PANDORA RESCUE OPERATION

Well, I had one week cat-free.

I thought I had found a permanent home for my allergy-inflicting, dog-abusing puma/feline with a very nice ex-NCO (imagine a 50-ish drill sergeant with permed red hair and a remote control) who operated an interesting menagerie of dogs, cats, birds and at least two reptiles.

However, one of her dogs attacked and caused the death of two of her other dogs the day before yesterday.


I have a sworn statement from the cat that he had nothing to do with the incident, although the investigation into his clairvoyant powers are still underway, as well as any radio transmitters in the area.


He has been very nice about it, chalking up the week as time in a somewhat unusual kennel, and has openly forgiven all of us.


I guess I'll just keep taking my allergy medicines and try not to breath much around him.

ORIGINATED IN CALIFORNIA - WHY AM I NOT SURPRISED

My relationship with Denny's has been permanently damaged, I fear.

Denny's was an amazing experience of culinary mediocrity when I was in college and it was the only place back in the 70's which was open at 3 a.m., which is when I normally got off work and/or had friends to hang out with in the wee hours of the morning.

I have been forced back into a kinship of sorts with Denny's over the past ten years by my second daughter's adoration for huge cholerically-overburdened breakfast plates and our local franchise being a few short block's from her apartment.

But last time I visited, I requested French Toast.... and received French Fries.


Today I ordered French Toast (certainly they couldn't get it wrong twice in a row), and got the smallest piece of bread I have ever seen dipped in batter, fried, and almost overwhelmed by the one scoop topping of fat lard... er, sorry, it's called butter in polite circles.

From now on, it's gonna be McDonad's Egg McGriddles or nothing - sorry, Denny's, you had your chance.

AUTHOR OR ANNOYANCE?

I have always loved writing, but I think it is mainly because I do so badly at articulating my thoughts.

Although that has never stopped me from expressing my opinion, I must admit.

The only reason this blog has had over 600 entries (wow, 600... isn't that just a little bit scary?) is because I can pound out one random bit of lunacy and easily follow it up with 527 more words.

Wow - that's even more frightening.

Anyway, we have one little local paper for our county. Our whole county, which is slightly larger than the state of Delaware.


And I live in Arizona, which is the state that elected Barry Goldwater and John McCain (although it also carried Bill Clinton in 1996 - funny, eh?) - yes, you can call us red.

So the majority of public opinion expressed around here is a little bit right of center of right... on the right-handed side on that. And then even more a little bit to the right.


But only occasionally does something written in the newspaper make my make-your-opinion-known-through-a-letter-to-the-editor twitch and spasm.

Tonight was one of those, however.

And although it is certainly due to the small population which this particular newspaper reaches, my letters always seem to get published.


Does that count as being a published author? I mean, this letter and the classified ad I placed for my cat together - do you think I can add that to my resume now?

BEING WRONG... AGAIN

After years of living with an antisocial, ungregarious and oft times socialpathically unbalanced spouse, I have gotten out of the habit of attending less-than-mandatory-but-you're-gonna-feel-guilty-if-you-weren't-there gatherings.

Tonight was one of those meetings.

I had already driven 18.76 miles to and from our church today. I had been in my warmest pajamas and favorite bunny slippers since I had come home. The sky was serious in its threat of snow at 4,986 feet, not just on the mountains, promising slick conditions and (of even more of a deterrent) the prospect of meeting on a narrow, two-line highway with a speed limit of 65 mph retired Southern Californians who congregate in my area of southern Arizona and have never driven in anything worse than a prolonged sprinkle.

(NOTE: I make this statement as a past Southern Californian who until the age of 19 had never driven in anything worse than a prolonged sprinkle)

I wanted to stay home.

I was extremely pessimistic about this particular meeting. We as youth leaders had already been promised an unreasonable amount of additional work in coordinating this temple dedication cultural events practice times, costume construction, and song and dance instruction. In addition, this event and a great number of the rehearsals would be taking place a TWO HOUR DRIVE north of us. So transportation of our significant number of teenagers would be four hours in addition to however long practice time might be.

I just couldn't see our particular group of teenagers showing any enthusiasm for this. We have a fair share which hold jobs, are involved in multiple school and non-scholastic groups, have homework, family chores, and require internet and 'down' time... and hey, so do I.

But I was wrong.

At the prospect of being FILMED, broadcast to every single stake center in the United States, and doing dance moves similar to step competition (at least I think that's what it is called - listen, I'm an old lady, I still do the chicken dance), and practicing with a significant number of young persons of the opposite sex.... WOW! Let's DO it!

I in particular must acknowledge a Bro. Lunt, a balding, older man who did an INCREDIBLE job of psyching this kids up. My hat is off to you, young man - you did it.


These kids are ready... and so am I.

TSUNAMI = UJIKINTOKI... NOT!

I have never been so happy to watch four straight hours of CNN Headline News with absolutely no dramatic ending.

Before I lived in Hawaii, I don't think I had any idea of what a tsunami was - perhaps some kind of sushi or Japanese dessert.

But when you live on a relatively small hunk of rock in the middle of the big wide Pacific ocean, you soon become painfully aware of what a tsunami is and what it can do.

Today, I am very very sad about all the people in Chile who have suffered in this earthquake, but I am very very happy that all the predictions for the tidal wave hitting Hawaii were wrong.

My daughter and her family were all able to evacuate to high ground, but I'm a mom - I'm grateful this is one tsunami that didn't even appear.

FELINE-LESS

I didn't realize how much of an impact a cat can have on your normal day-to-day activities.

You don't have to clean the litter box when you don't have a cat.

I can leave the bedroom door open at night (not that closing it had any real effect; Pandora would just throw himself against it repeatedly until he got it open).

When the dogs go outside, it is not necessary to immediately shut the front door (although with freezing winds blasting down from the mountainside, it is generally a good idea with the high price of propane and a heating bill to be paid).

And the lower part of the door to the laundry room does not need to remain a decorative little curtain to allow Pandora access to and from, and can go back to being that ugly metal air ventish section... or not.

When I am blogging, facebooking or wasting hours trying to beat Harmony and Heather at Bejeweled, there now is not a warm body strewn across my lap and 24+ lbs. of fur to help ward off all the drafts in my bedroom.

Yeah - I miss him just a little bit.

EVEN WITH THE BEST OF INTENTIONS

This morning I created a nice, neat little list of things I was going to accomplish today. Very check-off-as-completed, in-chronological order and with a picturesque border. Punctual. Precise. Very pretty.

And then, as with almost every single nice, neat little list of things in my life, one little tiny monkey-wrench was thrown in, and the entire endeavor imploded.

I need to keep reminding myself that life is about handling those monkey-wrenchs, not keeping to the list.