Tuesday, January 22, 2013

The Daily Grind


Because I am so engrossing and we live in an era that celebrates the glory of accomplishing absolutely nothing, I’d like to share with my friends and family a day in my fascinating, engrossing life.

3:00am – I am awakened from a troubled sleep by a circus troop of raccoons assaulting the family trashcans.

3:13am – Motion sensor light comes on as the raccoons form “HUMAN” pyramid. That’s right; I said HUMAN. I imagine the raccoon heap now measures 4’ 11” inches in height and comes up to my chin.

3:20am – I race outside in my fluffy bathrobe with a broom to confront raccoon troop. Trip over garbage slung thirty feet in all directions. Realize raccoons have thrown invisibility cloak over themselves.

3:27am – Shake broom at nothing. Watch hair on arms stand up when the coyotes start howling.

3:28am – Go back to bed. Attempt to sleep.

5:00am – QUIT trying to attempt to sleep.

6:00am – Say a simple prayer of thanks that every man-jack of us have lived to see another day. (Note: We will be the first to admit that our family may occasionally merit Biblical destruction.)

6:09am – Check out cable news. Feel vindicated that every prediction I’ve ever made is coming true. Turn up the volume when it’s reported that a woman in North Carolina was attacked in her sleep IN HER BED by a surly—also rabid—raccoon. 

6:12am – Shuffle to the bathroom and because I’ve caught my great grandmother’s arthritis, I daydream about my granddaughters having to push me to the mailbox in a wheelchair every day. They will chatter happily as they push. Say a prayer of gratitude for such a wonderful granddaughters.

6:31am – Limbs and appendages begin to bend. Postpone nursing home reservation.

7:27am – Feed good animals (not garbage eating night marauders) stuff.

9:00am – Go to yoga and during meditation time, when I’m supposed to be emptying my mind of all stressful thoughts, I try to calculate the force necessary to kill a raccoon with a rock.

10:07am – Declare yoga a bust. Decide to try combat kick boxing next time.

Noon – Eat macaroni or rice or beans. I’m not kidding.

12:00pm to When-I-run-out-of-steam-or-the-coyotes-howl: I scribble and scribble words on virtual paper. Words that no one may ever read, but I still feel compelled to write, in spite of the fact that it makes me look like an agoraphobic shut-in.

Bedtime – When the sun sets and the chickens go to sleep, because I’m saving precious energy and resources for future generations—also I can work in bed while wearing pajamas. Don’t be jealous.

Tomorrow – Rinse and Repeat



Linda (Night Stalker and Fascinating Person) Zern




  

Monday, January 21, 2013

QUICKIES: Postings That Are Short and Sweet

I have strange luck--not bad, just strange. I am a bath taking, soak-in-hot-water-up-to-my-neck kind of girl. My bones require it. Without hot water up to my neck, I'll be reduced to a pile of calcified YaYa toothpicks. The universe knows this. So it declared war on my bathtub faucet. How does this even happen?


See my note "My Fixer Upper" for further exploration of the ways the universe can muck up a tub.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

That's Mrs. Oracle to You!

The Oracle at Delphi after being asked one too many dopey questions.

One of the mystifying parts of my job description as the Oracle of Saint Cloud is being expected to answer unanswerable questions. It ranks right up there with being asked to smell moldy cheese to determine “goodness.”

It usually happened like this:

 While napping—and happy, some miscellaneous kid would shove a block of sharp cheddar under my nose and screech, “Smell this! Is it still good?”

To which I would reply, without opening my eyes, “Sure. Sure. Just cut off the green stuff.”

But that’s not really the oracle part of my job, that’s more the food and drug administration part of my job.

The oracle part of my job consists of being asked stupid questions. Questions to which there are no rational answers. Questions that would stump people who think they know everything—like graduates of state universities. Questions like . . .

“Why did the cat wee-wee on all the Christmas decorations?”

“What is wrong with that crazy kid, and why won’t he quit sucking ink out the red magic markers?” 

“Why is that goat eating charcoal?”

“When will this kid learn to speak recognizable English?”

“What’s the best way to get bubble gum out of buttocks hair?”

Oh wait. That last question is one that I asked, back when my husband sat on a wad of bubble gum that wicked children had spit out in the bathtub. That question actually has an answer, but you’ll need to email me for the information.

And then there’s the ever-popular, “Why can’t anyone in the entire western hemisphere—except me—press the spring loaded toilet paper holder out, slip a new roll of toilet paper on, and pop the sucker back into the wall fixture?”

Oh wait!  That’s my question too. Hey, you know what I need? I need my own personal oracle, and then I could ask her the answers to all those other dopey questions.

Linda (Crystal Ball) Zern













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