A Part Of Me Is Missing

I've lost my wedding ring, and it just makes me sick. I like to think that it's just misplaced, but since it's been over a week, I'm losing hope of ever finding it. A week ago Sunday I remember taking it off to wash my hair (my hair is long and sometimes I just wash it by leaning over the tub. Just clarifying. I didn't want you trying to figure out how I'd get in the shower and just manage to only wash my hair, or something like that). I have no memory of my ring after that. I don't remember if I put it right back on. I don't remember if I didn't. My mind is a complete blank after that point. I find that my mind is often a complete blank but I'm particularly upset about this particular lapse.

I've looked high and low. I've searched every conceivable place it could possibly be. It's gone. Completely disappeared as far as I can tell. And it makes me feel unsettled. I'll go through the day and realize I'm feeling a sort of low-lying, humming sadness and it's because my ring is gone and my left hand feels lonesome and naked.

It was a fairly original ring; I loved it for its uniqueness, and as a result of such uniqueness, I now probably can't find it again. The store it came from doesn't seem to have one like it anymore. And it's not like I can just run out and by another one. My money tree isn't functioning as well as I'd like right now.

Now why would my ring want to go away like that? The grass is never greener, you know.

What A Puzzler

And speaking of our new countertops, we're supposed to apply another coat of sealer a week after installation (which would mean this coming Wednesday).

Here's what the instructions say: "Commonly Used Sealer: 511 Series Marble and Granite Impregnator (Tile section @ Home Depot)."

But I can't figure out why we'd want to have pregnant countertops.

It seems risky. Does that mean there's going to be small counters popping up throughout the kitchen? What about other rooms? What if they show up in the living room, say? This strikes me as a potential disaster.

Phase 132,329,445 Of House Remodel

So here's a few pictures of the new countertops. Now, mind you, these pictures don't really do them justice. In these pictures, the counters look almost solid black, but they aren't at all. I should've tried to get a close-up of all the different colors in it, but most likely no one cares for that much detail.

Clearly, from the look of the walls and other details, the job isn't done. But this was one of the most rewarding phases of all. I still walk in the kitchen and feel surprised when I see "real" counters instead of melamine. What a concept!! They turned out so nice.

(If you'll notice, my faucet also doubles as a weapon.)

(And in case you're wondering, that is NOT the new floor! It's always been my most hated part of the house and it'll be about the last thing that goes. And boy, I can't wait! I'm gonna miss that floor like a sharp stick in the eye.)

The Third Time Will Not Be A Charm

We have a pet snake. The term "pet" is being used quite loosely here. "Pet" generally implies some sort of mutual interaction, etc. There isn't a lot of snake-walking that gets done or holding of snake on one's lap or petting snake or letting snake lick one's face and give "kisses". However, Roxalana is not wild and living in our house against her or our wishes (well, maybe hers. Who could know?), so in that regard she's a "pet" versus a wild snake.

I'm glad I could clear that up.

Another aspect to interject quickly is that the deal was we could have Roxy as long as it was understood that I have no plans or desire to touch her, hold her, let her crawl all over me, feed her, take care of her in any way. Not going to be my job. The most I'm willing to do is go to the store and---blech---buy her food.

Which brings us to the mice. Roxy eats live mice. About every two weeks, she's fed two mice while I am far removed to another part of the house. How it works is that my husband tosses her a mouse while the other one remains in the closed box which is inside the bag. What has been known to happen, however--TWICE now, mind you--is that my husband tosses in first mouse, gets busy with something else and, um, forgets about second mouse. So a couple of nights ago, I walk into the room, my husband is working on his computer on the bed when all of a sudden, apropos of nothing, he shoos me from the room. "Go, go, you need to go out of here for a minute." I'm a little confused, to say the least, but I go back out into the living, wracking my brain as to what bee could've stung his behind. Well, turns out it wasn't a bee that that got him all abuzz but a mouse, skittering into our bedroom right behind me. My husband saw me come in, spotted the mouse making his escape from his box and into our room and knew I would be somewhat less than impressed.

Fastforwarding past the scramble to fetch mouse: mouse was recovered and then promptly met with the grim reaper (sorry, guy), and my husband felt pretty pleased with himself for wrapping up all those loose ends.

I can tell you that the next time Roxy gets fed, ole eagle eyes here is going to stand guard (not too close) and keep an eye on the door. There isn't going to be a third time!

It's Gonna Be So Purdy

So today our granite countertops for the kitchen are getting put in. I can hear the guys out there working and I realize I'm nervous! I'm afraid to go out and see the progress. What if they do something wrong?? What if they mess something up?? What if I jinx it by looking at it too soon?? I hope I don't hear any of them say "Oops" or something.

I think it's just that after you've waited approximately two years for the kitchen to slowly get assembled into its finished state, each piece of it is a mixed bag of excitement and anxiety. If it had all been done in one fell swoop, I would've only had to go through the roller-coaster feelings once. But this way, I get to discover something new over and over and over again. Seven years' worth of "oh, this is so cool!"

Which is not to say that I recommend or find that worth spreading out a remodel job for seven years.

And This Matters Because?

This isn't a debate or monologue regarding the death penalty. There's a lot of back and forth about that one, even in my own mind. But I'm having a bit of an issue with the recent talk (at least here in CA) about the fact that this matter of death-row inmates dying by lethal injection is cruel because it probably hurts. Oh, that's too bad. I'm sure that the confessed killer (or the killer who is "innocent" despite mountains of evidence that pegs him undisputedly as the perp) was really concerned about whether what he was doing---raping, beating, abusing, torturing---was causing any pain. I'm sure that was tops on his list of priorities. Explain to me again why it should be on ours?

But Now The Waffles Are Jealous

A few weeks ago I caught the tail end of a news report that is still bugging me. It's a story that springs up from time to time and every time it does, I shake my head. Apparently a couple from who-knows-where discovered the image of Jesus on one of their pancakes one morning. Yes, that's right---Jesus. And yes, on a pancake.

The part that always confuses me, the part I can't figure out, is how do these people know what Jesus looks like? (And doesn't it seem strange that these images are never similar? Actually, of the few "likenesses" I've seen, there's never anything recognizable on the item to begin with). I mean, how come it's not an image of the homeless guy down by the bus stop? Or the neighbor next door? Or ole cousin Tom? How come it's always Jesus? I'm pretty sure there weren't any cameras in those days, and I'm also pretty sure that there aren't any coal and chalk sketches of Christ that have been preserved through the ages. I suspect foul play.

Do You Know Where Your Children Are?

On Sunday, here in our area, two children went missing---ages 8 and 9, a brother and sister. They told their parents they were going to their local library. Instead, they hopped on a light-rail train and headed for a huge mall.

I was sick when I heard this story, imagining and hoping against the worst.

There's been a happy ending in that the kids were found---at the mall, 24 hours later. Dozens of police and volunteers scoured the area, spending hours searching. Time and energy and worry and fear spent in those 24 hours. No one is sure where they spent the night. Though they had little money with them, they were found wearing different clothes than they left in. So many questions and different stories being told.

And now coming to light is the fact that these children are often out until sometimes 10 at night and they'll call their parents, saying, "We're out. We're at our friends'. Come get us." They often roam unsupervised and are often at home at all hours unsupervised. Indicative of something unsettling is this quote from the father, given after his children were found: "They're very active, they're very social, very smart kids---they're firecrackers." Firecrackers?? They're kids!! They're 8 and 9! Why are they ever out past dark? Why don't their parents know where they are at all times? Why did the parents not even report them missing until 7 hours after the library had closed? Because they're firecrackers? Because they're too savvy for their age? And that changes the fact that they're only 8 and 9?

I guess I'm just really old-fashioned, but this appalls me. When I was a kid, we would roam our neighborhood, we would be out until suppertime. But it seems like the world was different then. I lived in a small town (not that bad things don't happen in a small town; they do. But that's another story). Our neighbors knew us. People kept an eye out. In a bigger city area, it's not the same. It's not the same sense of community. There aren't dozens of look-outs, people saying, "Get on home; it's time for you to be home."

And even so, they're babies still. Why do kids have to grow up so fast now? Is it really better to be so independant so quickly? It makes me sad. While I'm glad these kids had the street smarts to be okay, I think mostly they were just lucky. And while I'm glad they're fine, I feel like there's a whole bunch they're missing out on and trading for being firecrackers---namely, parents who want to shelter them, keep them safe, know where they are, covet them. Maybe secretly they'd trade the freedom to come and go as they please for the burden of concern and care and weighty parental questions, like "where are you going?" "where will you be?" "here's when you have to be home". Maybe I'm way off-base and too protective. It's hard to say.

Brain Freeze

As has been obvious, days and days will go by and I find that I have nothing to say! I read other people's blogs and there's always interesting stories, etc. I think I must lead the most uninteresting life! And sometimes that's okay. Sometimes interesting also comes with attachments like: painful, dangerous, stressful, etc. So mundane and ordinary are okay but they don't offer much to blog about.

Whoa There, Ned Nelly

There's a woman on my street who didn't use to be a woman. She was a man and then---poof!---appeared a woman. Kind of. Not the kind of woman that would win a beauty contest, if you know what I mean. More the kind of woman who looks like she might have been a man once.

I'd seen him around before, working in the yard, driving here and there. One evening, late, I noticed his garage open and some sort of partying going on. There were streamers and balloons, people milling about, whooping it up---like a birthday celebration. Or, say, a man-becoming-a-woman celebration. I found out the next week from my son's friend's mom (who's lived next door to him for years) that Ned was now Nelly. Whoa!! (The names have been changed to protect the....involved).

When I relay this story to some people, some have been known to be quite disgusted and put off by the whole thing. I find that my reaction has never been that---mostly, I guess, I feel kinda sorry for him/her. I guess "her" is what he is now. For a little while it seemed odd to refer to him as "her" but not so much anymore. She wears makeup and has breasts and even gets all decked out sometimes, but there'd never really be any mistaking her for someone feminine. And I just wonder what it'd be like to be forever stuck in the middle of two worlds----not really a man, not quite a woman. It doesn't invoke disgust---and I'm sure that my pity is misplaced as well. She seems quite happy and is probably happier now, closer to her "true" self, than she has ever been before.

Life takes an awful lot of courage sometimes.

Out Of Steam

So, I'm basically better (except for a spastic cough that comes and goes. Consumption. Hah.) But somehow in the course of all this, I seem to have lost interest in---well, everything. I've lost interest in my house (doing anything more than the bare minimum). In my yard. In cooking. In working out. In doing anything, basically, except for sleeping. And reading some. I drop off my kids at school in the morning and then I come home and go back to sleep. Sometimes I sleep until it's time to pick them up at 2:30. What in the world?? I guess it's only been for this week (since last week was the week from you-know-where), but it seems like a long time to be out-of-sorts. Am I depressed? Am I just recovering? What's going on? I don't like it. I feel like a blob of the highest order.

I'm giving myself until Monday to be slovenly and then it's back on track, regardless of how I feel. I just hope I kind of liven up. I feel like I've wasted this entire beautiful, early summer-like week. By the time I kick myself in the rear next week, it's going to be raining again. Oh, well.....

Wish me luck. Inject me with some long-distance energy. I seem to be in need of it.

Ineffectual Advertising

There's an ad on our local radio stations that drives me crazy. Valentine's Day is coming (for those of you who need to remember this), and it seems to especially bring out the jewelry store commercials. This ad of which I speak basically sends this message: if you really love her, then you won't care what the price of the bauble; if you have to ask about the price, in other words, then your love is suspect. That's the message in a nutshell. And because of such a shallow, cheap shot, I'd never shop there and I'd never want anything from that store. What about the poor guy who only makes enough to get the basic needs in life---if he has to buy something inexpensive, then he doesn't really love his girl?? And please tell me there aren't girls out there really who make a guy think if he doesn't spend a lot of money, he doesn't really love her. Unfortunately, I suppose there is such a breed of girl. Sigh.

Which brings to mind the whole engagement ring thing. Apparently, custom has it that a guy is supposed to spend two months worth of pay for an engagement ring. Excuse me? Just who do you suppose set that tradition? That's a tough one to guess. Why do people fall for these things? What is the particular insecurity that's played on that makes this kind of advertising work?

It's akin to the life insurance salesman who mourns your lack of love for your family because you won't buy the triple deluxe plan. We even had a guy come out once to do a water softener demonstration and because we weren't interested, gave us the ole "Well, if dangerous tap water's good enough for your family....", sighing heavily and shaking his head. Oh, right. I should have eyed my husband with suspicion right then and there. What greater proof did I need that he doesn't really love us?

So, I guess all I'm saying is: don't buy into this idea that if you really love her---of if you're really loved---it will have a huge price tag. Bollocks.

A Secret Burst Of Spring

I can't remember a day in recent history that has been as perfectly beautiful as this day. A clear, bright blue sky---not a cloud to be seen. Warm, balmy weather----in the 70's all day! After being cooped up for so long, it was utterly wonderful to bask in this perfect day. I think I might recover after all.

Comic Relief

I stole this from Reader's Digest. I blame such theft on my recent (and still-somewhat-lingering) illness:

"My four-year-old daughter is wonderful in all respects, except one: She fibs. So I decided to tell her the story of the boy who cried wolf.

'He kept warning the villagers a wolf was about to attack, but there was no wolf at all,' I explained. 'And when a real wolf did come, he cried out. But no one believed him. And the wolf ate him. Silly, huh?'

Sophie seemed deep in thought for a moment, then looked up and reminded me, 'I was eaten by a wolf once, you know."

Fast-Forward

My entire household has been felled by a vicious illness. We've fallen in true domino fashion: first my oldest son on Saturday. Followed by my youngest on Monday. Tuesday snagged my middle son and myself. Wednesday claimed victory over my husband. Bam.

Fever. Terrible cough. Achiness. Zero energy. It's been the pits! I'm actually feeling slightly better today and the instigator of the trauma---my eldest---actually went to a few classes today.

In my last post I mentioned the need for a "pause" button and heatherfeather mentioned a fast-forward button, and that's exactly what is needed right now. I'd like to please fast-forward through the next couple of days, wake up to sunny, blue skies and a household with no sickness lingering in any corner anywhere. Oh, and while you're at it, can you also do a quick cleaning and a little bit of laundry? Thanks.

That's my order. I'd like it express.