The On-Going Saga of BratBoy and EvilOne

In today's episode we find our heroes in the abode of their Long-Suffering Mother.

The family members are all comfortable in their various locations throughout the living room. They've been doing as they do most evenings with BratBoy and Long-Suffering Mother watching one of their favorite YouTube channels involving heavy machinery and digging - lots of digging. EvilOne is on her phone, looking at something of interest to her. Somehow she doesn't find digging with 220s, 330s, Minis and Bulldozers interesting. Why? We might never know. Although she did say she finds the sound relaxing.

As time goes by BratBoy decides that it is time to bid us ado and head off to bed. While he is still in the chatty stage Mother begins playing with Killer Claws, the kitten. 

Killer Claws is brutally attacking the arm of the sofa. Getting her to stop Mother begins rough-housing with Killer and a loud scratch can be heard as Mother doesn't react fast enough, resulting in a slash across her hand. Mother continues to rough house with Killer.

But, alas, the sound was heard by BratBoy and EvilOne and they begin insisting that Mother wash her hands. Mother lets them know that she will after she is finished harassing, ummm... playing with Killer Claws.

This answer does not satisfy our illustrious heroes and so BratBoy grabs Long-Suffering Mother and practically carries her to EvilOne, where EvilOne is holding a bottle of hand-sanitizer.

Mother begs for mercy!

How can her precious children betray her in this way?

BratBoy places Mother in front of EvilOne, who rubs hand-sanitizer onto Long-Suffering Mother's wound.

The scream pierces the night!

Perhaps that was Mother's imagination, but their was a mild shriek.

BratBoy lets go of Long-Suffering Mother. EvilOne recaps the bottle.

They laugh maniacally as Long-Suffering Mother goes off to sulk.

Stay tuned for the next episode of:

BratBoy

and

EvilOne

Until Next Time!

    Ingrid

The Office Food Thief

I saw this making it's way around Facebook. I don't know where it began, but I wanted to share it with you.

At the Races!!

It's that time of year again. The Saratoga Race Track is open and the horses are off and running. The architectural firm that Ken works for (WCGS) holds their annual company picnic there every year. 2015 makes the second year that Ken has brought me along with him. We took some photos last year but never published them, so I decided to add some of them with this year's photos. 

The Race Track is amazingly beautiful!  It looks so 19th Century as you approach the gates to enter. We have our catered lunch in the air-conditioned pavilion, At the Rail, (to the far right of this photo).

The miniature jockey statues hold the names of the horses running, while retired horses have stones in the courtyard (the darker squares seen behind this fountain).

The grandstand across the walkway from our pavilion is always decorated in flowers and full of festively-dressed spectators.

Because we have to cross the walkway for the race horses to get to our pavilion, we get the privilege of petting the ushers' horses. 

(This photo is from last year, and taken by a kind woman from another party.)

This year's photo of Ken and I. Lunch was delicious and afterward we posed for this photo, taken by the wife of one of the partners in the firm.

And who could resist their smiling faces. Terry and Greg are the nicest couple. 

We popped out to watch a race that we bet on. Our horse won!

After we ate, and chatted for a while. Ken and Greg, with very little input from me, worked hard at trying to put together some trifectas, in the hopes of winning. 

We all went out to the track to see if our horses would win. Some more of the partners, Woody with his wife JulieAnn, and Pete with his wife Mary came out to cheer us on.

They didn't, but it was exciting to watch.

Looking up at the announcer's booth on top of the grandstand.  

I would never go up there! It looks terrifying.

I actually borrowed this photo from the local news station's twitter feed.

Deere Races at the track.

And another borrow. One of Ken's co-workers shared this on a former co-worker's Facebook wall. I borrowed it from her. 

The only proper use of Coors Light.

Last year I was new to the family known as WCGS, so I didn't interact much with any of Ken's co-workers. The one that I did know had broken her ankle on the way across the parking lot and didn't make it to the picnic. No they didn't shoot her, although many of us wondered. This year, Ken was a lot more open and I was comfortable around everyone. So we had a wonderful time talking to everyone!  

So there you go. A condensed version of the many photos taken during two years of company picnics. We did manage to win $6.80 this year!! Woo-Hoo!!!  We aren't sure how we will spending our vast winnings, but I'll try to let you know what we decide on. 

Vintage Ads that make you go "What???"

I have found so many vintage things around the internet and thought I would start sharing them with you all. For starters. How we begin with a look back and some ads that leave you wondering...

"Babies who start drinking soda during that early formative period have a much higher chance of gaining acceptance and "fitting in" during those awkward pre-teen and teen years."

I guess it would be all that bouncing off the walls together.

"The malt in the beer supplies nourishing qualities that are essential at this time and the hops acts as an appetizing and stimulating tonic"

Notice it says "case" of beer - for the heavy drinking family.

As another ad in this campaign stated "For only your taste and throat can decide which cigarette tastes best to you ... and how it affects your throat."

You mean like throat cancer?

"Easy to Swallow" 

Of course they are easy to swallow - they just slither right down.

The Joys of Momhood

I hab a code.

It started fiercely enough. 

Jerome gave me his cough, when I risked snuggling with him.  It is one of those gross, hacking, flemmy coughs that leaves you looking around hoping that no one heard you.  The cough prevented me from volunteering in the pre-school at church last Sunday.

Now that I've stopped coughing as much, I have worked my way to frequent sneezing fits that go on for several minutes. 

And I'm pulling Barista duty at church on Sunday.

Well, I did encourage my children to share. 

So... in that case,

Thanks, Jerome. 

Some Dreams Are Just To Bizarre To Explain, Part 2

Hey Folks!

Are you ready for another installment of Some Dreams Are Just To Bizarre To Explain?

I actually had this dream just before I woke in the morning the other day and it left me, again, thinking "What the heck?"  

Feel free to send me any ideas of what this means.

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It began with me getting out of bed. My still-faceless husband wanted to sleep in - even though I felt we both needed exercise. To let him sleep while I exercised (because I'm a sweetie that way), I rolled the stair climber into the next room. 

For reasons never explained I took the steps off to move the machine and began working on reattaching it after rolling the machine to the room outside the bedroom.  The steps wouldn't go back on.  

Some guy walked up to me and offered to help. I looked over at the bedroom door while trying to figure out who this dude was and why he was in my house. 

He couldn't attach them either.

Now it gets really weird...

I heard another man nearby say he had a lot of people bring those in to get fixed and he could get the stair climber going in a few minutes, as soon as he grabbed his tools.  I looked over at the voice and saw it was an older man, wiping his hands on an oil covered rag

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standing in front of a car being worked on

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in a car repair shop.

Then I woke up

It's Awards Show Season - well, isn't that just ducky

*stepping onto pedestal*

A-hem!
.
.
Excuse me.
.
.
.
May I have your attention for just a minute.

I'm seeing so many comments about last nights Grammys. I don't watch awards shows. I think the mega-millions they make already is enough to prove people like celebrities. Watching show after show of these spotlight lovers wanting people to tell them how wonderful they are and that they are better than everyone else just bores me.

I did find the pre-Grammy reports funny.  You might remember that CBS sent out a letter telling those attending that they had to keep their breast and genitals covered, And these are role models for so many kids - thankfully not for mine.

As for the musical talents of so many of these people, these syncopated "singers" thinking they are all that can't hold a candle to those we grew up with that actually know how to play an instrument and can sing without a mixer helping them.  I'm not talking 80's pop.  I'm talking about when music was real -not digitized. When musicians had to rely on sheer talent.  You Rock, Sting!  Singers and musicians back then relied on their musical ability to make it big, instead of relying on a bunch of scantily clad people dancing around them distracting their audience from how bad they really are. As for rappers - they are just people who can't sing at all and not worth my time.

I don't live in a cave. I have teenagers and so I do listen to many of these new songs and yes, some do get stuck in my head.  But they will never hold a candle to the real music.

Okay. I'm done. I got this off my chest and I feel so much better now.

Thank you for your attention.

*stepping down from soapbox*

Some Dreams Are Just To Bizarre To Explain

Sitting around with Matthew discussing prescription drug commercials and wondering about the various side-effects.

So many to choose from.  How do the patients know which to select? 

I mean, that's why they list them, right? 

So you can go to your doctor and tell him which side-effect you would want. I think that is very thoughtful of the drug companies.

Today one of the choices given was "unusual dreams".  Which makes us wonder - what is considered an unusual dream?

I don't dream often but a few weeks ago I had a dream that left my gang saying "Wha-a-at?"

It began in a humble home from the 1400's. 

It was a tiny house with mud-covered walls, thatched roof and tiny windows.  I was dressed in clothing from that era and speaking to a man also dressed from the 1400's.  He was telling me that we would be safe there, in this home someone had loaned us.  He said that I still needed to be on the look-out for the Huns, though, in case they were able to track us down.  I felt that he was my husband but nothing about him seemed relevant.

(I know I have just messed up times in history - it gets odder)

He left for work in a large red, newer model pick-up truck and I sat at a sewing machine to make a new skirt. My sewing machine that I rescued before it could be tossed out at the thrift store where we volunteer - because it was too old. My 1940's model New Home electric sewing machine with table. This was the sewing machine where I sat down to work.

The sewing machine was next to the heavy, wooden front door so the cool air could come in. As I looked out, I saw some vehicles coming down the hill to my left into town (very similar to the entrance of a small hamlet that I once lived in). There were three minivans and two sedans and I could see they were dressed as Huns.

In a panic, I shut the door and began closing the heavy shutters inside the small windows throughout the house, being careful to cover the shutters with the curtains so I wouldn't have to look at the wood and could still feel comfortable. 

As I went from room-to-room I noticed they were becoming much nicer and more traditional.  The living area had the most basic necessities with nothing indicating I wasn't living in the 1400's but the children's bedrooms had nice beds, including a white canopy bed like I wanted as a child - but ended up with a full-sized bed "to grow with me".  As I continued closing the shutters, I noticed the windows were the size of normal windows.

When I reached the master bedroom it was huge, like my own, but very modern and elegant with a large flat screen TV in a seating area. There even was a master bathroom - something my 113 year old house doesn't offer.  The windows in the bedroom were large and let in lots of sunlight, so it took me a while to make sure they were secure. 

I went into the lower lever which was underground - but not quite the basement.  This room was like the basement in my "Mom's" house on Chase Lake in the Adirondacks.  It was beautifully done in a pale wood (pine? - I didn't stop to look) and even had the mirror and glass shelves in the corners for knick-knacks. Only this room was much larger than Mom's basement.  My children were all in this room playing cards and merely looked at me as I closed the traditional-sized basement windows.

I noticed another set of stairs and followed them to a much lower level.

This area was amazing!  

I didn't notice the room. What I noticed was the wall of windows in this high-ceilinged room.  The windows looked out to the woods - reminiscent of  Mom's living room on the lake.  The windows were made up of sliding doors and I stepped through them to look outside.  That is when I noticed the pool in the woods - where she would have the lake - a short walk down the path.  It was a large, in-ground swimming pool and was carefully fenced off to keep wildlife from falling in.

While I looked at the pool, my bonus daughter, Rachel, came running up to me and told me Amanda was stuck and needed help.

I ran after Rach back into the house but when I stepped through the doors, I was in a small 1400's village, surrounded by locals dressed like myself.  I immediately became nervous because I was afraid the Huns would find us but wondered what was taking them so long, since I had already seen them coming into town.                           

Rachel led me to a large, blue postal box next to a chain-link fence, which I realized was the fencing surrounding our pool.  Amanda was partially in the box and wearing her bikini swimsuit.  As I began trying to help her out, I asked her what she was doing. She told me she was heading to the pool when her friends "double-dared" her to climb in the box. I looked around for help and saw that the locals were going about their business in what seemed to be a marketplace - oblivious to us. 

I turned back to Amanda and told her I hope I can get her out before the Huns get into town.

Then I woke...

An old Japanese superstition states that your first dream of a new year will come true.

I am so glad this was one of my last from 2012 or I don't know what my new year would look like.

Dog Pack Attacks Alligator...

At times nature can be cruel, but there is also a raw beauty, and even a certain justice manifested within that cruelty.

The alligator, one of the oldest and ultimate predators, normally considered the ‘apex predator’, can still fall victim to implemented ‘team work’ strategy, made possible due to the tight knit social structure and ‘survival of the pack mentality’ bred into the canines.

See the remarkable photograph below courtesy of Nature Magazine. Note that the Alpha dog has a muzzle hold on the gator preventing it from breathing, while another dog has a hold on the tail to keep it from thrashing. The third dog attacks the soft underbelly of the gator.

Not for the squeamish…

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From FB~ T Troublemakers 

Sinterklaas arrives tonight - will your children be in Spain tomorrow?

It's December 5th.  That day known to all Dutch children as the day when Sinterklaas arrives to either give the children presents - or punish them.  

Unlike our rotund Santa Clause, Sinterklaas is a slender man in the garb of the Catholic church's royalty.  

After all he is a retired Bishop of Turkey.  

He arrives by boat to The Netherlands in mid-November and then climbs onto a horse to travel around the country, listening to the wishes of all of the hopeful boys and girls. He is accompanied by six to eight black men.  Apparently a number that is too high for anyone to get an accurate count on. Zwarte Piet, as these black men are known formerly were slaves but now are friends of Sinterklaas.

In previous days, Sinterklaas and his Zwarte Piet would go house-to-house on the night December 5th giving presents to the good children and beating the bad children with a switch.  Sometimes they would even put the really bad children into sacks and take them back to Spain - where Sinterklaas now lives.  

Today, they merely pretend to kick the naughty boys and girls.

It makes me grateful to be an American where we only get lumps of coal.

After all, coal is worth a lot now-a-days.

Seriously - have you purchased any recently?

Happy St. Nicholas Day, Netherlands!!

Ingrid

(If you like David Sedaris, you will love the videos of his take on Sinterklaas.)

When ADD Goes Into Hyper-drive

Another Sunday.  Another day of rambling.  This time it was me, in a state of over-tired delirium writing random thoughts onto my bulletin as they popped into my mind. 

I began by taking notes during the sermon. Note? Yes. More like note. I only wrote one sentence before my train of thought was derailed and never quite got back on track.  

You see,  I had gotten to sleep at around midnight.  I figured since we would be setting the clocks back I could stay up an hour later.  Ah, yes.  Sleep.  How I love it.  I was going to get eight glorious hours of sleep. I was going to wake rested and refreshed and ready for a beautiful day.  Oh peaceful night!

5:30 am...

Matthew's alarm went off...

He hit the snooze button...

Three times...

In my dazed state I was trying to figure out why he had set his alarm for such an un-Godly hour.  He didn't have to be at church until 8 am for sound check.  Then I realized he had forgotten to reset his clock.  

If I could just get back to sleep everything would be okay.  

It was so dark out. 

Why won't my brain shut down?

Crab-muffins!

I couldn't get back to sleep!

Finally, my overly cheerful cell phone alarm went off.

I hate you!!


Back to my mind in church:

I wrote across the top, but really to myself "I have been awake since 5:30. I should beat Matthew."
Amanda saw what I wrote and wrote back "Yeah! With banana peels"
Thinking of the pumpkin guts the boys had left for the chickens I wrote "pumpkin pieces"
Amanda responded with a silly happy face with exclamation point eyes.

I was listening intently but couldn't find anything to note about the sermon so I began writing to myself:

I am too tired to focus

I hab a code

I need a nap

I'm seeing things move across the ceiling in my peripheral vision

I need sleep!!

I want a cookie

I left my bagel in the toaster oven

My neck is sore. I slept wrong

My tummy is growling

I have candy corn in my purse but I really want a Headlight from Sanders

BMT

That's what I want, a BMT from Subway

And Doritos. I need salt

I need to message Ginny about decorating

Linda, too, about the kettle bell-ringing

Man. I am so hungry. Why did I leave my bagel in the toaster oven? Now I have to go to the store hungry

My shoulder pads are messed up. How do I fix them without looking like I'm picking at my bra strap?

Pastor Bob does a good Wilma Flintstone imitation

Food!  I believe in food

shhhh.... Stop growling. I promise I'll feed you.

No! He's speaking Catholic sayings.  Don't make me go back there!

Lord's Supper - torture for those with growling bellies

I believe in food - didn't I write that already

I can't talk to the person who brought me, that would make everyone stare at me if I talk to myself in public

Don't growl during prayer!

These communion wafers taste like Saltines left open for a month

I need to clean my closet

If Fred keeps playing this song I'm going to fall asleep

Service is running over

Coffee!

Must have coffee!

Oh right, we're in the middle of communion. I forgot

Matthew said that?  He's so smart

Unlike his sister who just dumped her communion cup on her notebook.  

Good job Amanda!

You know you are tired when a guitar in a stand looks like a vacuum cleaner leaning on a wall

Pastor Bob brought up drinking a lot

There must be a craft project you can do with used communion cups.

Besides a wreath - I mean

Although that is a cute idea. 

I have a straw wreath and countless cups from Lowville Baptist. I just need a nice ribbon. Hmmmm.....

Coffee!

I need coffee.

Matthew is right.  There is a place called a grocery store where you can buy everything to make your own sub.  He's smart and frugal

Where do the pew bibles keep going?

Coffee!

Mandy is going to the coffee bar to get me coffee *sigh*

Candy corn -yummy!

Eww?!?  You're nuts girl!

Oudoe,

Ingrid

Turn It Up - or - Get That Song Out of My Head!

This weeks' prompt from Red Writing Hood is called Turn It Up. We had 350 words in the genre of your choice, inspired by a song of your choice.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taylor Swifts' "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together"

This song has been ingrained so deeply into my head that it will never ever go away. I wake to it in the morning and it's running through my brain at night. It isn't like I actually like this song.  Oh God no.  

I have teenagers and this song is sung in my car and on trips on school buses. Anywhere that they can sing it. Do they actually like it? I doubt it. I truly think they just find the song irritating and have decided to sing it endlessly to drive their poor long-suffering Mom crazy! Being teens, when they see I am trying to tune them out, they sing it all the more.  Why? Because they love to torture me. It's something that brings them great joy. The same joy they get when my mind takes over my mouth and I start singing the song. Then they all high-five each other!

I realize Taylor has a reputation of writing break-up songs whenever a relationship ends, but really. Did she have to stoop to this level and try to appeal to the pop song lovers? Everyone knows they favour more simplistic songs. Songs well below the types she normally writes.

I'm not a big fan of hers to begin with. After all, her claim to fame seems to be break-up songs. Not exactly my cup of tea. I mean, when do you listen to these? I know people who listen to break-up songs during romantic evenings but they are only listening to the music and have no idea what the lyrics are all about. I listen to the words and find very few of her songs worth my time. I want songs I can think about, or about love, or fun, or even cows. I don't care. As long as they aren't depressing – or stupid. Taylor seemed to be aiming for the latter on this one. This song is so incredibly stupid.

Is she losing her grip? Or is this just a temporary thing because she was so devastated by the loss. Whatever it is, I want this song to go away and never come back.

I want this song to stay out of my head!

Curse you, Taylor Swift! "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together"

                              Day two of this month of gratitude:

I am grateful for Johannes.  I have never met anyone who loves me as much                as he does and I have never loved anyone this deeply before.

Oudoe,

Ingrid