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Skydiving, triglycerides, pajamas and inboxes

My friend Siobhan went skydiving a couple of days ago. She’s in a wheelchair because she has ALS. She was diagnosed last year, when her youngest child was just five weeks old.  Siobhan’s determined to make the most of the rest of her life, and I can’t wait to see what she accomplishes next. She’s amazing.

Meanwhile, my most major recent accomplishment is I cleaned up my Yahoo inbox. I was motivated by GC’s inbox, which never has more than about ten messages in it. Mine had 14,565 messages.

You should never undertake a task like this in a single session; you’ll go insane. It took me a few weeks of an hour here, an hour there. Eventually I was rewarded with a message that said “There are no messages in your Inbox folder.” (Which I must admit felt a bit anticlimactic. I think I was expecting something more dramatic, like an animated parade and a marching band.) Next up – my gmail inbox, which is home to another 8,527 messages.

Speaking of accomplishments, remember when my doctor said I had crazy high triglyceride and cholesterol levels? But since I didn’t have any other risk factors for heart disease, she wanted me to tackle it with diet and exercise rather than meds.

I’m happy to report my triglycerides went from very high to normal (5 point something to 1 point something) and my cholesterol went from very high to merely high (8.2 to 6.1). My doctor said it was very impressive.

What else? I’m teaching myself how to sew.  I’ve rejected sewing all my life, as an act of political protest. When I was a kid we moved to the country and I joined the 4H Club, believing I’d get to raise a calf, but they said no, boys raise calves and girls sew dresses. And then I was forced to sew a dress even though I didn’t even wear dresses. My mother ended up sewing the dress, which I wore to school once because she insisted. The other kids pointed out that my dress was see-through and I was mortified and never wore it again.

But now, 40 years later, I’m over it. I want to learn how to sew.

I made some cushions and I’m making a pair of pajama pants from an actual pattern. They’re almost finished – I just need to hem them. It’s a “Learn to Sew” pattern, but it’s not as easy as you might think. There are some confusing bits. Starting with the first line on the back of the pattern envelope: “Not suitable as sleepwear.” But it’s pajamas. (Turns out the pattern manufacturer puts that on all pajama patterns, to avoid being sued if you make your pajamas out of flammable material and then set yourself on fire while sleeping.)

That’s about it for my recent accomplishments. How about you? What have you been up to?

Tender Ears and Evil Eyes

Simon has discovered I have ears. I mean, he’s always known I have ears, but he used to think I only had them after a shower, when my hair was wet. Now he has figured out that I always have ears. So 30 or 40 times a day, he flies over, lands on my shoulder, sticks his beak through my hair and bites my ear.

Parrots generally bite for one of several reasons: anger, fear or fun. Simon bites my ears for fun. But beaks are sharp and ears are tender, so it’s not as much fun for me as it is for him.

He also bites my fingers a lot – mostly gently, but sometimes not. Nibbles are okay. Bites are not.

This is my first issue with Simon requiring any kind of discipline. When he bites too hard, I say “NO BITE!” in a firm voice. If he bites again, I repeat it and put him in his cage for a 5-minute time out. I also give him the Evil Eye, but only briefly. African Greys are very sensitive creatures, to the point of bordering on the neurotic. They can be psychologically devastated if they feel their loved one is threatening them, and a prolonged Evil Eye could easily be interpreted as threatening.

After five minutes I let him back out of his cage and give him hugs and kisses and remind him that good birds don’t bite. And then we say Peekaboo and Wow, and life goes on.

Little friends

GC and Rosie and I spent Saturday afternoon hanging out with these people:

We filled a castle with dinosaurs, built a marble race, ate imaginary elephants, raced cars, flew jets and taught a triceratops how to ride a horse. And every time anybody pooped on the potty, we all got to eat a gummy bear!

Random weirdness

The Writer’s Idea Book, by Jack Heffron, contains more than 400 writing prompts and writing exercises. I borrowed it from the library a couple of days ago.

First thing I did when I got it was read the table of contents. Then I decided to just randomly open the book up to any page and poke my finger randomly on a writing prompt. I would complete that writing prompt regardless of whether or not it appealed to me.

I closed my eyes, opened the book at a random page and chose the only writing prompt on that page. Here’s what it said:

PROMPT: Open this book to any page and do one of the prompts. Don’t consider if it interests you or is appropriate to your background. As you do it, try to move past distracting thoughts and feelings. Focus on the prompt and let yourself go.

Wanted


I wonder if Coyote knows his mugshot is plastered all over that new coffee roasting place on Anderson Street? The last thing he needs is a bunch of heavily caffeinated bounty hunters on his tail.

Speaking of bounty hunters, I was thinking about the ways my sister and I used to make money when we were kids living on a stretch of road a couple of miles from the closest village. There weren’t many entrepreneurship opportunities out there. A kid with a lemonade stand would’ve starved.

I babysat for 50 cents an hour (double after midnight) and I cleaned ovens for 50 cents apiece. I was a better babysitter than I was an oven cleaner. I’d never heard of oven cleaning products, and no matter how hard you try, your really can’t get an oven clean with just water and elbow grease. Not only that, but I scrubbed the oven racks in my clients’ bathtubs, and I scratched the enamel on Doreen Hicks’ bathtub. My oven-cleaning career ended after only two ovens. I had worked a total of eight hours for a single dollar.

But my big sister, she was always smarter than me in the money-making department. Her first job, at the age of twelve or thirteen, was as a bounty hunter. If I remember correctly, the township was offering $5 cash on the spot for every pair of raccoon ears you turned in, because apparently there were too many raccoons that year.

Debbie wasn’t prepared to actually hunt raccoons, but she and our grandfather, Opa, would drive the local highways looking for roadkill. Every time they’d spot a dead raccoon, he’d stop the car, and she’d jump out and go cut off its ears with a pair of shears. When they figured they had enough, he’d drive her to the town office and she’d collect her earnings for the day. Sometimes she made fifteen or twenty dollars. I’d have had to clean thirty or forty ovens for that kind of money!

Anyway, be careful out there Coyote. Keep your eyes peeled, and watch your back. (And your ears.)

Homemade pottery