My cat Oliver likes to bring me presents. But not the good kind like a bracelet or See’s milk chocolate Molasses Chips. No, he prefers gifts that are alive, such as the mouse he once brought to my bedroom.
It happened while I was drifting off to sleep. I felt something squirming in my pillowcase. Can you imagine? I’m sure the mouse was hiding from Oliver and I don’t blame him one bit. But talk about nightmares…
Life was rolling along nice and easy. Well, easy is not the correct adjective. Let’s just say life was rolling along. The thing is, I have 8 animals, run a nonprofit, trap feral cats throughout the week, relocate those that need new homes, help care for my disabled sister, play team tennis and am nursing a pesky sciatica which, like a jilted lover, is having trouble letting go.
So I don’t know what I was thinking deciding to have my hardwood floors refinished last week. Had I forgotten it was a pain in the keister 13 years ago when it was last done? Apparently so, otherwise I wouldn’t be blogging about it today.
Now don’t get me wrong; it’s not like my floors were embarrassingly scratched and faded, causing me to refuse entry to family and friends. No doubt theirs, too, are scratched and faded. Whose aren’t? Especially those of us with pets that refuse to let us clip their nails without being in a straight jacket or heavily sedated. Continue reading →
What can I say? It was a busy week. No time to write…so here’s a post from 4 years ago. Trust me, if I don’t remember it, you won’t either. Enjoy!
Brace yourself, for I have some bad news. Ready?…. I’m going to die.
There, I said it. Like removing a band-aid, I think it’s best to do it quickly. Just get it over with. That’s not to imply I’m intending to kill myself. No, I’m too selfish for that. Besides, I still have a Southwest Rewards flight I’ve yet to use. Continue reading →
Never ride your scooter on the freeway in a tank top when you’re 62 years old. And when you have upper arms that, on a good day, flap around like fish out of water. Add whipping winds while you’re scooting at 50 mph and what you get is slapped silly by your own arms. I tell you, it’s not a pretty sight. Soon you’ll find yourself riding down the freeway with your arms pinned close to your sides so as not to cause a pile up when motorists look on in horror.
Okay, I changed my mind. Maybe my arms aren’t so bad after all
Do not attempt, on a Wednesday, to push your 153 lb. sister in a wheelchair DOWN Sacramento Street in San Francisco, especially after receiving the wrong directions to your destination. You will be on your heels the entire journey, mimicking one of those barefoot water skiers, in your attempt to prevent your sister from careening down a steep city street like Steve McQueen’s car in the movie, Bullitt. Now don’t get me wrong; what goes down must come up. All 153 lbs. UPHILL, in a wheelchair.
Last week, I left you hanging with my tale of Pam and Margo, my exercise-fiend friends. If you didn’t catch that one, I recommend you go back and read it so you’ll know where I’m heading with this one.
I tried to convey just how talented these gals are: they can (and do) literally run for hours and barely break a sweat. They leave swimmers in the wake of their powerful strokes and pass other bicyclists in the dust with hardly any effort. In other words, I’m jealous. Continue reading →