F*CK You Friday

Yeah, I haven’t had a F*CK You Friday in a while.  Things were going smoothly for awhile, then I hit a speed bump or three and didn’t have the energy to put it all out there.  I also took care of a few of my rants in my last few posts so this should be a pretty light F*CK You…

  • F*CK You to bicyclists in New York City.  While I’m thrilled that you’re taking the greener route home and not clogging the streets with cars, I’m exasperated that none of you are following traffic rules.  Seriously, every bicyclist I see runs through red lights!  And seriously, I’ve almost been run over at least three times a week.Slow the f*ck down and stop at the damn lights…you’re going to kill yourself or more importantly, me.
  • F*CK You to Bank of America.  This morning when I got to Penn Station I tried to buy a monthly unlimited Metrocard.  I tried four freaking times and each time I got “We can’t process your request at this moment”. (I envision this said in a very snooty voice.)  The card is $104 and I’m 99.99% positive I have the money in my account to cover it.  And I’m also 99.99% sure I have NO cash in my wallet to buy a single ride.  So I hike it to 48th Street and arrive at work ten minutes late and more than a little sweaty to find a text message and a voice mail telling me BoA has put a stop on my account due to suspicious activity on my card.  The last time I got this message, they stopped my account because I spent .99 on a download for my Silhoutte machine.  Yes, ninety-nine cents.

That made them suspicious?

I called them and they had put a stop after I purchased  my daily LIRR ticket ($20) and they wouldn’t let the four $104 transactions through, either, thank goodness.  They made a note that I MAY be making an MTA purchase at the end of the month so that they’ll let it through and not suspect someone else wants to go to Manhattan by railroad.  What. The. Hell.  They are monitoring my purchases!  And approving them!  I thanked them kindly for the consideration  then told them I’m furious at them for not letting my purchase a Metrocard and making me walk twenty some-odd blocks.  My wallet and my sore feet say F*CK You, Bank of America.

  • F*CK You to my team at work.  I don’t want to bore anyone with the details of our fight at our last monthly meeting.   I just want the support I was promised when I need it, the workload I was guaranteed when I require it and no egos, bullshit or excuses when I’m trying appease everyone else in the bank.  I want to do my job as quickly and as painlessly as possible so I can go home and not worry about stuff at work.  I’ve been doing this too long to have this kind of crap being pulled all the time from my own team- we’re supposed to be a team, functioning on the same wavelength, not everyone out for themselves.  Piss off, I’m still not speaking to any of you.
  • Speaking of work, F*CK You to all the project managers who NEED things from me.  I NEED THIS and I NEED THAT.   GIVE me this, GIVE me that.   I NEED $100,000, doesn’t mean I’m going to get it.  Try asking, nicely, for the things you need.  You all sound like spoiled children- trying saying please and thank you.  This isn’t 1950 and I’m not your secretary getting you coffee and picking up your dry cleaning.  I have more education than you and definitely more manners.  I WILL tell you to ask nicely next time, asshats.

Okay, I’m out of here.  I got an appointment with a few needles (Dr. Wang, tee hee!) and then a weekend full of soccer and soccer and, oh…soccer.

Have a great weekend!

Tweets I Would Have Twittered

I’m a twit.  I have a Twitter account but have no farking idea how to Tweet.  @ and # and %^&!? Thanks, but no thanks.  I do like the idea of putting out short “in the moment” ideas and feelings instead of typing 1,024 words about a recent bus incident.   But I just can’t figure Twitter out, and I don’t want my head up my phone’s ass all the time.

So I jot them all down on paper.  What for? I haven’t a clue, but I’m going to put them here anyway.  It was time to clean out my pocketbook.

The one that started it all:

  • My friend said “Wait, what?”  I punched him in the arm because I thought he was calling me a twat.
  • If you knew what I had in my bag, you wouldn’t sit next to me on the bus.
  • I kicked an acorn all the way to my bus stop.  It will probably be the highlight of my day.
  • @annoying soccer mom: Next time you waste 15 minutes of my time telling me about your son’s job at your country club I’m going to stick my umbrella into your eye.
  • @annoying soccer mom:  Next time you manage to slip into the conversation that you own 11 stores, I’m going to stick my umbrella into your other eye.
  • @annoying soccer mom:  I don’t care about where you went to school, where your husband went to school or where your child goes to school.  Shit like that doesn’t impress me.  Please go away.
  • On the way to work I stopped to smell the roses.  I missed my bus.
  • I think the dog/cat/lizard peed on my sneakers. I get a whiff and a squish every time I walk.
  • If I had a bus and a CDL license, I would be gunning for your ass right now.
  • Weigh, twat?
  • My firm doesn’t have to lay off 3,500 persons.  Just fire the one person that lost $2,300,000,000.00 in bad trades.
  • What does coconut water really supposed to taste like?  I’ve had this box for 2 years…
  • I just beat out somebody bidding on a wedding dress on eBay.  I’m using it for Halloween.  What if she really wanted to wear it for her wedding?  I suck.
  • There isn’t enough Black Cohosh on the planet to soothe the last five days of my raging anger.
  • I looked up my old therapist.  She’s retired, battling cancer.  I feel bad we never talked about her and her life.
  • Zombiegirl’s soccer team sucks. The girls really aren’t trying.   If one more parent tells me their kid isn’t going to go on to play soccer when they’re older as an excuse for their kid not playing their heart out now I’m going to explode.  I’m going to need more umbrellas.
  • My kid has been invited to 4 sleepovers in less than a week.  Why can’t adults have sleepovers?
  • How do squirrels remember where they put their nuts?  No, really.  I want to know.
  • I’m friends with @DianaGabaldon, @NeilGaiman, @ChristopherMoore, @CrystalBowersox, @Regretsy and @DunkinDonuts on Facebook.  I read the comments on their statuses more than I do my friend’s statuses.
  • My husband needs mental Post-it notes.
  • I want a tattoo of a mockingbird but it is one boring looking bird.
  • One Million Moms are wrong about boycotting Schweddy Balls.  Kids will find nothing vulgar about the name if they haven’t seen the SNL skit.  If I see Ben & Jerry’s Schweddy Balls ice cream at the store, I’m buying two.

Okay, pocketbook is lighter.  I may need to weigh it down with the “Twitter for Dummies” book.

Argh! What to Do, What to Do?

It’s Friday, September 16th!  Ahh!   What should I do? Should I continue my blog posting about Part 2 and 3 of things I’m never going to do again, or do I do a F*CK You Friday post?  Lord knows I have a lot to write about for both blog entries.

Or, do I post that it’s 100 DAYS UNTIL CHRISTMAS!  Yes, the countdown has started!  I have things to say, stuff to plan!

Or do I post about my extremely interesting bus ride into work this morning that leaves me covered in purple dust?

Stay tuned to see what path I go down…

Things I Will Never Do Again- Part One

Sometimes I never learn.  I do the same things over and over with the same horrific results because I always feel the outcome will be different.  Like eating ice cream.  Like trusting people.  Like giving birth.

(Okay, I don’t do the birthing thing anymore.  And I can honestly say that although the birthing(s) themselves absolutely sucked, the outcomes weren’t horrific.  Entertaining, maybe, but definitely not horrific.)

You can teach an old dog new tricks.  Or at least teach the old dog not to do the same stupid tricks.  This old dog has been taught never to do the following things:

I will never again give platelets.  Just seeing that in print makes me infinitely sad.  I’ve been giving blood for years and years before they started hounding me to give up my -AB platelets.  Seems I’m a universal donor for platelets.  I only went a few times only because frankly, it was a pain in the ass.  It took a few hours and both my arms had needles in them so I couldn’t read and the movies they showed were terrible.  But I did it.  And I was proud that I did.  It was probably the only nice thing I ever did for my fellow humans.

It also helped that they were “paying” me for giving blood.  For every four platelet donations, I’d get a $25 Gift Card to Home Depot.  I figured I would help pay for our bathroom renovation with blood money.  Literally.

This last time, though, damn near killed me.  I was excited because the procedure was upgraded so the “give” and “take” came out of the same arm, so I’d be able to kill time with a book.  This time should be a cinch.

When the phlebotomist looked at my arm, she made that upsetting clicking sound with her tongue and teeth.  I looked up and she told me my vein was really small.  She inspected my other arm and declared that one worse.  I told her I had no problem giving in the past, but she explained that because the procedure was happening in one arm now, the vein had to be a little larger to take the push and pull of the machine.  She said we’d try, but it might take longer than the normal give time (1-1/2 hours).  She poked the needle in, started up the machine and typed in the time.  Two hours, forty minutes.

Did I mention I was “at lunch”?  I left the office telling them where I would be going, and that I might be a little late.  I didn’t think it would be three hours, and I couldn’t call anyone because my phone was dead,as usual.  This was not turning out to be a very good day.

And it got worse.  I didn’t know that you had to monitor the screen to see when they were pulling the blood out of you so you could squeeze the little squishy thing in your hand.  Totally distracting;  I put my book down after the first 10 minutes and resigned myself to watching “Hidalgo”- their movie of choice.  As time went on, I started feeling less and less of my fingers making it almost impossible to squeeze the squishy thing.  And on the last “draw” of the machine, my vein closed up like a straw at the end of a milkshake.  The machine would beep it’s annoyance and if it didn’t get anything from me, it would stop and an alarm would sound.  A nurse (?) would come over to override it and the machine would start pumping my blood and an anti-coagulant back in.  After a few minutes the draw process would start again, collapse the vein and sound the alarm.

This went on for two hours.

Finally, a nurse (?) got wise and stayed with me and the blood-sucking machine.  She tried to rub a hot squishy thing up and down my wrist to get the tingling to go away.  She gave me six Tums to chew on (they counteract the chemical in the anti-coagulant and stop the tingling.  I needed six JARS, not six tablets.)  She overrode the machine on each draw.  She gave me a cold compress when I said I felt like I was going to pass out.  She was getting pissed and I felt really guilty that my veins were so small.

I’ve never once passed out while giving blood.  I experienced dizziness a few times, but that was the extent of the uncomfortableness.  (I just invented a new word!).  I looked around at all the other donors and they’re not only staring at me, they all seem fine.

I felt like crap.  Literally and figuratively.

The procedure was finally over.  She couldn’t get the needle out of me fast enough.  It may have come across that this woman was caring and concerned about me- oh, no.  Although it’s her job to make sure all her “patients” are comfortable and don’t die, she had the attitude of a typical civil servant.  She sighed, she banged things around, she clicked her tongue repeatedly while she was hovering over me.  I really didn’t need that additional guilt on top of my vein guilt and the fact that I felt physically ill.

When I took my arm down from over my head for her to bandage, she gasped and said, “Uh oh.  You’re a bleeder.”  I looked at my arm (big mistake) and the blood is running down faster than she can catch it.  Even though I give blood (and platelets) I try not to look at it because it makes me all squeamish. I glared at her while she cleaned me up and helped me stand. Which wasn’t going to happen.

My feet as well as my lips and nose went as numb as my fingers.  I had to sit back down or I was going to pitch forward and bring Nurse Ratched down with me.  Still annoyed, she went and got me a Gatorade and some pretzels.

Ugh.  Gross.  I hate Gatorade.  And where are my damn cookies?

I drank the dreadful drink in three gulps and relaxed for a minute or two.  Surprisingly, I felt a lot better.  We made our way to the recuperating table where I found my cookies.  I grabbed a few (six) packages, downed another Gatorade (they were small) and stuffed another one in my bag before I made my hasty exit.  The receptionist tried to get me to make another appointment, but I yelled back over my shoulder I’d make one online.  I had to get out of there- my job and my sanity were on the line.

The walk back to the office (I gave at the Citicorp complex) was ethereal.  I felt like I was floating and that everyone was looking at me (maybe I WAS floating…)  By the time I got to my office, the urge to cry was strong, but I sucked it up.  My manager needed to talk to me when I got back, but after one look at me she offered to call me car service to take me home.  I told her I just needed to eat- it was after 3 o’clock and I’d feel a lot better.  I did, and I didn’t so I asked her if I could go home.   I didn’t take the car service because I thought it would take twice as long with traffic so I took the subway and the bus- my normal route home.  I knew I’d get a nice nap out of it.

It was a really GOOD nap because I stumbled up the subway stairs to the bus and got on the dreaded LIMITED without realizing.  I ended up at the other end of the neighborhood feeling woozy and no way to call home (dead phone, remember?)  There’s that urge to cry again.   As I walked home, I felt very disconnected and the minute I stepped in the door I burst into tears.  MR didn’t know what to do with me so he brought me into the bedroom, laid me on the bed, took off my shoes and gave me a glass of orange juice.

And a cookie.

So my good Samaritan days are nearing an end.  I can still give whole blood but with my blood type, I’ve been told chances are it would be disposed because it’s so rare and it probably wouldn’t be used.  If that’s true I may as well go with Cheesestick and get our matching tattoos.  Either that or put that money aside for the bathroom renovation.

I’m sure as hell not going through that again.

Stay tuned for Parts Two and Three of Things I Will Never Do Again.

Six More Years

Okay, I reread my last post.  Don’t get me wrong…I don’t hate Mr. B.  I really like Mr. B.  He’s kind, generous and has a good sense of humor.  His wife is really nice and his kids are nice too.  I don’t hate my neighbors- I’m actually blessed with good neighbors for the most part. We put up with them and they put up with us and our stupid dogs.

My problem is I live too close to people.  Sixteen feet between houses is WAY too confined for someone who likes to walk around the house half undressed and absolutely hates curtains.  I need space.  Land to grow things and raise chickens and have a patio and a dog run and be able to make coffee without pants on.  I would never survive in an apartment building.  I would nuke the place.

Please don’t think I hate Mr. B.  I’m just touchy about my personal space.

So because Zombiegirl won’t move, I’m stuck on a shady 40′ x 100′ lot on Long Island.

The reason she doesn’t want to move is because she’ll miss her friends.  Her soccer friends, her neighborhood friends, her softball friends and her school friends.  The school friends she couldn’t wait to get back to today.The first day back to school with her cool skull backpack (made by me, last year) and turquoise hair.  So starts 7th grade, which means I only have six more years until I can skedaddle out of New York.

I may kill someone before then…

Summer, I’m Over You

For all intents and purposes,  summer is over.  We burned through Labor Day weekend at a soccer tournament, and Zombiegirl is starting school tomorrow.  Even though the official first day of Autumn is Friday, September 23rd, I’m taking liberties and calling tomorrow the first day of fall.

I am so over summer.

It’s not like it was a bad summer.  There was the week at the beach house, Z-girl at 4-H camp, Atlantic City camping, Splish Splash and BBQ’s with friends.  I also got a few crafts done, a garden planted (then harvested) and managed to convince MR to replace the molding in the kitchen.  Beena got a new (old) car, Cheesestick turned 21 and I organized 48 years of pictures.  We threw a party.  Good times, good times.  But, there was also the “C” scare (cancer or cervix, take your pick), a hail storm, Hurricane Irene and some not so nice incidences with so-called friends.

But that’s not why I’m over summer.  I want it to be autumn for two very selfish reasons.

I want to wear my Uggs.

Yes, I miss my boots.  Their comfy, pillowy softness .

I literally went all summer in various Converse Chucks.  I didn’t even have to get a pedicure since I wore open-toed shoes once, just once, at Beena and Dad’s party.  I didn’t show off my toes all summer.  And if I didn’t show off my tootsies, then I might as well be wearing my Uggs.

But it’s still too warm. So that’s one reason I can’t wait for Fall.

The other reason is once the cool weather comes I probably won’t have to listen to Barry Manilow.  Or Hall and Oates.  Or any of the other music that makes me wonder if my neighbor plays for the other team.

MR and I haven’t used the air conditioner all summer.  We didn’t even put it in.  We get a nice breeze off the creek in the back (or through the parking lot for the community pool) and when it got stifling hot, we turned on a fan.  We slept with the windows wide open and woke up to the sound of birds chirping.

Or several playings of “…her name was Lola, she was a showgirl…”

I’m talking about my neighbor, Mr. B and his really corny taste in music.

Don’t get me wrong, I love tunes.  I have my own little radio station in my head.  Yet when I hear the same CD (I think it’s a CD) played over and over very  LOUDLY (well, it seems loud.  Mr. B plays it in his garage which is approximately 20 feet from my bedroom window) I slip into a murderous rage.  He’s not even IN the garage half the time, but the music keeps blaring away.  He does turn it down when his wife gets home (again, I’m wondering if the man HAS balls)  but she works all day on the weekends so I can’t even take a nap in peace.

Cold weather=closed windows=sleep in heavenly peace.  I can’t wait.

So, Summer, thanks for everything but it’s time to move on.  I want some peace and comfort.

You Google’d What?

I just discovered the Site Stats section of WordPress.  I can see how many people have visited this site (a lot) and how they got here by what they put into the search engine.  I made the mistake of doing this at work.  Now I have to clean my desk and my monitor.  Coffee is a bitch to get out of a keyboard…

Most of the searches are for some form of CANCER+TATTOO+RIBBON, some combination of those three words and few others thrown in like “butterfly”, “mother”, “daughter”, “honor” and the suspect “grandmother” (?)  I know I get a lot of traffic because of my tattoo posts.  The most popular search is “ivy tattoo”.  I expect those.

What I didn’t expect was the amount of Harry Potter searches:  “Veela Hair”, “ollivander snake skeleton wand”, “feather pen and ink harry potter” were among the most popular.  Also up there were a bunch of cross-stitching inquiries and for some reason, women jousting.

The ones that really cracked me up were totally random searches that listed MY BLOG as a result:

will my life be sad without children

in the gyno stirrups

shrimp basket

young girls in chucks

kock out cancer tattoo

sweeti house from hansel and gretel

what happens to blackheads that are left unpopped for a long time?

costco peppermint bark heartburn.

my bunny wants all my money and all my carrots and beena

humpday question 2

“can bedbugs jump?”

sticker stuck in my hair  (HEY! I’m not the only one!)

ripstick air wills

i will be plaque-fighting man bo diddley bop

is ellen muth anorexic or a drug addict?

kansas racoon

little freak kids.

What. The. Heck. These were literally copied and pasted from the list.  I can understand why my little blog would come up on some of these, but what I don’t understand is why the heck people are googling this stuff.  Kansas racoon?  Who the hell is Ellen Muth?  And I’m totally creeped out by the person requesting “young girls in chucks.”  Likewise the “kock out cancer tattoo” person.  Please say that’s a typo…

Ah, I have a new source of amusement for an otherwise dreary day at work.

When The Wind Blows

This is going to be a long rambling post.  Go make some popcorn and grab yourself a tall boy.  I’ll wait.

I’ll start this mess with a recap of the latest disaster to hit the east coast- Hurricane Irene.  Did you read my last post?  Hail, earthquake…now hurricane.  It’s freaking scary to see the news reports of the projected path of a hurricane heading right for your house.  It’s even freakier to see how people react in times of disaster.  People are stupid when the world is coming to an end.

MR and I stopped in at Home Depot before my cryo procedure last week (more on the cryo thing in a moment).  The hurricane watch was already in effect and stores were quickly emptying out of bread and milk.  We were in HD for a totally un-hurricane related thing- we needed our barbeque tank refilled- but the minute we walked in we knew we were in trouble.  Weaving around the hordes of people toting carts of plywood, we made our way to the tool rental area.  Passing by the almost-empty cart of batteries, we got run over by a near-frantic housewife looking for said batteries.  Seriously, she pushed me out of the way to get her chubby hands on whatever was leftover.  Oh, bitch.  No you didn’t.  If I wasn’t already freaked out about my procedure and if MR wasn’t there prodding me to go, I would have started something.  There was a current in the air, probably underlying panic, and I was ready to ride it.  Give me something to hit, really.  I was so ready.

We went from line to line.  The clerks were as frazzled as the customers, and no one was around to help us so we left.  I had to get to the doctor.  I told MR to drop me off and head over to the Home Depot closer to the office.

(When he got back, he said this Home Depot was a lot calmer.  And had batteries.  I think I may have to change my Home Depot.)

To prepare for imminent doom, we filled every available water bottle (thank goodness we’re a sports family- we have a LOT of these suckers) and brought in the camping stove and all the coolers.  MR gathered up all the flashlights (and batteries) and we brought up the cot and air mattress for the girls so they wouldn’t have to sleep upstairs and risk getting killed by a tree falling on our house.  We had plenty of food thanks to my recent mad shopping skillz and I baked three loaves of bread and a dozen bagels and rolls.  We put all my garden gnomes and anything else that might fly around safe in the garage.

Bring it on, Irene.  We’re ready for you.

We weren’t too worried about flooding.  We have the creek behind our house and when that gets flooded our backyard gets a little mushy but we rarely get water in the basement.  Wet spots, maybe, but they’re easily cleaned up.  What we were really worried about were the 60-foot trees on our property.  And their really long, dead limbs.  We’d already had a little damage a few months back when a limb fell in the backyard, killing two garden gnomes and destroying the fence and garage windows.  Plus, we’ve just about finished the renovation of the upstairs hallway, and it would be just our luck if a tree fell on THAT roof and we’d have to start all over.  Our insurance company sent us a letter awhile back and “suggested” we trim the dead limbs and branches over our house.  Wonderful- if they fell, would we be covered?

The hurricane was predicted to hit early Sunday morning, so between worrying about the trees and hearing all the crap hitting the roof, we didn’t get much sleep Saturday night.  I kept getting up throughout the night and looking out our front window at the trees across the street whipping back and forth.  It looked like a warzone on my front yard, the ammunition being nature.  Zombiegirl said it looked like London after the riots.

We lost power around 8:30 am.   The girls had their iPods, phones and Nintendos charged so they were somewhat occupied.  I took advantage of not being able to cook or do laundry or move around too much and did a little light housecleaning.  Later on I took seven boxes of pictures and started going through them, organizing and reminiscing.  We opened all the windows a crack and let the 50 mph winds whoosh through the house and clear out all the stale air.  All in all, it was a pretty pleasant day if you didn’t mind the sounds of the sky falling on the roof.

Late in the afternoon, the winds died down and it stopped raining.  We took advantage of the calm in the eye of the storm and bagged up five garbage bags of leaves and branches.  The block came alive- everyone ventured from their house and we were able to catch up with neighbors and friends.  We compared damage and experiences and treated it like it was a mini block party.  We knew we wouldn’t have much time before the other side of Hurricane Irene hit.

Cheesestick left for work since there wasn’t anything else to do at home (her boss picked her up).  Beena went over to John’s to commiserate the loss of electricity together.  Zombiegirl said she was bored (and dejected for being left behind) so we decided to take a drive to survey the neighborhood damage and see if any ice cream places were open.

I was amazed at the amount of Japanese red maples lost to the storm.  Seems everyone we passed was down.  Huge trees blocked a few streets and we saw crushed cars, damaged basketball hoops and downed power wires.  In the “tree” section of our neighborhood (Elm Street, Oak Drive, etc.) we saw trucks already loading four foot sections of cut trees (it’s the tony part of the neighborhood so they must have paid big bucks for those trucks to come out immediately to deal with their fallen trees).  We had to detour several times to finally get to Baskin Robbins for some slightly melted Jamoca ice cream.

Since we were already out, MR suggested we look for ice to stick in the freezer and refrigerator.  We also needed more beer.  The beer distributor was open and doing a booming business so we bought a couple of bags of ice and a couple of six-packs and headed back.  By the time we got home around 8:30 pm, the power was back on.  Of course it was.  We should have bought ice earlier…

The internet, phone and cable were still out so I went back to my photos.  Since the power was back on I started to scan my school pictures and baby pictures onto the computer.  Since these pictures are almost 50-years old, I wanted to preserve them before they get too faded.  Then, I found this gem:

Aw.  Aren’t I cute?  Damn, I wish I still had jammies like that.  They look so freaking comfortable.  What I wouldn’t give to be in jammies like those right now.

I’m going to go off on a tangent right now.  See that wall hanging behind me?  That’s Wynken, Blyken and Nod.  Remember them?  They sailed off in a wooden shoe…

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe—
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
Into a sea of dew.
“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”
The old moon asked the three.
“We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!”
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish
That lived in that beautiful sea—
“Now cast your nets wherever you wish—
Never afeard are we”;
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam—
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,
Bringing the fishermen home;
‘T was all so pretty a sail it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought ‘t was a dream they ‘d dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea—
But I shall name you the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one’s trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things
As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

I remember my mother reading me that poem when I was little and then reading it myself when I was bigger.  I had a book of nursery rhymes with this poem in it, as well as Hickory Dickory Dock, Aiken Drum, Hey Diddle Diddle and Simple Simon.  If I try hard enough I could probably recite most of the lines.

When I tried in front of my children, they looked at me like my brains were running out my nose.  Nursery rhymes are foreign to them.

How could this be?  I read to them all the time when they were little, how could I not have read nursery rhymes?  I really feel like I’ve failed as a parent…they can’t even recite all of Humpty Dumpty!  Sad, sad…

I’ll have to make a point of reading them to my grandchildren when I have them.

Anywhoo, I found lots of gems like this that I’m now in the middle of preserving in scrapbooks, albums and my hard drive.  (If there is ever a fire in my house, one of the three things I’m grabbing is my portable hard drive.)  Every so often I’m going to post one of these pics on the blog for shits and giggles.  Some of my outfits are hysterical…

So back to the hurricane.  The rest of  Sunday saw more winds and a little more rain.  Still, those trees kept standing. I can’t go through MR’s constant worrying about these trees again so we’re planning on removing or pruning them in the near future.  Normal life resumed on Monday with a semi-easy commute (subway was a little delayed, forcing me to get off two stops before my regular stop and walk) and the return of Cablevision later that day.  The skies cleared and there was no sign that a hurricane OR the tornado they predicted were even in evidence the day before.

We were lucky.  People are still without power around Long Island as well as parts of the tri-state area.  It could have been lots worse- the storm was downgraded by the time it hit us.  If it had picked up speed, there would have been a lot more damage and MAYBE one of our trees would have fallen.  We’re counting our blessings and MR says he’s going back to church.

Speaking of blessings, seems Dr. S. got all the pre-cancer cells off my lady bits.  The cryosurgery was uncomfortable and is still a bit messy and I’ll have to continue going for checkups every six months, but it’s a small price to pay for peace of mind.  And I’ve been out of my mind for the last few weeks, I could use a little peace.

All’s well that ends well.  But we’re not putting those flashlights away just yet…