It is Monday evening, and the Geek Squad have decided to take my computer hostage; that's the only reason I can think of for them keeping it at least a WEEK! I'M GOING CRAZY!!! So here's a post I like and plan to add drawings to someday. Hope it gives you a good laugh - this happened in 2003.
It all started a week ago Sunday when I saw a store ad in the newspaper for a 3'x8' pool for $40. I thought, hey, what an inexpensive, simple way to enjoy some leisure time this summer. I bought the pool, but of course while I was at the store I also needed a hose, air pump to inflate the upper ring of the pool, inflatable floating mat, and swimsuit. To save money, I went cheap on the swimsuit and got a bicycle pump instead of an electric or battery-powered pump.
I went home, excited to get started, and set up everything in the backyard. Then I discovered the bicycle pump didn't fit the pool. I played around with different attachments and things but couldn't get it to work, so I decided I'd better watch the instructional video that came with the pool. (No Tools Needed! Quick Set-Up!) But I didn't have a VCR to watch the tape, and I didn't want to borrow the neighbors' VCR because I didn't want them to know I had a pool and then have to invite their young daughter, M., over to swim - I bought the thing so I could RELAX. So I called the public library, got transferred to 3 people, and found out I could watch my tape on their VCR if I reserved a room. Fortunately, the room was available, so I headed to the library to figure out how to inflate the pool rim.
Of course, the video said nothing about how to inflate the rim, it just said "inflate", then went on and on about how their own handy pump, available at many retailers near me, worked well for this job. So I went back to the store to see how much the handy pool pump cost, but they didn't have it. I went to a 2nd store, and they didn't have it. However, while I was driving, I remembered the movie "Apollo 13" and how they had to solve the carbon monoxide problem by attaching a square part to a round hole. With that inspiration, I went home to try again.
When I got home, I realized I had no duct tape (sorry, Dad, you tried your best), so I took out some clear packaging tape and tried that. About half a roll later, I had the pump attached to the pool and all airways blocked (on the pool). In the process, however, I'd sliced the side of my thumb twice on the metal teeth of the tape roller and split open the seam at the back of my shorts. I went inside (we're a few hours into this process now), got bandaids, checked my shorts, saw that an inner seam was still holding together, decided that was good enough, and went back outside.
Finally, I was ready to pump up the pool with my trusty, cheap bicycle pump. At first I thought I was getting nowhere, I took a lot of breaks, my bandaids kept coming off, and my shorts split some more. During this whole time, my dog Chester and his doggie friend Tessa were in the house barking their heads off because they were missing all the fun outside. I grabbed the handy packaging tape and taped my bandaids onto my thumb and kept on going, trooper that I am. (Some would say stubborn.) After a while I made some good progress, but then seemed to be getting nowhere again, and I couldn't find a leak. By this time I'd been working with the pump for about an hour, so I went inside, called my friend S., and offered to buy him dinner if he'd come finish the job.
S. good-naturedly came to the rescue, and after I added some more tape and sliced my thumb a 3rd time, I held the seal and S. used the pump and we finished pretty quickly. At last, I thought, I'm going to enjoy my pool. I hooked my new hose up to the house and began filling the pool. While this was happening my young neighbor M. came over and caught me in the act. She began asking lots of questions, including when could she get in. I tried to explain that it was my pool for relaxing, not for other people to play in, and she offered to relax in it with me. Then she said, "I'll be right back," and left. A couple of minutes later she returned and said her mom said it was okay for her to play in my pool. I told her, nicely, that I hadn't invited her to play in my pool yet, so she shouldn't ask her mom yet. S. started laughing at me, because he knew I'd eventually give in, and went into the house. A few seconds later he came back outside and said, "Kerri, we have a problem." (Just like Apollo 13!) But I was still bickering with M. about whether or not I was going to share my pool with her, so I ignored S. until he yelled, "Kerri, your house is flooded!"
I turned off the hose, sent M. back home, and went inside to find my living room carpet soaked and about 1/2 inch of water on the linoleum in the kitchen/dining room. The pipe that runs from the house to the spigot outside had split. I started moving stuff up, around, and outside. In the process, I tried to push the dining table along the floor and one of the legs broke off. Since this was my lucky day, I caught the table before all my papers, teaching materials, etc. fell off into the water. At this point, Chester and Tessa are now in the backyard barking up a storm because they're missing all the fun in the house.
S. left to get a wet vac and I called the management co. I rented from. The ditzy girl working the answering service didn't know what a spigot was; I explained it and told her I needed someone ASAP. Neighbors came over to see what was going on and to offer help, S. returned with the wet vac, and I decided I'd better call the mgmt. co. again. A different woman answered and put me through to a maintenance guy right away. The carpet dryer-outer arrived, and he turned out to be just as chatty as S, so while he and S. carried on a great conversation and did a little work, I did some cleaning then went outside to quiet the dogs and talk to M., who had come back a couple of times to watch the fun. Twenty-four hours and a jumbo margarita later, I enjoyed my pool - alone.
Showing posts with label klutziness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label klutziness. Show all posts
Monday, April 18, 2011
Thursday, November 11, 2010
just checking
Every once in a while, I like to check on the laws of physics and make sure they still apply. There's "new math;" who knows, maybe there's new physics.
1. If I drop this big, heavy box into this trash bin with some sawdust at the bottom, will the sawdust fly up and into my eyes and mouth? Yep!
2. If I stare at this green light but am lost in thought and don't move, will my car move forward anyway, since it's got 150,000 miles on it and it's seen plenty of green lights before? Nope. Will my fellow motorists appreciate this experiment? Nope.
3. If I put on my pull-over hoodie backwards, will the hood swivel around to its proper place, or will I pull the hoodie down only to find that the room's suddenly turned solid blue? The latter.
4. If I back down a hill without looking where I'm going and step in a hole, will I fall? What do you think?
1. If I drop this big, heavy box into this trash bin with some sawdust at the bottom, will the sawdust fly up and into my eyes and mouth? Yep!
2. If I stare at this green light but am lost in thought and don't move, will my car move forward anyway, since it's got 150,000 miles on it and it's seen plenty of green lights before? Nope. Will my fellow motorists appreciate this experiment? Nope.
3. If I put on my pull-over hoodie backwards, will the hood swivel around to its proper place, or will I pull the hoodie down only to find that the room's suddenly turned solid blue? The latter.
4. If I back down a hill without looking where I'm going and step in a hole, will I fall? What do you think?
plan B...ra
Walked to and by the river Monday - I really need to get in better shape. After a block or two, I remembered the benefits of interval training - changing or amping up your activity for short bursts of time throughout the workout. So I decided to jog. Well, I hadn't planned on running, so I'd left the house without a bra - just a t-shirt and sweatshirt (and pants, underwear, socks, shoes). So as soon as I started jogging the "girls" started bada-binging all over the place. Several cars were passing by at the time, so I put my arms up to hold everything in place. Yeah, that didn't look weird at all - I felt like I was pointing to my bouncing boobs with those flags they use to land aircraft. So that was the end of that.
Went walking yesterday, too. Remembered interval training. Forgot bra. I have an index card taped above my doorknob on which I write stuff I need to remember to take with me when I leave the house. My door's open a lot, so it's visible to others in the house, and my cousins and their young children are often here. I'm hoping I'll just remember to dress appropriately without having to write "WEAR YOUR BRA!" on the card.
Went walking yesterday, too. Remembered interval training. Forgot bra. I have an index card taped above my doorknob on which I write stuff I need to remember to take with me when I leave the house. My door's open a lot, so it's visible to others in the house, and my cousins and their young children are often here. I'm hoping I'll just remember to dress appropriately without having to write "WEAR YOUR BRA!" on the card.
Friday, October 1, 2010
awkward moment of the day
So I'm at the library looking at audiobooks. I squat down to look at the ones on the bottom shelf, and one of those sudden, really powerful nose tickles attacks me out of the blue. I swing my hand up to rub my nose so fast that I begin to wobble, then I started to sneeze. Now, another thing they should have told us in high school is that when you get older you might pee a bit when you sneeze. So I'm squatting, one hand on my nose, sneezing, and trying to cross my legs so I don't pee at the same time. It didn't work.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
life 08/19/10
Okay, I've got to get back into writing here more often. I got lost in the egotistical everything-I-post-has-to-be-Pulitzer-Prize-quality, and I forgot how much it helps me just to get stuff down.
Chester's discovered that he loves cicadas. They make a great bedtime snack. He races to the back door when it's time to "go potty" and, at night, noses out the poor, minding-my-own-business creatures, wagging his tail as they buzz buzz buzz before he goes crunch crunch crunch. Unfortunately for Chester, they're onto him now, and there haven't been any by the door for several days, though you can hear them in the yard. On one of the first days he did this, I was fascinated to see the cicadas act as a community - he was going after a few on the porch, so several others came down off the house and dive bombed him, trying desperately to save their own. But Chester's jaws were too much for them, and it ended up being a kamikaze mission.
Was blessed last week while walking the dogs and heard a shouted "Hello!" Turned to see a neighbor girl we've met waving and smiling at us.
Was setting up Grandpa's birthday cards last week and, on the last one, knocked down a bunch of them in the middle - they went down like dominoes. I looked at Grandpa, and he cracked up. When I pulled my hand back to begin picking them up, I knocked down more. Gpa loved it.
Gpa also got a big kick out of the whipped cream spitting out of the can all over my shirt. It'd happened before, so this time I just walked over to Gpa and showed him my shirt, smiling but not saying anything. He cracked up again, and when I told him it was all over the counter too, he said, "Maybe I should tell your mother about this." (That I'm a klutz.) She already knows.
Enjoyed a bubbles fight with Gpa - our favorite lady from hospice gave them to him for his b-day (along with a remote-control car that he likes to crash into people). At one point he said, "You've got the advantage because you're higher." (I was standing, he was sitting in his chair.) I considered the odds even, though, since I was getting more of his spit on me than actual bubbles. On Monday, the hospice lady said Grandpa asked her, "Bring more bubbles."
The other day Grandpa pointed to several wooden models we had put together, and said, "If you drove that sports car you'd probably crash into the helicopter" (which was next to it). I picked up the car and crashed it into him. One of my (and other family members') frequent "chores" is to put things where Grandpa wants them and arrange them to his liking. The day after the "car crash" he pointed to the models again and said, "The sports car is too close to the old car" (Model T or A). I turned to look, and the cars were as far apart from each other as they could get, brushing up against the models on either side of them. When I turned back to look at Grandpa, he had a big grin on his face. I (gently) hit him in the head with a pillow.
I was cutting out a newspaper article for Gpa to save recently, when he said, "Your Royals beat my Yankees." Once I recovered from the shock, I cheered. "I knew you'd do that," he said. I said, "We should cut out and save the article about the baseball game, too!" "Phooey!" was his response.
Still getting used to the idea of moving and finding other arrangements for the dogs. Some days it's hard to even begin to think about, on others I know I need to do it. Who knows what'll happen - I need to stop worrying.
Praying for people all over the world who are homeless, foodless, sick, etc. due to natural disasters or other circumstances. Praying for them to have peace and strength, and the things they need. Giving thanks for my own circumstances.
Ps. 23, NJB:
Yahweh is my (our) shepherd, we lack nothing.
In grassy meadows he lets us lie.
By tranquil streams he leads us to restore our spirit.
He guides us in paths of saving justice as befits his name.
Even were we to walk in a ravine as dark as death we should fear no danger, for you are at our side.
Your staff and your crook are there to soothe us.
You prepare a table for us under the eyes of our enemies;
you anoint our heads with oil; our cups brim over.
Kindness and faithful love pursue us every day of our lives.
We make our home in the house of Yahweh for all time to come.
Chester's discovered that he loves cicadas. They make a great bedtime snack. He races to the back door when it's time to "go potty" and, at night, noses out the poor, minding-my-own-business creatures, wagging his tail as they buzz buzz buzz before he goes crunch crunch crunch. Unfortunately for Chester, they're onto him now, and there haven't been any by the door for several days, though you can hear them in the yard. On one of the first days he did this, I was fascinated to see the cicadas act as a community - he was going after a few on the porch, so several others came down off the house and dive bombed him, trying desperately to save their own. But Chester's jaws were too much for them, and it ended up being a kamikaze mission.
Was blessed last week while walking the dogs and heard a shouted "Hello!" Turned to see a neighbor girl we've met waving and smiling at us.
Was setting up Grandpa's birthday cards last week and, on the last one, knocked down a bunch of them in the middle - they went down like dominoes. I looked at Grandpa, and he cracked up. When I pulled my hand back to begin picking them up, I knocked down more. Gpa loved it.
Gpa also got a big kick out of the whipped cream spitting out of the can all over my shirt. It'd happened before, so this time I just walked over to Gpa and showed him my shirt, smiling but not saying anything. He cracked up again, and when I told him it was all over the counter too, he said, "Maybe I should tell your mother about this." (That I'm a klutz.) She already knows.
Enjoyed a bubbles fight with Gpa - our favorite lady from hospice gave them to him for his b-day (along with a remote-control car that he likes to crash into people). At one point he said, "You've got the advantage because you're higher." (I was standing, he was sitting in his chair.) I considered the odds even, though, since I was getting more of his spit on me than actual bubbles. On Monday, the hospice lady said Grandpa asked her, "Bring more bubbles."
The other day Grandpa pointed to several wooden models we had put together, and said, "If you drove that sports car you'd probably crash into the helicopter" (which was next to it). I picked up the car and crashed it into him. One of my (and other family members') frequent "chores" is to put things where Grandpa wants them and arrange them to his liking. The day after the "car crash" he pointed to the models again and said, "The sports car is too close to the old car" (Model T or A). I turned to look, and the cars were as far apart from each other as they could get, brushing up against the models on either side of them. When I turned back to look at Grandpa, he had a big grin on his face. I (gently) hit him in the head with a pillow.
I was cutting out a newspaper article for Gpa to save recently, when he said, "Your Royals beat my Yankees." Once I recovered from the shock, I cheered. "I knew you'd do that," he said. I said, "We should cut out and save the article about the baseball game, too!" "Phooey!" was his response.
Still getting used to the idea of moving and finding other arrangements for the dogs. Some days it's hard to even begin to think about, on others I know I need to do it. Who knows what'll happen - I need to stop worrying.
Praying for people all over the world who are homeless, foodless, sick, etc. due to natural disasters or other circumstances. Praying for them to have peace and strength, and the things they need. Giving thanks for my own circumstances.
Ps. 23, NJB:
Yahweh is my (our) shepherd, we lack nothing.
In grassy meadows he lets us lie.
By tranquil streams he leads us to restore our spirit.
He guides us in paths of saving justice as befits his name.
Even were we to walk in a ravine as dark as death we should fear no danger, for you are at our side.
Your staff and your crook are there to soothe us.
You prepare a table for us under the eyes of our enemies;
you anoint our heads with oil; our cups brim over.
Kindness and faithful love pursue us every day of our lives.
We make our home in the house of Yahweh for all time to come.
Friday, July 30, 2010
fun with grandpa and life - 07/30/10
Today after Grandpa had finished his lunch and gotten settled in for a rest, I asked him if he was comfortable, and he said yes. "Can I make you uncomfortable?" I joked. He immediately shot back, "I'm sure you could, but I'd rather you didn't!"
Dad asked me to run a quick errand on my way home today. Now, I love Grandpa, but I don't exactly dress up for him. Today I was hoping to get away with greasy hair, no makeup, and a t-shirt and sweats - pretty much the usual. I consider having to wear a bra dressing up (which I do wear out of consideration for Grandpa). Anyway, I wasn't dressed for public viewing. I could have gone home and showered, changed, put on concealer...ha ha, who am I kidding? Of course I didn't go to that trouble. So I ran the errand and decided to get a few groceries since I was "out". My shopping trip was also going pretty much as usual - taking one bag or basket around the store, filling it up, thinking of other things I needed, precariously balancing and carrying those items back and forth from aisle to aisle as my brain popped random thought bubbles ("Dog treats!" "Toilet paper!" "Cereal!"), and refusing to get a cart because they're too cumbersome. I had just finished rearranging my items in the "Pop!" aisle (last week I did the same thing and left behind my milk - I called the store and said I think there's some milk in the pop aisle...), picked up the shopping bag, then stacked the other stuff in my arms and walked carefully to the front of the store where I remembered I also needed "Puzzles!" So I bobbed and weaved to the magazine aisle, thinking maybe I should bring in 2 bags next time, put down my bag, bent over with the other stuff still in my arms, and got a magazine. I executed that move beautifully (surprised you, didn't I?), then I decided to try it again. Disaster struck, and the cold Chinese food container I was holding slid off the box of dog treats I was also holding, and splattered open on the floor. Fortunately, I like lemon chicken, the sauce of which congeals everything into this nice handy clump that can be picked up off the floor in just a few swipes. I picked up my keys and wallet and went to the Starbucks at the end of the aisle (see, it is good to have them everywhere!), got napkins, and began cleaning up. I couldn't find a clerk nearby, so mid-clean I walked to the customer service counter and told them I'd spilled. As I walked away from the counter I realized I didn't have my wallet. A flash of panic, I stop, turn toward the counter, see it's not there, walk quickly and prayerfully back to the magazine aisle, checking the Starbucks as I power-walked by, and found my wallet where I'd left it with my groceries. It's good to live in Kansas. So I clean up my mess, anticipating but never hearing a "CLEAN-UP ON AISLE 12!!!" announcement, and take the paper towels and Chinese food and my keys and my wallet to the trash can at the Starbucks. Of course, the Starbucks trash cans have these dainty little holes in the top which are not intended for cheap Chinese food use, and I didn't want to leave my groceries and walk all over the store to find another trash can, so I tried to lift the lid of the can. The "lid" was attached to the rest of the can, which was actually a decorative cover for the actual trash can underneath. So, with all the dignity I could muster, I lifted the entire thing up, threw away the trash, managed to hold onto my keys and wallet, and returned to my items, all the while being painstakingly ignored by the embarrassed Starbucks employees, who probably thought this weird lady with the greasy gray-brown hair and ratty clothes was going through the trash looking for food to take out. I got my puzzle magazines and decided it was time to leave, unfortunately without my Chinese food. By this time I had to pee, and there was no way I was going to walk to the other end of the store and try this balancing act again. But I did remember to take my milk.
(This very Kerri moment is brought to you by the thank-God-I-still-have-my-sense-of-humor foundation.)
Dad asked me to run a quick errand on my way home today. Now, I love Grandpa, but I don't exactly dress up for him. Today I was hoping to get away with greasy hair, no makeup, and a t-shirt and sweats - pretty much the usual. I consider having to wear a bra dressing up (which I do wear out of consideration for Grandpa). Anyway, I wasn't dressed for public viewing. I could have gone home and showered, changed, put on concealer...ha ha, who am I kidding? Of course I didn't go to that trouble. So I ran the errand and decided to get a few groceries since I was "out". My shopping trip was also going pretty much as usual - taking one bag or basket around the store, filling it up, thinking of other things I needed, precariously balancing and carrying those items back and forth from aisle to aisle as my brain popped random thought bubbles ("Dog treats!" "Toilet paper!" "Cereal!"), and refusing to get a cart because they're too cumbersome. I had just finished rearranging my items in the "Pop!" aisle (last week I did the same thing and left behind my milk - I called the store and said I think there's some milk in the pop aisle...), picked up the shopping bag, then stacked the other stuff in my arms and walked carefully to the front of the store where I remembered I also needed "Puzzles!" So I bobbed and weaved to the magazine aisle, thinking maybe I should bring in 2 bags next time, put down my bag, bent over with the other stuff still in my arms, and got a magazine. I executed that move beautifully (surprised you, didn't I?), then I decided to try it again. Disaster struck, and the cold Chinese food container I was holding slid off the box of dog treats I was also holding, and splattered open on the floor. Fortunately, I like lemon chicken, the sauce of which congeals everything into this nice handy clump that can be picked up off the floor in just a few swipes. I picked up my keys and wallet and went to the Starbucks at the end of the aisle (see, it is good to have them everywhere!), got napkins, and began cleaning up. I couldn't find a clerk nearby, so mid-clean I walked to the customer service counter and told them I'd spilled. As I walked away from the counter I realized I didn't have my wallet. A flash of panic, I stop, turn toward the counter, see it's not there, walk quickly and prayerfully back to the magazine aisle, checking the Starbucks as I power-walked by, and found my wallet where I'd left it with my groceries. It's good to live in Kansas. So I clean up my mess, anticipating but never hearing a "CLEAN-UP ON AISLE 12!!!" announcement, and take the paper towels and Chinese food and my keys and my wallet to the trash can at the Starbucks. Of course, the Starbucks trash cans have these dainty little holes in the top which are not intended for cheap Chinese food use, and I didn't want to leave my groceries and walk all over the store to find another trash can, so I tried to lift the lid of the can. The "lid" was attached to the rest of the can, which was actually a decorative cover for the actual trash can underneath. So, with all the dignity I could muster, I lifted the entire thing up, threw away the trash, managed to hold onto my keys and wallet, and returned to my items, all the while being painstakingly ignored by the embarrassed Starbucks employees, who probably thought this weird lady with the greasy gray-brown hair and ratty clothes was going through the trash looking for food to take out. I got my puzzle magazines and decided it was time to leave, unfortunately without my Chinese food. By this time I had to pee, and there was no way I was going to walk to the other end of the store and try this balancing act again. But I did remember to take my milk.
(This very Kerri moment is brought to you by the thank-God-I-still-have-my-sense-of-humor foundation.)
Thursday, June 17, 2010
klutzy moments with the boys
I am not the only klutz in this house; Chester and Oliver have had their moments. These are some of my favorites:
There is a narrow space between my bed and the wall where I have a lamp, tape/CD player for audiobooks, puzzle magazines and...KLEENEX! For some weird reason, a side effect of Chester's allergy med. is a much-increased appetite, including a desire for fiber. Real fiber. He eats my socks, my underwear, sheets, whatever he can get his jaws on. But he LOVES Kleenex (thankfully, he hasn't yet discovered toilet paper). One day he ventured around the bed in an attempt to steal some Kleenex, and got himself stuck. He didn't have enough room to turn around, and couldn't or wouldn't back out, so he stood on his hind legs and barked for help. Mama laughed and came to the rescue. When it happened a second time, Mama was in the shower and had to go to work, and it wasn't so funny then. I heard Chester's "help" bark, hollered are you okay or something above the noise of the water, and he barked again. I knew he was stuck behind the bed again. I decided that if he could bark, he wasn't in any real danger, so I told him to hang on, and I finished my shower, the remainder of which was filled with increasingly desperate barks from Chester and Oliver, who came into the bathroom and barked in alarm that there was an emergency and I needed to hurry up. When I was done, Oliver led me to the bedroom and hopped on the bed and barked once: "Here he is! Here he is! Help!" I went to lift Chester onto the bed, but in the process he slipped on a puzzle magazine and fell on his back, his hind legs under the bed. He struggled like a turtle to right himself, and I struggled with him like a...an upside down turtle - I mean a rightside up one, and eventually he was extracted. I've learned to move the Kleenex.
I got a new (for me), free, queen-size bed recently, thanks to the generosity of strangers. It is higher than my former bed, and Oliver loves to scoot around under it and see what he can find, growl, and do who knows what else. (Chester uses it as an alternate route to the Kleenex.) The bed has a bed skirt, and the first time Oliver went scouting underneath it he couldn't find his way out again. He kept running back and forth and coming out on wrong sides and hitting a wall. Eventually I took pity on him and lifted the skirt and called to him, but not before I'd enjoyed the show.
I've already written about Chester tripping over the frisbee. He trips and bumps into things pretty often, when he's eager to get somewhere or thinks he's getting a treat.
When I first got Oliver, I hugged a lot of trees. Not because I thought they were somehow responsible for my getting this fun-loving dog, and not because I could sense a strong love for the environment in him, 'though he does love to smell and explore it. No, it was because the dang dog kept going the opposite way around the trees from Chester, and both resisted being pulled backward and around the other way, so I got fresh with the trees and transferred the leashes to one hand. Oliver is much better now - he's figured out the leash thing - although there was a day last week that he wasn't paying attention and went around a tree too large for me to reach around. I tried, and the people in the cars going by on the street can attest to this, but my arms didn't make it. I had to drop Chester's leash, dart around the tree, and pick it up again before he pulled it away from me as he merrily walked on down the sidewalk.
I think of Chester as more of the klutz of the two (although I must admit that I put that toy on his head in the sidebar picture), but Oliver features again in this anecdote. I may have been more of the klutz, though. We were coming home in the car and when we were on my street I let O. get in my lap and look out the open window (he's always trying). As we neared our house, he saw a cat or squirrel or anything small and furry, and leapt out of the window to chase it. Now, Mama can be a ditz, but she knows her dogs, and I had a hand on his collar. So when he jumped, I braked and clutched the collar and grabbed whatever body part I could with my other hand (fortunately, it was one of his hind legs). For a few seconds we struggled there, he wiggling to get free and me wiggling to pull him back in. To his immense frustration, I won that round.
There is a narrow space between my bed and the wall where I have a lamp, tape/CD player for audiobooks, puzzle magazines and...KLEENEX! For some weird reason, a side effect of Chester's allergy med. is a much-increased appetite, including a desire for fiber. Real fiber. He eats my socks, my underwear, sheets, whatever he can get his jaws on. But he LOVES Kleenex (thankfully, he hasn't yet discovered toilet paper). One day he ventured around the bed in an attempt to steal some Kleenex, and got himself stuck. He didn't have enough room to turn around, and couldn't or wouldn't back out, so he stood on his hind legs and barked for help. Mama laughed and came to the rescue. When it happened a second time, Mama was in the shower and had to go to work, and it wasn't so funny then. I heard Chester's "help" bark, hollered are you okay or something above the noise of the water, and he barked again. I knew he was stuck behind the bed again. I decided that if he could bark, he wasn't in any real danger, so I told him to hang on, and I finished my shower, the remainder of which was filled with increasingly desperate barks from Chester and Oliver, who came into the bathroom and barked in alarm that there was an emergency and I needed to hurry up. When I was done, Oliver led me to the bedroom and hopped on the bed and barked once: "Here he is! Here he is! Help!" I went to lift Chester onto the bed, but in the process he slipped on a puzzle magazine and fell on his back, his hind legs under the bed. He struggled like a turtle to right himself, and I struggled with him like a...an upside down turtle - I mean a rightside up one, and eventually he was extracted. I've learned to move the Kleenex.
I got a new (for me), free, queen-size bed recently, thanks to the generosity of strangers. It is higher than my former bed, and Oliver loves to scoot around under it and see what he can find, growl, and do who knows what else. (Chester uses it as an alternate route to the Kleenex.) The bed has a bed skirt, and the first time Oliver went scouting underneath it he couldn't find his way out again. He kept running back and forth and coming out on wrong sides and hitting a wall. Eventually I took pity on him and lifted the skirt and called to him, but not before I'd enjoyed the show.
I've already written about Chester tripping over the frisbee. He trips and bumps into things pretty often, when he's eager to get somewhere or thinks he's getting a treat.
When I first got Oliver, I hugged a lot of trees. Not because I thought they were somehow responsible for my getting this fun-loving dog, and not because I could sense a strong love for the environment in him, 'though he does love to smell and explore it. No, it was because the dang dog kept going the opposite way around the trees from Chester, and both resisted being pulled backward and around the other way, so I got fresh with the trees and transferred the leashes to one hand. Oliver is much better now - he's figured out the leash thing - although there was a day last week that he wasn't paying attention and went around a tree too large for me to reach around. I tried, and the people in the cars going by on the street can attest to this, but my arms didn't make it. I had to drop Chester's leash, dart around the tree, and pick it up again before he pulled it away from me as he merrily walked on down the sidewalk.
I think of Chester as more of the klutz of the two (although I must admit that I put that toy on his head in the sidebar picture), but Oliver features again in this anecdote. I may have been more of the klutz, though. We were coming home in the car and when we were on my street I let O. get in my lap and look out the open window (he's always trying). As we neared our house, he saw a cat or squirrel or anything small and furry, and leapt out of the window to chase it. Now, Mama can be a ditz, but she knows her dogs, and I had a hand on his collar. So when he jumped, I braked and clutched the collar and grabbed whatever body part I could with my other hand (fortunately, it was one of his hind legs). For a few seconds we struggled there, he wiggling to get free and me wiggling to pull him back in. To his immense frustration, I won that round.
Monday, June 7, 2010
early klutzy moments
These are more pics from my 9th birthday party, and evidence of a life-long klutziness I've had that will probably keep me from my dream of being on "Dancing with the Stars" (besides the fact that I'm neither a dancing pro nor a star). In case it isn't obvious, I'm the one in the back in all these pics.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
just plain klutzy moments
Some friends and I entered a movie once after it had started. It was very dark in the theater, and we hurried to sit down and get out of everyone's way. I followed my friends down a row with empty seats at the end and sat down when I saw them sit. I miscalculated, however, and to my great surprise (and probably his), I sat smack down in a man's lap. "Well hello there!"
And there's the time I entered a school with a large, heavy bag on my back, and the school door closed faster than I expected. It caught the bag but I kept moving forward and was jerked backward, one leg still in the air for the next step, arms flying straight out in front of me like a marionette.
Loved the time I dropped a bag full of small, plastic animals I'd bought for my niece and had to crawl around the parking lot to retrieve them - including sticking my rear up and my arm out as far as they would go to get one that had rolled under my car.
And the time I got stuck crawling into my car from the passenger side because I couldn't get the driver's side door open.
And the time I was carrying something sort of expensive and navigated over a curb and pothole beautifully and thought, "I'm as graceful as a ballerina!" then immediately tripped.
And there's the time I entered a school with a large, heavy bag on my back, and the school door closed faster than I expected. It caught the bag but I kept moving forward and was jerked backward, one leg still in the air for the next step, arms flying straight out in front of me like a marionette.
Loved the time I dropped a bag full of small, plastic animals I'd bought for my niece and had to crawl around the parking lot to retrieve them - including sticking my rear up and my arm out as far as they would go to get one that had rolled under my car.
And the time I got stuck crawling into my car from the passenger side because I couldn't get the driver's side door open.
And the time I was carrying something sort of expensive and navigated over a curb and pothole beautifully and thought, "I'm as graceful as a ballerina!" then immediately tripped.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
pool saga - an oldie but a goodie
06/10/03: It all started a week ago Sunday when I saw a store ad in the newspaper for a 3'x8' pool for $40. I thought, hey, what an inexpensive, simple way to enjoy some leisure time this summer. I bought the pool, but of course while I was at the store I also needed a hose, air pump to inflate the upper ring of the pool, inflatable floating mat, and swimsuit. To save money, I went cheap on the swimsuit and got a bicycle pump instead of an electric or battery-powered pump.
I went home, excited to get started, and set up everything in the backyard. Then I discovered the bicycle pump didn't fit the pool. I played around with different attachments and things but couldn't get it to work, so I decided I'd better watch the instructional video that came with the pool. (No Tools Needed! Quick Set-Up!) But I didn't have a VCR to watch the tape, and I didn't want to borrow the neighbors' VCR because I didn't want them to know I had a pool and then have to invite their young daughter, M., over to swim - I bought the thing so I could RELAX. So I called the public library, got transferred to 3 people, and found out I could watch my tape on their VCR if I reserved a room. Fortunately, the room was available, so I headed to the library to figure out how to inflate the pool rim.
Of course, the video said nothing about how to inflate the rim, it just said "inflate", then went on and on about how their own handy pump, available at many retailers near me, worked well for this job. So I went back to the store to see how much the handy pool pump cost, but they didn't have it. I went to a 2nd store, and they didn't have it. However, while I was driving, I remembered the movie "Apollo 13" and how they had to solve the carbon monoxide problem by attaching a square part to a round hole. With that inspiration, I went home to try again.
When I got home, I realized I had no duct tape (sorry, Dad, you tried your best), so I took out some clear packaging tape and tried that. About half a roll later, I had the pump attached to the pool and all airways blocked (on the pool). In the process, however, I'd sliced the side of my thumb twice on the metal teeth of the tape roller and split open the seam at the back of my shorts. I went inside (we're a few hours into this process now), got bandaids, checked my shorts, saw that an inner seam was still holding together, decided that was good enough, and went back outside.
Finally, I was ready to pump up the pool with my trusty, cheap bicycle pump. At first I thought I was getting nowhere, I took a lot of breaks, my bandaids kept coming off, and my shorts split some more. During this whole time, my dog Chester and his doggie friend Tessa were in the house barking their heads off because they were missing all the fun outside. I grabbed the handy packaging tape and taped my bandaids onto my thumb and kept on going, trooper that I am. (Some would say stubborn.) After a while I made some good progress, but then seemed to be getting nowhere again, and I couldn't find a leak. By this time I'd been working with the pump for about an hour, so I went inside, called my friend S., and offered to buy him dinner if he'd come finish the job.
S. good-naturedly came to the rescue, and after I added some more tape and sliced my thumb a 3rd time, I held the seal and S. used the pump and we finished pretty quickly. At last, I thought, I'm going to enjoy my pool. I hooked my new hose up to the house and began filling the pool. While this was happening my young neighbor M. came over and caught me in the act. She began asking lots of questions, including when could she get in. I tried to explain that it was my pool for relaxing, not for other people to play in, and she offered to relax in it with me. Then she said, "I'll be right back," and left. A couple of minutes later she returned and said her mom said it was okay for her to play in my pool. I told her, nicely, that I hadn't invited her to play in my pool yet, so she shouldn't ask her mom yet. S. started laughing at me, because he knew I'd eventually give in, and went into the house. A few seconds later he came back outside and said, "Kerri, we have a problem." (Just like Apollo 13!) But I was still bickering with M. about whether or not I was going to share my pool with her, so I ignored S. until he yelled, "Kerri, your house is flooded!"
I turned off the hose, sent M. back home, and went inside to find my living room carpet soaked and about 1/2 inch of water on the linoleum in the kitchen/dining room. The pipe that runs from the house to the spigot outside had split. I started moving stuff up, around, and outside. In the process, I tried to push the dining table along the floor and one of the legs broke off. Since this was my lucky day, I caught the table before all my papers, teaching materials, etc. fell off into the water. At this point, Chester and Tessa are now in the backyard barking up a storm because they're missing all the fun in the house.
S. left to get a wet vac and I called the management co. I rented from. The ditzy girl working the answering service didn't know what a spigot was; I explained it and told her I needed someone ASAP. Neighbors came over to see what was going on and to offer help, S. returned with the wet vac, and I decided I'd better call the mgmt. co. again. A different woman answered and put me through to a maintenance guy right away. The carpet dryer-outer arrived, and he turned out to be just as chatty as S, so while he and S. carried on a great conversation and did a little work, I did some cleaning then went outside to quiet the dogs and talk to M., who had come back a couple of times to watch the fun. Twenty-four hours and a jumbo margarita later, I enjoyed my pool - alone.
I went home, excited to get started, and set up everything in the backyard. Then I discovered the bicycle pump didn't fit the pool. I played around with different attachments and things but couldn't get it to work, so I decided I'd better watch the instructional video that came with the pool. (No Tools Needed! Quick Set-Up!) But I didn't have a VCR to watch the tape, and I didn't want to borrow the neighbors' VCR because I didn't want them to know I had a pool and then have to invite their young daughter, M., over to swim - I bought the thing so I could RELAX. So I called the public library, got transferred to 3 people, and found out I could watch my tape on their VCR if I reserved a room. Fortunately, the room was available, so I headed to the library to figure out how to inflate the pool rim.
Of course, the video said nothing about how to inflate the rim, it just said "inflate", then went on and on about how their own handy pump, available at many retailers near me, worked well for this job. So I went back to the store to see how much the handy pool pump cost, but they didn't have it. I went to a 2nd store, and they didn't have it. However, while I was driving, I remembered the movie "Apollo 13" and how they had to solve the carbon monoxide problem by attaching a square part to a round hole. With that inspiration, I went home to try again.
When I got home, I realized I had no duct tape (sorry, Dad, you tried your best), so I took out some clear packaging tape and tried that. About half a roll later, I had the pump attached to the pool and all airways blocked (on the pool). In the process, however, I'd sliced the side of my thumb twice on the metal teeth of the tape roller and split open the seam at the back of my shorts. I went inside (we're a few hours into this process now), got bandaids, checked my shorts, saw that an inner seam was still holding together, decided that was good enough, and went back outside.
Finally, I was ready to pump up the pool with my trusty, cheap bicycle pump. At first I thought I was getting nowhere, I took a lot of breaks, my bandaids kept coming off, and my shorts split some more. During this whole time, my dog Chester and his doggie friend Tessa were in the house barking their heads off because they were missing all the fun outside. I grabbed the handy packaging tape and taped my bandaids onto my thumb and kept on going, trooper that I am. (Some would say stubborn.) After a while I made some good progress, but then seemed to be getting nowhere again, and I couldn't find a leak. By this time I'd been working with the pump for about an hour, so I went inside, called my friend S., and offered to buy him dinner if he'd come finish the job.
S. good-naturedly came to the rescue, and after I added some more tape and sliced my thumb a 3rd time, I held the seal and S. used the pump and we finished pretty quickly. At last, I thought, I'm going to enjoy my pool. I hooked my new hose up to the house and began filling the pool. While this was happening my young neighbor M. came over and caught me in the act. She began asking lots of questions, including when could she get in. I tried to explain that it was my pool for relaxing, not for other people to play in, and she offered to relax in it with me. Then she said, "I'll be right back," and left. A couple of minutes later she returned and said her mom said it was okay for her to play in my pool. I told her, nicely, that I hadn't invited her to play in my pool yet, so she shouldn't ask her mom yet. S. started laughing at me, because he knew I'd eventually give in, and went into the house. A few seconds later he came back outside and said, "Kerri, we have a problem." (Just like Apollo 13!) But I was still bickering with M. about whether or not I was going to share my pool with her, so I ignored S. until he yelled, "Kerri, your house is flooded!"
I turned off the hose, sent M. back home, and went inside to find my living room carpet soaked and about 1/2 inch of water on the linoleum in the kitchen/dining room. The pipe that runs from the house to the spigot outside had split. I started moving stuff up, around, and outside. In the process, I tried to push the dining table along the floor and one of the legs broke off. Since this was my lucky day, I caught the table before all my papers, teaching materials, etc. fell off into the water. At this point, Chester and Tessa are now in the backyard barking up a storm because they're missing all the fun in the house.
S. left to get a wet vac and I called the management co. I rented from. The ditzy girl working the answering service didn't know what a spigot was; I explained it and told her I needed someone ASAP. Neighbors came over to see what was going on and to offer help, S. returned with the wet vac, and I decided I'd better call the mgmt. co. again. A different woman answered and put me through to a maintenance guy right away. The carpet dryer-outer arrived, and he turned out to be just as chatty as S, so while he and S. carried on a great conversation and did a little work, I did some cleaning then went outside to quiet the dogs and talk to M., who had come back a couple of times to watch the fun. Twenty-four hours and a jumbo margarita later, I enjoyed my pool - alone.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)