Slacker

How sad is this the last time I posted anything out here was last April.  I really should be shot.

How sad is that my first born is now 21.  Where did THAT time go?  I remember her as a little slip of a thing trying to speed skate through the kitchen with Brandon's baby hat on.

How sad it is that my youngest is a Senior in high school.  The last Golden Regiment Marching season is over and he is applying to colleges. 

How sad it is that years and years have gone by and while I continue to write manuscripts I never submit any for publication or even the chance for someone to reject me.

How sad I am that my puppy is 11 and 1/2 years old.  His life expectancy is 12.  He takes up most of the bed every night but I will be extremely sad when he leaves us.

I must be feeling a little hormonal today.  I guess I shouldn't be writing.  Or maybe I should?

I guess I am feeling a little bit sad.  Getting closer to the end of another year and I am always melancholy at this time.  Forgive an old woman her musings and read something exciting like Brent's "Where's my Paper Journal"  He always has something interesting to say.

Me not so much.  Just one big slacker day, and night.

Is anyone there?

When I was a kid.  (Oh it's going to be one of those blogs).  And I was sick.  My mom used to put me to bed and give me an old fashioned hand bell to ring in case I needed anything.

 It worked out pretty well.  She would head to the basement to watch her soaps and iron sheets. I would sleep most of the day but knew she was only a bell ring away.

Then I got married and when I was sick my husband would kiss me in the morning, made sure I had a glass of water and some Tylenol and a box of Kleenexes by the bed and head to work.


Magic Keenex Box!


 I was on my own.  No bell to ring and the cordless phone wasn't going to magically make someone appear to take care of me.

Then the kids came.  And with kids came all sorts of paraphernalia.  One of the neater accessories was the baby monitor. 

You can, with minimal effort on your part, hear every squeak and breath from any part of the house.  So when they grew up and were sick older kids (6,7,8) I would drag out the monitor and put it back in their room.  They would but barley sneeze and I could be at their bedside.

Then about 11 years ago I had a dirt bike accident and blew out my knee.  I had surgery, recovery, therapy, the whole nine yards.  My hubby pulled out the baby monitor and put it in my room.  From any room in the house he could hear me moaning and groaning and complaining.  If I made enough annoying noises he would come the door way and raise his eye brows at me.

Now the kids are older and they have all sorts of neat gadgets, one being that they, and us, all have cell phones.  Texting being a big part of that equation.  I think my kids and I text more than we actually talk.

  So the other day when Brandon was home sick I made sure that his cell phone was charged up and by his bedside.  And with minimal effort on his part he was able to text me that he wanted soup and more Kleenexes.  I could text him back saying when it was almost ready and that he should prepare himself because the soup would be hot. (Don't want to be sued).

Now I see that the cell phone companies are introducing a video chat on selected phones.  I don't know about you but sometimes I answer the phone and I am really not ready for public consumption.

  I can't imagine being like the Jane Jetson and having to grab my phone face just to answer a call.  Especially when I am sick.  Can't we just go back to the simpler days of the hand bell and hope and pray that someone will come when we ring it?

Graphic Word

Could not get these pictures into an email so I shall bore you here.  These first pictures are from the Klassic Graphic  office out in Pleasant Hill.

Here you see the printer on the left of the picture with the desk on the right.    I stood in the back corner to take these.  In the far back you can see the office door on the left.

Here is another desk, with the plotter on the left.  Think of the self sticking stamps and how when you peel them off they leave a frame still on the sheet.  The plotter only cuts the paper and not what it is stuck to.  Very precise and sharp piece of machinery.  And yet so unobtrusive. Another shot of the printer with another plotter in the foreground. 

Cutting, masking, weeding table with storage under.  The paper on the roll at the right of the table is actually masking tape.  Really!  I am standing in front of the

laminator to take this picture.  Very skinny room. 

Laminator!  I am standing by the masking table taking this.

Office.  Taken from the door which is right next to the Masking table which is across from the?  Anyone?  Anyone?  The Laminator!

Job and Bid board.  It's filling up.

Big desk in the office.  I am mashed up against the bid board taking this.

Now we are in Blue Springs.  New building!  Well new to us.    I am standing in the back room, work room.  There is a garage door right behind me.

Opposite side f the room. There is the garage door I was speaking of. Can you say indoor parking.   To the right  you can see the bathroom and small room and a cubby of some sort.





Next corner. 

Last corner standing out side the office proper.

Bosses Office 10X10 space.  Has the most outlets.  Not sure why but hey we can use em.  Fun fact it has a two way mirror!

Standing along the back wall shooting towards 40 hyw.  That's a lot of doors.  Brent has ideas to mount some vinyl work on some boards and cover most of these up. 

Scaffolding in front of the cubby.  Not sure what that little room is about?

Show room.  Ya those red white and blue stripes will have to go.

Next corner.

I have NO idea what we will do with all this space?  Dr. A will probably talk us into housing some of the band props here.

Well that's the tour and I hope and pray that this venture, what ever it is, will be a success.  Any prayers or sacrifices you want to send up for us will be greatly appreciated.

Where's MY water buffalo?

Went to the lake with some friends a few weekends ago.  Had a great time.  I got to drive and while we were cruising down some of the state highways it reminded me of when we had a lake house. 

When I was little we owned a nice house at the lake and we would go there for weeks at a time.  Dad would leave us on Sunday night, sometimes Monday bright and early, to head home to work for the week and return on Friday.  One Friday he returned with a wild tale about seeing Buffalo on his drive down.  Now you have to remember that to drink and drive in the '70s wasn't a bad thing yet.  So my sister and I smiled at Dad and nodded, rolling our eyes behind his back while he swore up and down that he saw real live Buffalo.  After twenty minutes or so we told him we believed him so we could get back to swimming and laying out, we were after all at the lake for crying out loud. 

   After the week of the buffalo sighting it was time for us to return to Raytown.  So on our way home Dad and Mom in the front seat, dad driving of course. All of the sudden he calls over the seat.

"Get ready girls it's right up here on the right.  Are you looking?  Get ready here they come." 

We jumped up on our knees, (seat belts are a new safety feature too), and fought each other for the window trying to get the best place to view the buffalo. We roll down the window, we stick our heads out, we strain our necks, and then...Cows.  Really?  Cows?  How many beers were sucked down on your drive down here? 

"But I swear there were buffalo there on Friday.:" 
Sure, sure tell your story walkin pops cause we don't believe you.

A few weeks later we are back at the lake.  Didn't see any buffalo on the way down that time either. It had been another work week and we anxiously await the return of our Father with his nephew and niece.  It's always a treat to have company for the weekend.  They finally arrive, after what seems an eternity and what's the first thing our cousins tell us? 

"We saw Buffalo!  We saw a whole heard of them!"

Dad really?  How sad that you had to involve you sister's children into this charade.  I lean into my niece to smell her breath.  Nothing, unless you count the bazooka bubble gum smell.

All weekend they tell us how they were amazed at how big the buffalo were.  We began to wonder if our city slicker cousins had ever seen any cows before?  We decided they hadn't and later that night we took them snipe hunting.

Finally after a summer of buffalo hide and seek we did, one day, finally see the buffalo on a farm mixed in with the Angus.  My dad had finally been vindicated.  A few years later down at Gravois Mill they had more buffalo and a buffalo burger stand to go along with it.  That, I must admit, was pretty weird.

So back to my girls weekend.  We were cruising down those same roads and I had a chance to recount the tale of "The summer of the Buffalo" and to no one's surprise there were no buffalo on that farm.

  So all weekend I was subjected to the taunts and teasing that we had years earlier put my father through. 
"Hey look over there is that a bald eagle?  No I think it's a duck,  No it a buffalo!"  Buhahahha.  So funny.

The drive home took us through Gravois Mill.  I hoped that perhaps the buffalo burger stand was still there and I could salvage some of my credibility.

 But to no avail.  It to had gone the way of the 18 foot boats and summer camps.

Out on Highway 65 heading north towards Sedalia there is a farm that has llamas.  I was keeping a look out for them while a couple of the girls were talking and one was sleeping in the back.  If I couldn't find a buffalo by God I was going to pull a Llamma out of the air!  I spied the farm and what looked like a llama.

"Hey guys look.  What is that on the hill over there?" 

We all crane our necks and what to our wondering eyes should appear but a heard of CAMELS.  I kid you  not.  Of course we can't convince the girl that was sleeping in the back.  She smelled our breaths and said,

"Tell your story walking sister."

Glee

I don't watch Glee.  I don't plan to start watching Glee.  I admit there have been a few times I have seen Glee by proxy.  Meaning that it's on and I happen to be in the room.  Brent doesn't watch Glee either.  Of course if he did he would be watching it for the music and have to have me in the room so it wouldn't be weird.  You know a 40 something male watching a show about high school kids as they dance and sing their way through the ins and outs (Kurt coming out of the closet, not that I know anything about the show) of high school.  Especially all that sex they have and are having and talking about having with guys and girls and girls and guys.  That would be, just wrong.  So if he decides he needs to watch  it I will have to be in the room just so it's 'Okay'.

My daughter does watch Glee. A lot of people have compared her to Rachel.

I don't see it.

 I actually bought her a Glee Valentines day card.  I think she was very Gleeful about it.  I admit for someone who doesn't watch the show I found the card kinda funny.  She likes to talk about the show and I like her to talk to me, so since I have not watched the show I can almost talk to her about it.  We have bonded once again.  Yay.

 My son is too cool and will never watch Glee.  He makes it a point to leave the room when anyone even mentions the word.  I believe if it was a show about Marching Band he would never miss an episode.

Everyone I work with does watch and they tell me the good bits and pieces .  They yak about it, spoiling plots and tell me everything I don't want to know about a show I don't watch.  So even if I had recorded it I wouldn't have to watch it because I already know what happened.  (In the Valentine episode and the one after that.)  What's the matter with these people you think they would have the courtesy to ask.

"Hey do you watch 'Glee'?"

"Have you seen this weeks episode yet before I ruin your future viewing pleasure?"

But they don't.  They just yammer away.  Talking about Kurt and his boyfriend or not boyfriend problems or that kiss with Quinn and Finn.  Something about fireworks.  I don't care because I don't watch it!  You would just think it would be common courtesy to just ask.  Geeshe!!!

Ok I admit I have willingly sat in the living room to watch episodes with Brent.  I sing along with the songs and worry about Rachel and Kurt and that kid in the wheel chair.  I wonder why the football coach is such a sweetie and will she sing, possibly wearing a brass breast plate and a viking hat.  Will Emma and Will ever find true love in each others arms?  Or with Coach Beistie?  What's up with Sue and her obsessions?   I await each episode with the same trepidation I had when watching my first episode, will the music hold up this week?  What will happen next week?  I'm a Glee wreck and I admit it.

There Anna are you happy now?

The dog doesn't care.  He is waiting for the next Batman movie to come out.

Christmas is really over

"Keep Christmas in you heart all year long."

"Why can't we have Christmas everyday?" 

"Do they know it's Christmas time at all?"

 These sentiments are pounded into our heads since I can't even remember.  But there is a certain time for Christmas and then it is over.  And at our house it starts, I mean really starts, when Brent brings home the Big cans of Velvet Cream Popcorn.  2, count them two (for you analog people) cans of V-E-L-V-E-T Cream Popcorn.                    

  Inside each can is three distinctly different flavors, Butter, Cheese and Carmel.  (or what ever your personal choice may be.)

 

The day arrives and we gather around Brent as he carries the cans into the house.  Sometimes the children rush out to meet him at the car carols bursting from their hearts as he gently hands them each a can to carry.  There is electricity in the air and we hold our breath as he pulls the tape off the top of the can and slowly opens one.  The aroma fills the house with the smell that marks the beginning of Christmas.  We allow Brent to take the first handful and then it's every man for himself. 

The date doesn't matter.  It could be after Halloween or after Thanksgiving but you can't stop Christmas  when it's out of the can.

 

Crunching and munching sings through the house and Christmas is officially on!  The decorations come out of storage and fling themselves through out the house as we sit and enjoy our popcorn.  The Tree magically appears fully decorated and we ooh and aah as the glow from the lights illuminate each and every ornament perfectly. 

Friends, dressed as Dickens characters

 (of course),come from all over for Christmas parties and  holiday festivities.  And the can's content dwindles.  When that last little crumb has been scooped into a hand and popped into a mouth there is a moment of silence for the "dead can" and more jubilation when it's realized there is another can waiting to be released into the celebration. 

The season deepens and the actual "Day" comes and goes.   The decorations disappear and the tree is taken for recycling, New Year's eve and Day and birthday's of loved ones are celebrated and yet the popcorn can seems bottomless.  Can the joy of Christmas really last all year?

 I am sadden to report that this week the last of the popcorn crumbs willingly have been enjoyed and ingested.  Christmas has officially ended at the Ince household.  Thanks to those of you have helped us celebrate and those of you who could not attend but have sent well wishes.  We think of you often as the 

cans are cleaned and stored  in the promise that we will do it all again next year.

God bless us everyone.

Diary of a non swimmer Day 3

11:00 AM 12 degrees outside.


    Brent is slowly dealing with his unreasonable distates of entering the pool. GR Brian (GR is short for Golden Regiment Marching Band.  Which all my kids and Brian's kids have marched for.)  is already there in the water returning to the shallow end after who knows how many laps?  I think there may be some sort of male camaraderie or competition thing there because Brent jumps right in.

 Of course he is whispering. "I hate this, i hate this." under his breath the whole time.  Nothing I haven't heard before.
    I start off my swim with a slow warm up of breast stroke.

 Brent flags me down and informs me that breast stroke is a loafers stroke.  Really?  But it's in the Olympics.  Really!?  Hmmm?  Only a loafer would do the breast stroke?  I'm alright with that. 

400 of my morning work out.
Loafer stroke!

  Mean while Brent and GR Brian exchange compliments and observations on each others swim techniques.  I use that time to swim a few more yards without any one critiquing my strokes.  I still feel awkward in the water.  I am thrashing instead of splashing.  Or am I not supposed to splash either?  

I touch the wall 500 yards, I think?  How do they keep track of all the strokes, kicks, breathing (really important one. At the top of MY list.) and yards?  Lets just call that 600 yards.  600 yes that sounds good. 600.
*swimmers note:  still not a fan of flip turns.  Just saying.

I hang on the wall and talk to GR Brian while my body recovers from it's massive 600 yd work out (so far)  As my breathing goes from gasping to actual breathing I watch the water therapy class for the 50+ crowd.

 They have some nice tunes filling up the pool.  Beach boys and Beatles.  I try swimming a few laps singing the tunes and swimming to the beat. Works pretty good.  Later I hope they will turn on some symphonic or elevator music but no such luck  YMCA and Celebration are booming through the rafters.   My heart rate is up again and I have sucked down half the pool trying to sing "She loves you ya ya ya" while freestyling down the lane.  And I take the term free style seriously.  Anything goes.  Splash, slosh and sometimes a good ker splat.

     Brent has found the kick boards and gives me one.

 I study the board and find the correct way to hold it.  (Out in front with hands towards the tip.  Not with my chest resting on it.  Or so I have been told.) I start out after Brent and wonder if breast stoke kick is considered loafer here?  I forgo the loafer kick and follow Brent in regular scissor or flutter kick.  I like the word flutter.  Sounds like a beautiful butterfly in summer. I would like to float around like a butterfly...wait is that Brent zipping past me without a kick board? 

What have I been doing?  I glace at the clock.  20 minutes have fluttered past since the beautiful butterfly has taken flight.  I reach out my hand as Brent goes past and grab his trunks (no speedo) as he zips past and I float as  he hauls me to the end of the pool.  More of a work out for him.  Ya that's it.

I decide I don't like the kick boards.  I already feel slow enough without looking around and actually observing just how slow I really am.  I place my board on the pool deck and look out the window.

  Snow is on the ground and the pine trees lining the outdoor pool are flocked with the white stuff.  I pretend I am in Colorado.  Couldn't do this there, I can barely breathe here!

How many yards was that honey?
1,000. 
1,000?  Alright 1,000! 

(I rely on my darling Brent's count.
 I am sure he is right.
Doesn't he tell me he's always right?)

Yes Dear I'm always right. 

1,000 yards 45 min.

USA

USA, USA, USA, USA. 
I know what your thinking.  This is going be a blog about the 1980's " Do you believe in Miracles?"   United States Hockey team that against all odds won the Olympic Gold Medal by beating the USSR 4-3.  Lead by scrappy team Captain Mike Eruzione and Goalie Jim Craig. Who could forget that picture of Jim with the flag draped over his shoulder, hair dripping wet, with a smile a mile wide?

What a cutie.  But alas this is not that blog.

No this blog is dedicated to the USA Network,

where characters are welcome.

  How dare they think that I have all the time in the world to dedicate to watching their TV shows!  It all started out so innocently with reruns of NCIS.

 I had never watched NCIS on network TV before, but I caught an episode on the tube while I was cooking dinner and was taken in with all the gadgets, autopsies, and the detective work.   The next night there I was again stuck in the kitchen trying to remember which channel I had found that interesting show on.  Ah yes here it is USA network.   OH look they have it on every night at this time.  Snap!  So for weeks dinner was at the same exact time every night.  But then they started the NCIS mini marathons each and every night.  3 in a row a whole three hours!  WOW this is awesome. Dinner came later and later to the dinner table.  And then one day I turned into find there was only one show of NCIS on because there was a pilot on for a new show called. PSYCH. 

Love the water pistols.

Psych is about a fake psychic who helps the Santa Barbra Police department solve crimes.  Brilliant!  Once a week Shaun and Gus fight crime using real detective work disguised as Shaun's psychic ability.  These guys get into and out of trouble while making references, popular and obscure, to 1980 TV, Movies, and Music.  Not only do these guys make me laugh they also bring out memories of my high school days that I hadn't thought about in, well since high school. 

Now I have NCIS and Psych to entertain my nights!  Sweet.

But wait what is this show?  MONK?

 Never heard of it.  Hey I know that guy.  He was on 'Wings' and in the movie 'Men in Black.'  He is a pretty funny guy.  Here he is a neurotic, obsessive compulsive private detective whose wife has been murdered.  He consultants for the San Fransisco police department where he was a detective but after his wife died and her murder never solved he wigged out a bit.  Now he has a personal assistant, or care taker, who drives him places, and gives him wet naps when ever he comes into contact with a person or thing.  I couldn't live like that.  I find this show is on every day in the morning. 

NCIS, Psych, Monk.

During my evening ritual of watching NCIS they have been repeating a commercial for a new show called White Collar.

 A new detective, I mean, FBI show with some 'Pretty boy' countefitter who has been sprung from jail to help the FBI solve white collar crimes.  There is no way this can be any good, they are trying to create a show around some actor who looks good in a suit.  I do recognize the FBI agent, he was in an episode of NCIS.  I refuse to watch this show, I refuse to get suckered in!  8am rolls around and to my shock and displeasure there is no MONK on my TV!  They are running the first three episodes of White Collar. (To get everyone caught up for tonight's new episode!  Really?  Really.)  I got nothing on the other channels so I leave the room and the TV remains on.  To my displeasure 5 minutes later I am sitting on the edge of the chair glued to the TV wondering how I could have lived this long with out this show!  These writers are brilliant!  This pretty boy is quite the actor and look Tiffany Amber Theissian is on here too!  Haven't seen here since "Saved by the Bell"  How could I have been so wrong.  I can't wait for Brent to get home so I can show him this new work of art that is coming over the air waves.

NCIS, Psych, Monk, White Collar.

House has taken over an evening of my NCIS mini marathon.

  Dang it!  Who is this stupid doctor who needs to have other doctors around to make sure he doesn't kill anyone while he is popping pills all day.  He is foul mouthed and surly.  I really don't like this show but Brent does.  He thinks he's funny.  Nuff said.


NCIS, Psych, Monk, White Collar, House.

 I hate commercials for new shows but they keep making them.  (The shows and the commercials for them.)  Here is a new show called Fairly Legal.

  A pretty girl this time.  Not gonna do it.  Can't make me.  I don't really want to watch a girl who is three times skinnier than me and half as pretty as I used to be while being incredibly smart on very high heels.  I don't see how this will have any decent acting or stories to be told only eye candy and none for me.  But once again Brent has made a motion to watch the pilot.  What could it hurt?  NOT AGAIN!  I have to admit that a pretty girl in heels can act.  I especially like the way she clomps around in her high heels instead of gliding in them.  The premise:  She used to be a lawyer but left the practice to become a mediator.  She works for her father's firm.  He has recently passed away and she is very sad about this and talks to him all the time.  He is dead and doesn't answer.  Her evil step mother is a lawyer in the firm and her ex husband  is the district attorney.  Her home is aboard a sail boat docked in Sausalito Bay across from San Fransisco.  I have to admit it's pretty good.

Darn you USA Network!
What you think I have no time for a life outside your evil grasp of great shows?

NCIS, Psych, Monk, House, Fairly Legal.

I guess you're right I don't.