Cathy in the Wright

Weekend Wrap-Up

Did everyone else have a great weekend? I hope so. I really hated to see this one end.

Friday night was the start of indoor soccer. We posted an 8-6 victory over Team Mexico. The Mexicans would have whomped us soundly but for the fact that it's a co-ed league and the women on their team were very inexperienced players. That's a polite way of saying they stunk. The men on their team wouldn't pass to them, so in effect, Team Mex. played two players short the entire time. I wish I spoke Spanish. When T.M. lost their lead, they started yelling at each other. I'm pretty sure it wasn't constructive coaching.

Saturday we had our lake cabin neighbors over for dinner. I love having company. It forces me to clean the house. We fixed our favorite company menu: grilled steaks, potatoes, salad, etc. The kind of meal where the thought of dessert actually makes you feel ill.

Yesterday was my final outdoor soccer game of the season. Championship game. The team we played beat us earlier in the season, so we needed to avenge the loss. Plus, this league hands out t-shirts to the winners, so the stakes were high. A free t-shirt is a huge motivator. We squeaked out a 1-0 victory and came away with the coveted Hanes Beefy-Ts.

After the game, I went out to a birthday dinner at a family style Italian restaurant and topped off the evening with a few beers with my neighbors and brother-in-law back home at The Tin Shed. (For new readers, that's our pole barn where my father-in-law stores the tractors and a never-ending supply of Busch Light.)

While it will be hard to top the weekend, I'm looking forward to tonight. The Senator is going out trick-or-treating as an Indian. And were going to my parents highly sensitive, politically correct, ultra-liberal neighborhood for the goods. We'll have to practice our war whoops on the drive into town.

Happy Halloween.

Why I Love Living In A Small Town: Reason #264

Our local paper ran this ad in the classifieds under Pets for Sale:

DOG - 11-month-old black lab cross. Neutered and shots current. Not good with chickens.

Fabulous.

On My Christmas List

I want these books, and I want to meet Jake Ross.

My Cold Heart

This afternoon I gave each boy a pepperoni stick as a snack. Both of them couldn't just eat the damn thing like a normal person. The Senator had to stand his on end and gnaw it down until his lips hit the counter.

Not to be outdone, The Governor stood his on end as well, but he placed it an inch away from the edge of the counter. So I warned him, "Hey, move that thing in front of you. If you knock it over, it's going to fall on the floor and you won't be able to eat it." He moved it a quarter of an inch. And then proceeded to knock it over. It flipped off the end of the counter and landed on the floor. He stared at it for a moment, trying to decide how much trouble he'd be in if he picked it up and ate it. Before he could act, we heard the jingling of dog tags. Hoocher trotted over, gently picked up the pepperoni stick in his mouth, and slunk out of the kitchen.

I looked over at The Gov. His mouth was hanging wide open. He might have stayed in a state of shock for some time, but as his mother, I felt obligated to help him.

"I told you so."

The spell was broken, and when he quit crying I couldn't help but add, "Too bad, Gov. That was the last pepperoni stick too."

What's Your Price?

Yesterday was the final game of one of my soccer leagues. As is our custom, the two Germans on the team, the goalie, and I went out to dinner afterwards. Lately we've been hitting Red Robin because this joint added french fries to the Free Refills list. Also important: no charge for a side of mayo. The Germans hate paying extra for mayo, which is their favorite french fry condiment. Take one thick slab of fried potato, swab it through the mayo, and then plunge it into a pile of ketchup and eat. No wonder they keep losing wars.

After the guys got their appetizers (fries), we started talking about attractive members of the opposite sex. I told them how I went over to my neighbor's house on Saturday to help her take down some old barbed wire fencing and clear some pasture. She had a couple of college-aged guys there helping out - they worked for her husband - and well, it was not horrible watching them bend and grunt and sweat while trying to yank out some stubborn buckthorn.

I added that while it was certainly nice to watch, or even ogle, there was no amount of money in the world that would make me go beyond looking. This led to a round of Indecent Proposal type questions. How much money would it take...? I asked the table: how much money would it take for you to kiss another guy? And I don't mean a peck on the cheek or a nano-second blind pucker. Tongue must be involved.

Interesting answers. The goalie would have turned down the winning ticket for the recent Powerball lottery. German No. 1 said it would depend, but that there probably would be a price, albeit very high. And German No. 2 said, "$3,892.56. That's how much it's going to cost me for my new windows and door. You give me that much money, I'll french kiss the goalie right now."

We had to change the topic in order to get the goalie to come back to the table. But it made me wonder about some of the other men I know...what's your price?

The In Box

My fan mail is starting to take on overwhelming proportions. I may need to hire a secretary.

Last Friday I received a very kind note from Brad at Writeminded. He had some nice things to say about the old site here. It was a much-needed boost for the spirits, as Friday was the day Grandma passed away. Thank you very much, Brad.

More recently, I got a note from former hometown boy, Chris H., who's now living out in Arizona. He somehow stumbled across my site and mentioned his connection to my little corner of Wright County. It wasn't long before we figured out I worked in the industrial park right behind the service station where his brother is employed. There's never more than three degrees of separation in a small town. In an effort to make Chris a little homesick, I promised to get out and snap a few photos of town. This morning I had every intention, but the fog prevented it. I will get them, Chris, but to tide you over, here is a photo of Peterson Park in full Corn Carnival mode.

I'm not sure where all the people are, but if memory serves, it was blistering hot that day, so they're probably all crowded together in the shade.

Thanks for writing, guys. A glossy, autographed 8x10 will be in the mail tomorrow.

Happy Halloween...From Gary

French Bullfighting

From my source for all things insulting and irreverent: Gary.

The Fat Lady Warbled

It's over. The VP and I returned from Missouri today. I'm exhausted. I under-estimated how much energy it requires to grieve.

The funeral went well, especially considering that as I'm sobbing over Grandma's casket at the wake, my mother springs the news that I'm doing one of the readings during Mass the next morning. Swell. I had instant visions of standing in front of the microphone and having a total breakdown, complete with runny nose and uncontrollable sobbing. My mother pointed out that everyone there would be in the same boat, so I really had no worries. Right. Personally, I think I was chosen because they figured after I humiliated myself in front of the congregation, I'd be leaving town soon afterwards anyway. The other readers? My sister (Minnesota) and my cousin (Illinois). Q.E.D.

In the end, we all did a credible job at the podium. The whole ceremony went well, and the grave-side service was touching. The hardest part of the entire day was driving away from the cemetery and seeing Grandma's casket still waiting to be lowered into the ground. I felt as though I was deserting her. I wanted to go back and get her. Not sure where I would have kept her...maybe on the sleeper sofa in the computer room...but still - I couldn't just leave her there. We had room in the car.

I'm doing a bit better today. And no, there is no embalmed grandmother propped up on my couch. I will be content with photos and memories. And I have plenty of both.

Finally, I did come away from the experience with some valuable notes for planning my own funeral. At my wake, there is going to be food and beverages. And by food and beverages I do not mean a dish of mints and a drinking fountain. I mean a full bar and appetizer menu at the very minimum. If the funeral parlor can't handle that, I want my wake to be held at the local pub. And in honor of my grandma, if you want to cash in on the 2-for-1 happy hour, you're going to need a coupon.

Remembering

It's been a long day. My grandmother passed away this morning. I've been expecting the call for three days. Doctors under-estimated the subborn streak that runs in the women of our family and predicted Grandma wouldn't last past Wednesday night. Had the ICU physicians known her better, they would have known she wasn't leaving until she was good and ready.

I guess she was ready.

Grandma lived for 89 years and did and saw some amazing things. She lived through the Depression. She was Rosie the Riveter during WWII, although when her boss found out she could do long division, he pulled her off the assembly line and gave her a desk job. She worked for years for the IRS. She traveled. She volunteered. And she was a great grandma.

For many years, all our family vacations were road trips to Missouri to visit Grandma. After eight hours in the car, my brothers and sister and I would be bouncing off the walls when we'd walk through her front door. We'd tear through the house; checking out what had changed - what was still there. Fake, plastic fruit in a basket upstairs? Check. Small toy piano? Check. The antique radio with broken buttons? Check. New pictures of our cousins? Check. Grandma always had cookies in the jar on the kitchen counter and pop in the downstairs refrigerator. She never forgot a birthday. And she was so proud of the lot of us, even though we didn't always deserve it.

In fact, I have only one jaded memory of Grandma. When I was in high school, I went down for the annual visit and she informed me that if I would only wear some tight jeans and make-up, I could probably get myself a boyfriend.

Still, she meant well.

I'm leaving bright and early tomorrow morning to head to Missouri for the funeral. I'm looking forward to seeing my relatives, but I'm not looking foward to seeing Grandma's house and noticing the biggest change yet.

Cookies in the jar? Check. My step-grandfather waving on the front steps as I arrive? Check. Grandma...

I Have A Deepened Respect For First Grade Teachers

Tonight was The Senator's first Tiger Scout den meeting. The VP signed up to be the den leader, and invited the group to The Outpost for this first get-together. In Tiger Scouts, a parent has to attend each meeting with the Scout. So this evening, we had nine 7-year-old boys and compulsory parent(s) show up for an hour-long meeting.

When they all left 70 minutes later, I hobbled to a chair and collapsed. If someone could harness young boy energy and turn it into a fuel source, we could tell the Saudis to kiss our ass tomorrow.

Part of the trouble was that the planned half-hour nature walk in which the Scouts were to gather leaves, observe wildlife, and take in the great outdoors turned into a two minute sprint out to a clump of oak trees to snatch a fistful of leaves and beat cheeks back to the house before the mosquitoes drew more than two pints of blood.

Once inside, The VP had intended for the boys to make leaf rubbings while he cleared up some housekeeping issues with the adults. Do you know how long it takes a 7-yr-old to do a leaf rubbing? I blink slower.

Since the adults weren't finished, I found myself with nine kids bouncing off the walls. I've seen mosh pits more tranquil than the scene in my kitchen tonight. I wasn't planning on entertaining them, so I was forced to ad lib.

"Time for lemonade and cookies!" 10 minutes killed. Sugar was the last thing they needed, but I was getting scared.

"Hey! Who wants to see the dog?" 3 minutes killed.

"Let's go look at the fish." 40 seconds.

"Senator, why don't you show the guys your bedroom?" 7 minutes. 6 of which I spent trying to make sure they didn't hurt each other with impromptu weaponry.

"Outside everyone! Night-time races." 12 minutes. I could have dragged this one out longer if I had thought to make them run backwards the whole time, but I only came up with that time-waster for the last race.

"Soccer game!" 4 minutes.

When the first parent filtered out of the house to collect her Scout, I almost kissed her.

The Senator went to bed happy and exhausted. I hope the others did the same. And next time I will be better prepared. I'm sure cleaning the den leader's garage not only will expend some of that superfluous energy, but it probably counts towards a merit badge.

All Things Vile And Disgusting

The Governor awoke this morning, came into the room, walked around to my side of the bed, and before he could say anything, he sneezed. On me. Specifically, on my face. A big, thick, yellow glob hit me straight across the bridge of the nose and attending watery spray peppered the remaining exposed skin.

In retaliation, I was going to vomit on him. I felt nauseous enough to do it, but it wouldn't come. In hindsight, I'm glad I didn't. Nothing worse than sober vomitting.

After that spectacular start, my day got a lot better.

Good Friday

Today The VP and I celebrated our tenth anniversary. I solicited elsewhere for some gift ideas, but decided against the traditional tin or aluminum. I got him the same thing I bought last year. And the year before. Nothing. And once again, he outdid me by hauling out the greeting card he had hidden away in his sock drawer.

I take it back. I did do something for our anniversary. After all, ten years is a bit of a milestone, no? I shaved my legs. Yep. I was a bit sorry to do it. Due to the cold weather this past week, I've been wearing long pants and forgoing the daily ritual. Another day or two and I would have been just getting past scratchy and prickly. Oh well. He's worth every nick.

Other happy news today: Hoocher was tried by the staff of the nursing home and found not guilty due to extreme provocation. I talked to the volunteer coordinator today; she asked me to bring him back. She didn't blame the other dog, but she made it clear she didn't blame Hoocher either. She checked with the director of the place, and Hoocher was emphatically encouraged to return. So we will return on Tuesday and Hoocher can once again commence hitting up the old folks for popcorn and a spot on the end of their beds.

Finally: Good luck to Bob and Ross at the Chicago Marathon this weekend.

Now, I'm off to bed and to reassure The VP I won't draw blood when I crawl under the sheets and snuggle up next to him.

Have a great weekend.

Every Litre Bit Hurts

Hey, Bunky, think you've got a problem with gasoline prices in the $2.50-$3.00 range, you ought to motor to Canada, where petrol is selling for $1.15 to $1.20 a litre, which means $5.00 a gallon. We're happy that the Chrysler minivan is producing 24-25 miles per gallon. Talk about wringing blood out of a six-cylinder turnip.

In spite of high fuel prices, traffic seens to be consistent with the population level in southern Canada, but that's still mean roads that are less congested than those in the United States, which is great, since most are two-lane. The lower level of traffic may explain drivers who cross the double-yellow to pass uphilll and going into curves. They apparently just don't expect to meet anybody. Freqent passing lanes--usually for uphill traffic--help drivers go with the flow, but produce the occasional dicy situation. That's because, where visibility allows, approaching drivers can use the opposite-side passing lane, if it's otherwise unoccupied. Thanks to this situation, we've witnessed what looked like a game of chicken, on several occasions. At least, most drivers seem to know about signaling lane changes with more than a Minnesota-like one blink of the turn signal.

Police seem to be very nice, for example, a fatal crash blocked Hwy. 17 (the Trans Canada) east of Toronto. An Ontario motorcycle trooper addresed onlookers about a prospective delay of hours, prefacing his remarks wiith a polite "Ladies and gentlemen ..." He and some locals provided information about a detour, which required a 20-mile backtrack to a rural route. Heck, that was better than sitting there, which was required of several semi-drivers who didn't have room to turn their rigs around.

Our route to the Gaspe Penninsula followed the St. Lawrence River, which--as it approaches its mouth--makes the Mississippi look like an irrigation ditch.

It's been well worth the cost of the trip to see that mighty river and the provinces of Quebec, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island and Nova Scotia. Good scenery and a good time. The bottomless cup of coffee exists north of the U.S. border, but not the endless flow of Coke and Pepsi to which we're accustomed. Two glasses; two charges. And the only kind of ice tea you can get is of the powder-mix variety with sweetner and citrus. We're developing a liking for hot tea with meals.

What's The Opposite Of An Official Endorsement?

An official interdict? Because I've got one for the clowns our school district hired to take school photos.

The Senator came home with his pictures today. And I thought the kindergarten portrait was bad. Holy cow. We've reached new depths this year. There is no way to describe how awful the shot really is...at least not without offending parents of children with severe mental disabilities. You will please read an extended amount of warmth into the words "bad, bad, bad."

I understand that a certain amount of expediency is required when processing large numbers of students. I'm not suggesting you spend half an hour trying to coax a smile out of my son. But do you think you could at least ask him to shut his mouth before you click away? And next year, if you win the contract, I'm giving him permission to say "Screw you" if you tell him to tilt his head at that uncomfortable angle.

Retakes are next Friday, but according to the info in the envelope, they charge a fee for "retakes due to expressions, hair, clothing, eye glass or dental changes." I wouldn't cough up another penny to this firm even if they promised to make him look like a movie star. Oh, wait. That's right. I did have that option. This company offers Star Appeal.

A popular technique used by Hollywood photographers, "Star Appeal" will soften your image and enhance your portrait to "Star Status" using a softening lens filter.

I don't think they have a strong enough filter to enhance this photo. On the bright side, next year can't possibly be worse, could it? Unless they hire a police sketch artist. A blind one.

Wednesday Update

Paula says, "Where are you?" The answer: busy building an ark. Next week I'm off to collect the animals. The rain has stopped momentarily; my satellite connection is working for now. I tried to post yesterday but atmospheric disturbances would not allow for it.

Yesterday was the most exciting day we've ever had at the nursing home. Hoocher got expelled for fighting. He got annoyed with Ruby poking around under his tail so he bit her. Blood everywhere.

Ruby is a feisty little 7-pound Boston Terrier.

Ruby is around the nursing home every once in a while, and we've run into her before with no problems. Her owner warned us that she thinks she can boss around much bigger dogs. Guess she met her match. She had her flat face in Hoocher's behind and started growling. Mr. Hoo wasn't having any of that. He rounded on her and got her at the back of the head.

I dragged him off by his back legs, and Ruby ran over to her owner, who noticed blood starting to trickle through the fur. And then more blood. Ugh. Someone drove Ruby and owner to the vet clinic next door. I threw Hoocher and The Governor into the car and followed.

The vet shaved a little fur off the injury site and cleaned it, but didn't bother with stitches. He said it's called a "punisher wound" and it heals better without sutures. It looked like someone stabbed Ruby in the back of the head with a pencil.

A shot of antibiotics followed with some additional pills for at home. Ruby started tearing around the vet's office as though nothing had happened. Meanwhile, I'm hauling out my wallet and trying not to cry. When the bill only came to $13, I almost felt worse. I must have looked pretty pathetic because Ruby's owner gave me a hug and told me not to get upset.

So Ruby will be fine, but I have decided that Hoocher is banned from the nursing home. I would never worry about him with a person, but we do run into other animals from time to time, and I can't risk it. This morning I have to call the volunteer coordinator and turn in his badge. If they haven't already revoked his visiting priviledges, that is.

And now I'm late for school. The Governor and I are headed out to our Early Childhood class. Nothing like several rounds of "You Are My Sunshine" to raise you out of the dumps. Or make you want to string a noose over a tree branch.