A Flu for All Seasons
There is a new dog flu going around. I had no idea until my girlfriend informed me that she received a call at her office from another friend warning her that the Today show was doing a piece on a new dog flu so don’t be surprised when I began taking our dog to the vet for every cough or sneeze. I missed the panic inducing segment but nonetheless was told about this new strain of germ.
It is times like these that the world as a whole should be thankful I don’t have children. The poor creatures would be living in bubbles of fear that every new disease would be the one that took them down for good. I, as their mother, would be no help from my self imposed quarantine in the closet with nothing but a can of Lysol. If I did venture out it would be to get those headaches checked out that I am sure are a tumor the size of a grapefruit eating away at my short term memory. It just could not possibly be the bottle of wine a night.
As my children ventured out into the world would their dorm mates stare at their emergency preparedness kits complete with a flash light, two cans of peas, a can of corn, and bottle water? Would their potential spouses be offended when I chased them with a can of Lysol for sneezing in my house? How would my grandchildren feel that their grandmother won’t let them spend the night if they have runny noses?
Thankfully Isaac has neither sneezed nor coughed since this announcement came my way. If I were smart I would write the emergency vet a check now. Call it a retainer for when he starts exhibiting symptoms.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Thursday, September 29, 2005
A Room With a Door
As I said in a previous blog in the past year I moved up a rung on the corporate ladder, moving from a cubicle to an office complete with a door. Nothing could have made me happier at the time. Now all is lost, for the cubicle that occupies the space directly outside my door has been taken over by the loudest woman on Earth!
I have tried the diplomatic route, calling our head of Human Resources and asking her to have a talk with the woman. I have tried the not so diplomatic approach of muttering “Jesus Christ” under my breath and slamming my door, but this woman is truly clueless to her volume.
She inherited her position from the quietest, most feeble guy in the world. He could be in that cubicle all day and you would never hear a peep. Now, against my will I know the following things:
1. Her father will only wear Sansabelt pants. He gets a new pair for Christmas and (Surprise!) they are hard to find. One must make no less than 50 phone calls to every sporting goods and department store in town recounting your father’s life story to find the pants.
2. She has never owned a computer. Simple tasks like typing a letter in Word elude her therefore I get the pleasure of hearing our IT girl go through Computer 101 on a daily basis.
3. Clearly the intercom is also lost on her. The woman she works for is across the hall from her cubicle and in lieu of announcing calls on the intercom she feels that screaming across the hall is just as effective.
4. This has nothing to do with the volume but speaks instead to the overall hell I am currently in because this woman eats at her cubicle. What do you ask? Asiago cheese melted on Triskets. It’s as if she searched for the stinkiest cheese. My boss even sent an e-mail asking the stinky cheese culprit to please restrict themselves to eating in the lunch room but at that time she didn’t have a computer and thus did not know about the e-mail.
As I said in a previous blog in the past year I moved up a rung on the corporate ladder, moving from a cubicle to an office complete with a door. Nothing could have made me happier at the time. Now all is lost, for the cubicle that occupies the space directly outside my door has been taken over by the loudest woman on Earth!
I have tried the diplomatic route, calling our head of Human Resources and asking her to have a talk with the woman. I have tried the not so diplomatic approach of muttering “Jesus Christ” under my breath and slamming my door, but this woman is truly clueless to her volume.
She inherited her position from the quietest, most feeble guy in the world. He could be in that cubicle all day and you would never hear a peep. Now, against my will I know the following things:
1. Her father will only wear Sansabelt pants. He gets a new pair for Christmas and (Surprise!) they are hard to find. One must make no less than 50 phone calls to every sporting goods and department store in town recounting your father’s life story to find the pants.
2. She has never owned a computer. Simple tasks like typing a letter in Word elude her therefore I get the pleasure of hearing our IT girl go through Computer 101 on a daily basis.
3. Clearly the intercom is also lost on her. The woman she works for is across the hall from her cubicle and in lieu of announcing calls on the intercom she feels that screaming across the hall is just as effective.
4. This has nothing to do with the volume but speaks instead to the overall hell I am currently in because this woman eats at her cubicle. What do you ask? Asiago cheese melted on Triskets. It’s as if she searched for the stinkiest cheese. My boss even sent an e-mail asking the stinky cheese culprit to please restrict themselves to eating in the lunch room but at that time she didn’t have a computer and thus did not know about the e-mail.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Waiting for Rita
We've made all of the preparations and now we sit here waiting. In fact that is all we have done for the past two days- wait. My trusted favorite cat is here with me purring away. The dog is downstairs getting some much needed nap time as all the activity of the past few days has him very confused.
What have we done to prepare? On Thursday, I left work early to hit the grocery store. It helps that I work for someone who is also proned to panic attacks. The grocery store looked like nothing I have ever seen or imagined. There was no bread. They were rolling in large pallets of water but not bothering to stock them on the empty shelves as it took only a few minutes for them to be completely bare. A friend from Cuba says this is what the stores look like in communist countries. On the can veggie aisle my brain just shut down. There was barely anything to choose from and seeing that I am not the veggie eater in our house I just could not decide on what to pick up. I settled on two cans of peas and a can of corn. This strikes Carrie as funny that I only bought three cans of food. On the next aisle I picked up a giant box of Goldfish crackers. Much more my style. Picked up some ground coffeee and fruit then set out to get some kitty litter. There was not one box or bag of litter. I was amazed until it was pointed out to me that plenty of people will be bringing in pets that usually stay outside. Hmm. Something to remember for future disasters.
Yesterday we helped a friend close up her restaurant for what may be the last time depending on the kind of storm this ends up being. She says she will leave it all and move to her home in New Mexico permanently. This was more than somewhat upsetting. We had lunch, filled prescriptions, bought more cigarettes, and came home to wait.
It is the waiting that is killing me. The uncertainty. The constant news coverage. I had a blank diary that someone gave me (it even has a lock) so I began writing in it today. Random thoughts like how we have creamy peanut butter and if I had thought about it I would have picked up some crunchy. I have also been videotaping this event. This afternoon we moved lawn chairs to the end of the driveway to watch our empty streets. Eerie. Tropical Storm Allison snuck up on us. Rita is like that person coming to tickle you. You know they are coming. You are waiting for it to happen. The anticipation is what gets you first. I'm going to take Cat 1 downstairs now and see the latest update. Then I guess we'll wait.
We've made all of the preparations and now we sit here waiting. In fact that is all we have done for the past two days- wait. My trusted favorite cat is here with me purring away. The dog is downstairs getting some much needed nap time as all the activity of the past few days has him very confused.
What have we done to prepare? On Thursday, I left work early to hit the grocery store. It helps that I work for someone who is also proned to panic attacks. The grocery store looked like nothing I have ever seen or imagined. There was no bread. They were rolling in large pallets of water but not bothering to stock them on the empty shelves as it took only a few minutes for them to be completely bare. A friend from Cuba says this is what the stores look like in communist countries. On the can veggie aisle my brain just shut down. There was barely anything to choose from and seeing that I am not the veggie eater in our house I just could not decide on what to pick up. I settled on two cans of peas and a can of corn. This strikes Carrie as funny that I only bought three cans of food. On the next aisle I picked up a giant box of Goldfish crackers. Much more my style. Picked up some ground coffeee and fruit then set out to get some kitty litter. There was not one box or bag of litter. I was amazed until it was pointed out to me that plenty of people will be bringing in pets that usually stay outside. Hmm. Something to remember for future disasters.
Yesterday we helped a friend close up her restaurant for what may be the last time depending on the kind of storm this ends up being. She says she will leave it all and move to her home in New Mexico permanently. This was more than somewhat upsetting. We had lunch, filled prescriptions, bought more cigarettes, and came home to wait.
It is the waiting that is killing me. The uncertainty. The constant news coverage. I had a blank diary that someone gave me (it even has a lock) so I began writing in it today. Random thoughts like how we have creamy peanut butter and if I had thought about it I would have picked up some crunchy. I have also been videotaping this event. This afternoon we moved lawn chairs to the end of the driveway to watch our empty streets. Eerie. Tropical Storm Allison snuck up on us. Rita is like that person coming to tickle you. You know they are coming. You are waiting for it to happen. The anticipation is what gets you first. I'm going to take Cat 1 downstairs now and see the latest update. Then I guess we'll wait.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Roots of Epic Proportions
My hairdresser can’t see me until October 1st. I don’t think her receptionist fully understood the urgency of the situation. I CANNOT walk around looking like a displaced contestant from the Jerry Springer show for the next three weeks. I have roots as long as the Mississippi river and they are DAAARRRRK!
After making the appointment for the first and asking to be put on a waiting list, I hung up the phone in shear panic. When the desperation reached my bones I had a fleeting thought of bleaching my own hair. I shiver again to think of the results. It would not however be my first rodeo with scalp searing bleach in a bottle. I have spent many an evenings, rag towel wrapped around my shoulders trying to outrun the toxic smell coming from my own head. The result was blinding white hair that lasted all of one week before the tiny line of black appeared beneath.
I can say that this is not the worst shape I have been in. I once volunteered to let someone use me as a living model for a hair show. Free haircut and dye job were included. When my mother came home that night there I lay under a blanket on the couch hysterically crying. She slowly coaxed me out from under the covers only to recoil at the sight of my new egg plant colored page boy. To add insult to injury the dye was supposed to be temporary but apparently it really liked my hair because damn if that stuff didn’t hang in there for a good two months.
My hairdresser can’t see me until October 1st. I don’t think her receptionist fully understood the urgency of the situation. I CANNOT walk around looking like a displaced contestant from the Jerry Springer show for the next three weeks. I have roots as long as the Mississippi river and they are DAAARRRRK!
After making the appointment for the first and asking to be put on a waiting list, I hung up the phone in shear panic. When the desperation reached my bones I had a fleeting thought of bleaching my own hair. I shiver again to think of the results. It would not however be my first rodeo with scalp searing bleach in a bottle. I have spent many an evenings, rag towel wrapped around my shoulders trying to outrun the toxic smell coming from my own head. The result was blinding white hair that lasted all of one week before the tiny line of black appeared beneath.
I can say that this is not the worst shape I have been in. I once volunteered to let someone use me as a living model for a hair show. Free haircut and dye job were included. When my mother came home that night there I lay under a blanket on the couch hysterically crying. She slowly coaxed me out from under the covers only to recoil at the sight of my new egg plant colored page boy. To add insult to injury the dye was supposed to be temporary but apparently it really liked my hair because damn if that stuff didn’t hang in there for a good two months.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
The Writing on the Wall
In West Blocton, Alabama my great grandfather owned a Five & Dime. West Blocton was a mining town. Coal dust filled the cracks in every floor. Miners would buy goods from my grandfather on payday before taking to the bars then the streets at night. He would move money and receipts across the store using a pulley system of wires that ran along the ceiling. I don’t remember much of the store. I was too young to take it all in when I visited. My great grandmother was running it then. She let me pick out one toy to take home. I remember proudly taking a plastic cowboy set complete with flimsy brown vinyl vest, gray painted Sheriff’s badge, and cap gun.
During the depression, starving men looking for work would come to my great grandfather for food. He gave them what they needed and in the back room they would write their IOU’s on the walls. By the end of the depression these walls were covered with the names of men who he helped. Most probably caught rail cars to other places in search of work. Some came back to repay the debt. Others didn’t. I don’t think my great grandfather expected them to come back. I don’t know if he asked them to sign their names on that wall or if it was their way of preserving a sliver of dignity.
A friend has been volunteering at the Houston Astrodome helping the victims of Hurricane Katrina. Last night she worked in the clothing distribution center. Evacuees gave her their size and what they need then she sorted through the mounds of clothing to find it for them. I know that this is embarrassing for some of these people. I hope the world continues to give without prejudice allowing them to preserve just a sliver of dignity just like those men who wrote IOU’s on my great grandfather’s wall with nothing but hope backing them up.
In West Blocton, Alabama my great grandfather owned a Five & Dime. West Blocton was a mining town. Coal dust filled the cracks in every floor. Miners would buy goods from my grandfather on payday before taking to the bars then the streets at night. He would move money and receipts across the store using a pulley system of wires that ran along the ceiling. I don’t remember much of the store. I was too young to take it all in when I visited. My great grandmother was running it then. She let me pick out one toy to take home. I remember proudly taking a plastic cowboy set complete with flimsy brown vinyl vest, gray painted Sheriff’s badge, and cap gun.
During the depression, starving men looking for work would come to my great grandfather for food. He gave them what they needed and in the back room they would write their IOU’s on the walls. By the end of the depression these walls were covered with the names of men who he helped. Most probably caught rail cars to other places in search of work. Some came back to repay the debt. Others didn’t. I don’t think my great grandfather expected them to come back. I don’t know if he asked them to sign their names on that wall or if it was their way of preserving a sliver of dignity.
A friend has been volunteering at the Houston Astrodome helping the victims of Hurricane Katrina. Last night she worked in the clothing distribution center. Evacuees gave her their size and what they need then she sorted through the mounds of clothing to find it for them. I know that this is embarrassing for some of these people. I hope the world continues to give without prejudice allowing them to preserve just a sliver of dignity just like those men who wrote IOU’s on my great grandfather’s wall with nothing but hope backing them up.
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