You can read a book for a little while, but your eyes will get so heavy that you have to sleep. And you will sleep; it isn't as though you have a choice.
You can try to get out of your chair, but you will sit back down; it isn't as though you have a choice.
You can make dinner, but by the time it's ready, your appetite is gone, completely.
You can be famished, and sit down to eat a delicious meal, but half-way through the meal you feel nauseous.
You take a walk to the store (because driving is out of the question), but you have to stop several times to recoup your balance.
You can read a few emails, but you must divert your eyes constantly to avoid your head crashing into the computer screen.
You are exhausted and off-balance all the time. You feel stoned and useless because that's what vertigo does to your body.
You can't do simple things like mowing the lawn, walking your dog, riding your bicycle, or checking your email, at least not for longer than a minute or two.
This is my reality ... at least for now.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Saturday, August 25, 2012
A Quiet Cup
I love my morning coffee. A nice, hot cup of java, slowly sipped from my Boston mug on the porch early in the morning as I read my daily Bible passage ... serene ... quiet ... bliss.
Enter the youngest daughter (5) and her book of stickers.
A whole new kind of bliss.
(*sigh*)
This coffee sure is good. I can read later.
Enter the youngest daughter (5) and her book of stickers.
A whole new kind of bliss.
(*sigh*)
This coffee sure is good. I can read later.
Monday, July 2, 2012
The Dreaded Drawer Fronts
When natural disasters strike, things have to get done. One of those things is a complete kitchen remodel. We've remodeled the kitchen twice in the last five years, neither time by choice.
With the last remodel, the cabinets were delivered with the wrong drawer fronts. They weren't horrible or anything, just wrong.
With a few calls to the cabinet company and a few more visits to the vendor, the problem was solved and the correct drawer fronts were delivered. On to the next issue: Installation.
I am not - repeat NOT - a precision cabinet maker by any stretch of the imagination. Whenever I can put off a finish carpentry job, I will. For a long, long time. This job was no exception. Weeks, perhaps a month (maybe even 2 months?) the drawer fronts sat there, staring at me, mocking me.
Finally, last night, I installed them. It took about an hour. Not too bad for someone who is a clueless cabinet builder. So what if they're crooked and have to be adjusted. At least they're attached.
The straightening is a job for another day. (*sigh*)
With the last remodel, the cabinets were delivered with the wrong drawer fronts. They weren't horrible or anything, just wrong.
I am not - repeat NOT - a precision cabinet maker by any stretch of the imagination. Whenever I can put off a finish carpentry job, I will. For a long, long time. This job was no exception. Weeks, perhaps a month (maybe even 2 months?) the drawer fronts sat there, staring at me, mocking me.
Finally, last night, I installed them. It took about an hour. Not too bad for someone who is a clueless cabinet builder. So what if they're crooked and have to be adjusted. At least they're attached.
The straightening is a job for another day. (*sigh*)
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Butt YOU Called ME ...
So, I got this call yesterday that went something like this:
Me: Hello?
Sister: Hello.
Me: Oh, hi! What's up?
Sister: I don't know, you called me.
Me: I did??? Ohh!!! I probably butt dialed you. Sorry about that.
From that point we had a delightful conversation about some things that we really should have kept up with every few days.
I should tell you that I also butt dialed my wife a few days ago and inadvertently left her a rather unusual text message. Hmmmm .... This seems to be a pattern.
The first time I ever butt dialed someone was from an amusement park ride. My poor friend could only hear a "swooshing" sound and the panicked screams of children. That took a little 'splainin'.
Anyway, I don't know why it took my butt to get me off my butt and call my sister. I should be calling them all at least every couple days. I have to do better from now on and actually dial my siblings the old fashioned way - with my fingers.
Me: Hello?
Sister: Hello.
Me: Oh, hi! What's up?
Sister: I don't know, you called me.
Me: I did??? Ohh!!! I probably butt dialed you. Sorry about that.
From that point we had a delightful conversation about some things that we really should have kept up with every few days.
I should tell you that I also butt dialed my wife a few days ago and inadvertently left her a rather unusual text message. Hmmmm .... This seems to be a pattern.
The first time I ever butt dialed someone was from an amusement park ride. My poor friend could only hear a "swooshing" sound and the panicked screams of children. That took a little 'splainin'.
Anyway, I don't know why it took my butt to get me off my butt and call my sister. I should be calling them all at least every couple days. I have to do better from now on and actually dial my siblings the old fashioned way - with my fingers.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
My Summer Top Ten List
A lot of bloggers are posting lists these days. "To do" lists, recipe lists, book lists, Christmas wish lists, "Top 10" this and that, etc.
Here is my contribution. These are the top 10 summer time things that make me happy (in no particular order).
1. Outdoor Christmas Lights
2. A Hammock In The Shade
3. Morning Coffee On The Front Porch
(cream and 2 sugars, please)
4. Autoharp Music (also on the front porch)
5. Campfires
6. Mojitos
7. Burgers On the Grill
8. Picnics
10. The Pool
So, there it is. A bonafide top ten list from moi, Tenorboy.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Poof Went The Dad And Out Went The Light
A sizzling noise.
A puff of smoke.
A large spark.
A small flame.
Then ... darkness.
*Cough, cough* I emit yet another puff of smoke as I cough.
"That ....
was ....
COOOL!!"
So said my oldest boy as he watched me fry myself while attempting to change a GFCI outlet in our basement.
The outlet in question is the only thing that stands between the breaker and a fully lit kitchen, and I was determined to change the little bugger today. The only problem is ..... well, there are several problems, actually.
First, I'm not sure that I own the correct tools for the job. I used to have the right stuff, but that was in the pre-flood garage inventory. I have absolutely no idea whether I own lineman's pliers anymore.
Secondly, the outlet is tucked away inside the basement ceiling, in a place that would take a professional contortionist to reach.
Thirdly, there isn't a light in that part of the basement because, well, my guess is that the light is somehow powered by a line coming from the blown outlet.
Finally, It's come to the point in my pathetic middle aged-ness that my eyes simply aren't strong enough to read the chart and shut off the correct breaker, nor to see where the wires are supposed to be place and secured.
Let's face it, even though my son rather enjoyed watching my hair stand on end and seeing me blow smoke from my mouth (he really does need to get out more), electrical work, especially the hard-to-reach variety, is best left to someone else.
I used to subscribe to the idea that I shouldn't do anything that is beyond my capabilities. "There are people for that," I used to say.
Perhaps I should start saying it again. Before something bad happens.
A puff of smoke.
A large spark.
A small flame.
Then ... darkness.
*Cough, cough* I emit yet another puff of smoke as I cough.
"That ....
was ....
COOOL!!"
So said my oldest boy as he watched me fry myself while attempting to change a GFCI outlet in our basement.
The outlet in question is the only thing that stands between the breaker and a fully lit kitchen, and I was determined to change the little bugger today. The only problem is ..... well, there are several problems, actually.
First, I'm not sure that I own the correct tools for the job. I used to have the right stuff, but that was in the pre-flood garage inventory. I have absolutely no idea whether I own lineman's pliers anymore.
Secondly, the outlet is tucked away inside the basement ceiling, in a place that would take a professional contortionist to reach.
Thirdly, there isn't a light in that part of the basement because, well, my guess is that the light is somehow powered by a line coming from the blown outlet.
Finally, It's come to the point in my pathetic middle aged-ness that my eyes simply aren't strong enough to read the chart and shut off the correct breaker, nor to see where the wires are supposed to be place and secured.
Let's face it, even though my son rather enjoyed watching my hair stand on end and seeing me blow smoke from my mouth (he really does need to get out more), electrical work, especially the hard-to-reach variety, is best left to someone else.
I used to subscribe to the idea that I shouldn't do anything that is beyond my capabilities. "There are people for that," I used to say.
Perhaps I should start saying it again. Before something bad happens.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Lardy, Lardy!! Is That A Chip???
Everywhere I go there are a gazillion varieties of baked potato chips. I've tried them. Not all of them, but enough that I can render the following informed opinion:
Yuck!
No matter how you slice it, a potato chip must be fried to be enjoyed, at least by me. It isn't that I;m a potato chip snob or anything. Quite the opposite, actually. I enjoy all kinds of chips in many different flavors.
The problem as I see it (more like taste it) is more a matter of flavor. Specifically, the full mouth feel you get from a fried chip. I suppose it depends on the fat that is used to fry the spuds. The best ones are fried in lard (Grandma Utz in the brown bag ...... Oh. My. Goodness). The worst ones are, of course, baked.
I know, I know. The baked ones are healthier.
Oh, yeah? I don't really care. All the baked chips I have ever tried were void of any semblance of flavor, with the exception of a slight hint of salt (and I mean slight). Most of them aren't even made from an actual potato slice; rather, they are formed out of pulverized potatoes. It's like the potato industry's answer to "pink slime."
Anyway, my vote is in, and I vote for fried (in lard, thank you)! Oh, yeah, and what I said about not being a potato snob is true. I'm not a potato chip snob, but I am a purist, so when you pass the chips, please be sure they are the traditional, salted variety, sans vinegar, sugar, bbq, sour cream, or any of the other gobbledy goop they spray on 'em these days.
BTW - Ridges are okay.
... Later!
Yuck!
No matter how you slice it, a potato chip must be fried to be enjoyed, at least by me. It isn't that I;m a potato chip snob or anything. Quite the opposite, actually. I enjoy all kinds of chips in many different flavors.
The problem as I see it (more like taste it) is more a matter of flavor. Specifically, the full mouth feel you get from a fried chip. I suppose it depends on the fat that is used to fry the spuds. The best ones are fried in lard (Grandma Utz in the brown bag ...... Oh. My. Goodness). The worst ones are, of course, baked.
I know, I know. The baked ones are healthier.
Oh, yeah? I don't really care. All the baked chips I have ever tried were void of any semblance of flavor, with the exception of a slight hint of salt (and I mean slight). Most of them aren't even made from an actual potato slice; rather, they are formed out of pulverized potatoes. It's like the potato industry's answer to "pink slime."
Anyway, my vote is in, and I vote for fried (in lard, thank you)! Oh, yeah, and what I said about not being a potato snob is true. I'm not a potato chip snob, but I am a purist, so when you pass the chips, please be sure they are the traditional, salted variety, sans vinegar, sugar, bbq, sour cream, or any of the other gobbledy goop they spray on 'em these days.
BTW - Ridges are okay.
... Later!
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