When my parents died in 2004, I took their 7-year-old Kenmore washer and dryer — back when Kenmore meant quality. Should you purchase their appliances around age 70, chances were you’d die before those did. Turns out that washer and dryer lasted 19 years before biting the dust…kicking the bucket…going kaput.
So last September I bought a Whirlpool washer and dryer since they received rave reviews. Fast forward to last week when I put a load of towels in my still-sparkling-clean and shiny dryer, hit the appropriate buttons, tapped START and waited for the magic to begin. Nothing happened.
Hum. Maybe I did something wrong. So I repeated the process. Still nothing. Now don’t get me wrong; all the buttons were lit up, teasing me into thinking my wet towels were about to become extraordinarily dry and fluffy. And to think I fell for it…
According to the Census Bureau, I live alone. I, however, beg to differ. Yeah, I’m currently the only 2-legged being in my household but by no means do I live alone. Not if you count 4 dogs, 4 cats and an array of foster kittens. But furry things don’t count with census takers.
As you know, I frequently blog about my animals. After all, they give me lots to write about. One of the 8 often does something either ridiculously adorable or exceedingly frustrating…it’s a continual cycle of entertainment.
Consequently, I am never bored. Who has time for that? I’d need to pencil it into my schedule: Sunday, August 6, noon-1:00: BE BORED. I must admit it might be nice to have that luxury. When I’m not out wrangling kitties or on the tennis court, I’m at home attempting to work through my never ending honey-do list. And I’m the honey that do.
Now don’t get me wrong. I hire help whenever I can’t figure something out, which is rather frequently. And my neighbor Paul, Mr. Handyman, is always lending a hand or a tool. And lucky for me he has every tool ever invented. Continue reading →
Now don’t get me wrong; I realize it’s shocking to lead with that, especially since this is supposed to be a humor blog and death isn’t funny. Spoiler alert: there will be a happy ending. Sort of.
It started 3 days before my birthday when I called Vicki to see whether her doctor contacted her with test results from the previous week. At 64, she’s lived most of her life with debilitating obsessive-compulsive disorder, is developmentally and physically disabled and now has a muscle condition forcing her to use a walker. Life has not been particularly kind to Vicki.
Me, brother Bill and Vicki at Tahoe circa 1960
Vicki sleeps late and doesn’t have a cell phone or computer. I can only contact her via her home phone. She often can’t reach it before it goes to voicemail so I leave a message and hope she calls me back. But this time she didn’t. I figured she’s probably out getting dinner and will call me later. But no.Continue reading →
I’m thrilled to report that we’re making progress. And by WE I mean my two problem children, Skip and Wally. In case you haven’t met them, I’ll introduce you…
I adopted Skip 5 years ago after we crossed paths at Marin Humane. Late one night I was bringing in feral cats I’d just trapped for sterilization at the same moment a volunteer carried in Skip from a rescue run in middle California. It was love at first sight — I knew in that instant I had to make him part of my furry family.
Skip’s first photo
Wally is my latest addition, added last August to round out my other 7 adopted rescues (3 mutts and 4 felines). What can I say? Again, love at first sight. While at Berkeley Humane picking up a food donation for Marin Friends of Ferals, I saw a volunteer walking Wally.
Walking is too benign a description for Wally’s gait. More like he skips with determination and utter joy. One couldn’t help but notice him leading the volunteer, his little body pulling the poor guy down the sidewalk. Give that volunteer a skateboard and he’d have had the ride of his life.
Wally’s first photo on the car ride home — moments before throwing up
So here’s the thing…as it turns out, there’s a lot I just don’t get.
And here I thought one of the perks of getting older is that wisdom piles on you like a football player under a group tackle. Seems you simply know stuff; it comes with the territory. But apparently that’s not how it works because I’m 62 and still often baffled.
For instance, I don’t get it when someone says, “I know that road like the back of my hand.“ Obviously that person is referring to a familiarity with the road. But I ask you, how well do you really know the back of your hand? I, for one, couldn’t pick mine out of a lineup.
Just looks like an old hand to me
Why are razor blades pricey? They’re like buying gold. What’s the justification? Is stainless steel in short supply? I imagine people frequently steal them. Here’s a thought: lower the price to let’s say, the cost of silver, and they might not get nabbed as often.
The most expensive razor: $200 with sapphire blades