RIP

My Uncle Sonny died yesterday. He was 85 and a real character. He will definitely be missed.

Sonny had been suffering ill health for quite some time, and I know that his passing is a blessing - he's finally home and at peace. No more trouble breathing or getting around. No more coughing. No more just plain feeling bad. Just peace and love and acceptance. I know that my aunt and my grandmother were waiting for him.

But we'll miss his stories, and his laugh. When he was in high school, Sonny and some friends took apart a car and rebuilt it on top of a building - their school maybe? People woke up the next day to the sight of a car on a roof! My grandfather was not amused, but it was clearly worth it to Sonny.

Sonny was a mechanic during World War II. He worked on planes that flew into Germany - into enemy territory. He was actually in the planes during missions. If anything went wrong during flight, it was his job to get it fixed if he could so they wouldn't go down in enemy territory. No pressure. He also served in the Pacific theater. A few years ago, I went through a box I'd inherited from my grandmother, and I found some letters my uncle had written to her during the war from Japan. They were fascinating. I gave the originals to my cousin, his son, but I made color copies for myself first. What a life.

And it wasn't just his adventures that made up that life. Sonny and my Aunt Peggy were married for 56 years. They raised two kids, who raised kids of their own and are now greeting their own grandchildren. He's part of the fabric of my childhood - weekends and holidays spent at my grandmother's house always included Sonny and Peggy. I can still see him sitting at my grandmother's kitchen table, telling the story about when he jumped into a cold lake and jumped out so fast his wallet didn't even get wet. I must've heard it 100 times. I wish I could hear him tell it now. I wish I could sit next to him on the porch swing as he smoked his pipe. I loved how that pipe smelled. I wish I could feel his thin arms squeeze me tight with an energetic, "I love you, kid!" - boy could that man give a hug!

Sonny was loved by many. He was one of a kind. I'm glad I knew him. I'm glad I can claim him as one of my own. I'll miss you, Uncle Sonny. I love you, kid!

A word to parents

Sorry, kids - working on a massive project and haven't had time to blog. It'll probably be that way for another couple of weeks. I may tell you about the project, but then again I may not. It depends on how it turns out!

In any case, I'll give you a quick blog shot here.

To all parents of young children, do not, I repeat DO NOT, bring your 2-year-old to a movie unless that movie involves cartoon pandas, penguins or cars. Seriously.

J and I went to see M. Night Shamalamadingdong's new movie, "The Happening," on Sunday. This is a suspense thriller-type movie. All of his movie's are. Heard of "The Sixth Sense"? Yeah, it's that guy. Well, not only did we have to shush some hag who TOOK A PHONE CALL about halfway through the movie (I'm not kidding - she not only answered the call, but began a conversation. When we shushed her and I gave her a curt, "Hey!" she got louder. More people then shushed her and I proceeded to yell "HEY!" with a tone that said, "I'm about to shove that phone right down your throat," so she wrapped it up.), but we had to endure some woman's toddler babbling, crying out, and running around the theater through the whole friggin' movie.

If we hadn't been in a theater that was all the way at the end of the building - 3 or 4 miles from the managers station at the front of the theater, I think I would've had the woman thrown out. Instead, I just muttered under my breath, "I hate her" every single time her kid ruined a suspenseful moment.

With movie prices the way they are these days, it's just plain unacceptable that people should have to put up with that. If you can't afford a sitter, then you can't afford to go to a movie. Everyone else in that theater is not a babysitter for your little bundle of joy, and everyone else in there paid a hefty sum to watch the movie in a theater - not your living room. Get Netflix. Get a Blockbuster card. Get a clue.

In my email...

Wu Yi Tea wants to know if I'm "Tired of being overweight?"

Well, not until you SAID that!! In fact, Wu Yi, until you said that I'm overweight - just pointed it out like it's a known fact to anyone with eyes - I didn't even think I WAS overweight! But it's on the Internet, so it must be true. Dammit.

What's funny is that I've only been aware of my overweightness for about 2 minutes now, and I AM tired of it already!

I wonder why Wu Yi Tea would ask me such a thing? Do you think he has some sort of advice - some system or, say, product that could help me with my overwhelming bulk? Mr. Tea, what could the answer be?

What a relief that the answers to all of our problems just come to us in our email now. We don't even have to go looking for them. What did people ever do before the Internet?

Nothing can ever just be simple.

I called Sears this morning to make an appointment to fix my washing machine. I tried to set an appointment online, because that's how I like to do things - online with no actual human contact. But the website didn't want to give me an appointment.

Apparently, the Sears folks don't want to actually have to do their jobs. They wanted me to just call for a "phone consultation" so they could talk me through a repair over the phone. Ummmmm...no. Am I a Sears repairman? No, I am not. Do I want to be a Sears repairmen? No, I do not. You are the Sears repairman and coming to fix my stuff is your job, so just come over and fix it.

I'm going to guess it's because I answered that the appliance is still under warranty. This means they won't make any money on my repair, so they'd like to avoid coming out and doing it. Tough she-shitsky, as my Mom says. You should've sold me an appliance that works.

I actually think the problem is going to be traced back to setup with the drain line, because this EXACT same problem plagued my last washer - that's why I got rid of it, probably needlessly if we determine that I'm right about the problem. But I had something like 3 servicemen out in a year's time and none of them figured that out, so I don't blame myself if that's the case. I blame the idiots who couldn't figure out the problem when that's what they get paid to do.

But my boyfriend, who is NOT a Sears repairman and does NOT get paid to figure these things out, came up with this theory about the drain line, so I'm going to let him be present for the repair so that he can discuss his theory with the technician. Let the menfolk discuss the mechanical items amongst themselves. I ain't good at such-a thangs.

The real point of this post, though, was that I had to call the phone number and get a live person on the line to force them to give me a appointment with a repairman. After wading through the voice-prompt system (which I HATE - I HATE having to talk to a machine. Everyone around you can tell what you're doing, too: "Repair." "Yes." "Washer." "Correct." Aaargh) and waiting on hold for about 15 minutes, I got a live person, and she again tried to troubleshoot with me on the phone. I had to tell her straight out that I didn't want a phone consultation - I just wanted someone to come out. She dropped it and set an appointment, which was good, but then she started trying to upsell me on other products and services. I was polite, but after the first two upsells, when she started a third I had to tell her that I was really sorry, but I had to go to a meeting (which was true - I was 5 minutes late), so if we were done setting my appointment, I needed to move on.

I'm sure that's another reason the website didn't want to give me an appointment. It's probably harder to upsell people online. Grrrr. Just come fix my washer.

I hate mold.

Another great evening last night. An old friend was in town, so J and I met and her and her fiancee for a free concert by Guy Forsythe at Shady Grove. It's a much smaller venue than Zilker Park, so the space was a lot tighter than it was for the Asleep at the Wheel concert the night before, but we were able to eat a fine meal before the show, so I won't do no complainin'.

I will however complain about the allergies I am suffering with. The only thing that's been on the allergy report for some time now is mold, so that must be what I'm allergic to, and it can't help that I've been spending so much time outside. But I'm not going to sequester myself inside and stop living just to try to avoid mold. And from what I've been reading on the Internet, even if I did, there would just be mold in my house somewhere that would attack me. The damn stuff is apparently everywhere.

I've been taking Claritin, but I still end up with a headache right behind my eyes almost everyday, as well as post-nasal drip and congestion. It never seems to go away, no matter what the weather is, so I should probably see if I need to change meds or get allergy shots or something. I've about had it with feeling like crap everyday.

In any case, I did a little Internet research about mold allergy, and I found this article by this woman whose son was being absolutely plagued by it. They did this massive housecleaning effort to rid their house of mold, and then she mentioned that she had put her son on a particular diet until his symptoms subsided. These are the foods she said he had to avoid:

Cheese
Salami
Potatoes
Hot dogs
Most nuts, especially pistachios and cashews
Chocolate
Sugar
Anything with yeast - breads, bagels, etc.
Raw vegetables and fruit
Saturated fats, including butter
Garlic
High vitamin A and high provitamin A beta-carotene foods - especially carrots, liver and pumpkin
Fruit juices
Refined grains
Dairy

What exactly does that leave you? Pickles and grilled meat patty?

Boy, do I love my city!

Had a fantastic evening last night!

J and I took advantage of the kind of Wednesday night you only find in Austin, Texas.

First, we went and picked up a new microphone that J negotiated for on Craigslist. Only in a town with musicians left and right can you find just exactly the piece of musical equipment you need and for a good price on Craigslist. His new band is building more with each show and this new mic will really help fill out the sound.

Then, we went over to Hut's and enjoyed ourselves some two-for-one burgers - a Wednesday special at the incomparable Hut's. We have enjoyed this special before, but always with burgers one of us has tried before. Last night, we took a chance and ordered something new to both of us - the Alley Oop. This little treasure comes with swiss cheese, grilled onions and Thousand Island dressing. It normally comes with whole grain bread, but we substituted wheat buns - bread gets soggy in about two seconds with a hamburger, and that just ain't right. We were both profoundly happy with the tangy and smooth taste of the Alley Oop. And our fries were cooked to perfection. Great job (as usual), Hut's!

After feasting, we went to Blues on the Green. This is a free concert series hosted by local radio station KGSR. Every other Wednesday in June and July, a different big-name band plays a FREE CONCERT in Zilker Park. Just grab a blanket, a cooler and a sweet spot on the ground and enjoy the show! You can even bring your dog if you have one (yes, dear, I know that we will never have a dog - I mean *other* people can bring dogs). Last night, Asleep at the Wheel played, and it was absolutely perfect. The show started around 7:30, and by then, the heat of the day was gone, replaced by a comfortable temperature and a great breeze. We talked, sang, lounged and people-watched until about 9:00 (the show went until 9:30). Then we walked back to the car, the whole time extolling the virtues of our amazing city. (For anyone who reads this and thinks they want to move here, I've got a house you can buy...)

All in all, a perfect evening. Thanks to my awesome J for being such a great partner in crime! Life is good.

What, you don't carry it around, too?

Anyone who knows me knows that I have a phobia about b.o. I like to smell good (and by "like" I mean that if I don't, it's a point of great distress), and deodorant is a vital part of my grooming. It should be for you, too, by the way. Trust me - ain't no one wants to smell your natural self.

In service to this phobia, I not only keep deodorant at home, but I have a travel size deodorant nearby just about at all times - either in my car, or in my briefcase, or in my purse if I'm out for the evening in a situation where I might be dancing or outside. Here's a tip: I've discovered over the years that the car is only a good choice in winter. Deodorant melts like buttah in the blast furnace heat around here.

Since summer arrived here weeks ago, my little Travel D has been in my briefcase. I did take it with me in my purse on Friday when I went out for the evening, though, and I guess it got a little too warm. See, this morning I realized I had forgotten to put on deodorant at home (I was very tired this morning). No worries, though - I've got deodorant in my briefcase! I'll just put some on when I get to my office. Except b.o. for me is a *phobia* so I couldn't wait for that. I had to try and put it on in the car - not while I was actually driving, but at a stop light.

I rummaged around behind my seat, feeling in my briefcase until I located Travel D. It took several seconds to accomplish this, so I knew I only had a few moments before the light would turn green and I'd have to stop my deodorant triage. So, I ripped the top off Little D, and...it crumbled all over my lap - no, all over my black skirt! Awesome.

I pieced it back together as best I could before the light changed, and I suffered with the knowledge of my unprotected pits until I got to the office then tried again. Again, it littered itself all over my skirt and the floor until I could cobble together some usable pieces and use a kleenex to hold them and apply what I could. Quite the picture of a competent business professional, no?

Thank God I get to the office before any of my coworkers.

I wonder...

if someday, electricity, at least as we know it to be dispensed, will be replaced completely with some other power source.

This thought actually came to me the last time I was vacuuming. As I worked my way around the house, dodging and moving the cord and having to stop periodically to unplug it and replug it into another outlet, I wondered if People of the Future will shake their heads in wonderment at our clumsy appliances and primitive power sources.

We can hardly imagine farming with a mule and a plow - it's all tractors, right? So, what if someday, all the appliances in our houses, with their cords tethered to the wall, will seem just as primitive. Does anyone besides me even still have a corded telephone in their house? And when did that change occur? Within the last 10 years for sure. Cell phones, and certainly cordless phones, have replaced them within recent memory.

So, what technology will be developed that releases us from electricity, or at least from cords and wires in our walls? Something is going to come along that just completely changes how we power things. And when it does, will it translate to cars in some way so that we're finally off fossil fuels, too? And will it happen within my lifetime? Will I be an old lady talking about "the old days" when I put gas in my car and all my appliances had cords? Will children marvel at how I managed to get anything done at all with those clunky tethers getting in the way?

Just an interesting thought, I think. (Save this post for when this all comes true and you can say, "Suzanne said in 2008 that this would happen.")

Pictures are worth a 1,000 words...all lies

My friend Laurie shared the pictures from paintball today. How is it that when you look at the pictures later, it looks like so much fun that you forget saying, "I will NEVER do this again!"

(Thanks for being our photographer, Laurie, and again, despite all the pain and suffering, I'm glad we did it!)

In my email

Flatworm says, "We know what you want." Do you now?

First of all, Flatworm, I don't know who you are, but my first question is who is "we"? If you've got partners, I think I deserve to know who they are.

Second of all, when I think of a flat worm, I think of tapeworms. Tapeworms are disgusting. I'm not sure I want a tapeworm knowing my wants and desires.

Third of all, you *know* what I want? How do you *know* what I want? Did I tell you? No, I did not. Have you been reading my diary? PYSCH! I don't have a diary (and I love that show - when does the new season start?). Have you been talking to my friends? What makes you think I tell them everything? No, Flatworm, you do not know what I want. You just *think* you know.

And lastly, so what if you did know what I want? Unless you can actually get it for me, that knowledge is useless. So, what good are you and all your pointless pieces of ill-gotten data?

I think you and your mysterious little posse need to reevaluate what you hope to accomplish with all this email, Flatworm.

Paintball hurts.

Does that surprise you? It did me. For some reason, I had it in my head that paintball was messy, but not painful. So, when my friend Tony wanted to do paintball for his birthday, I said, "Sure! Sounds like fun!"

My first indication that things might not be as pleasant as I first imagined was when I saw the weather forecast for yesterday. I believe the high was projected as 98, and we were starting paintball - an outdoor activity - at 2:00 p.m. Hmmm. Could be toasty.

Then I read the instructions for paintball. Well, they weren't so much instructions for the game as preparations, and they included things like, "Wear jeans. Wear long sleeves." Really? Long sleeves? Outside in 98-degree weather? Are you sure? But I supposed that was so you wouldn't get paint all over yourself - just your clothes, which you could take off and toss in the washer when you got home.

Then we arrived at the paintball place and I read the rules - again these weren't really instructions on how to play as much as "If you do these things, we'll kick you out" items. It said we'd be wearing masks, and you're not allowed to take your mask off once you've entered the playing areas. Masks? Okay, so I'm wearing jeans, long sleeves and a mask...in 98 degree weather. Uh oh.

Not being one to shy away from at least trying something, though, I convinced myself that I'd ignore the heat and just focus on the game. There were lots of people there, all in appropriate gear, and none of them seemed afraid of heatstroke, so if they could do it, I could do it. We went out to pressure up our guns.

This is where I should've gotten the message that I'm an idiot who had no business participating in this activity. I watched the guy demonstrate how to air up our guns. He then began to instruct us on something or other (I wasn't listening), and one by one we aired up our guns. I waited my turn and finally grabbed the nozzle for the air station and attached it to the thingy (a technical term) on my gun and KABLOW!! The instructions were halted momentarily while everyone turned to stare at me. A couple of the guys in our group came over to see what the hell I'd done. It would appear that the thingy I attached the nozzle to wasn't the *right* thingy - it was just a screw, so the pressured air just blew out like a bad tire. That would've been embarrassing enough, but in the process of that, I had blown out the o-ring in the nozzle as well. So everyone had to wait idly by why the attendant fixed the machine. Fantastic start - really.

It was finally time to play, and we hit the field. We didn't actually know what the goal was other than to shoot people on the other team, which in the first game, was each other (we just played with our group only, split into two teams). I caught one paintball to the head, and I thought, "Wow, that was fast. I'm out. And, uh...ow." I started to stand up, but the referee shouted "No paint! You're still in." This means that while the paintball did, in fact, pop me with stinging force in the side of the head (where I was unprotected by either mask or clothes), it hadn't actually broken. So, I wasn't out. "Oh. Okay. And uh...ow." I kept playing, but never got hit again, and our side won, so that was cool.

Switch sides and play again. This where things went horribly awry. Several minutes into the next game, I'd advanced to shelter behind one of the barriers and was looking for someone to shoot when BAM, BAM!! Extremely painful blasts stung my right bicep and right shin, almost simultanously. Also, almost simultaneously, I screamed out, "FUCK!!! I'm out!! I'm out!!"

Now, I realize that some of you out there may take offense to my sailor mouth, but I feel I must make a couple of points. 1) I'm not a parent. So, I don't really have much call for watching my mouth when not at work...and really, not so much even AT work. So, shouting say, "Fudge!" or "Oh my goodness!" when pelted with tiny, exploding missiles is just not very likely. 2) I was being pelted with tiny, exploding missiles.

I knew immediately that the "enjoyment" part of the afternoon was probably over for me. I limped back to the rest area and inspected my wounds, which were already bruising and swelling. Luckily, we had a cooler with ice, so I iced my two wounds immediately, which I think went a long way toward me not looking today like I was in an actual war yesterday. I cannot express to you enough how suprised I was at just how bad those damn paint pellets hurt.

If I'd sat and watched the other teams for a while before stepping out onto the field myself, I would've known not to go out there. As the afternoon rolled on, person after person came back to the rest area to show off new and horrific new bruises. It was truly disturbing. But not wanting to be a quitter, I did try to go back out there one more time.

You might think things couldn't have gotten worse, but you'd be wrong. When we went back out, we ended up on a field with another team. These people weren't kidding around. They were friggin' commandos. I think they would've shot us right in the face at point blank range if they could've done it without being kicked off the field. But that wouldn't have been necessary in my case, because I discovered during this game that something was wrong with my gun. While my opponent could shoot me full force from across the entire field, my gun would shoot maybe twenty feet with a high, gentle arc. So, I couldn't shoot anyone but they could hammer me without even advancing. Greeeeat.

I proceeded to cower behind a barricade, trying to figure out what part of my body to pop out into the open where it might hurt the least to get shot, so I could be out and get off the field. Zing! Another shot to the head. "No paint!" Dammit. A few seconds later, Zing! Another shot to the head. "No paint!" Aw, COME ON!! About that time, shing!! A graze to my upper thigh. No paint, and it hurt like hell. So, now I'm just getting bruised without even getting the sweet relief of being called out! Just when I'm thinking maybe I can just give up and call *myself* out, pow! Paint and pain all over my right hand. Thank GOD!!

I screamed, "I'm out! I'm out!" and stood up, gun hanging by my side, headed for the sideline, and ZING! Another damn shot to the head!! To my credit, I didn't scream an obscenity, but I did shout in a less than amused voice for whoever did it to stop, that I was clearly out and leaving the field of play.

At this point, I was officially done, and so was the other girl in our group who was playing. She walked away with two bruises that I swear to God couldn't have been any worse if she'd been shot by actual bullets. The guys played a few more games, all with other teams who were practically professionals. I guess it's a testosterone thing.

I can say that I'm glad I did it. I can cross it off my list of things that I've done in this lifetime. But I can pretty much assure you I'll never do it again. Oh, and if you're considering doing it, I'm going to suggest doing it in, say, December, when 2 or 3 extra layers of padding would not only be prudent but comfortable. I'll bring the hot chocolate and watch your extra paint balls for you in the rest area.

Coolin' my heels

We got a verdict yesterday on the a.c. in my office - the compressor is out. Of course. And the part they needed to fix it had to come from San Antonio. Again, I say, "Of course." So, our office manager told us yesterday afternoon that the part wouldn't arrive until around Noon today, and it would take about 4 hours to repair.

Oh, hell no.

This was unacceptable. I was not spending another entire day in an 84-degree office. So, I approached my boss, who was also stuck with the ridiculous temps in her office and suggested that after a mandatory meeting this morning, we request to work from home - where we both had air conditioning. The request was approved, probably because there's some law against forcing employees to work in a literal sweatshop, and I've had the pleasure of working from the air-conditioned comfort of my home this fine Friday. Good thing. When I went in this morning for the mandatory meeting, my office was already 82 degrees - at 7:30 a.m. mind you. I don't even want to know how hot it's gotten by now.

Anyway, the a.c. issues should be resolved by the time I go back on Monday. Woo and hoo, people. Not that I mind working from home. In fact, now that I think about it, I've got a screwdriver - I wonder if I could find the right a.c. unit if I got up in our crawlspace in our building...

Must. Have. Air.

It would be bad if the air conditioning was off in my office. It's worse that it appears to be on and broken, because this way, it's like the heat is on. Seriously, it's in the 80s in my office and hot air is blowing on me.

I have a fan sitting a foot from me trying to fight against the tide of hot air coming out of the ceiling vents. It's a valiant little soldier of a fan, and I will give it a treat later for it's loyal service. But for the moment, I'm just trying to stay awake.

The best part is when I and my co-worker who is on the same circuit told our office manager about the problem, and she proceeded to ponder what it could be. "Is it the breaker?" "I don't know. It's like the heat is on." "Well, they were on the roof yesterday and they did something to trip breaker. It was completely off." "Uh-huh. Well, right now the air is blowing; it's just hot." "If it were the breaker, the air wouldn't be blowing." "Just go to my office. See what I'm talking about." "Hmmm..."

It was all I could do to keep from screaming, "Just call a repairman!!" This particular person is famous for telling you that what is happening is not happening when you tell her it's happening. "My phone isn't working." "Oh, it is. You just pushed the wrong button." "No. I didn't push any buttons." "Yeah, you did. It's fine." Then after 2 more days of your phone not working, she finally says, with incredulity dripping from her voice, "Well, you're right! Your phone is not working!" Then she regails you with a monologue on why the problem is "so weird" and why she assumed the phone/air conditioning/etc. was actually working even though you told her it wasn't and she finally calls a repairman.

I've had it happen with her time and again in various situations. It's her m.o. Like an insurance company that denies claims, just hoping the client will go away, she gives you all the reasons that what you're telling her is incorrect and why she does not, in fact, need to do anything when you tell her something is wrong and you need her to do something.

I'm going to pray on all that is holy that she'll get someone out this morning to handle the air conditioning thing, because seriously - I'm just going to nap all day if this goes on.

House sellin' - or not.

No one has looked at the house yet. This is disheartening. I think today might be the day, though. See, I left some underwear out on my chest of drawers, so I'm guessing that should be all that's needed in order for strangers to decide to walk through my house.

Shake, rattle and roll

I hope you all had a fantastic Memorial Day weekend! I certainly did. And it was capped off yesterday evening by some homemade ice cream!

No, I haven't bought an ice cream maker yet, but it turns out that one of my friends has one of those soccer-ball ice cream makers, so we gave it a whirl! (Get it - a whirl? It's a ball - so you shake it and roll it around? I got a million of 'em.)

Turns out the ball is not actually designed to be kicked around the yard. It's plastic with an inner core where the ice cream fixins go, so if you kicked it, you'd break the ball - maybe not on the first kick, but before you could actually get your delicious ingredients frozen, so what would be the point of that, eh?

We filled the inner core of the ball with cream, crushed up Oreo cookies and...other stuff (I wasn't paying attention), and then we filled the space around the core with ice cubes and rock salt, and then we commenced ta shakin'.

We shook it like a conga, but that got kinda heavy, so then we mostly sat on the floor and rolled it around to each other. After 10 minutes, we checked and it was still pretty soupy. We had to pour out the melted ice and salt and refill it. More shaking and rolling for 10 minutes. We checked again and it was still a little too liquidy, but you could see that it was icing up along the sides of the inner core. So we scraped the sides, refilled the ice and salt, and gave it one more session of shaking and rolling.

It was tasty, but it was just barely enough. We had 4 adults and a child, and it was fine for us because we were pretty full from a great spread of smoked brisket, fresh corn on the cob, potato rolls and grilled asparagus, but I can see where you'd normally want more output. My friend says they've come out with a larger sized ball, so if there's more than 2 or 3 of you usually eating the ice cream, and you want the soccer ball ice cream experience, you'd probably want the larger size.

So it was cool to make the ice cream, and it sure did taste good! I'm definitely going to get an ice cream maker. Anyone else who wants to continue my research into the subject should feel free to invite me over for more field research. Thanks V&D for the fantabulous Memorial Day feast!

I scream, you scream, we all scream for...

Ice cream!

Temperatures are in the 90s already here in fabulous Austin, Texas, so J and I have already enjoyed several stops recently at Baskin Robbins. Yes, Austin readers, I know that BR is a big coporate national chain, and I'm *supposed* to eat nothing but local favorite Amy's, but here's the thing...I'm not really that crazy about Amy's. There. I said it. I like Baskin Robbins ice cream better AND they've been sending me coupons. It's a win-win. Now try to catch your breath and read on.

I *love* Blue Bell, the Texas ice cream made in Brenham and, to my mind, unsurpassed in creamy deliciousness. They have many, many fantastic flavors and you can get it in 1/2 gallon or pint sizes, depending on how many people are going to be dipping their spoons into your stash. I do find some fine flavors at Ben & Jerry's (another big chain), though they tend to get a little complicated for me. I don't really need 16 flavors in one scoop - just give me one or two really, really good ones and I'll be thrilled. I have also found an outstanding Haagen-Dazs flavor (pineapple-coconut) that I would pay exhorbitant amounts of cash money for.

But I'm thinkin' I might like to kick it up a notch this year. I'm thinking I might like to buy an ice cream maker and make my very own ice cream this summer. I know - crazy!! But it's been done.

When I was a kid, my parents had an ice cream maker and we used to make our own, and it was great! We used to invite people over, and we'd make it as kind of a social event. We'd pick our flavor and take our turns cranking and all hang out while it firmed up into something delicious and just a little softer than the mass-produced stuff at the store. And then, when it was finally ready, we all sat back and enjoyed the fruits (and cream) of our labor! I loved it.

I had this on the brain recently when I logged onto my friend Lauren's amazing food blog, tastytype, and lo and behold, she had just made homemade peach ice cream! Now, just reading Lauren's blog makes me want to quit my job and just cook all the time, but this was just too much. How can *I* make such ice cream??, I thought. Why, with an ice cream maker of course! And people, it gets better.

J and I went to a local shop to buy my nephew a birthday present, and there, right in the middle of the store were these soccer-ball looking things. They were ice cream makers! Supposedly, you put all the fixins in the ball and then kick it around and after 15 minutes or so, you've got ice cream. That's it, man - I gots to get me an ice cream maker!

Now, I'm not buying the soccer ball one. If I'm buying one, I'm buying a decent one, not something you put your feet on and roll around in the grass and then eat out of. But be prepared, friends, because I'm buyin' one, and we're gonna have some ice cream socials this summer! Oh. Yeah.

Suzanne: Bird Hero

I saved a life this morning. Just another day in the life of Suzanne: Bird Hero. No, seriously - I did save a bird this morning.

I was getting ready to walk out the door for work, and I saw that my cat was looking out the window into the backyard and making her "ack-ack" bird sound. As I always do when she makes the "ack-ack" bird sound, I went over to see what bird she had spotted and to chat with her about it. The "ack-ack" sound cracks me up, and we bond during these conversations. Cats and people like it when you're interested in their world. But I digress.

I peered out into the backyard and couldn't see the bird she had spotted. Then all of a sudden I saw it - a flapping behind my potting bench, but up near the top of the bench. There's no step or outcropping of any kind, and the flapping wasn't constant, so I wondered how the bird was maintaining that position - not flying up or down, just hanging in one spot and flapping occasionally. I even wondered if it might be two birds fighting. Whatever it was, it needed investigation.

So, I accepted the fact that I was probably making myself late for work and headed out to investigate. Thank God I did. It was a solitary bird trapped in my fence. His little foot had become wedged in between two of the fence slats, and he couldn't get free. Well, this would not stand. There was no way I was heading to work with that little boo-boo trapped and struggling.

I went and put on some gloves (partially to protect myself because he might peck at me and partially because handling a bird can send the bird into shock, so I wanted to minimize my scent). I realized that the best angle to help was from above, so I climbed on top of the potting bench, and started my rescue. I tried at first to lift the bird's leg from the gap where it was wedged - I thought maybe he was struggling in the wrong direction and he just needed someone to pull it up and out, rather than just out. I put my finger underneath the trapped leg, and the bird got very still. I pulled, but there was no movement. I could see that his little toes were trapped behind the cross-bar that ran behind the fence. Bugger.

I tried a time or two more, and each time, he'd get very still when I touched him. I was afraid the third time, though, that I might break his leg or something if I pushed too hard, so I stopped and began to try and pull the slats apart to create some space so he could pull free on his own. We both struggled for several minutes to no avail, and that's when I saw that his "knee" - the joint above the point where his leg was trapped - had been rubbed raw. You could see the bone/cartilage and it was starting to bleed. "Oh no! Baby, stop!" I pleaded as he kept flapping and struggling, and (I was sure) making it worse.

I began to think. "Okay, I'm not going to be able to accomplish anything trying to pull these slats apart with just my own strength." And I was NOT going to leave him there to injure himself further and surely die. I needed to somehow create more space - cutting the fence slat or pulling it free from the cross-bar or *something.* "What tools do I have that could do something?" So, I ran in the house and scanned the stash of garden tools that I keep by the back door.

I spotted a digger tool. That might work. It might be too thick, but I could TRY it - I could try to stick it between the two slats and wedge them apart. If that didn't work, I'd go back and look again for something else to try. I ran back to the potting bench. The poor bird was panting - exhausted, scared and hurt. His foot had slipped down a little bit - still caught but not trapped against the cross-bar anymore. This was good.

I stuck the digger in between the slats and pushed. The gap expanded, the bird flapped, then he flapped again and...FREEDOM! His leg came free and he flew up and then away into the trees on the ranch behind my house. I watched him as far as I could see him, thinking..."Wait! I need to put some Neosporin on your wound and bandage it!"

Hopefully, he won't get an infection and his leg will heal and all will be well. He was beautiful. Black with red and yellow markings under his wings. I will watch for him as the summer goes by. I was late for work, of course, but it was well worth it. Saving a creature in need trumps 30 minutes of email any day of the week.

Calling Dr. House

I feel like I should be in an episode of House. While getting ready for bed last night, I looked in the mirror to wash my face, and I saw...something. I lifted my chin, and there, smack in the middle of the soft-tissue area under my jaw was a perfectly round little bruise. Wha?

I touched it, expecting a little jolt of soreness - nothing. I thought back on the day. Had I rested my chin on a pencil eraser? Had I pinched that spot somehow? Had something bitten me?

I couldn't think of a thing. It was just this perfectly round little bruise in a completely inexplicable place. Blow it off, right? But I couldn't. I kept thinking about it, trying to figure it out. And anyone who knows me knows that that never leads any place good.

I mean, what is a bruise really? It's a hemmorhage. So, if you can't remember injuring yourself in any way, and I think I'd remember if I hurt myself under my chin, what could cause a hemmorhage? What kind of disease could that be a symptom of (see what I mean - never leads any place good)? Should I start Googling and see what I can find out? Do I want to know? What do I say to the specialist I'm forced to visit in a few months when my entire immune system is compromised and I have to explain that I saw the tell-tale perfectly round bruise under my chin, but I ignored it? How stupid do I look then?

Or...you know...now, obsessing about a random bruise?

Change is good. Change is good. Change is good.

Been a busy few days, because after a couple of years of pondering, and a couple of months of actively considering, and a couple of weeks (actually more) of finding out numbers and getting other folks involved, I have...put my house on the market! Aaaaa!!

Yes, I know this is a crappy time to sell. But it's a great time to buy, and I'm possibly in a position to make a good move - something that has real potential to grow for me and improve my location. So, despite the fact that I love my little house in the country, I'm going to allow perfect strangers to traipse through it when I'm not there and judge everything I've done and tell me why they don't want to pay what I'm asking. And hopefully, when I tell them they're insane, they'll want my fabulous little house enough to say, "Okay, then" and just pay me what I want for it. We shall see.

If I don't get any offers that I'm comfortable with, I'll just take it back off the market and revisit the situation next year. But I have a feeling it's all going to work out and I'll be in a new house with a whole new slew of home improvement projects by the end of the summer. Again...aaaa!

Wish me luck!

Pisces

So here's my horoscope for today:

"Your selfless side needs to get in better balance with your more self-oriented side. Have you been helping too many people for too long and neglecting your own needs? The biggest problem with giving all the time is that pretty soon you have nothing left! Putting other people first is getting less and less realistic -- you have got to start conserving your energy for your own needs. Start saying 'no' a little bit more often. It gets easier and easier each time you do it."

So, I'm sorry, but the answer to whatever you needed from me today is "no." Unless of course I actually wanted to do whatever it was, and then it'll be "yes," but only because today it's all about me and my needs. (And yes, I swear I didn't write this one myself.)