I'm doing the Snoopy dance

Joe just left, yelling to me from the front door, "Bye, Mom! I love you!" He had come in about half an hour ago, and spent that time rummaging through the refrigerator and the cupboards and heating up some leftover ribs in the microwave. So his shouts to me from the kitchen (I am at the computer) were all though various mouthfuls of rib-sandwich. And they were all of the "Hey, Mom, can I have these hamburger patties?" and "How about these corn dogs?" and "Do you care if I eat these ribs?" variety. All of which I answered in the affirmative, giving him permission to eat me out of house and home, all with a big smile on my face! Because it is SO MUCH NICER to give him food to carry away to another house with him and eat there, than it is to get up in the morning and see the bits and pieces and leftovers and un-put-away evidences of him eating these things in the middle of the night. Yay, hooray! I live alone!

And at the same time, it makes me feel VERY SAD! But sort of in a good way! Like I'm doing the Snoopy dance, but with one small tear on my smiling face.

Gone Gone Gosling

So when I got up yesterday, seven of the eight goslings had somehow survived the jump froom the roof to the ground. One, sadly, lay dead on the ground below my window. Poor little guy!

I watched them, on and off all evening pecking and waddling around on the bank of the pond. When I got up this morning, however, the mom and dad were back up on the roof, craning their necks and honking over the edge. And no goslings. No sign of them. I don't know if they were eaten by cats (seems unlikely) or froze to death (even more unlikely) or drowned in the water (most unlikely of all). But no sign of them anywhere!

So no little family of geese. Sad.

I Know You Had Chinese Today

So, the same Nameless Agent who asked me to put Oregon First in the subject line of our e-mails, just came over to thank me for doing a lot of extra work for him. He told me that he was going to buy me lunch, any day this week, but not today.

He said, "Not today, I know you had Chinese today."

Uhhh..???

I did not have Chinese today -- and he wasn't in the office when I ate my lunch. So how on earth does he think that he knows that?

By the way, the geese have hatched. Eight little greeny-yellow goslings are staggering around on that roof, while Mom and Dad honk long and plaintively at them to come and get in the water!

Psst! Hey, Kid! Ya Wanna Referral?

So, I am at work and the phone rings.

Brrring!

I answer promptly, of course.

Me: "Good Morning, Oregon First. This is Elisabeth."

Nameless Caller: "Is this Fannie Mae?"

Me: " ........uh -- no, this isn't. This is Oregon First, we are a real estate agancy."

Nameless Caller: "You aren't Fannie Mae? Is she there? Can I speak to Fannie Mae?"

Me: "No -- Fannie Mae isn't a person, you know? It's a government banking business. There isn't anyone named Fannie Mae."

Nameless Caller: "I'm interested in a house that she is selling. Can I leave a message for her? This is the number, isn't it?"

Me: "Okay -- wait a minute. Hold on! There is NO PERSON named Fannie Mae! It's the name of a banking company!"


And so on. I finally put her on hold and called over to Nameless Agent.

"Hey," I said, "Ya wanna referral?"

The sound of a migraine

This is the fist time in my migraine-riddled life that I have observed the start of one. That I was aware of the very beginning!

It was one thirty in the morning. I was sound asleep. Joe came home and came to my bedroom door and woke me, saying "Mom -- sorry to wake you, but it's an emergency."

Well, it wasn't an emergency -- he just wanted to beg to have two friends come in and sleep on the deck, even though he has done exactly that before and gotten nothing for his pains. I was refusing even before I swam to the surface. And, as I was saying, "No -- no -- they all have homes quite close by -- that isn't a reason, Joe," and so on, I was aware of a little sound or movement that occurred in my head. If it was a sound, it was like "ping!" or "click!" and if it was a movement, it was the sort of movement of a small stiff bit of plastic snapping. But it really was sort of both. And immediately, the pain began.

This is day two. And really, shouldn't I just say that unless it is ACTUALLY an emergency -- like blood and death and needing the ambulance -- he should stay away from my bedroom door after midnight? Why yes, I should. AND I HAVE!

At least he's got their respect

Joe got beaten up last night -- by several guys, one of whom was much bigger than he was. I took Joe to the emergency room at four-thirty this morning. I'm really mad about it.

When I told Joe that, he responded, "Well, I had to! They were talking shit about me! Saying I wouldn't dare fight them! So at least I've got their respect!"

Lashes of Glory

On the bus this morning, I saw my first (well -- as far as I know) pair of false eyelashes. I don't believe I have ever seen a real person wearing them. If I have -- I didn't recognize them for what they were. This time, however, I did. They were on a girl who got onto the bus I was riding -- the 75 from Milwaukie to St. Johns. She got on around Hawthorne or Belmont, can't actually remember. And she wasn't very extreme, not in any direction -- she wasn't glam, she wasn't indie, she wasn't trampy. None of the sorts of "outfits" that might require the lashes. She was between seventeen and twenty-five, short, sort of pudgy with a round face and dark hair, ordinary clothes -- and these enormous lashes, that swept out from her cheeks about half an inch.

Interesting to think that at one time these were standard leave-the-house wear. Everybody wore them, just like everybody wore wigs and girdles, and young girls wore padded bras. Nowadays -- or at least during my young lifetime -- that would have seemed so false -- "plastic" it would have been called.

Hmmm.

Another example of the moving face of time, and how fashions just go around in circles, over and over. So when will we be wearing hats and gloves? Or corsets! I mean, those came back in as sexy outerwear, for a few years, but never for the masses. Men should wear homburgs and neckties whenever they leave the house, and never be seen in their shirtsleeves.