You meet a grown man wearing an ostrich costume.
You find yourself driving behind an SUV bearing the plate: I POLKA.
You overhear an irate customer bellow, "I am so mad I could eat nails and fart bullets."
Never underestimate the power of the modern "musician" to suck the soul out of a perfectly good song.
Our cat, Trixie, has issues. The largest and most revolting of these is her propensity to empty the semi-digested contents of her stomach onto our white carpet. (Note to readers, white carpet plus white furniture plus black cat with indigestion equals hours of fun.)
Well, Miss Trixie's stomach ills have not abated with my recent increase in travel. And since her maid (that would be me) is away most of the time, the responsibility of cleaning up after the her has fallen to the man of the house. And he does not like it.
Recently, he purchased a Bissel Spot Bot to alleviate his anxiety and eliminate those lovely catsick stains. And until this weekend, I'd never seen this little miracle worker in action. Oh, but I got my chance.
I'm still not sure how one little cat can make such a huge mess, but I am absolutely convinced that I married a super-hero. Not only did he shampoo the affected areas (plural!), but he also vacuumed afterward.
He vacuumed! It makes me weak in the knees just thinking about it.
How is it that one tiny little needle can leave such a large bruise? I mean, I'm used to the GIANT bruising that happens when the nurse has no idea how to puncture a vein. Any vein will do. In either arm. Please don't dig. Really. I can feel that. Ever considered a career in domination? Ouch!
But I digress. Today, the phlebotomist got it right on the first try! I'd call him a genius if it wasn't for all the bruising. How is this possible?
It's never too early in the morning to be polite and considerate. We all got up at 3am to make this flight.
I don't know which is more disturbing: pantyhose paired with Birks or wool socks worn with flip-flops.
Taking off in the dark and the fog is mildly alarming.
Landing at sunrise in a fairy-land covered in snow is spectacular.
It is a special blessing when your departure gate is the one immediately next to your arrival gate. Doubly so in sleep deprivation mode.
Every airport should offer free Wifi.
Since I'm catching a flight at stupid-o-clock in the morning, I decided to switch handbags this evening to save myself time in the wee-hours. (Lady readers are well aware of the need to change from one's business hand bag to a slightly larger travel handbag, and everyone is well aware of the need to prepare against the danger of hitting snooze too-many-times before a too-early flight.)
Anyway, the travel handbag flipped over when I pulled it from the drawer. What should fall out but a nail. No, not a finger nail. A regular, hammer-into-the-wall kinda nail.
Apparently, the contents of my purse are much more interesting than previously presumed.
There's something reassuring about tuning into a Canadian radio station and hearing Rush.
The pillows in my hotel are dressed in cases with the embroidered labels "soft" and "firm" in large, friendly letters. How thoughtful.
Except. I cannot tell the difference.
12 smiling, bald Buddhist monks wearing orange robes and Birkenstocks.
In a convenience store.
In the middle of nowhere.
May I encourage you to read Rod Dreher's account of his conversion from Catholicism to Orthodoxy? It's not important as relates to denomination, rather it is a well-written account of coming into the light of Christ after a season in the desert. What is most remarkable, however, is how Mr. Dreher acknowledges his own responsibility for abandoning Catholicism even as he examines the disappointment and disillusionment he suffered at the hands of his Church. But here is the heart of the matter:
I had made in my life till that point the fundamental error of conceiving of the Church as an end in itself, rather than a means to the end of becoming a saint in Christ.
Hmmm. Wild rice blend. That sounds yummy. But I've gotta have some vegetables, and maybe some chicken, to call it a meal.
Cooks rice.
Now what? Oh. I've got chopped pecans. And dried cranberries. So, let's saute the pecans and cranberries in a little butter. Better add some veggies to that.
Rumages in freezer.
Chopped spinach. Perfect. Toss that into the saute pan, but it needs something. Right, seasoning. Fresh cracked pepper and salt. What have we got here? Nutmeg. Nutmeg is great with spinach.
Sprinkle, sprinkle.
Oh, forgot the chicken. That smells pretty good, but it's still missing...tarragon. Excellent. Don't forget the rice. Stir, stir, stir.
Serve.
Yum. This would make a great stuffing for Thanksgiving. Yep, gotta remember this one.
I inadvertently left Leni off my links list when updating this blog yesterday. She regularly comments here, but over on her blog, her writing is usually instructive, often insightful, and frequently funny. Do visit her site and say "hi."
It was only a matter of time. Well, time and money. $1.65B in fact.
Well - new template at any rate. I found this one at Pannasmontata Templates, where they offer nearly 50 free Blogger-formatted templates. I couldn't resist this one, and I hope ya'll like it too.
Please note that I did a little customization: removed the time-stamp, updated links to open in a new window, removed the "capitalize" formatting, etc. But here's the really scary part - I actually understand the code. *shudder*
Oh, and if any of you decide to use the Pannasmontata templates, be sure to grab the images since they're not included in the download. Just use the links in the template code, download the images, and save them to a server. (I used Flickr.)
One last thing...I added Alex the Lesser to the links list. Drop by and say "hello."
There are rare moments in life when one becomes lost in one's work...when eight hours pass before one looks up from one's computer to realize the sun has set and the day has gone. And when one looks up, one's eyes are crossed, one's stomach is empty, and one's back is aching.
But...one's homework is done.
the feeling of sadness or displeasure caused by the nonfulfillment of one's hopes or expectations.
Why is it that long-anticipated events result in disappointment? No matter how much one moderates one's hopes, the actual event almost always pales in comparison to what is imagined. Worse is when the reality falls short of what was believed - when action fails faith.
