Amidst the Mists: The Bridge (1)

He opened his eyes and they looked out at the nighttime darkness of a cozy room, but he didn’t even see that.

The image before him was that of a bridge.

The most beautiful, unrealistic bridge he’d ever seen.

A fairy bridge. Made of lights, colors, and threads.

And he had seen it before.

He had run from it before.

That night…

He steadied himself in his mind. No more running.

Besides, what was frightening about a bridge? Even an unworldly one? Even one created by fairies and woven by spiders with spider-thread? Ones that caught the silver-and-gold light and turned it to dancing rainbows of dancing color?

He looked the bridge over carefully, in his mind.

He had seen pictures of bridges built that way, he knew with certainty. Huge steel behemoths, towering over waters, the bridging held up by what looked to be fine dainty fibers but were actually metallic cables somehow spun together to bear great weight, but with flexibility.

He thought maybe he had actually seen one, without the colors and the soft focus. Real ones. Or maybe only one.

But where? He’d had to travel, at times, but those times he tried to keep few and far between, and also short. He had never liked being away from home for long, even before he had married and started with the children.

Home was everything, and the best part of traveling for his work was when he could return home, whether as a success or a failure. It all worked out.

It always worked out.

After he got home.




It didn’t really matter where he had seen such a bridge (New York, maybe?), he just knew that he had.

There was some comfort to be found that an actual bridge designer, working with real and modern materials, had seen such a bridge and figured out how to build one. He’d made it real.

It was a real thing, in the world.

Not, he reminded himself, made of cobwebs and moonbeams, but still real. The cobwebs and moonbeams were for the future. Something for the young to aspire to.




The thing about the bridge – he studied the mental image once more. The bridge didn’t end. It arced, and it faded into the distance, the bridge lights mingling with the stars. The bridge wasn’t swallowed by fog, or obscured by scenery. It was there, and you looked as far as you could see, and it was still there, and then there was a point where you could no longer separate it from its background. The words ‘blur’ and ‘fade’ were inadequate to this great light-based phenomena, but they were the best he had.

The important thing about the bridge wasn’t its style or even its existence.



The important thing about the bridge was its load.

Little Guy's Handle on Handling

Our little guy has been slow to hold his own bottle. Here he is, eight months old (as good as) and trying to stand and walk on his own -- actually able to do both while holding on -- but not yet holding his own bottler. Doctor suggested getting him a sippy cup, which I did.

Some of this, I think, is from basic gender differences. Boys seem to learn gross motor skills before the fine ones. My children were both girls, and they did the holding on thing first and early, as far as I can remember. Hailey -- well, someone once gave her a pen or a crayon, and she hasn't put it down except to eat and sleep.
Now, I know that not all boys do it this way, and that some girls may very well ride a bicycle before they can feed themselves. I've been talking to experienced mothers and this is the conclusion I've reached.

Anyway.
Thanksgiving dinner at Tammy's house. (Yes, we shared the meal early. It's an ongoing difficult holiday for us this time around.)

We were waiting to eat, everybody moving around, doing things. I was playing with Warren, sitting him on the table and drinking from a can of pop. At one point, I out down the can of pop, and he made a beeline for that bright shiny can.
He got a hold on it.
And he picked it up, out it to his mouth and tilted it back!.

I called Tammy to come see, and she called the rest of the family, and they tried switching it out with the bottle. The bottle was a little heavier -- probably a lot heavier to the fifteen-pounder -- but he tried.
He really tried.

The best solution he could come up with was to anchor the bottle between his knees and put his mouth on the nipple. He didn't get much milk that way, but by golly, you sure could see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

He already knows how to go after someone -- he even goes down the hall in the trailer looking for his

mommy when she isn't in the room.

Yes, it's a big ol' world out here, Warren baby. It's a good thing to see you getting a handle on handling the "things" of this world.

Someday we may all learn how to handle the intangibles.

Until we do, we can usually find a baby to hug.

Rent-2-Own hosts Back to School

The owners of the Rent-2-Own in Georgetown hosted a back to school festival. They combined a generous community giveaway with fun and play, and the result was a lot of fun.

They provided school supplies for children in the county, and they made it a party for parents and children alike.

Who can do that? 

Even when they can, how many people take the time to actually put it into action? 

There was food, there was music, there were (sorta) rides, some with water. I never knew you could take a ride in a bouncy-house. 

Guess I got some schooling, too.

I don't know what the employees (I assumed) thought of the day. Many wore tags saying "Volunteer." The day was humid, the crowd was crowded. Kids pushed and shoved and cut line, tattled and pushed and shoved.

They also held hands to run together, jump together, climb together. Grown-ups walked around trying to keep track of children. There were lots of "Mammaw" and "Hey, Mom" and "Daddy, lookame!"

Through it all, I never saw any of these volunteer/employee/ helpers lose their patience. In the heat and the humidity and the hollering, the personnel kept their cool. Every one of these people should be recognized and awarded with, at the very least, a smile and a heartfelt "Thank you. You made our day."

From the owners of the venue, who have made this community giveaway a shining example of "Charity Begins At Home" to the Church across the street that allowed its parking lot to be used for parking, to the many many WONDERFUL people who were there before after and during the event -- it was a fantastic experience. 

A lot of work and a lot of fun.

Thank you all.

(And thanks for the notebooks, too.)

Tin Can Mountain

Lately, as I try to clean my cabinets and get rid of "stuff", I've been thinking about hoarding and the struggles we have with it, and why.
Some things that are saved are saved
 for sentimental reasons, or because they WILL be reused, eventually. Like the little outfit my daughters wore that my granddaughter wore out.Only a used play outfit, but the continuity meant a lot to me. I have the first gift my husband ever bought me -- a red pullover sweater. I have a very fancy (to me) dress that a friend bought for me when I lost enough weight to be able to wear it. I have another, similar dress that a different friend gave me when I had gained weight enough to be able to wear her cast-offs as she lost weight.
Neither dress will fit me now, and the older one is unlikely to EVER fit again.

That's one kind of saving.

Another kind is silly, and unhealthy. Like newspapers kept and reassembled and stacked by date because someone might need to know something that was in them. They weren't allowed to be used, or even reread after the first week or so, unless you were doing a school report for that date or something. The newspapers were kept in the kitchen. Not good. Bugs, and dust, and printer's ink and all that. Mice like paper, too. Not a good kind of saving.

My sister, at least one of them, saves butter bowls. Well, margarine bowls, or whipped 'topping' bowls of that nature. Ones with lids.
With strict discipline, I've avoided that trap. Mostly because I like bowls to have what they say they are in them. Hate butter bowls that are peas or gravy -- those items just don't spread well on toast.


No, my bete-noire is coffee cans. Metal, plastic -- it doesn't matter, although it is a tad easier to throw out the plastic ones. That labeling thing, again. I must have been traumatized once, trying to spread gravy on my toast! The plastic cans usually have labels as part of their design.
The paper can be peeled off the metal cans, and when that happens, there is nothing that can't be done with them. I mainly use them as canisters. Was always dissatisfied with store-bought canister sets -- you could only put a whole bag of anything (flour, sugar, corn meal) in one canister, because the others were smaller and smaller and smaller. Coffee cans are all the same size -- just like the packaging for the sugar, etc.  Other ingredients, such as nuts or chocolate chips or brown sugars, can be assigned to their own coffee can, with lid, still in their packages.

But, short of a professional bakery, or maybe a day-care facility, even I have run out of uses for the coffee cans. They can hold anything -- pots, plants, paints. They can be decorated -- that,s why they would be popular at day care -- but eventually they take up space.

So, if you know anyone who need an all purpose container, let me know.

I can give them away, just not throw them away.

Moving up -- or is it down?

 We are looking for an other home, my husband and I. Age and health are making it difficult to keep up things where we are now, and those same factors have us a little homesick for the 'good old days' that get gooder as we get older.

We would like to go back to Mt. Orab. That's where we lived the longest, and our daughter and her child(ren) are there. We've lost time with the little one, and with the new boy due to arrive any day now -- or April 1) we don't want to lose any more time.
Plus not really knowing how much time Rex has.

After Mt. Orab, we would like to go to Georgetown, Williamsburg, or Bethel. Georgetown because it is close to Mt. Orab, and also closer to Bethel, where we both have family, and Ripley where I do. Williamsburg for the same reasons. Bethel because it's home for us both' before there was an us.
Of course, any surrounding neighborhood will do as well.

What we can pay in rent will depend on what utilities and such we will have to pay for additionally.Neither he nor I can do yardwork, and we are hoping our stay at home daughter will move on and away. We want to be long term tenants.
-
We have looked into government housing, for the simple reason that I won't be evicted when he dies. But, government apartments, that Great Refuge ofWelfare Whores,serial petty criminals, Baby-Makers (for income) find themselves "Unable" to help hard working people who have always paid their rent.

But -- our credit report is bad. None of the bad is rent, utilities, or other (with one exception) housing costs.

Therefore, we must continue to pay our rent and utilities in a place we can no longer afford. We must strive to maintain a yard with equipment we can no longer maintain or replace. Or use, as far as that goes.

This is how the State of Ohio supports their now unemployed and unemployable working class of the last several decades.

Tumbling Trees.

The latest reports are out on the USDA (United States Department of Agriculture) eradication of the Asian longhorn beetle. The numbers are staggering, and those of you living in neighboring counties to those mentioned -- or neighboring states -- might want to take a long hard look at the numbers before you decide that it's not really anything you need to worry about.

New York, 1st detection in August 1996. They found 6,275 infested trees. They have removed 18,467 trees. That is roughly three times the amount that were 'sick'.

New Jersey. Since October 2002. 729 infested, 21,981 trees removed. This is 30 -- yes, 30 times the number of injured trees.

Massachusetts, August 2008. 22,264 infested, 31,925 removed.

Ohio June 2011. 9091 infested trees, 8809 removed.

The good people in Bethel, the most affected area in Ohio, are fighting to save their trees. They acknowledge the need for infested trees to be removed, but are objecting to the destruction of the healthy. For most tree owners, they would porefer to have the trees vaccinated.
Yes, that can be done.
It is even less expensive than tree cutters, and chippers, and mulchers, and cherry pickers and earth movers and fuel for machinery (checked the prices on the fuel lately? -- bet you have.)

I want you, wherever you are, to go out in your backyard, or to your closest, favorite public park.
Look around.
Pick a tree, any tree, since this is an exercise in imagination.
The tree you have selected is sick. It has a bug. This bug is not airborne (as they say about viruses). But the tree is sick.
Say "Good-bye, favorite tree."

Now look around and see the other trees.
See the three closest trees.
Say "good bye" to them.
They must be assassinated because their neighbor was sick.

But wait, the neighboring trees have neighbors too. Pick any number, 3 or 30 or any other number, of the neighboring trees' neighbors.
Say "good bye" to them, too. They are neighbors of the neighbors of the sick tree, so they, too, must die.

Now, look around your back yard, or your park.
Are there any trees left?
Is there any shade left in your yard?
Are there any windbreaks left around your house?
What will hold the soil in your yard when the snow melts or the rains pound down?


My friends, this can happen to you. Yes, you may live far away -- but with the likes of Superstorm Sandy, (and the USDA wasted no time laying down the law in New Jersey afterwards,) is anywhere far enough away? Yes, you may not have the specific species of bugs that are eating these species of trees.

But you DO have a government agency that says it can come in and remove and confiscate your personal property (trees) because they can.

Infested trees need to be removed. No one is arguing with that. And the government has every right to take those down at its expense for the public good.

But they are claiming the right to take down all the trees that might become bug-sick. Not just likely, but "maybe perhaps someday might."

If they are allowed to do that here, in the heart of Ohio, in the nation's scenic heart, why do you think they will stop when they get to your back yard? They will be able to point to New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts, and Ohio as having established "THE" precedent.

Goodbye backyard.
Goodbye parks.
Goodbye trees.

Help the Bethel ALB group stop this trampling of property rights.
Before it becomes your rights that are lost.

http://us4.campaign-archive1.com/?u=d9ab319101533a13ab1c45685&id=587ea78b12

Yard Sellin'

As you may guess, I'm having a yard sale. It's a time when I have to do something, and this is what I can think of. I never do well holding these sales, but I do well enough.

According to guidelines and how-to articles, I do everything wrong.

I don't buy advertisement in every local publication. Why not? Because the reason I'm holding the sale is because I need money. Not a lot, just enough to get by.

I also don't wash, dry, sand, dust, paint and in general pretty up stuff. The reason for that isn't because I'm lazy. It really isn't. The reason depends on what types of item it is that I'm selling.

I have a box of miscellaneous saucers, bowls, and plates. I just put that type of discard into that box, and when I do a yard sale, I haul the box out to the yard. Besides, even if they were sparkling clean and shiny, anyone buying them is going to wash them anyway before using. (I have to admit, that does sound lazy. So I guess that is a factor.) I don't see the use in unpacking, washing, drying, waiting, repacking (god forbid a speck of water get in the box.) I'm probably not going to sell any mismatched dishes or serving sets of one. Those seldom sell. So I'd end up  hauling them in and out and back again, over  and over, until I can donate them somewhere.

I have some power tools. I could sand off the metal, I can wash off the gas tanks, I can put in a new spark plug. But I can't start the darned things -- part of the reason I'm selling them. I can't tell anyone how they run. Since I can't start them, I don't know if they run, let alone how well.
Also, I've been burned buying prettied-up gear at yard sales. The seller will tell me, "I just replaced the spark plug." He won't say, "but that wasn't causing the problem." But, because it looks good -- and possibly because of the amount of time and work that went into the prettying-up -- he asks for good money for the item.
My stuff may look old and used -- that's because it is. Unapologetically and unabashedly. But no one has to pay me for sanding and scrubbing.

I have some secondhand bicycles. They were secondhand when I got them. I don't know their pedigree or any event history. I do know that no one in my home is riding bicycles. It's been so long since anyone has ridden that the tires have all gone flat. You fix that with air.

My prices are lower for these reasons.I don't ask pretty prices (although I myself would call them nice-looking.) I ask what would I pay for this at a yard sale. Since I'm a frugal buyer, I add a little more. I know normal people will probably pay more than I would.  I'm always open to offers, too, and expect that. Older-looking stuff brings out the haggler in people.

Heck, I'll even barter if you have the right stuff. That's what I'm going to do with any money made -- trade it in for different goods. Your goods even have an added benefit  -- you came to me. No gas/driving expense or time.

So bring me a sack of taters or a box of eggs -- I'll give you a box of saucers and a rusty Weed-Eater if that's what you want.

We'll both be satisfied that we got the "best deal EVER!."

Lawns are Overrated

This summer may be as memorable for its Lawn Mowing Crises as it will be for its No Bathing scenario.

When last we mowed, the riding mower  wasn't starting, so not running, and our quasi son-in-law had been mowing when the push mower decided to oil both him and the yard, as if from a cut artery. Rex went to a yard sale and bought another push mower. The Doofus mowed, but before he finished, he managed to break a ceramic guard off the newly purchased mower.

Rex managed to start and run the rider a few times, through the magic of jiggling and wiggling the fuse box, so the yard was done after a fashion. Not that he has had any business outside in heat and humidity, throwing up clouds of cut grass and pollens.
Earlier this week he was mowing on the rider when it quit cutting. It was running, but it just quit cutting the grass.
His diagnosis: a bearing on the deck went out. (Later he said it might be a broken or stretched-out belt, but of course the first thing he thought of was the most difficult and probably the most expensive cause.) We're waiting for Doofus to come and help him check it out, since it isn't something Rex can do alone or with my feeble assistance.

Yesterday I got out the push mower. I couldn't start it. Starting a push mower requires more co-ordination than I have ever had, and a fair bit of strength. I had hoped to have some mowing done by the time Rex woke, but that wasn't going to happen.

The sad thing is, he no longer has the strength to push/pull/hold and start the mower. At least, he didn't yesterday. It may have been a bad day for him. More likely it is his chronic illness catching up with him.
He's not ready to concede that, and it will take something from his spirit when he does.

What's so important about mowing anyway? Have you ever tried letting your lawn grow and seeing what Mother Nature will provide when you don't scalp her abundance to nothing?

There are shy little white flowers, with sprinklings of gold fairy dust that will creep out from the exposed roots of trees. There are exquisitely tiny johnny-jump-ups that jump up from nowhere. There are, of course, the golden sun discs of the dandelion. The white-to-pink-to-purple fronds of clover. There is the weaving waving sinuous grass-in-the-wind. And that's just the plant life!

Lawn mowing is overrated. It's too bad that so many towns require a certain amount of lawn mowing, because Nature provides a nice variety of textures and colors and scents and sounds and general liveliness that will never be felt, seen, smelled, or heard in a properly manicured and subdued lawn.

I cherish the variety Nature provides. I also cherish my husband, and I mourn with him that he cannot do this one thing that he has taken pride in being able to do -- keep his yard looking nice. If we cannot fix or replace his rider, or get a push mower that doesn't need starting (my first brother suggested an electric mower -- a wonderful idea for the purpose), then we will have to look into a different living arrangement.

Different indeed, with no lawn for him to mow or me to watch nature grow. It will be sad to leave the roots and wonders, but a joy to leave the(before, during, later on) malfunctioning machinery behind and have it out of our lives.


When that day ever comes. It's taking its time, as Nature takes hers, and fills my yard with flowers.

Fear of Phobia

I'm becoming, I'm afraid, a borderline agoraphobic.
No, I have become a borderline agoraphobic.
The becoming I'm worried about is the full blown phobia.

I don't think that will ever happen. I have too many chores and a granddaughter. That should be enough to keep me getting out on a fairly regular basis. And there are doctor's visits for my husband, and going to the pharmacy, and grocery shopping.

Those things should all keep me going, keep me out and about. I'm not so sure they will. Even if they do, I'm not sure that some of those things count. I don't enjoy them. I don't relish going to Walmart after prescriptions. I don't stop at this store or that and peek and poke and just enjoy myself, just enjoy getting out, even though God knows I rarely get alone time except in the car. Maybe alone time isn't really that important, anyway. I can always be alone inside myself. Inside my computer, or lost in a book. (That's not really alone, though. There are people in those books, and some of them are stupider than the ones in real life. Who'd've ever thought that was possible?)

In some ways, I feel I've been heading that way -- this way -- for all my life. I've never been able to easily or naturally speak to other people, sometimes not even those I know well. I have had my electricity and my water shut off because I was unable to make the telephone calls to make arrangements to pay. (Many years ago; not recently.)

But now I leave reluctantly. Not even my writers group holds the same interest for me, because my life has so changed. For a year I had limited contact with the real world.
I had no telephone and no internet. Because of Rex's hospitalization, and his doctor's and medicines, and having to pay other people gas money, the bills got way behind. So there was little talking with anyone, except when I needed something. That doesn't encourage socializing from either party involved. At least I didn't feel that it did. .

No car -- I had to get rides, or arrange rides, everywhere and anywhere. Few trips were worth the trouble. My writer friends were the ones with the most available help, but my sisters were always there also. The writers happen to live and work closer.
But even with their help, I was isolated and alone, and there's too much to handle alone, but I did it.



I did it all, from the safety net of my home.

I'm afraid, often. I'm afraid to leave because I worry about Rex getting sick or falling when I'm gone. Some nights I can't sleep, because I'm afraid I'll wake up and he won't be breathing. I'm afraid to drive anywhere, because what if I'm involved in an accident and get hurt? What will happen to Rex when someone else brings him that kind of news? Who will take care of him while I can't?
My God, what if I get crippled?
What will happen to Rex if I get killed?

Rex, bless his heart, encourages me to go to my group, and to go to family events, if he knows about them. I usually don't tell him, because he won't /can't go. And I don't want to leave him alone for hours at a time. All the what-ifs come alive when that happens.

I can't let this progress. It must not be allowed to get any worse. Even I cannot live that self-contained. There are chores that must be done, errands that must be run. And what kind of example am I setting for Hailey if I turn myself into the Hermit Grandmother? It's bad enough that Pappaw is already that way.

Thank goodness for summer, for the season of picnics and reunions and weddings. Thank God for sisters and friends and other family who will coax me or bully me out of my little blue hole. They, more than anything I can do, are what keeps me straight, keeps me trying. Keeps me on the sane side of the line,

I can thank none of them enough. Ever.

Making it work

Sometimes it seems that the easier we make it to do things, the more complicated the resulting problems. I'm talking about machinery, like automobiles. Remember when any person with a hammer, a screwdriver, and a piece of baling wire could solve your problem? You didn't get to reach 70 miles in an eye-blink, and you didn't have refrigerated air freezing your eyeballs in that same time span, but you could get to where you needed to go, and repair was cheap, easy, and available. (If you couldn't do it yourself.)

My particular mechanical Nemesis is a riding lawn mower. We have a mower that won't start, turn over, cough -- anything. It's like trying to start a car in 'Drive'. Nothing happens.
We've done and checked the obvious stuff. The safety switches, at least those we know of. The battery has been replaced, and we paid to have the starter system replaced. It worked for us one time after that.

We have a push mower, but my husband can't push. He can barely walk from the front room to the bathroom, carrying nothing more than his own skin and bones. I can push the mower, but I'll be darned if I can start the darned thing. Pulling and pushing at the same time requires a degree of coordination that is not in my make-up.

Then there are environmental issues, gas emissions and all that. If you can smell it, you're breathing it. Not a good option for anyone, but there's something seriously bad about a breathing-disabled person spending time on this undertaking.

I'd love to get an old fashioned mower, with blades that go round and round on a reel. The newer ones are not as heavy as they used to be, but I don't even mind that. I find  pushing a motor around to be a pretty heavy chore. And there's that breathing thing to contend with while walking behind.

This is a big debate in my household. My husband is in eager-beaver favor of all the mechanical devices and luxuries (that don't work, or break down repeatedly.) I prefer simpler things. If one must walk behind a lawn mower, one may as well be directing it. It's nice to be able to reverse direction when needed by simply backing up, too.

Yeah, I really want one of those push mowers. They are called reel mowers, and come in a variety of sizes and abilities, just like the polluting motor varieties that are easier only until the first break down. They are surprisingly affordable (at least for people who actually have money) -- smaller sizes typically run from 70 to 90 dollars (US).

If you're in the market for a mower, and especially if you're looking at walk-behinds, do some research. Maybe a reel mower would work for you, and you will never have to buy gas for it. Maintenance is usually minimal and simple. You will get a little extra exercise, and with the reel mower, you won't be breathing in poison straight to your muscles.

When it comes to lawn care, let's all get reel.

Ohio Benefits Bank: Not for the Needy

I've been looking into a program called the Ohio Benefits Bank. It's supposed to help the sort of people who fall through the cracks of other help systems. In that sense, no, it's not for the needy. It isn't meant to be. The truly needy have other helps available.

Ohio Benefits Bank reads like a really great program. It seems to be a sort of bridge group, meant to help people who don't qualify for some help, who are overqualified for other programs, and who just need a boost in certain areas, like prescriptions.

The idea is good, the idea of the agency is good, but I have to tell you -- their execution is lacking.

I'm not sure how this works in other areas. I'm not even sure how it works in my area, because, quite frankly, I have been given the runaround. This runaround is preventing me from even applying to them.

First, I could apply by mail.They would send an application. The application stated that I'd need to do an in-person interview.

Next is a phone call, and that led me to discover that they would come once a month to the county capitol, and to apply in person I would have to go there. At the time, I had no car. So, I would have to arrange for someone to take me on a certain day within certain hours. Okay, that could be done.

The person I talked to had a suggestion that seemed even more helpful. Do it online.

Wonderful idea.

So I did.

Pages and pages and pages, I filled it all out. In the end, they needed me to send copies of a couple things, ID papers and income, and that was fine. Doesn't take a lot to send three or five pages in an envelope.

Except that they didn't offer me that option. I had to fax the documents. Right then.
I also had to print off and sign the application and fax it back to them. With the proof documents. Right then.

Huh?

I don't have a fax at home.
Public faxes cost from 1-3 dollars a page. Sending or receiving.

So, okay. I can't really afford it, but I can do all that at the library.

Except for one thing.

When I reached the end of the application, after having noted documents I'd need and everything, the computer program I was using informed me that since I refused to comply with the fax, they were terminating my application and they would not be able to assist me.

I'm no worse off than I was before. (And I have been at times.) In my case, this is just a glitch. I can, if I choose, reapply from a library or something, although the cost may be a burden.But I can't help but think of others, who don't have my options. Someone caring for an ill person and can't get away. Someone having no car or someone to drive. Someone themselves having come down ill and not able to get out for many reasons. Someone who has temporarily lost all income, and can't pay for public faxes without sacrificing something else -- a meal or two, or electricity.

Ohio Benefits Bank -- how about helping the people you are meant for instead of working the fringes?  Why make it so difficult to access?

You've got a GREAT idea, why not make it a GREAT program?

Plunging in

Yesterday I had an adventure with the toilet.

I know that's not really enthralling, and probably something no one wants to hear about, but it ended up funny, and I love to share a laugh at myself. How can you get any fairer than that?

The toilet was stopped up. We flushed and plunged, flushed and plunged, flushed and plunged. It seemed endless, but there really are not that many hours in the day. It wasn't as long as it seemed. My husband was hopeless, giving up, mumbling about having to call a plumber or the landlord. (He'd rather call and pay a plumber. One of the reasons we -I- rent is so we can call the landlord.)

So, being an experienced toilet unstopper (teenage daughters at one time, need I say more?), I waited until the mopey mumbler went to sleep and I unearthed my toilet snake from behind the water heater.
I don't know how a toilet snake is different from any other snake, but to work it you put it in and you turn a handle. You turn and turn and turn.

Pretty soon, it felt like I'd been turning as long as we had been flushing earlier!
I kept turning, and push-pulling on the little handle thing. Then I'd turn some more.

Success at last! Gurgle gurgle, all the water that was up went down.

And I had to put the turn into reverse. It wouldn't go!
I had to pull. It wouldn't pull!
I had the snake stuck!
My now unclogged toilet was sitting there with this humongous spring in a couple of metal shafts.  I'd never be able to use the toilet with that thing sticking out of it!

I'd unwind it a bit (the handle would turn after a tug), then pull a bit. It really didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Turn and tug, turn and tug, turn and tug.

In the meantime, while turning and tugging,  I'm imagining calling a plumber or the landlord, and having to explain to them my plumbing emergency. What do you say? "Hello. I'm calling the plumber because I unstopped my toilet myself?"
"Hello, I need the toilet taken up in my house because there's a plumbing snake in it?"
And what would they actually do? Use metal cutters? Break the toilet?
Would anyone actually believe this story if I told it?
What is Rex going to say when he wakes up and has to pee into an observably clogged toilet? He's going to think I was really stupid!

Eventually, the turning and tugging did work, and I got the snake out, and the toilet has been working perfectly since. (The neighbor's toilet is probably working well, too.)

That was a new way of using the bathroom as a place of contemplation and imagination.

My Turn: Campaign 2012

At least I waited until it actually has been 2012 for a little while. Damn politicians and the media -- especially the media -- started back in August with the budget hang-up. Which, of course, was the other guy's fault. The other party's fault.

Thank goodness there's no need for a Democrat circus. That would detract sooo much from the Republican's parties. And we, the Great American Public, would have to find other things to worry about, like how to pay the doctors and where to find a job.

The Republican primaries have pretty much amused me. So far, the first one, New Hampshire, has been my favorite. Everyone was voting for Romney.

"Why?" the after-vote pollsters asked. "Is it his politics? His policies? His platform? His personality? His looks?"

"No," the Republican voters answered. "We just voted for him because we think he can beat Obama."

I'm still wondering what he's supposed to beat Obama with.

snow 'storm' -- yeah, right

We are in the midst of our first winter storm. From the forecasts, it's got the potential to be nasty. A day of heavy rain, changing over to snow, then plummeting temperatures, rising winds, and more snow. Up to 7 inches in places is what they are saying now.

I know this isn't a lot for many places. People in this area like to feel superior because Atlanta and Charleston close down for an inch or two. You'd think they would figure that that Chicagoans and Canadians sneer at them in the same manner -- and justifiably so.

No matter where you are, this sounds like a bad sequence of events. I'm going to be ready for ice on the power lines and the wind whipping them around. I took it upon myself to warn facebook friends and family who are local to get alternate heat. Even if they don't need it this time, at least they'll have it.

Makes me wonder, though. How do places like Buffalo and Chicago and points north not have problems with power outages?
clearing roads and keeping businesses open -- a lot of that is just better systems and better products. Spraying roads with an antifreeze solution for one thing. That's not cost effective here., although it is occasionally tried and used.

Is it possible that  these snow cities have a more laid back attitude? Here, the counties and townships have to post snow emergencies and tell people they aren't allowed to drive, and then peopled do anyway, because they'll get fired if they don't come to work. Do the snow cities have a greater tolerance for snow days for adults? Or are adults just more prepared for the weather because it is the norm?

How do they avoid the sometimes days-long power outages that we have here? Or do they as a rule 'just' prepare for that, too?  Do most homes have an alternate heat  source? Or a non-electric dependent furnace?

I'd like to know, so I can be more prepared myself. So I can help others be more prepared.

As it is, if you have problems, but can get out, my door is always open to anyone in need. We will have food and heat, if we need back ups, and you are all welcome here.

(written Saturday December 11)