Hidden Talents

Here's something you might not know about me:  I'm pretty good at figuring out accents.  I can usually understand someone with a heavy accent, and I can usually identify their accent.  Growing up in a family of people with accents is probably the reason for this ability, but I can't prove it.

One day, in my former life at the plumbing-supply store, a group of landscapers came in.  One of them asked the counter guy for a Border Collie.  Yes, that's what counter guy heard.  They went back and forth a little while: counter guys says, "A Border Collie???", landscaper says, "No. A Border Collie."  "A Border Collie?"  "NO!  A BORDER COLLIE!"

Finally, in frustration, counter guy calls me in from the office (where I was sitting this whole time chuckling quietly) and asks me to help.

"How can I help you?" I ask.
"I need a Border Collie" says the landscaper.
"100 feet or 300 feet?"
"Just one."

So I turned to counter guy and said, "Could you do a ticket for a hundred-foot roll of poly?"  And I went and got it.


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Well, I Never!!!

I feel SOOooOOO left out!  Am I the only woman in America who hasn't slept with Jesse James OR Tiger Woods? 

There are so many things I have never done, besides sleeping with someone famous.  I won't even talk about all the extraordinary things I've never done;  that list would be too long for reality blogging.  There are so many ordinary things I haven't done!  Many of these are things I would never do, anyway, but thinking over the list is making me feel like I've lived a pretty sheltered life.

I've never been water skiing.  (I can't swim.)
I've never been snow skiing.
I've never had a martini.
I've never karaoked.
I've never had sushi.
I've never played golf. 
I've never played the cello.  Or the violin.  Or the trombone.  Or the...... this could go on all day.
I've never let a cat in my house.
I've never had a daughter.
I've never put salt on watermelon.
I've never eaten a hot dog with ketchup on it.
I've never shot a shotgun, or a bow, either.
I've never taken a geometry class.
I've never done a cartwheel.
I've never been to the county fair.  I can't explain this one.  You would think a country girl like me would have not only BEEN to the fair, but had an entry or two?
I've been to the state fair, but I never went on the ferris wheel.  And never will, if I can help it.
I've never had a funnel cake, fried ice cream, a fried snickers bar.... 


I think I need to get out more.


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Hi, Dad.

Hi, Dad.

I've been thinking about you lately.  My friend recently lost her dad, and as she was sharing her grief with me, I remembered how it was when we lost you.  You would have been 81 last month. 

I think you would have liked the young men your grandsons grew to be...although you would have said my youngest needs a haircut.  You would enjoy him, though.  His wit and light heart would amuse you.  I wish you were here to advise the oldest one as he negotiates the tangle of military life.  He might have listened to you? 

Has it really been 16 years since you went away?  Mom moved away from our small town;  I think there were too many memories for her here.  I still see some of your old friends, and they always have a kind word about you.  When I have mint growing, I still crush a leaf between my hands and smell it...and think of you.

All the times you took me fishing (when you fished and I laid your nightcrawlers out so neatly to dry in the sun?), and the afternoon walks, the home bible study sessions and how wonderfully you read me stories (with voices and everything).  I am a better mother because I had you for a Dad.  Truthfully, I feel cheated for myself and my boys, that they didn't get to have you for a grandpa very long.

What would you have been like at 81?  I think that time would barely have touched you.  You would have still been trim and handsome, I'm sure.  An afternoon walk, a good western movie, a cold beer, and nice heated discussion or two....you would have enjoyed all the same things as you always had.  You would have been hot in your disagreement with my religious views, which I wouldn't discuss with you because of that.  But you would have been proud of me, just the same.  You would have loved to go fishing with your grandsons, and you would have been warning me, ever so subtly, to keep them out of trouble. 

I can picture my youngest, almost 18, picking you up in his loud old truck for a day at the lake with Grandpa.  When soldier boy is home on leave, he would be spending the day with you, and his girlfriend would visit ME in frustration.  But she would understand, and secretly love it that you were such good friends.  It's terribly sad that none of them ever got that chance.

I'm working hard, Dad.  The sweet hubs (whom you liked so well) and I are doing great.  I had a good example, thanks to you.  And I miss you.

Point and Counter-point

I work in a professional office, so my career attire is suits, skirts, stilettoes.
At home, you'll find me in a t-shirt and jeans, and they usually have either Pine-sol or flour on them.

Talking on the phone is one of my least favorite things to do.  I'd much rather email.

I'm more than half Dutch, but I can't eat cheese and beer makes me sneeze.  Is that some sort of divine joke?

I can ask you, in Spanish, what is your telephone number.  But when you tell me, I won't understand your answer.

My natural hair color is blonde.  I just dyed it darker.  Shouldn't that make me smarter?

How can I be such a worry wart, and still not get all spastic in my job?

I really think I need a day off.  But even when I take one, I don't really NOT DO stuff.

How is it possible that a little girl who was afraid of stuffed animals, did NOT grow up to be a woman who was afraid of snakes?

Monday.

Another typically trying Monday.  If I stay in THIS frame of mind, I won't be able to digest my dinner. 

To improve that, I'm just going to list a few things I like.  A few blessings in my life.  The good things I've noticed lately.

I don't have any zits right now.  At least, not on my face.

My son emptied the dishwasher this morning.

I got my first "paid job" website up and running.  It's pretty cool, I think.  http://www.tinacrabdree.com/

The sun has been out for a couple of days.  Ah, sunshine.

The neighborhood javelina are turning kind of yellowish.  This is a puzzle to me.  I love puzzles.

I went to bed last night trying, for no good reason, to remember the name of the native people of Easter Island.  I woke up around 1 am and remembered it!  In other words, my brain was slow, but it IS working.  (The name was Rapa Nui, by the way.)  (Don't ask me why I know that.  Or why I care. There are some things I simply can not explain.)

My new (used) SUV and I are becoming good friends.

The sweet hubs is talking about planting a little salsa garden this year.  I anticipate those green chilis with a smile on my face.

Speaking of salsa, I made this salsa and it is WONDERFUL!!!  Amazingly easy and, in this case, it was hot enough to melt my mascara.  Yum!

I'm turning off this dear companion, the computer.  And calling it a night.  Hasta manana!




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I did it.

I thought about it a lot.  I agonized over.  I lost sleep thinking about it.  And then, yesterday, I did it.  I traded in my beloved Mitsubishi Eclipse GTS on a mid-sized SUV.  Sigh.  I like the SUV.  If I would have bought it before I bought my Eclipse, it probably would have made my skirt fly up.  But I didn't do that, so my skirt is only fluttering right now.

Does this mean my mid-life crisis is over?  I gave up leather seats and a sun roof and a car that cornered like crazy with a ton of power.  I traded that for a nice, practical, comfortable, roomy 4WD.  Honestly, I'm not complaining.  I'm just trying to figure me out.

Am I going to start wearing granny panties now?  Elastic waist jeans?  Will I find myself going to the beauty parlor to have my hair set?  Is Geritol in my future?  Will Sunday evenings find me sitting in front of Lawrence Welk on TV, with a folding metal TV tray before me where I play solitaire with paper cards?  (Do they still make those?)  I am already being accused of listening to old people's music. LOL. 

What's next?  Aqua-aerobics while wearing a pink rubber cap with plastic daisies all over it?  I already have trouble opening jars.  Oh, dear.  I could be in trouble. 

I hope you'll tell me, dear ones, if you hear me saying things like, "Kids these days..." and, "When I was your age, I walked 12 miles to school!  In the snow!  And it was uphill both ways!".  If you catch me doing that, grab me by my blue hair and yell into my ear that I'm showing my age.

Being middle-aged is pretty darn comfortable most of the time.  I'm not old enough to go in for orthopedic shoes, and the sweet hubs and I never EVER wear matching Western shirts.  I am, however, old enough to not worry so much about what people think.  (To tell you the truth, I'm kind of looking forward to being old enough to speak my mind on all occasions, and be forgiven for that.)

Still, I am aware that I am already showing my age.  I still do simple math with a paper and pen, for one thing.  I can make change.  I care about spelling, grammar and punctuation.  I know how to can produce, make jelly and bread, pluck a chicken, sew a dress, make cheese, cook on a wood-fired stove, crochet, and I can even darn a sock.  But also know (right off the top of my head!) what the IP address is for a the print server and why I need to know that; I can configure a new email account and don't have to refer to notes. 

But I still can't remember my son's phone number. 

I'm going to blame that on the cell phone's contact list.

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