I Was Born This Way

I’ll tell you how it happened. My daughter’s at fault for the second time.(a.k.a. Mrs. G., identity protected).

After a year or more, my daughter had a free Saturday and  time to check out garage sales. We packed up the kiddies early and off we drove. Not much was in the newspaper, but we hoped to find unadvertised sales along the way. The pickings were slim and I was the lone spender. I found two great books: Ellen Foster by Kaye Gibbons and The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch for fifty cents each.

Mrs. G. turned an unexpected corner and I asked where she was taking us. She smiled with a wicked grin on her face. We were in SPCA territory.

“It’s something new for the kids to do and  maybe we can check out current pricing,” she said. My grandkids were excited. (I mentioned a while back I might consider getting a kitten later—in the fall—maybe. Or, maybe not. My mistake.)

We watched a three-month-old kitten because the fuzz ball was entertaining. I liked its fur: various shades of pale grey like smoke and fog. The one and two-year-old cats had the forlorn look you see on television commercials advertising abused animals. I wanted to leave but my granddaughters weren’t ready yet.

I came across a handsome two-year-old grey cat, similar to the kitten but it slept on even when I knocked on the window. I didn’t want a cat that old anyway, already set in its habits. What? Hush up brain.

Another cat was sleeping faced away from the window. I saw a long, sausage squashed between the wall and the kitty litter box. Ug-ly, I thought, and joined the grandkids for a while, but wandered back again. The brindled (sausage) cat was awake. She came up to the window when I tapped it, giving the glass a welcoming body rub, looking up at me. In an instant, I fell in love. Something irritated my eyes. My daughter’s face showed surprise and the grandchildren looked worried.

No-one was more taken aback than me.  One-year-old Didi was mine. On the way home, we renamed her to Lady Gaga (my daughter’s suggestion). I was gaga over her. Look at her; she’s one of a kind!

Day three:  I feel we’re old friends already and I think Lady Gaga likes me. She plays well but misses me and jump onto my lap crying for attention. She initiates cuddling, cheek to cheek. I’ve accomplished next to nothing since Saturday. Last night I was trying to type while she slept, curled on my lap. Heaven.

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Crawford

The last time my daughter drove me to the SPCA was after she’d left home at seventeen. She worried I was lonely living by myself—I wasn’t. I didn’t want a cat; I missed her.

“Let’s just look,” she said. “Nothing wrong with looking, is there?”

I looked and was smitten seventeen years ago too. His name was changed to Crawford.

IS a Picture WORTH a Thousand Words?

I started an overwhelming project last summer with no progress since. Today, again I begin to scan several generations of family memories from my mother’s photo collections. The goal is to finish before Christmas—I hope.

Why undertake this gargantuan task? My mom passed away a year and a half  ago; to be fair to everyone (we are five siblings), I believe everyone is entitled to her own DVD copy of our history in pictures. Whoever takes the originals once the work is completed is fine with me. I’m certain my mother’s grandchildren will also be tickled when a surprise DVD arrives.

Such an undertaking is an excellent idea (of course it is; it’s  mine), but, is not as straightforward as it sounds. I am dealing with photo albums consisting of cardboard pages with sticky backing to hold pictures in place and a clear (plastic) sheet, which is peeled back to insert pictures and pulled over top  again to protect them from air, dust and possibly sticky fingers.

Procedure:

• Over time, between the  plastic cover and glossy finish on colour photos, a stickiness occurs gumming them together–separate gently
• If pictures have been ‘attached’ for years,  they won’t unstick easily and must be removed deligently from cardboard backing as well
• Do not mess up scanner bed with sticky photos
• Clean first
• What is the best product to clean gummy pictures without ruining them?
• Vinegar with water doesn’t  work well
• A careful dab of nail polish remover sometimes does the trick if sticky area is small
• Sometimes Goo Gone works (in small areas)
• Be obsessivelycareful: rinse cleaning product off and allow to dry well (wasting more time)
• When gumminess is stubborn = frustration and waste of precious time
• Patience is a virtue (So where is it?)
• Have a directory tree planned for DVD
• Lift up cover on scanner
• Place photo inside; make sure it’s straight
• Scan to organized directory
• Open scanner, remove picture
• Be careful not to scratch scanner bed with fingernails 
• Use another photo corner to pop picture off the glass
• Position back into album
• If photo doesn’t stick, roll a tube of clear tape around a finger and mash onto back of photo to reposition onto cardboard in album
• If clear sheet protector doesn’t stick back down again, ignore it and continue
• Each step takes time. What? Only three pictures in fifteen minutes?  #@%>&.
• Why are some photos taped together, corner to corner? Oh, I see: to keep them from sliding because the sticky backing isn’t sticky anymore. #@%>&.

 This scanning drudgery is not for the faint of heart.  After about an hour, in addition to developing a headache, I feel dizzy. The bottom line–and the honest truth–is I find scanning  monotonous, nerve-wracking and unfulfilling.

Ah–only 999,999,999 pictures to go. I believe I can do this. In the interest of chronicling our tribe for future generations, I can do this. I know I can. I think I can…

Wait a minute—did I mention which Christmas my task will be completed?

Who the heck are the people in this picture–must e-mail  to siblings…

Introducing: Inanimate Objects

Perspectives is a biyearly literary magazine that is dedicated to giving life to inanimate objects. It goes a step beyond the proverb, “Don’t judge a man before you’ve walked a mile in his shoes.” Perspectives gets the imagination to step into an inanimate object’s skin and walk around in it. Delve into the world of inanimate objects. Read Perspectives. Direct any questions or feedback to the founding editor, Monique Berry, at perspectivesmagazine@gmail.com

To read this exciting issue click:  http://1perspectives.webs.com/pmjuly2012.htm

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As well as introducing you to the latest issue of Perspectives,  I take this opportunity for blatant self-promotion (I am blushing, can’t you tell). You’ll recognize me by my picture between its covers.

I’m certain you’ll have lots of questions for the editor after  reading the unique articles. Go now, enjoy; afterwards, I hope you will share with your friends.

Swoon No More

Does anyone in this whole wide world dislike hate fruit flies like I do?

Fruit flies were everywhere yesterday, following me around it seemed. No fruits or vegetables anywhere. Why did they descend on me? Sure I ‘m apt to find a few in the kitchen during the warm summer weather now and again, as in past years, except last fall, we had hordes. I don’t expect a following to my favourite spot on the sofa, though, nor around my computer (which happens to be in my bedroom). No fruit or food in here either.

I smashed at least a dozen of the flying pests certain only one existed. As soon as I clapped one dead another one materialized. I couldn’t get any work done. And, one flew at my face. What? This made it personal. Did I mention I’m not dead yet and I can prove it? I’m like a frog—I’m so fast—but I don’t use a weird tongue to do the job. Who else is so talented to kill and applaud at the same time?

I half-filled a mug with sugar water and placed it on a side table by my desk. No captives to report in the past twenty-four hours. No race resulted, either,  to determine who craved my glass of wine first. I’m almost disappointed;  this is most unusual. You won’t believe it—I couldn’t either—a fruit fly in my COFFEE swam its last dead fly float! Have the fruit flies of the world joined AA?

Not so long ago, I remember house flies bu-z-z-z-z-ed. Of late, I notice they annoy the hell out of me but are mute. Fruit flies hung around my kitchen until last night but swoon over sugar water and wine no more. What’s happening? I thought technology was going to confuse me first not the silly bug world.

Tonight, a lone fruit fly came to visit. It had the nerve to land on the back of my wrist—bold as brass. Yes, I looked at it—for a millisecond, and let him have it. Later, a cousin or a spouse flew in.

How I hate washing my hands every five minutes but no trouble shall I have sleeping the good sleep yet again tonight.