and take is necessary here. We would all do well to expand our minds with some "extra phrases".
To get on with my own experiences with the language barrier, I seem to be running into this type of obstacle more and more lately. It is not always a "language" issue, but rather a general communication barrier. It may be something that occurs at work, where I will present instructions to someone only to have them do the complete opposite of what I said.....is it in my delivery, or is it a problem with the reception? It may come in the form of a simple misunderstanding....Me: "What?!? You want me to put the dog in the fryer??" M: "No, you J*ck*ss! Check the clothes in the dryer!"
Or, it may be an actual problem with language. For instance, I was in Staples the other day looking for a refill for my favorite pen. Of course, I was having quite a bit of trouble locating the proper refill and said to the kind looking customer next to me, "why is it, when you find a favorite pen, you can never find the right refill". The lovely lady looked at me with the blankest (is that a word?) expression I have seen in a long time. She pointed toward customer service and said, "You go ask help there". Yeah, English was not exactly her first language. Oh well. So much for small talk in the pen aisle.
This would not have struck me so funny if not for a recent softball game that I played in. (yes, there is a connection between pen shopping and softball playing)(?huh?)
So, in this game, I thought that I recognized one of the players on the opposing team as someone that I played basketball with a few years back. At one point in the game, while we were on defense, I took the opportunity to ask one of the base runners the name of this player. I looked at the runner on second base and said, "Is your teammate's name Jennifer?"
The runner looked at me, right in the eye, pointed to her ear and mouthed the words, "I'm deaf".
What are the chances of that??
I love to talk to people, so tend to do that wherever I go. Perhaps the recent situations are a hint to me to just shut up. Hmm.......
Friday, July 14, 2006
Today I am Bob
This evening, the family and I went out to enjoy a lovely dinner at our favorite Tex/Mex feeding trough, followed by a visit to the omnipotent coffee joint, Starbucks. We placed our beverage orders, and the barista asked for a name to put on the cup. Now, for whatever reason, I am always a bit taken a-back by this. I mean, it's not a big deal to tell the person your first name and have it written on a cup, right? (sometimes people pay money to have a mug with their name on it - we were getting it for free!)
In any event, as it came time to give my name, I proudly stated my full first name. I pondered this for an instant, thinking, "wait, I could tell him ANY name, and he wouldn't know the difference". I then blurted out, "WAIT! Can I be Bob today?"
I thought that I would get a little giggle, or at least a grin from the "friendly" barista, and then he would shrug and pass the cup on to get filled.
However, without so much as a smirk, he took his little blue sharpie, scratched out my name, and wrote BOB ever so big and bold.
I thought this was the best thing since sliced bread. I asked to be Bob, and he made it so! This Barista ROCKS!
Then I noticed that he still wasn't laughing.
Hmm....I guess I'm not the first person to ask to be Bob on their cup.
In any event, as it came time to give my name, I proudly stated my full first name. I pondered this for an instant, thinking, "wait, I could tell him ANY name, and he wouldn't know the difference". I then blurted out, "WAIT! Can I be Bob today?"
I thought that I would get a little giggle, or at least a grin from the "friendly" barista, and then he would shrug and pass the cup on to get filled.
However, without so much as a smirk, he took his little blue sharpie, scratched out my name, and wrote BOB ever so big and bold.
I thought this was the best thing since sliced bread. I asked to be Bob, and he made it so! This Barista ROCKS!
Then I noticed that he still wasn't laughing.
Hmm....I guess I'm not the first person to ask to be Bob on their cup.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Sh*t rolls downhill
Everyone has heard the saying "sh*t rolls downhill", right? You know, when your boss gets an earfull from their boss, then turns to you, gives you a slap on the wrist, and you are then compelled to find an even more lowly being and give them a good solid PIECE OF YOUR MIND!
Well, I want to let it be known that sh*t does indeed roll downhill. I know this because I witnessed it first hand. This event actually took place a while ago, but I was reminded of it yesterday during a similar experience.
We enjoy frequent family outings to the local park for a nice jaunt and discussion of the laws of nature. The family, of course, includes two adults, two dogs and a mini-human (stroller size). So, on this particular visit, we are strolling along, marveling at the ducks, geese, other water fowl and the many droppings of same that litter the walkway. (Many people find these droppings a nuisance. We don't. They are a delicacy for the dogs and it saves money on dog food.)
(I'm KIDDING-animal rights types)
So, anyway, we're walking, talking, pulling the dogs away from the droppings and trying to keep them next to us like the darling little angels that they are at home. yeah, right. It is important to know that to our right, at the bottom of the hill, are quite a few people playing games, sunbathing, eating, etc. All of the fun park-like activities. It is at this point that our Lab decides that she must relieve herself, but certainly not on level ground! I imagine her thought process was something to the effect of "Gotta go, gotta go, where do I go, ooh, ooh, this is perfect....." So, off she goes, just off the walkway, as any well trained polite dog will do. The unfortunate thing in this instant is that just off the walkway is a very steep, sloping hill, leading right down to where the other park revilers are frolicking. She squats, and realizing what is about to happen, I grab a bag and jump down next to the squatting dog. Now, usually, the "doggie doo" is oblong and in a pile. Not this time. This time she manages to create lovely solid round balls. Off they go down the hill as I try to scoop them up ever so gracefully. Unfortunately, our other little canine has become confused. "Where ever shall I stand, shall I go here? Shall I go there? I know, I'll go 'round and 'round!" Yep, around my legs is what she meant. Now here I am, scurrying down this rather steep embankment, trying to catch the poop without letting go of either leash while hopping to get my foot out of the tangles without stepping on the Jack Russell.
(Remember the frolickers? Yep, they're all still there, along with other walkers, joggers, etc)
The moral of the story?
Sh*t DOES indeed roll downhill.
(btw, I did manage to collect all of the "balls" and stay on me feet)
Well, I want to let it be known that sh*t does indeed roll downhill. I know this because I witnessed it first hand. This event actually took place a while ago, but I was reminded of it yesterday during a similar experience.
We enjoy frequent family outings to the local park for a nice jaunt and discussion of the laws of nature. The family, of course, includes two adults, two dogs and a mini-human (stroller size). So, on this particular visit, we are strolling along, marveling at the ducks, geese, other water fowl and the many droppings of same that litter the walkway. (Many people find these droppings a nuisance. We don't. They are a delicacy for the dogs and it saves money on dog food.)
(I'm KIDDING-animal rights types)
So, anyway, we're walking, talking, pulling the dogs away from the droppings and trying to keep them next to us like the darling little angels that they are at home. yeah, right. It is important to know that to our right, at the bottom of the hill, are quite a few people playing games, sunbathing, eating, etc. All of the fun park-like activities. It is at this point that our Lab decides that she must relieve herself, but certainly not on level ground! I imagine her thought process was something to the effect of "Gotta go, gotta go, where do I go, ooh, ooh, this is perfect....." So, off she goes, just off the walkway, as any well trained polite dog will do. The unfortunate thing in this instant is that just off the walkway is a very steep, sloping hill, leading right down to where the other park revilers are frolicking. She squats, and realizing what is about to happen, I grab a bag and jump down next to the squatting dog. Now, usually, the "doggie doo" is oblong and in a pile. Not this time. This time she manages to create lovely solid round balls. Off they go down the hill as I try to scoop them up ever so gracefully. Unfortunately, our other little canine has become confused. "Where ever shall I stand, shall I go here? Shall I go there? I know, I'll go 'round and 'round!" Yep, around my legs is what she meant. Now here I am, scurrying down this rather steep embankment, trying to catch the poop without letting go of either leash while hopping to get my foot out of the tangles without stepping on the Jack Russell.
(Remember the frolickers? Yep, they're all still there, along with other walkers, joggers, etc)
The moral of the story?
Sh*t DOES indeed roll downhill.
(btw, I did manage to collect all of the "balls" and stay on me feet)
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Sunny Daze?
Yeah, whatever that may mean.
So, now I have a Blog....now what? I actually meant to sign in so that I could post a comment to Hope at THEEVERYTHINGGIRL.blogspot.com (hint hint...check it out), but somehow took a wrong turn and ended up with my own blog. Now I feel compelled to post something on it.
Yes, I could have stopped signing up, rather than trying to come up with some fancy, creative name for it, but.....the idea sort of intrigues me.
And so was born "AllSunnyDaze".
If anyone should happen to read this, don't get excited (or worried, as the case may be). It is not likely that there will be any consistency with my posts. BUT, ya never know.....
So, now I have a Blog....now what? I actually meant to sign in so that I could post a comment to Hope at THEEVERYTHINGGIRL.blogspot.com (hint hint...check it out), but somehow took a wrong turn and ended up with my own blog. Now I feel compelled to post something on it.
Yes, I could have stopped signing up, rather than trying to come up with some fancy, creative name for it, but.....the idea sort of intrigues me.
And so was born "AllSunnyDaze".
If anyone should happen to read this, don't get excited (or worried, as the case may be). It is not likely that there will be any consistency with my posts. BUT, ya never know.....
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