We've moved to a new location in Vancouver although it didn't take as much effort as moving out of the last one. This place is bigger but louder.
It's three stories, this condo. Garage on bottom floor, kitchen/living in the middle, and bedroom/bath on the top. (All singular. There's still just one of each, although the garage is new. We didn't have that before. Didn't have a washer/dryer either so that's a definite improvement.)
The kitchen is big enough to actually cook in it, although I managed before. I found if I pulled out a drawer and placed a cutting board on top, I could increase my working space. Once my ingredients were chopped, I could slide the cutting board between the top of the microwave and the cabinets beneath which the microwave was housed. You know, those four inches there.
This new place has counters. Space. It's nice. And there's a deck so we can have a grill.
Speaking of decks, that's where I am now. On the deck which is off the kitchen overlooking - well, nothing. A sidewalk, a narrow street, and the next door neighbor's living room. Lots of next door neighbors' living rooms. (Or is that livings room?)
From this vantage point I can see that my deck is the only one without the back end of an air conditioning unit. Anyone else on their deck, should they choose to forgo the A/C and actually sit outside, would be listening to the buzz of their air conditioning unit whining to keep the indoors cool. But they're not out here. They're in there, staying cool. I have A/C but it's mounted elsewhere. So, when I sit on my deck I don't have to listen to my air conditioning unit. I have to listen to all of theirs.
I try to imagine it's bees in a field of wildflowers.
Then, there's the train. There's one going by right now. The train doesn't bother me. The only thing between me and the railroad track is a another row of condos: My deck, a row of condos, a street, then the train. I can hear what sounds like air compressors in the brake system. Is that what that is? It's all freight so it's a lumbering, slow noise. Sometimes, there's a metallic squeal. But they don't blow the horn here so I don't mind.
It's the planes that are the loudest. Seems we are in a flight path. Do real estate agents have a deal with the Portland International Airport to shut down the airspace or reroute flights when they're showing a house? I wonder, because I don't remember the planes on the two times I visited the condo before we moved here. Now we know why the units have air conditioning. It drowns out the airplane noise. Of course, when the F-15s take off from there, there's nothing that will drown out the sound. Not that I really want to. Those suckers are cool.
There's an industrial park nearby with semis going in and out but they don't make much noise to speak of. Not when we're speaking of F-15s.
And the sailboats on the Columbia River don't make any noise at all.
Trains, planes, automobiles (oh, yeah Hwy 14 is just on the other side of the RR tracks), trucks, and sailboats. That pretty much covers it.
But then, one block away, opposite in direction from the trains, we can do this:
*picture a pretty picture here because my SD card just puked so I can't show you last night's sunset, my feet in the sand, toes in the river*
GRR. Tomorrow's project....
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Friday, August 9, 2013
Magnetic Disturbance
We walked into town and found a fuse for the stereo and figured out how to remove the stereo unit from its housing. Man, there are a lot of wires back there! One of the wires is the Aux Out. Currently, this connects to an iPod adapter so we can play music from an Apple device. Useful, if you have an Apple. We have Android devices.
Actually, I do have an iPod Touch but without an internet connection it doesn't do much. We're experimenting with the Hot Spot through our phones which works well enough as long as we have cellular service. But, now that we found the Aux Out, we could trace that wire behind the wall and under the couch and replace it with an adapter to play Pandora straight out of the phone. Not sure if it's worth the trouble, especially if we can't turn the stereo on in the first place.
We replaced the fuse and still don't have power. We have a small, dripping leak in the cockpit sink that triggers the sump pump to do it's thing on a fairly regular basis. Hubby thinks we may have burned out the pump earlier when we unplugged it and let it go dry. It pumps, but not well. This may not bode well for my shower this morning.
The charts did mention something about a magnetic disturbance up here so my current theory is that all will be righted when we get back to the Lake.
Hubby didn't want his coffee this morning. I could have made less but I thought it would be more efficient if I just drank his share.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
123rd Meridian
Yesterday we crossed the 123rd meridian and things didn't get much better. But not much more expensive either so I figure we're ahead, all things considered. (Knocking wood on an all-fiberglass boat is a challenge. We are only halfway through our cruise.)
We discovered that the source of our bilge pump problem had to do with a stuck float valve. As in all such discoveries the telling of the tale can begin with the line, "Ask me how I know this."
When we turned off the bilge pump we incapacitated the shower sump. Every time we showered or did dishes, the waste water would flow to the shower sump until it became full - which didn't take long - and then it overflowed into another bilge compartment.
Over the last two days, we noticed the sinks were draining slow so we took a look below and found quite a mess. We turned the pump back on and used a hand pump to pump the water from the bilge to the sump as the pump happily pumped the sump overboard.
All this before we had our first of coffee so you can imagine how thrilled we were.
This exercise seemed to have corrected both problems - the sump and the bilge were drained and the float switch seems to be working so we didn't have to disconnect the pump again.
I would count this as a win except we blew an in-line fuse on the stereo yesterday. We've seen the back of the stereo before but it wasn't easy. All we have to do is pop off a speaker cover, unscrew four screws, use a dental mirror to see the back of the thing, decipher the spider web of wires back there only to discover the fuse is really under the dinette which only requires a wrench and a really small person who fits under the seats. Shouldn't take more than a six pack to figure out but then we have to find a Kenwood fuse in a marine town. Only a few gnashed teeth and rent garments should fix the problem.
It's better than commie pinko liberal brown bats, though.
We discovered that the source of our bilge pump problem had to do with a stuck float valve. As in all such discoveries the telling of the tale can begin with the line, "Ask me how I know this."
When we turned off the bilge pump we incapacitated the shower sump. Every time we showered or did dishes, the waste water would flow to the shower sump until it became full - which didn't take long - and then it overflowed into another bilge compartment.
Over the last two days, we noticed the sinks were draining slow so we took a look below and found quite a mess. We turned the pump back on and used a hand pump to pump the water from the bilge to the sump as the pump happily pumped the sump overboard.
All this before we had our first of coffee so you can imagine how thrilled we were.
This exercise seemed to have corrected both problems - the sump and the bilge were drained and the float switch seems to be working so we didn't have to disconnect the pump again.
I would count this as a win except we blew an in-line fuse on the stereo yesterday. We've seen the back of the stereo before but it wasn't easy. All we have to do is pop off a speaker cover, unscrew four screws, use a dental mirror to see the back of the thing, decipher the spider web of wires back there only to discover the fuse is really under the dinette which only requires a wrench and a really small person who fits under the seats. Shouldn't take more than a six pack to figure out but then we have to find a Kenwood fuse in a marine town. Only a few gnashed teeth and rent garments should fix the problem.
It's better than commie pinko liberal brown bats, though.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Webcam
http://www.islandcam.com/fishermansbay.html
This is the link for the webcam where we are. Checkout is 1pm our time. I expect we'll be floating by between 1 and 1:30.
Blue hull, white bimini, "Double Jack." Traveling with "Sun Lover," black hull, black bimini.
Looks like there's still a little fog out there.
This is the link for the webcam where we are. Checkout is 1pm our time. I expect we'll be floating by between 1 and 1:30.
Blue hull, white bimini, "Double Jack." Traveling with "Sun Lover," black hull, black bimini.
Looks like there's still a little fog out there.
The 48th
 |
| N48 30'.804 W122 54'.936 |
And something always goes wrong. It's not saltwater, per se, that our boat seems to be allergic to. We do fine south of the 48th. But every time we get north of that line, there's a repair bill involved. So far, repairs are expected to be minimal. Our VHF antenna is shaking loose of its bracket - or whatever it is that attaches it to the radar arch. (Go figure, we have a radar arch and no radar.)
We also have a bilge pump that's convinced we have water in the bilge and won't stop pumping. There is a little water down there but it appears to be old water and not sure where it came from. (Had an impeller changed out a short while ago and some work on the drives when the boat was pulled a couple weeks ago.) It wasn't pumping before we crossed the 48 and now it won't quit.
As any pilot knows to do, we hit the cancel button or, in this case, we unplugged it. There's a backup pump down there so as long as we don't take on a lot of water at any point during the week we should be fine.
Speaking of pilots, I just looked up to see a float plane tying to the dock. (Kenmore Air) Cool.
We'll be up here through Thursday, I think. Then we'll head south of the 48th for a couple days in the Puget Sound area, and then we'll end up back on the lake for the weekend. We should have cool evenings and sunny afternoons. Fog in the mornings. And, hopefully, small repair bills.
I'll let you know if we pass any webcams.
Friday, August 2, 2013
View From A Train
Hubby witnessed the following graffiti as he was recently traveling:
I hate vandalism, irony, and lists.
Waste, Not
Throw something away today and tell me what it is. Don't spend a lot of time thinking about it. I'm sure you have something that you can get rid of. Just take a look under your sink. Don't worry about using the last two tablespoons of lotion that's been sitting there for over a year. Don't even think about recycling the container. (I know, I know... just do it, okay?) Do not pass GO and do not collect $100. Just pick something and get rid of it.
Ah, feel better?
Ah, feel better?
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Take a Memo
I get a tax briefing by subscription every day at work and sometimes I run across something that tickles me. I was going to repost the briefing in its entirety but I bothered to read the copyright notice and decided against it.
The brief referred to a memo issued by a United States Tax Court in the case of Benjamin J. Ashmore v. Commissioner of Internal Revenue. The matter concerned an accuracy-related penalty assessed for failure to report wage income.
Here's the part that's funny taken from the original memo:
Okay, maybe not laugh out loud funny. But definitely tax geek funny.
The brief referred to a memo issued by a United States Tax Court in the case of Benjamin J. Ashmore v. Commissioner of Internal Revenue. The matter concerned an accuracy-related penalty assessed for failure to report wage income.
Here's the part that's funny taken from the original memo:
Petitioner has been employed since 2004 as a senior policy analyst for the
U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD), for which he
regularly deals with numbers, formulas, and details. Petitioner has earned two
master’s degrees, one in public policy and the other in business administration.
U.S. Tax Court Memo.His excuse: I didn't get the W2.
Okay, maybe not laugh out loud funny. But definitely tax geek funny.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Studies Show Bacon Might Not Make Everything Better
I find that when I need to make bacon it makes sense to cook up the whole package. No need to make a mess twice; cook it all up and freeze what you don't need immediately for a future use. Especially, on a boat. Making bacon on a boat is a bad idea.
I've had three-quarters of a pound of bacon in the freezer on my boat for several months. Don't ask me why we didn't eat it. What would prevent me? Really, I couldn't tell you. But what I can tell you is this: Bacon + freezer = bacon flavored ice.
I can imagine that bacon would enhance the flavor Coca-Cola. Or Root Beer, even. And you can be sure there's a bartender out there somewhere who's already invented a bacon-infused something or other.
But bacon and Jack?
It's interesting.
I've had three-quarters of a pound of bacon in the freezer on my boat for several months. Don't ask me why we didn't eat it. What would prevent me? Really, I couldn't tell you. But what I can tell you is this: Bacon + freezer = bacon flavored ice.
I can imagine that bacon would enhance the flavor Coca-Cola. Or Root Beer, even. And you can be sure there's a bartender out there somewhere who's already invented a bacon-infused something or other.
But bacon and Jack?
It's interesting.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Close Call
I've been a little worried about Vancouver's Finest. From the moment I posted it (and re-posted it on Facebook), I've been waiting for my face to appear on Dumbest Criminals (or something like it) for getting busted after publicly sharing criminal activity. I would like to set the record straight. To wit, I neither confirm nor deny that I was the driver of the car; I neither confirm nor deny the driver used, or did not use, a turn signal indicator; I neither confirm nor deny that I made the whole thing up.
That being said, someone pointed out to me yesterday that the licence plates were expired on the vehicle in question. Thankfully, said person was not wearing a uniform. I hightailed it out of the office (what better reason to leave work early than to right a wrong?) and drove within the legal speed limit directly to the emissions testing center. I thereupon went to the Department of Licencing to get new tabs.
A black and white rolled by as I was affixing the stickers to the rear license plate but I was in the clear. Just in time.
I wasn't in the clear a week ago when said car was allegedly parked across the street from the C-Tran bust. I'm just glad I didn't write about that.
That being said, someone pointed out to me yesterday that the licence plates were expired on the vehicle in question. Thankfully, said person was not wearing a uniform. I hightailed it out of the office (what better reason to leave work early than to right a wrong?) and drove within the legal speed limit directly to the emissions testing center. I thereupon went to the Department of Licencing to get new tabs.
A black and white rolled by as I was affixing the stickers to the rear license plate but I was in the clear. Just in time.
I wasn't in the clear a week ago when said car was allegedly parked across the street from the C-Tran bust. I'm just glad I didn't write about that.
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Maybe Not So Homeless
We found a place to live in Vancouver. As you may recall, we were politely asked to move out of our previous residence after the owners' dissolving marriage required a reallocation of their own living situation.We thought we found another place to live - in fact, two other places - but snags of one variety or another prevented us from securing housing that didn't include room service.
By they way, room service works just fine for me. Living in a hotel has its perks besides no cooking. There are no other chores such as laundry or housecleaning either. But there's no place to hang one's hat, so to speak, and schlepping your stuff back and forth increases the risk that one might forget one's wallet or other pertinent item such as that.
On one occasion, Hubby forgot his entire suitcase. He left for Vancouver (WA) early one morning by car. About an hour later, as I was leaving for work in Seattle, I found his suitcase still in the garage. He had distracted himself by fetching our recently emptied garbage cans from the curb before loading his suitcase in the trunk and when he was finished, he had forgotten all about it. After I called to inform him of his omission, he turned around and I met him in Tacoma to reunite him with his belongings.
We should be moving in next week, if everything goes according to plan and if there's one thing I've learned is nothing ever goes according to plan. At least now I should be able to convince the cable company we haven't made off with any of their equipment.
By they way, room service works just fine for me. Living in a hotel has its perks besides no cooking. There are no other chores such as laundry or housecleaning either. But there's no place to hang one's hat, so to speak, and schlepping your stuff back and forth increases the risk that one might forget one's wallet or other pertinent item such as that.
On one occasion, Hubby forgot his entire suitcase. He left for Vancouver (WA) early one morning by car. About an hour later, as I was leaving for work in Seattle, I found his suitcase still in the garage. He had distracted himself by fetching our recently emptied garbage cans from the curb before loading his suitcase in the trunk and when he was finished, he had forgotten all about it. After I called to inform him of his omission, he turned around and I met him in Tacoma to reunite him with his belongings.
We should be moving in next week, if everything goes according to plan and if there's one thing I've learned is nothing ever goes according to plan. At least now I should be able to convince the cable company we haven't made off with any of their equipment.
I Don't Know, Do You?
With Nano-Windsor imminent, the 'Unaware of royal baby's name' challenge is on! How long can you NOT know the name? Clock starts when born..
— Jasper Fforde (@jasperfforde) July 22, 2013
Monday, July 22, 2013
Traffic Clowns
You would expect clowns to drive in the carpool lane but you won't find them there. The only time they drive a Smart car or a Fiat 500 is at work but that's not what they drive to and from work.
I know this because a I saw a clown in traffic, most likely driving home after an birthday gig for a sticky four-year-old. It was more than a little unsettling to see him come up behind me in my rear view mirror. I was never afraid of clowns before but seeing one with road rage is bound to give me nightmares.
This clown's commuter car was a Suburban and he was definitely not in the company of other clowns. I can only imagine a clown would need a car of that size in order to transport a large quantity of whipped cream pies or whoopee cushions.
Not very fuel efficient either which means sooner or later you're bound to see a clown at the gas station.
I know this because a I saw a clown in traffic, most likely driving home after an birthday gig for a sticky four-year-old. It was more than a little unsettling to see him come up behind me in my rear view mirror. I was never afraid of clowns before but seeing one with road rage is bound to give me nightmares.
This clown's commuter car was a Suburban and he was definitely not in the company of other clowns. I can only imagine a clown would need a car of that size in order to transport a large quantity of whipped cream pies or whoopee cushions.
Not very fuel efficient either which means sooner or later you're bound to see a clown at the gas station.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
Vancouver's Finest
I witnessed an arrest - or I almost did - live and in person, the drama played out before my very eyes on the gritty streets of Vancouver. (Washington. Look it up.)
A man in his mid-twenties who appeared homeless, or perhaps efficiently self-contained, wearing a backpack from which dangled various housewares and a cardboard sign (the content of which I could not make out) came from around the corner. He was wearing a hat that looked very much like a mushroom from Alice in Wonderland. It was red with white spots and puffed up around his head much like ... well, like a mushroom.
He was walking his dog and minding his own business until a white van appeared. This incited the man. He yelled for the driver of the van to stop stalking him. The van drove away with the man's insults trailing behind him.
But the van apparently went around the block because it appeared again having no less affect on the young man. After a third pass by the van, the young man removed his hat and took a seat on the steps to a local church. Thus disguised, he sought his sanctuary.
The van passed again and there was no exchange between the parties. Several minutes passed, and thinking he was in the clear, the young man put on his hat and continued down the street. As if alerted, there were now two vans stalking the man, each with the official logo of Vancouver's local bus system, C-Tran. Perhaps, the young man did not pay his fare. Or, quite possibly, worse.
Much worse, it might seem, because it wasn't long before a squad car appeared. It cruised through the intersection but disappeared around the corner only to appear again moments later. This time, the officer pulled over in a way that meant business, askew and in the opposing lane of traffic.
The officer got out of the car and very politely approached the young man. No voices were raised but each kept their distance. In a moment, a second squad car appeared. Soon all three of Vancouver's finest were there, the third one adding a special flare by turning on his lights. The young man was now surrounded.
He took a seat on the sidewalk to discuss the current situation while officers who would make mall cops look good took position. Watching these developments, I couldn't help but notice the only thing that was impressive about these officers were their cars: sexy Dodge Chargers. I supposed if the officers weren't up to the task of actually chasing down criminals, it's possible they could entice bad guys to get in by simply stopping the car and opening the back door. But I digress.
The young man was was surrounded by three police officer and two C-Tran guys who were younger and more fit that the policemen. I'm not sure what to call the C-Tran guys - maybe they were police wannabes - but they were wearing utility belts so it looked pretty serious from that angle as well.
The city of Vancouver moved on without regard to the drama unfolding on its city streets. Traffic diverted itself in an orderly fashion around the five vehicles parked at odd angles across the street. Foot traffic continued by the scene, parents instructing children not to stare, while bigger kids rode their bikes with the sole intention of staring.
I, for one, called for my check at the outdoor restaurant where I was seated and headed for my car which was nearly in the middle of it all. Hell, I figured, if there was any time to commit a crime, the time was now.
I never found out what happened to the young man. There was nothing in the paper about the incident. I left the scene before whatever did happen played out. I got in my car, started the engine, and hightailed it out of there by way of a side street.
And I didn't use my turn signal.
A man in his mid-twenties who appeared homeless, or perhaps efficiently self-contained, wearing a backpack from which dangled various housewares and a cardboard sign (the content of which I could not make out) came from around the corner. He was wearing a hat that looked very much like a mushroom from Alice in Wonderland. It was red with white spots and puffed up around his head much like ... well, like a mushroom.
He was walking his dog and minding his own business until a white van appeared. This incited the man. He yelled for the driver of the van to stop stalking him. The van drove away with the man's insults trailing behind him.
But the van apparently went around the block because it appeared again having no less affect on the young man. After a third pass by the van, the young man removed his hat and took a seat on the steps to a local church. Thus disguised, he sought his sanctuary.
The van passed again and there was no exchange between the parties. Several minutes passed, and thinking he was in the clear, the young man put on his hat and continued down the street. As if alerted, there were now two vans stalking the man, each with the official logo of Vancouver's local bus system, C-Tran. Perhaps, the young man did not pay his fare. Or, quite possibly, worse.
Much worse, it might seem, because it wasn't long before a squad car appeared. It cruised through the intersection but disappeared around the corner only to appear again moments later. This time, the officer pulled over in a way that meant business, askew and in the opposing lane of traffic.
The officer got out of the car and very politely approached the young man. No voices were raised but each kept their distance. In a moment, a second squad car appeared. Soon all three of Vancouver's finest were there, the third one adding a special flare by turning on his lights. The young man was now surrounded.
He took a seat on the sidewalk to discuss the current situation while officers who would make mall cops look good took position. Watching these developments, I couldn't help but notice the only thing that was impressive about these officers were their cars: sexy Dodge Chargers. I supposed if the officers weren't up to the task of actually chasing down criminals, it's possible they could entice bad guys to get in by simply stopping the car and opening the back door. But I digress.
The young man was was surrounded by three police officer and two C-Tran guys who were younger and more fit that the policemen. I'm not sure what to call the C-Tran guys - maybe they were police wannabes - but they were wearing utility belts so it looked pretty serious from that angle as well.
The city of Vancouver moved on without regard to the drama unfolding on its city streets. Traffic diverted itself in an orderly fashion around the five vehicles parked at odd angles across the street. Foot traffic continued by the scene, parents instructing children not to stare, while bigger kids rode their bikes with the sole intention of staring.
I, for one, called for my check at the outdoor restaurant where I was seated and headed for my car which was nearly in the middle of it all. Hell, I figured, if there was any time to commit a crime, the time was now.
I never found out what happened to the young man. There was nothing in the paper about the incident. I left the scene before whatever did happen played out. I got in my car, started the engine, and hightailed it out of there by way of a side street.
And I didn't use my turn signal.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Pure Genius
Came home today to find my computer's battery backup needing attention, so signaled by a constant beeping sound coming from under my desk.
"What the hell?" I thought whilst on my hands and knees, still in my work clothes, my ass the only part of me that might have been visible had anyone else come into the room. "What if I just push this button here?"
I thought it best to be cautious here. Unplugging things I don't completely understand could be a mistake so I changed into something more comfortable and poured myself a glass of wine. "Maybe it will just stop. Or, if I go outside I won't be able to hear it."
Of course, sooner or later I would want to go to bed and the problem would still be there so I decided the first step was to label all the electrical cords that were tangled beneath my desk using what I had on hand: yellow yarn and blue construction paper. What I found was that I had more wires than operational gadgets and when I was done labeling the mess was only slightly more organized and a lot more colorful.
I powered down my computer and monitor but I hesitated with my modem and router. What if I turn them off and I need to know a password or something to turn them back on? What if I have to call my cable company? What if I have to go back to looking things up in the encyclopedia and mailing handwritten letters? I was afraid my whole world could change if I snipped the wrong wire.
I called my not-so-local computer guru who helped me identify the little black boxes with blinking lights as the aforementioned modem and router. A patient man, this guru, as he managed to reduce his geeky advice to monosyllables for my more-blonde-than-usual benefit. Said advice boiled down to, "Don't worry, everything will be fine."
And it was, I'm here to say. Of course, I could have claimed an internet blackout as my reason for not writing sooner but I should have thought of that earlier.
I thought it best to be cautious here. Unplugging things I don't completely understand could be a mistake so I changed into something more comfortable and poured myself a glass of wine. "Maybe it will just stop. Or, if I go outside I won't be able to hear it."
Of course, sooner or later I would want to go to bed and the problem would still be there so I decided the first step was to label all the electrical cords that were tangled beneath my desk using what I had on hand: yellow yarn and blue construction paper. What I found was that I had more wires than operational gadgets and when I was done labeling the mess was only slightly more organized and a lot more colorful.
I powered down my computer and monitor but I hesitated with my modem and router. What if I turn them off and I need to know a password or something to turn them back on? What if I have to call my cable company? What if I have to go back to looking things up in the encyclopedia and mailing handwritten letters? I was afraid my whole world could change if I snipped the wrong wire.
I called my not-so-local computer guru who helped me identify the little black boxes with blinking lights as the aforementioned modem and router. A patient man, this guru, as he managed to reduce his geeky advice to monosyllables for my more-blonde-than-usual benefit. Said advice boiled down to, "Don't worry, everything will be fine."
And it was, I'm here to say. Of course, I could have claimed an internet blackout as my reason for not writing sooner but I should have thought of that earlier.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Physics and Pie
Replacing a portion of water with alcohol or vinegar can help impede gluten formation. Rum and vodka were among the students’ favorites....
New York Times: Science Builds a Better PieDo they get college credit for that?
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Class teaches babies to avoid drowning
Class teaches babies to avoid drowning: Kaylee Emmert doesn't walk yet, but she's already learning how to keep herself from drowning. KPTV (7/2/13)Pretty cool video.
Division of Labor
What's the division of labor in your house? I was chatting with a young newlywed recently. Neither she nor her new husband ever had a roommate before. They were not only learning how to live with one, they were learning to be one.
When I first got married, the first time, we assumed traditional roles. I was pretty much in charge everything that took place inside the house and he took care of what was going on outside.
By the first time I got married, the second time, things hadn't changed much except that I was better at asking for help. Still, help was only given when asked for and I was responsible for making sure chores were getting done.
When did I become responsible for the household chores? The house belongs to both of us - both our names are on the deed and the mortgage - so why doesn't it seem we are equally vested in it's upkeep?
"Seem" is the operative word, I suppose, because it all depends on perspective. If we start talking about paying for a new roof, maintaining the cars, or mowing the lawn you can bet Hubby feels he's the one shouldering all the responsibility.
Back in the day when we lived in an apartment and there wasn't much in the way of outdoor chores, I asked my husband how it came to be that I was responsible for the domestic upkeep. We both worked full time. Shouldn't he share in the housecleaning?
He argued that he made more money than I did and therefore his time was more valuable than mine. (Oh, yes he did. Go figure that we're still married.) The point is that he gladly contributed to the housecleaning by paying to hire someone else to do it.
I felt it was wrong for him to buy his way out of what should be his duty to contribute. But I cashed the check anyway. And, why not? He could afford it and was willing to pay for it. Still, I wasn't sure if I had won or lost that argument.
We still follow traditional roles for the most part although he spends more time in the kitchen than he used to and I'll take out the garbage. We still pay to have the house cleaned, and now the lawn mowed. The argument that our time is valuable still applies. But it's more about sanity, enjoying life, and enjoying each other.
And making things work.
When I first got married, the first time, we assumed traditional roles. I was pretty much in charge everything that took place inside the house and he took care of what was going on outside.
By the first time I got married, the second time, things hadn't changed much except that I was better at asking for help. Still, help was only given when asked for and I was responsible for making sure chores were getting done.
When did I become responsible for the household chores? The house belongs to both of us - both our names are on the deed and the mortgage - so why doesn't it seem we are equally vested in it's upkeep?
"Seem" is the operative word, I suppose, because it all depends on perspective. If we start talking about paying for a new roof, maintaining the cars, or mowing the lawn you can bet Hubby feels he's the one shouldering all the responsibility.
Back in the day when we lived in an apartment and there wasn't much in the way of outdoor chores, I asked my husband how it came to be that I was responsible for the domestic upkeep. We both worked full time. Shouldn't he share in the housecleaning?
He argued that he made more money than I did and therefore his time was more valuable than mine. (Oh, yes he did. Go figure that we're still married.) The point is that he gladly contributed to the housecleaning by paying to hire someone else to do it.
I felt it was wrong for him to buy his way out of what should be his duty to contribute. But I cashed the check anyway. And, why not? He could afford it and was willing to pay for it. Still, I wasn't sure if I had won or lost that argument.
We still follow traditional roles for the most part although he spends more time in the kitchen than he used to and I'll take out the garbage. We still pay to have the house cleaned, and now the lawn mowed. The argument that our time is valuable still applies. But it's more about sanity, enjoying life, and enjoying each other.
And making things work.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Moving Daze
 |
| Living room, left; office, right. |
Tuesday, the furniture people came to pick up our rented furniture at our Portland-area condo. The owner of this unit is, unfortunately, separating from his wife and the condo, among other things, is collateral damage. (She gets the condo; he gets the house.)
 |
| Living room, right,; office, left, obscured by boxes. |
We moved one carload to storage (our new place won't be ready for a couple weeks) and moved into a hotel for the remainder of the week.
Day Two: With the furniture gone, I figured it would be a quick process to pack up the two closets, the bathroom, and the kitchen. So I got to work. We took another two carloads to storage but I was surprised that in only a year I had accumulated enough stuff to have to throw unwanted things away. Which, of course, makes me wonder why one accumulates unwanted stuff in the first place.We also moved my office to a temporary, undisclosed location
 |
Looks spacious, no?
 |
| Storage, and "undisclosed location." |
I don't know but we're only at the halfway mark. In a couple weeks, if everything goes to plan, we have to do the same thing in reverse. Clean, move and unpack boxes, get rental furniture.
In the meantime, it's business as usual. As if I had any idea what that means.
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
My Stepson Called Me a Witch
Of course, he meant that in the nicest way possible. He was telling a friend's son that I could fly on my broom and that he had flown with me. The son didn't believe it, so my stepson called me so I could confirm the story.
I told the son it was true but it had been a long time since I'd flown. My stepson was around four years old at the time and we lived in a ground floor apartment. I don't remember why I told my young stepson that I could fly on my broom but he, too, was doubtful. So, I told him I would take him for a ride.
I have to tell you, I would do anything for my stepson (and, now, my grandson) no matter how foolish. In fact, just this last Father's Day, my grandson wanted to walk around the neighborhood to pick flowers for his dad. But, first, he had to dress me. He put a blue knit hat and a red apron on me and off we went, down the street, looking for flowers to pick. Each time he picked one, he would hand it to me to put in the apron's pocket. By the time we were done, I was not only wearing a blue cap and a red apron, but I had a bunch of flowers sticking out of the pocket that was in the middle of my belly.
I told my stepson, those many years ago, to straddle the broom handle behind me and to hold onto me. We had to get some speed up to make it fly so we took off running down the sidewalk in front of our apartment building with the broom between our legs, trying to get enough speed for liftoff.
At this point, I might mention that directly across the street was a mall except that it didn't really matter that we looked ridiculous. When we reached the end of the sidewalk, we tried again running in the other direction, every once in a while giving a little hop in an attempt to launch ourselves into space.
I told all of this to my stepson's friend's son. I corroborated everything my stepson had told the boy. My stepson was happy to remember our flight together.
And, the son? I have no idea what he thought as he drifted away from the other end of the phone line. But next time I see him, I'll be sure to bring my broom.
I told the son it was true but it had been a long time since I'd flown. My stepson was around four years old at the time and we lived in a ground floor apartment. I don't remember why I told my young stepson that I could fly on my broom but he, too, was doubtful. So, I told him I would take him for a ride.
I have to tell you, I would do anything for my stepson (and, now, my grandson) no matter how foolish. In fact, just this last Father's Day, my grandson wanted to walk around the neighborhood to pick flowers for his dad. But, first, he had to dress me. He put a blue knit hat and a red apron on me and off we went, down the street, looking for flowers to pick. Each time he picked one, he would hand it to me to put in the apron's pocket. By the time we were done, I was not only wearing a blue cap and a red apron, but I had a bunch of flowers sticking out of the pocket that was in the middle of my belly.
I told my stepson, those many years ago, to straddle the broom handle behind me and to hold onto me. We had to get some speed up to make it fly so we took off running down the sidewalk in front of our apartment building with the broom between our legs, trying to get enough speed for liftoff.
At this point, I might mention that directly across the street was a mall except that it didn't really matter that we looked ridiculous. When we reached the end of the sidewalk, we tried again running in the other direction, every once in a while giving a little hop in an attempt to launch ourselves into space.
I told all of this to my stepson's friend's son. I corroborated everything my stepson had told the boy. My stepson was happy to remember our flight together.
And, the son? I have no idea what he thought as he drifted away from the other end of the phone line. But next time I see him, I'll be sure to bring my broom.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Dream On
You know what would make baby showers way more fun? Alcohol.
Because baby showers are a drag. You're invited to someone's house - someone you've never met before - to hang around with a bunch of other women you've never met before to play infantile games and ooh and aah over tiny little clothes.
If you've been to one, you've been to them all. Really, I'll just mail you a check and wish you good luck. But I'll have the good taste to pick out a pink or blue greeting card as appropriate to the gender of the coming bundle of joy.
What about the guys? Where are they on baby celebration day? How do they get out of doing this? I mean, really, in this whole baby business the guys really have it easy.
The best baby shower would have guys. And alcohol. Because, you know what? The guys tell different baby stories. They don't talk about how many hours of labor it took or how much the baby weighed. They say things like, "Thank God, we didn't have another girl."
And, they should give out prizes at baby showers. I mean, if you have to play those silly games there should be some incentive. For example, if the prize was something interesting - say, a gift card to Starbucks or something - then GAME ON! I will either win that prize or steal it from whoever does, not that I'm competitive or anything when it comes to coffee. I will guess the baby's future IQ for a cup of coffee.
And food. Lots of really good food. So much food that all our bellies protrude like the mother-to-be's. And wouldn't it be nice if everyone at the shower knew each other and was really fun to be around? And the hostess (and host in this scenario) were really generous people that shared their home with such an unruly mob as one that would openly party in front of a pregnant woman?
Might as well party. The party will be over soon enough.
Yes, that would be the perfect baby shower. I dreamed last night I was at one just like that. It seemed so real. And you were in it.
I even dreamed up some names for the baby. Shorty and Slim.
Well, it must have been a dream. Or, it was the best baby shower ever.
Because baby showers are a drag. You're invited to someone's house - someone you've never met before - to hang around with a bunch of other women you've never met before to play infantile games and ooh and aah over tiny little clothes.
If you've been to one, you've been to them all. Really, I'll just mail you a check and wish you good luck. But I'll have the good taste to pick out a pink or blue greeting card as appropriate to the gender of the coming bundle of joy.
What about the guys? Where are they on baby celebration day? How do they get out of doing this? I mean, really, in this whole baby business the guys really have it easy.
The best baby shower would have guys. And alcohol. Because, you know what? The guys tell different baby stories. They don't talk about how many hours of labor it took or how much the baby weighed. They say things like, "Thank God, we didn't have another girl."
And, they should give out prizes at baby showers. I mean, if you have to play those silly games there should be some incentive. For example, if the prize was something interesting - say, a gift card to Starbucks or something - then GAME ON! I will either win that prize or steal it from whoever does, not that I'm competitive or anything when it comes to coffee. I will guess the baby's future IQ for a cup of coffee.
And food. Lots of really good food. So much food that all our bellies protrude like the mother-to-be's. And wouldn't it be nice if everyone at the shower knew each other and was really fun to be around? And the hostess (and host in this scenario) were really generous people that shared their home with such an unruly mob as one that would openly party in front of a pregnant woman?
Might as well party. The party will be over soon enough.
Yes, that would be the perfect baby shower. I dreamed last night I was at one just like that. It seemed so real. And you were in it.
I even dreamed up some names for the baby. Shorty and Slim.
Well, it must have been a dream. Or, it was the best baby shower ever.
Interurban
When you split your time between the East Coast and the West Coast, you can call yourself “bicoastal.” What about when you’re splitting your time between two cities, like Jeff, who splits his time between New York City and Boston?
Grammar Girl : Are You Interurban?Personally, I like "unicoastal nomad."
Friday, June 21, 2013
Unadulterated
Some friends of ours caught a salmon yesterday morning and gave us half of it. It doesn't get fresher than that. Out of the Columbia River and into my frying pan.
I cooked it in bacon grease.
Ha.
Okay, before you get all crazy, I made a potato salad of sorts to go with the fish as a side dish and the potato salad called for bacon in the recipe. So, of course, I made some. My plan was to pan fry the fish anyway, my oven being used for the potatoes and I having no grill. Why not cook it in the rendered bacon fat?
Why not, indeed? Does not bacon make everything better?
I can answer categorically, Yes!
It was, in a word, delicious. A tasty, bacony, crust seared onto the flesh of my freshly caught treasure. I cooked it all knowing full well there would be leftovers of both fish and salad. The two will be combined for dinner tonight as a salmon and potato salad.
With Life of Pi on the side.
I cooked it in bacon grease.
Ha.
Okay, before you get all crazy, I made a potato salad of sorts to go with the fish as a side dish and the potato salad called for bacon in the recipe. So, of course, I made some. My plan was to pan fry the fish anyway, my oven being used for the potatoes and I having no grill. Why not cook it in the rendered bacon fat?
Why not, indeed? Does not bacon make everything better?
I can answer categorically, Yes!
It was, in a word, delicious. A tasty, bacony, crust seared onto the flesh of my freshly caught treasure. I cooked it all knowing full well there would be leftovers of both fish and salad. The two will be combined for dinner tonight as a salmon and potato salad.
With Life of Pi on the side.
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Accountants are Sexy
Accountant Wins Miss USA Contest
She also probably could have told the pageant judges something about the depreciation of fixed assets, if only they had asked.Yes, if only.
Accounting Today
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Just Like Camping Only Different
We drove in two cars to Eastern Washington, the boys in one car and the girls in the other. There was a video playing in the boys' car to entertain the four-year-old and the girls' car had to make two stops to change the diaper and refill the bottle for the baby. The drive took longer than planned but we got there with nearly all our nerves intact.
Released, the kids dissipated into the atmosphere, one racing around the yard and the other being passed from one family memeber to the other. (You can figure out which was which.) Hugs all around, we hauled food, drinks, clothes, toys, and the diaper bag into the house and staked a corner for ourselves.
The 1,200 square foot house hosted ten people that night. Technically, there were two bathrooms but one was in the master bedroom so effectively there was only one bathroom for all the guests to share. There were another five people staying in a trailer across the street, and two more that got a hotel room. (The two in the hotel room probably had the right idea.)
We ate well all weekend, grazing frequently on everything from Cheetos to fresh picked cherries whether we were truly hungry or not. We sat in a row of rocking chairs on the covered front porch, and we slept wherever we found an empty bed or couch.
By the time we left we were well sated. And ready for a proper shower.
There's only so many times a person wants to hear the audio from Prep and Landing coming from the back seat of a car, so I'm told. Five hours later, we were at the rendezvous point to return the kiddies to their rightful owner. An hour later, we were home.
A nanosecond after that, I was taking a long, hot shower.
Released, the kids dissipated into the atmosphere, one racing around the yard and the other being passed from one family memeber to the other. (You can figure out which was which.) Hugs all around, we hauled food, drinks, clothes, toys, and the diaper bag into the house and staked a corner for ourselves.
The 1,200 square foot house hosted ten people that night. Technically, there were two bathrooms but one was in the master bedroom so effectively there was only one bathroom for all the guests to share. There were another five people staying in a trailer across the street, and two more that got a hotel room. (The two in the hotel room probably had the right idea.)
We ate well all weekend, grazing frequently on everything from Cheetos to fresh picked cherries whether we were truly hungry or not. We sat in a row of rocking chairs on the covered front porch, and we slept wherever we found an empty bed or couch.
By the time we left we were well sated. And ready for a proper shower.
There's only so many times a person wants to hear the audio from Prep and Landing coming from the back seat of a car, so I'm told. Five hours later, we were at the rendezvous point to return the kiddies to their rightful owner. An hour later, we were home.
A nanosecond after that, I was taking a long, hot shower.
Saturday, June 15, 2013
Happy Father's Day
We have the grandkids this weekend. They spent the night last night at our house and today, we're driving to Coulee City. Mark is working there on a wheat farm for a couple weeks and we thought we'd bring the kids to see him for Father's Day. Hubby's dad will be there too, some other dads. There will be big cookout, good weather, and family gathering mayhem.
But there won't be internet service *gasp* or even cell service *faint*. (It's been a while since we've been there so may Sprint has improved its coverage area since then.)
So, this is my Father's Day post.
Remember that video of me singing "Crazy" by Patsy Cline. I was wearing a cowboy hat. Well, my brother just recently saw this and responded by writing lyrics of his own. I thought they would make the perfect Father's Day post:
But there won't be internet service *gasp* or even cell service *faint*. (It's been a while since we've been there so may Sprint has improved its coverage area since then.)
So, this is my Father's Day post.
Remember that video of me singing "Crazy" by Patsy Cline. I was wearing a cowboy hat. Well, my brother just recently saw this and responded by writing lyrics of his own. I thought they would make the perfect Father's Day post:
Lazy, I'm lazy with no reason to be.
I'm lazy, lazy with things I should do.
I knew
this list would make me fell daunted.
But then tomorrow
I will be totally screwed.
Hurry, why wont I let myself hurry?
Thinking, maybe I'm getting the flu.
Lazy, maybe that was too much junk food
I'm lazy and buying, these things I'm not trying,
there's just too much stuff here to do.
You'll be first to know if we produce a video.
Happy Father's Day!
Thursday, June 13, 2013
Good Eats
The Grilled Chicken Salad on Tuesday was very good although I wouldn't marinate the chicken that way again. It didn't add that much flavor to the chicken and was more trouble than it was worth, causing the chicken to stick to the grill and making turning the chicken difficult. Any grilled, or pre-cooked, chicken will do as all the flavor is in the dressing. (I might try rubbing the chicken with garlic, ginger, and olive oil rather than trying to marinate it in a yogurt dressing next time.) I used a cup and a half of raisins instead of grapes, soaking them in warm water for about 10-15 minutes. This recipe will go into my "boat recipes" file because it can easily be made ahead of time and can be used as a side salad or served on top of a bed of lettuce for a main meal which how we ate it. Plus, it makes enough to enjoy more than once.
Wednesday's Mediterranean Supper Omelet was marvelous although I made several modifications to the recipe. I got olives from the "olive bar" at the local grocery where I could buy only the amount I needed rather than a whole jar of something. Unfortunately, there were very few green olives left in the tub and some of them looked a little past their prime. I also purchased some tapenade to be used as an appetizer along the way and as a possible backup to the somewhat sketchy green olives. I couldn't find crumbled goat cheese Provencal so I just used plain crumbled goat cheese and that worked out fine.
The green olives were very salty. So salty, there was no olive taste. I chopped them up anyway but didn't dare use more than the quarter cup the recipe called for. We had eaten some of the tapenade earlier in the week but I tossed what remained into the mix. I also had two cooked sausages leftover from an earlier breakfast so I chopped them up and tossed them in as well.
Once the filling was mixed, Hubby was in charge of the eggs. He was extremely patient and took nearly a half hour to get the eggs to set before we added the filling. I am not nearly that patient and would have either scrambled the whole mess or made a frittata by popping it in the oven to bake the upside. But it was worth the wait. It came out picture perfect.
We had some hash browns leftover from the weekend and served those on the side. We shared this, by the way, and it was very filling.
I switched things up last night and made the Orzo Salad with Spicy Buttermilk Dressing instead of the Rösti Casserole with Baked Eggs which I will make tonight. I didn't deviate from the recipe this time, except that I made my own buttermilk. This vegetarian dish will also go into my "boat" folder. This one took a lot of time only because it has lots of ingredients to clean and chop. I always get my ingredients ready to go before I start but one time saver would have been to make the dressing while the orzo was boiling. The only thing I might add to this dish might be raisins (again, soaked beforehand) as a little sweetness against the spices but it was fine without them. We at this for dinner and it was plenty with plenty leftover.
I might have used the Kindle Fire in the kitchen to display last night's recipe while I was cooking but I didn't think of it until this morning. As it was, I had the recipe on my second monitor in my office which is really a makeshift setup atop the dining table just outside the kitchen door. I went back and forth between kitchen and "office" as I made my way through the instructions. Hardly convenient.
Here, again, my phone would have been more convenient as this kitchen is so small that it cannot afford to give up any counter space when more than five ingredients are involved in preparing dinner. I might have managed with the phone. Better still would have been paper which I could have hung from the magnetic closures on my cabinet doors.
Tonight, I'll make the Rösti Casserole with Baked Eggs which I've made before and may have already mentioned here.
Meanwhile, the Kindle and I are still struggling to find common ground.
Wednesday's Mediterranean Supper Omelet was marvelous although I made several modifications to the recipe. I got olives from the "olive bar" at the local grocery where I could buy only the amount I needed rather than a whole jar of something. Unfortunately, there were very few green olives left in the tub and some of them looked a little past their prime. I also purchased some tapenade to be used as an appetizer along the way and as a possible backup to the somewhat sketchy green olives. I couldn't find crumbled goat cheese Provencal so I just used plain crumbled goat cheese and that worked out fine.
The green olives were very salty. So salty, there was no olive taste. I chopped them up anyway but didn't dare use more than the quarter cup the recipe called for. We had eaten some of the tapenade earlier in the week but I tossed what remained into the mix. I also had two cooked sausages leftover from an earlier breakfast so I chopped them up and tossed them in as well.
Once the filling was mixed, Hubby was in charge of the eggs. He was extremely patient and took nearly a half hour to get the eggs to set before we added the filling. I am not nearly that patient and would have either scrambled the whole mess or made a frittata by popping it in the oven to bake the upside. But it was worth the wait. It came out picture perfect.
 |
| Picture, perfect. |
I switched things up last night and made the Orzo Salad with Spicy Buttermilk Dressing instead of the Rösti Casserole with Baked Eggs which I will make tonight. I didn't deviate from the recipe this time, except that I made my own buttermilk. This vegetarian dish will also go into my "boat" folder. This one took a lot of time only because it has lots of ingredients to clean and chop. I always get my ingredients ready to go before I start but one time saver would have been to make the dressing while the orzo was boiling. The only thing I might add to this dish might be raisins (again, soaked beforehand) as a little sweetness against the spices but it was fine without them. We at this for dinner and it was plenty with plenty leftover.
I might have used the Kindle Fire in the kitchen to display last night's recipe while I was cooking but I didn't think of it until this morning. As it was, I had the recipe on my second monitor in my office which is really a makeshift setup atop the dining table just outside the kitchen door. I went back and forth between kitchen and "office" as I made my way through the instructions. Hardly convenient.
Here, again, my phone would have been more convenient as this kitchen is so small that it cannot afford to give up any counter space when more than five ingredients are involved in preparing dinner. I might have managed with the phone. Better still would have been paper which I could have hung from the magnetic closures on my cabinet doors.
Tonight, I'll make the Rösti Casserole with Baked Eggs which I've made before and may have already mentioned here.
Meanwhile, the Kindle and I are still struggling to find common ground.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Underwhelmed
Does anyone have a Kindle Fire HD and like it? Please tell me why.
I just got one yesterday to replace the one I lost on a recent trip. The one I lost was the original version. It didn't do anything but read. It had very few buttons and the ones that were there were simply for navigation. They were easy to locate and use. You could enter text but the device wasn't designed to be used for that. All it did was provide delivery of digital reading content. That's it. It was lightweight, fit in my pocket, and could be read anywhere one could read a paper book. And, with another internet device, I could go to the library in my bathrobe.
I'm less than 24 hours into my experience with the new Fire and I want to send it back.
Out of the box, the Fire was heavy and I couldn't find the ON button. Once on, and an internet connection was made, I was presented with my home screen which was a carousel of books I've already purchased or am currently reading. (Currently, I'm reading Life of Pi quite comfortably on my phone.)
Presumably, no one gets a Fire without wanting video content so I spent very little time with the books that were on my new device and sought out video. I connected to Amazon.com and found $79 worth of nothing. With my Fire, I also purchased Amazon Prime which allows me to watch thousands of videos for free with my $79 subscription. Now, it's possible they have something I want to watch but it wasn't readily apparent.
Hulu's TV content is at least more current but to watch it on a mobile device you have to subscribe to Hulu Plus for $8/month. While I've watched Hulu on my laptop before, I wouldn't pay for the upgrade to watch it on a mobile device. Not when I'm paying such a fortune to my cable provider. If I cut that cord, then I would think about it.
Instead of watching a movie on my Kindle last night, I went to the local RedBox instead. For about a dollar.
I've been drooling for a tablet but to be honest I'm not sure why. Whatever the reason, I don't think the Fire is what I'm looking for. My phone is an Android device and my kool aid of choice is Google. While I'm sure the Fire will allow me to log onto my Google Drive, it doesn't provide any more convenience than my phone. For example, I don't think I would use the Fire for my grocery list. An Android tablet device would presumably give me an experience that is a blend between my phone and my laptop, just a sexy toy that hopefully combines the versatility of my computer with the mobility of my phone. With that expectation, the Fire just doesn't cut it.
Prime also gets me free shipping from Amazon which guarantees that I will buy absolutely everything in the future from Amazon, speaking of kool aid. But for my money, I'd rather have a new espresso machine.
You know what this machine does? Exactly what I want it to do. It freaking brews espresso. And I really want a new espresso maker for our Portland-area apartment. The one I have may meet with the same end as my Kindle Fire.
I just got one yesterday to replace the one I lost on a recent trip. The one I lost was the original version. It didn't do anything but read. It had very few buttons and the ones that were there were simply for navigation. They were easy to locate and use. You could enter text but the device wasn't designed to be used for that. All it did was provide delivery of digital reading content. That's it. It was lightweight, fit in my pocket, and could be read anywhere one could read a paper book. And, with another internet device, I could go to the library in my bathrobe.
I'm less than 24 hours into my experience with the new Fire and I want to send it back.
Out of the box, the Fire was heavy and I couldn't find the ON button. Once on, and an internet connection was made, I was presented with my home screen which was a carousel of books I've already purchased or am currently reading. (Currently, I'm reading Life of Pi quite comfortably on my phone.)
Presumably, no one gets a Fire without wanting video content so I spent very little time with the books that were on my new device and sought out video. I connected to Amazon.com and found $79 worth of nothing. With my Fire, I also purchased Amazon Prime which allows me to watch thousands of videos for free with my $79 subscription. Now, it's possible they have something I want to watch but it wasn't readily apparent.
Hulu's TV content is at least more current but to watch it on a mobile device you have to subscribe to Hulu Plus for $8/month. While I've watched Hulu on my laptop before, I wouldn't pay for the upgrade to watch it on a mobile device. Not when I'm paying such a fortune to my cable provider. If I cut that cord, then I would think about it.
Instead of watching a movie on my Kindle last night, I went to the local RedBox instead. For about a dollar.
I've been drooling for a tablet but to be honest I'm not sure why. Whatever the reason, I don't think the Fire is what I'm looking for. My phone is an Android device and my kool aid of choice is Google. While I'm sure the Fire will allow me to log onto my Google Drive, it doesn't provide any more convenience than my phone. For example, I don't think I would use the Fire for my grocery list. An Android tablet device would presumably give me an experience that is a blend between my phone and my laptop, just a sexy toy that hopefully combines the versatility of my computer with the mobility of my phone. With that expectation, the Fire just doesn't cut it.
Prime also gets me free shipping from Amazon which guarantees that I will buy absolutely everything in the future from Amazon, speaking of kool aid. But for my money, I'd rather have a new espresso machine.
 |
| I've been good, Santa. Must I wait another six months? |
See? If the Kindle Fire could make a good cup of coffee we'd be having an entirely different conversation here.
Or, find my socks. It's laundry day.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Results, Day One
Last night's dinner turned out pretty good but the real star of the show was the Key Lime Pie. I used a pre-made crust but used fresh lime juice and made my own whipped cream. And, I learned a convenient little trick.
Have you ever made a cream pie and not known how to cover it? I used to stick toothpicks in the top of the pie and then drape plastic wrap over the top so the plastic wrap wouldn't stick to the pie. But lo! You can use the plastic top of your pre-made pie crust. Wash the plastic top, un-crimp the foil around the edge of the pie, invert the top over the pie, re-crimp foil to seal.
Was I the only one who didn't already know this?
 |
| Photo: Randy Mayor; Styilst: Cindy Barr |
Have you ever made a cream pie and not known how to cover it? I used to stick toothpicks in the top of the pie and then drape plastic wrap over the top so the plastic wrap wouldn't stick to the pie. But lo! You can use the plastic top of your pre-made pie crust. Wash the plastic top, un-crimp the foil around the edge of the pie, invert the top over the pie, re-crimp foil to seal.
Was I the only one who didn't already know this?
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Feeling Energetic
A weekend that isn't fully scheduled usually leads to cooking. This is my menu plan for the week including links to recipes.
I'll let you know how it turns out.
Sat - Grilled chicken and asparagus
Sun - Grilled Chicken Salad
Mon - Mediterranean Supper omelet
Tue - leftover chicken (travel)
Wed - Rösti Casserole with Baked Eggs
Thu - Orzo Salad
Fri - leftover pizza (travel)
Sat - Burgers and Potato SaladI think I'll make a Key Lime Pie today, too.
I'll let you know how it turns out.
Friday, June 7, 2013
Fourth of July Forecast
 |
| Forecast for Fourth of July |
How to Make Chicken and Snap Pea Stir Fry without Chicken or Snap Peas
First, select a recipe for which you have none of the ingredients. I selected Spicy Orange Chicken Stir Fry from Epicurious.com. This website has a weekly meal planner series called Dinner Rush which is a great resource when you need to come up with an answer to "What's for dinner?" (I also like CookingLight.com's monthly meal planner. June's calender serves up daily salad recipes.)
Next, take stock of what you have and what you need. I had some of the ingredients but lacked the main ingredients, namely chicken and snap peas. I had a package of peas in the freezer but I had some English cucumber leftover from the previous night's meal. So I headed for the store to get some chicken for my renamed Spicy Orange Chicken and English Cucumber Stir Fry.
Easy enough, I thought.
I like to buy baked chicken from the deli because I don't know how to bake one myself. How hard could it be, to bake a chicken? Turn on oven, insert chicken, bake. It seems to take an inordinate amount of time and I always under-cook it. For five dollars, I can buy a whole baked chicken and someone else did all the work.
Usually, I will buy a whole baked chicken and cut it into its major parts, using what I need for a particular recipe and saving the rest for future meals. If I'm really energetic, I'll boil the bones and skin for stock. But such was not the case this night. I only wanted to buy a breast.
The deli only had fried, not baked, chicken parts so I sought out a whole one. The store was temporarily out of whole baked chickens so I headed for the meat case. (I was stir frying, not baking - I could manage to cook a breast in a skillet.)
The meat case had rows upon rows of chicken skewers but not a single chicken breast. I finally headed to the packaged meats in search of a single breast. I knew I wouldn't find it but I was only cooking for two so I was looking for the smallest package size available. I found one clever package that contained three separate pouches of chicken breasts so that you could open one and leave the other two pouches intact. The pouches either contained two breasts each or those breasts were enormous. In either case, even one pouch of the questionable chicken was too much for this meal.
Having completely struck out, I headed for the fish counter. I should have considered chicken thighs but I was so confounded by not being able to by a chicken breast that I didn't even think of it. How is it possible to walk into a major grocery chain store and not be able to buy "one of the most used meats in the world"?
Sea scallops struck my fancy so I purchased six of the mollusks and headed home to whisk together my Sea Scallop and English Cucumber Stir Fry. I purchased fresh Valencia oranges instead of the juice and I had leftover parsley and nuts at home.
Finally, we sat down to a delicious meal well worth the trouble: Spicy Valencia Sea Scallop and English Cucumber Stir Fry with Cashews and Parsley.
Next: How to Make Hamburgers without Ground Beef
 |
| Photo By: Elinor Carucci |
Easy enough, I thought.
I like to buy baked chicken from the deli because I don't know how to bake one myself. How hard could it be, to bake a chicken? Turn on oven, insert chicken, bake. It seems to take an inordinate amount of time and I always under-cook it. For five dollars, I can buy a whole baked chicken and someone else did all the work.
Usually, I will buy a whole baked chicken and cut it into its major parts, using what I need for a particular recipe and saving the rest for future meals. If I'm really energetic, I'll boil the bones and skin for stock. But such was not the case this night. I only wanted to buy a breast.
The deli only had fried, not baked, chicken parts so I sought out a whole one. The store was temporarily out of whole baked chickens so I headed for the meat case. (I was stir frying, not baking - I could manage to cook a breast in a skillet.)
The meat case had rows upon rows of chicken skewers but not a single chicken breast. I finally headed to the packaged meats in search of a single breast. I knew I wouldn't find it but I was only cooking for two so I was looking for the smallest package size available. I found one clever package that contained three separate pouches of chicken breasts so that you could open one and leave the other two pouches intact. The pouches either contained two breasts each or those breasts were enormous. In either case, even one pouch of the questionable chicken was too much for this meal.
Having completely struck out, I headed for the fish counter. I should have considered chicken thighs but I was so confounded by not being able to by a chicken breast that I didn't even think of it. How is it possible to walk into a major grocery chain store and not be able to buy "one of the most used meats in the world"?
Sea scallops struck my fancy so I purchased six of the mollusks and headed home to whisk together my Sea Scallop and English Cucumber Stir Fry. I purchased fresh Valencia oranges instead of the juice and I had leftover parsley and nuts at home.
Finally, we sat down to a delicious meal well worth the trouble: Spicy Valencia Sea Scallop and English Cucumber Stir Fry with Cashews and Parsley.
Next: How to Make Hamburgers without Ground Beef
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
More Than Medium
We went out for Thai food recently and upon placing our order the waiter asked how spicy we wanted our dish. He said we could choose between 1 and 5, with three being medium.
I like my food just a little past medium so I said I would like it 3.14159.
I like my food just a little past medium so I said I would like it 3.14159.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Car prowler steals sex toys
Car prowler steals sex toys
"It broke my heart," said Haleigh Kirby, the bride-to-be, about the theft. "Chelsey's worked so hard for so long on all this, and she's done a really good job, and it's just sad to see someone come and take all that away like that. I don't even know what they could use it for."
Friday, May 31, 2013
Ripped
What's the proper burial procedure for a pair of jean? Not just any pair of jeans, but jeans you plain wore out? Jeans that look like this:
I don't remember the exact moment when this last event happened but if you look very closely, there are five holes in the back of this pair of jeans. Two on the left, an obvious opening on the right, a small tear just below the right pocket, and a one on the right below the largest of holes. This one was professionally repaired some years ago.
No kidding. I sent them to Denim Therapy for repair. I remember when I sent them the guy at the Post Office wondered what kind of problems my pants could have that might require that I ship them to New York for therapy. That repair job gave me several more years in this pair of jeans.
But the end was near. I knew I couldn't send them to New York for therapy every time they fell apart. So I did what I could to keep it all together, uncomfortable as it could be at times.
My homemade remedies made things difficult. To walk, especially, or sit. This is what it was like for my jeans. On the inside:
Clearly, they needed therapy.
Now that it's over, how does one pay proper respect? I have one vote for Daisy Dukes but that's not fair to anyone, imo, although it might fuel a fantasy or two.
Maybe I can salvage parts. Harvest the pockets for a pair of jeans incapable of carrying items. Donate the zipper to one who needs closure, rivets to another who needs strength. My jeans could live on through others.
I'm having trouble letting go.
Maybe I'm the one who needs therapy.
I don't remember the exact moment when this last event happened but if you look very closely, there are five holes in the back of this pair of jeans. Two on the left, an obvious opening on the right, a small tear just below the right pocket, and a one on the right below the largest of holes. This one was professionally repaired some years ago.
No kidding. I sent them to Denim Therapy for repair. I remember when I sent them the guy at the Post Office wondered what kind of problems my pants could have that might require that I ship them to New York for therapy. That repair job gave me several more years in this pair of jeans.
But the end was near. I knew I couldn't send them to New York for therapy every time they fell apart. So I did what I could to keep it all together, uncomfortable as it could be at times.
My homemade remedies made things difficult. To walk, especially, or sit. This is what it was like for my jeans. On the inside:
Clearly, they needed therapy.
Now that it's over, how does one pay proper respect? I have one vote for Daisy Dukes but that's not fair to anyone, imo, although it might fuel a fantasy or two.
Maybe I can salvage parts. Harvest the pockets for a pair of jeans incapable of carrying items. Donate the zipper to one who needs closure, rivets to another who needs strength. My jeans could live on through others.
I'm having trouble letting go.
Maybe I'm the one who needs therapy.
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Someone Left a Cat Out in the Rain
That's the lyric, isn't it? Because, otherwise, it wouldn't make any sense.
But, in fact, that's exactly what happened today. I was doing laundry (one might think that's all I ever do) and it was raining. As I was coming out of the laundry room in the next building over, a striped cat decided it was coming in. It headed straight for a second floor apartment and mewed to be let it.
Except no one was home. What was I to do? Leave it in the hallway of the apartment building? I encouraged it to leave only it darted for the basement. I wasn't about to chase it. It was already wet and angry at not being let into its apartment. Instead, I opened the exterior door and called to it sweetly.
It peered at me from around the corner of the down staircase with a look of "Are you kidding?" My return stare said, "Come play with me. I have string."
The unnamed cat's eyes queried, "Really? Don't mess with me." In reply, I tapped my fingernails on the tile floor with "Yes, and so much more."
The cat believed me and, after a time, left the building of its own accord but of course that's where it ended. It looked at me with expectation in the rain and all I could say was, "I'm sorry."
In and out of the laundry room I went but I was wise to the cat now and didn't let it in. And it rained all day. Each time I came and went - whether it was to the laundry or elsewhere - the cat gave me a look of "You betrayed me."
And it's true. I left the cat out in the rain.
But, in fact, that's exactly what happened today. I was doing laundry (one might think that's all I ever do) and it was raining. As I was coming out of the laundry room in the next building over, a striped cat decided it was coming in. It headed straight for a second floor apartment and mewed to be let it.
Except no one was home. What was I to do? Leave it in the hallway of the apartment building? I encouraged it to leave only it darted for the basement. I wasn't about to chase it. It was already wet and angry at not being let into its apartment. Instead, I opened the exterior door and called to it sweetly.
It peered at me from around the corner of the down staircase with a look of "Are you kidding?" My return stare said, "Come play with me. I have string."
The unnamed cat's eyes queried, "Really? Don't mess with me." In reply, I tapped my fingernails on the tile floor with "Yes, and so much more."
The cat believed me and, after a time, left the building of its own accord but of course that's where it ended. It looked at me with expectation in the rain and all I could say was, "I'm sorry."
In and out of the laundry room I went but I was wise to the cat now and didn't let it in. And it rained all day. Each time I came and went - whether it was to the laundry or elsewhere - the cat gave me a look of "You betrayed me."
And it's true. I left the cat out in the rain.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Tied Up
Locks
Travelling home from Port Ludlow, we necessarily needed to pass through the locks to get to our home port. It was an ebb tide as we tied up under the Salmon Bay Bridge and waited in the rain for our chance to lock through. About an hour passed before the light on the small locks turned green at which precise moment our fearless Captain noticed the boat was listing.
The water level had dropped, by my estimation, a foot while we were waiting. We were hung up on our lines which, by the way, were sopping wet and holding fast. Fortunately, we were able to loosen the lines without losing any fingers or having to cut them away (the lines, not our fingers) - and before our cleats tore away. However, the barnacles encrusting the wall to which we were fastened did a pretty good number slicing through our blue gel coat.
Everything worked out fine but I was surprised at how quickly the water level dropped in such a short period of time. It could have been worse.
Apartment Update
The unit for which we had hoped to apply got rented before we got our application in. Still looking....
Three Sheets
Someone mentioned to me over the weekend I should write a gossip column for the yacht club. I'm thinking about calling it Three Sheets.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Oh, Wait.
I think we found a place. It will definitely be bigger but, of course, it would be difficult to find anything smaller. And, it will be more expensive but, again, it would be hard to find something as inexpensive. It'll be nice to have a kitchen big enough that I can't touch all four walls all at the same time. There's a pool and a workout room and I won't have to lug my laundry in the rain anymore. There's also a half-mile walking trail but it doesn't go anywhere. In fact, the new place isn't close to anything, except work.
Oh, wait. Maybe we should rethink this.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Location, Location, Location
We have to move. The guy who owns the condo that we're renting in Vancouver wants his place back so he's asked us to move out by July 1. It's exhausting looking for new digs, especially when we're only here for a few days per week and somewhere in there I'm also supposed to be getting some work done. This weekend is Memorial Day Weekend so I'm also trying to get ready for that. We're boating to Port Ludlow and I'm trying to get some of the food prepared in advanced.
The good news is that we really don't have to make a speedy decision. We can always spend a month or two in a hotel until we find something we really like. The problem is that absolutely every other place is bigger (which is a good thing) but it's also more expensive and less desirably situated. Vancouver has lots of apartment inventory to choose from but there are very limited options in the downtown area where we are now.
Now, I can walk to more coffee shops than I can count, two of which are Starbucks. There are two movie theaters (one of the blockbuster variety, the other of the historical artsy-fartsy variety), plenty of restaurant choices, a Red Box, a national park, the library, and the Columbia River - all within walking distance. The grocery store is just out of walking range but there's a nice store nearby. The location is unrivaled, and absolutely unavailable at the rent we are currently paying.
Bigger might be nicer, but that means we have to buy or rent more furniture and there's more to take care of. I'll get laundry in my new apartment which will be a huge bonus, but I have stacks of quarters that have been amassed and are all queued up and ready to go. What will become of those?
Perhaps, in our new place, my socks will be less likely to defect.
The good news is that we really don't have to make a speedy decision. We can always spend a month or two in a hotel until we find something we really like. The problem is that absolutely every other place is bigger (which is a good thing) but it's also more expensive and less desirably situated. Vancouver has lots of apartment inventory to choose from but there are very limited options in the downtown area where we are now.
Now, I can walk to more coffee shops than I can count, two of which are Starbucks. There are two movie theaters (one of the blockbuster variety, the other of the historical artsy-fartsy variety), plenty of restaurant choices, a Red Box, a national park, the library, and the Columbia River - all within walking distance. The grocery store is just out of walking range but there's a nice store nearby. The location is unrivaled, and absolutely unavailable at the rent we are currently paying.
Bigger might be nicer, but that means we have to buy or rent more furniture and there's more to take care of. I'll get laundry in my new apartment which will be a huge bonus, but I have stacks of quarters that have been amassed and are all queued up and ready to go. What will become of those?
Perhaps, in our new place, my socks will be less likely to defect.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Another Narrow Escape
Is it me? Or, did my shoes raise a stink? Because, my socks want out. Recently, and I'm talking in the last year or so, my socks have been making increasingly more daring attempts at escaping the laundry cycle and I'm left to wonder why. This trend commenced when I started using a coin-op for laundry (which may be my answer right there). I can certainly understand my undergarment's distaste for a poor man's laundry facility, snooty undergarments that they are, but I don't always use coin-op. Indeed, I only use it half the time. That being said, I have never witnessed such brazen attempts at home where pocket change comes out of the laundry and is not required, in fact, to operate it.
Until today. I found a blue-striped sock hanging outside the cuff of Hubby's blue-striped shirt. (Maybe they were in cahoots.) And then, for reasons I can't possibly explain, I checked the other sleeve and there I found the blue-striped mate, no less, hiding completely out of sight in the other sleeve, laid flat along the length of it.
Something is definitely afoot.
Until today. I found a blue-striped sock hanging outside the cuff of Hubby's blue-striped shirt. (Maybe they were in cahoots.) And then, for reasons I can't possibly explain, I checked the other sleeve and there I found the blue-striped mate, no less, hiding completely out of sight in the other sleeve, laid flat along the length of it.
Something is definitely afoot.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Spam!
Spam is a big deal in Hawaii. So big, they shut down a stretch of a busy retail-fronted street and have a festival devoted to the canned meat.
We sampled Spam Yakisoba for dinner.
The Waikiki Spam® Jam is a street festival that celebrates the people of Hawaii’s love for Spam®, a canned meat from Hormel Foods. In Hawaii, you will find Spam® at all grocery and convenience stores, many restaurants and in most homes in Hawaii.
This street festival is great for all ages, as the event includes Hawaii’s top restaurants, two stages with free entertainment, and a variety of Hawaiian crafters. This is also a special event that benefits the Hawaii Foodbank, the largest non-profit in Hawaii that feeds the needy.So big, the Waikiki Spam Jam offers air and hotel packages.
We sampled Spam Yakisoba for dinner.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Comparing Tax Day to running a marathon suddenly seems wholly inappropriate. It's nothing like running the Boston Marathon this April 15th. It was just after my last post that I learned of the news of the horrific events that were unfolding in Boston.
Finish last tax return. Check.
Post to Chocolate Chip Mint about finishing last tax return. Check.
Post to Facebook. Wait... what's this? A friend posted that someone had bombed the Boston Marathon and urged people to search news sources for more information. A quick search resulted in an article. It had pictures. I was staring at my screen in disbelief when my office manager came around the corner with another tax return. (We weren't nearly as close to finishing as I thought.)
I spun around in my chair to face her and she laughed at the blank look on my face. She had very good reason to think my expression was simply the glazed over look of the overworked and overtired. I tried to correct her. I told her someone bombed the Boston Marathon. I had to say it twice before she looked past me to the images on my computer screen.
Unbelievable.
Of course, my first thought was for the Grump and the offices of the Internet's Most Exclusive Blog. But it only took me a moment to consider that it was highly unlikely the Grump was a participant although there was a very slight possibility he was an onlooker. Staying in touch with the site assured me that everyone affiliated with 76003.1414 was safe.
How crazy was this week for Boston and it's neighbors? Other worldly. I am six time zones away watching the events unfold with everyone else from every place in the nation (and well beyond). I feel so far away but still feel the nationalism such a tragedy inspires.
How can preparing 200 tax returns in a few compressed weeks compare to that? I have my legs. I have my life. We, here at Chocolate Chip Mint, wish to express our sorrow for the people of Boston and Massachusetts, for the participants of the marathon who traveled great distances and fervently chased their aspirations just to get there, the onlookers, the organizers of the marathon, runners as a community, people all over the world who were connected to the Marathon in one way or another, and people who had nothing to do with the Marathon but were caught up in its events nonetheless. Above all, we express our condolences to the victims and their families.
What do such tragedies inspire? Where do we go from here? The purest moment is already gone. The media frenzy will dissolve into politics. Politics will dissolve into passivity. We'll all move on and forget. There will be movies, eventually.
Just for now, we are together, united somehow. That's all we have and we should embrace that, if nothing else.
Finish last tax return. Check.
Post to Chocolate Chip Mint about finishing last tax return. Check.
Post to Facebook. Wait... what's this? A friend posted that someone had bombed the Boston Marathon and urged people to search news sources for more information. A quick search resulted in an article. It had pictures. I was staring at my screen in disbelief when my office manager came around the corner with another tax return. (We weren't nearly as close to finishing as I thought.)
I spun around in my chair to face her and she laughed at the blank look on my face. She had very good reason to think my expression was simply the glazed over look of the overworked and overtired. I tried to correct her. I told her someone bombed the Boston Marathon. I had to say it twice before she looked past me to the images on my computer screen.
Unbelievable.
Of course, my first thought was for the Grump and the offices of the Internet's Most Exclusive Blog. But it only took me a moment to consider that it was highly unlikely the Grump was a participant although there was a very slight possibility he was an onlooker. Staying in touch with the site assured me that everyone affiliated with 76003.1414 was safe.
How crazy was this week for Boston and it's neighbors? Other worldly. I am six time zones away watching the events unfold with everyone else from every place in the nation (and well beyond). I feel so far away but still feel the nationalism such a tragedy inspires.
How can preparing 200 tax returns in a few compressed weeks compare to that? I have my legs. I have my life. We, here at Chocolate Chip Mint, wish to express our sorrow for the people of Boston and Massachusetts, for the participants of the marathon who traveled great distances and fervently chased their aspirations just to get there, the onlookers, the organizers of the marathon, runners as a community, people all over the world who were connected to the Marathon in one way or another, and people who had nothing to do with the Marathon but were caught up in its events nonetheless. Above all, we express our condolences to the victims and their families.
What do such tragedies inspire? Where do we go from here? The purest moment is already gone. The media frenzy will dissolve into politics. Politics will dissolve into passivity. We'll all move on and forget. There will be movies, eventually.
Just for now, we are together, united somehow. That's all we have and we should embrace that, if nothing else.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Battle Day!
...as my Office Manager calls it.
March 31st was my last day off. Tomorrow is my next day off.
Today is like running the last mile of a marathon. Exhausting and exhilarating, all at the same time. Dazed, fazed, derelict in avoiding work. Charged up, worn out. Confused and focused. Hopeful and hopeless.
Kellie is already at the office doing battle. She bought a latte for me and put in on my desk to lure me in.
It's working.
March 31st was my last day off. Tomorrow is my next day off.
Today is like running the last mile of a marathon. Exhausting and exhilarating, all at the same time. Dazed, fazed, derelict in avoiding work. Charged up, worn out. Confused and focused. Hopeful and hopeless.
Kellie is already at the office doing battle. She bought a latte for me and put in on my desk to lure me in.
It's working.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
1 . . .
This week was a bitch. Thursday, I put in 13 hours at the office and would have stayed all night but my boss made me go home. Friday was only 12 hours which felt like child's play after Thursday and made me feel slightly guilty for only having put in 11 hours a day for most of the last few weeks.
Yesterday, (Saturday, I remind you) I put in another seven but came home to a house full of grand kids which was totally awesome.
Today, I'll go in for a few hours just to touch base with people we haven't heard from yet. (There's a list and we just have to work through it.) But, I slept until 8:30 this morning (with only one 2 am OMG! moment) and I've turned off my alarm clock for tomorrow.
I still have to file my return but that's it. I'm almost done.
Happy place, here I come!
Friday, April 12, 2013
Thursday, April 11, 2013
Monday, April 8, 2013
This Page Is Blank
If those words weren't written, would you be unable to recognize a blank page? I wonder.
This Page is Blank will be the title of my next unpublished book. Or, it will be the ending to all my previously unpublished books. Or, I could publish a book of blank pages. That would be awesome.
Meanwhile, there are seven days left until April 15th and I was finding it hard to breath this morning. We always make it to the 15th with room to spare, but every year I can't believe it's possible to get it all done.
I was feeling grateful that no one had been to the Emergency Room this year. Or, last year, for that matter. But there has to be a statistic somewhere about the number of accountants that go to the hospital between March 15th and April 15th.
And, then, I got to the office and couldn't log in. One week to go and I am literally forced to goof off. I have to laugh, really. I could jump off the roof of our building but it's only two stories and I would merely break my ankle. I would have to land on my calculator hand if I wanted to get out of any more tax returns.
Maybe when this is all over, I'll tell you who our cloud server is so you can avoid ever doing business with them.
My hands are tired and my elbow is sore. My eyes are bloodshot at the end of they day. I have something like 30 tax returns left to do (I'd tell you exactly how many but I can't log in, remember?) and I don't know how many extensions. The shops across the street don't open for another hour but, I swear to god, if I still can't log in by then, I'm going to buy myself a pair of kick ass red patent leather pumps.
I mean seriously. Goofing off is to working as lighting a cigarette is to dinner being ready. One almost guarantees the other. As I write (and write and write), I expect someone to shout out We're back in! I would be doing the office a favor by buying shoes - expensive ones - because the cloud server would be the only thing to stop me. It has to work.
So, if you see me this Friday with some kick ass shoes you'll know what happened. And, if you don't see me at all Friday night, it's because I'm still at work.
This Page is Blank will be the title of my next unpublished book. Or, it will be the ending to all my previously unpublished books. Or, I could publish a book of blank pages. That would be awesome.
Meanwhile, there are seven days left until April 15th and I was finding it hard to breath this morning. We always make it to the 15th with room to spare, but every year I can't believe it's possible to get it all done.
I was feeling grateful that no one had been to the Emergency Room this year. Or, last year, for that matter. But there has to be a statistic somewhere about the number of accountants that go to the hospital between March 15th and April 15th.
And, then, I got to the office and couldn't log in. One week to go and I am literally forced to goof off. I have to laugh, really. I could jump off the roof of our building but it's only two stories and I would merely break my ankle. I would have to land on my calculator hand if I wanted to get out of any more tax returns.
Maybe when this is all over, I'll tell you who our cloud server is so you can avoid ever doing business with them.
My hands are tired and my elbow is sore. My eyes are bloodshot at the end of they day. I have something like 30 tax returns left to do (I'd tell you exactly how many but I can't log in, remember?) and I don't know how many extensions. The shops across the street don't open for another hour but, I swear to god, if I still can't log in by then, I'm going to buy myself a pair of kick ass red patent leather pumps.
I mean seriously. Goofing off is to working as lighting a cigarette is to dinner being ready. One almost guarantees the other. As I write (and write and write), I expect someone to shout out We're back in! I would be doing the office a favor by buying shoes - expensive ones - because the cloud server would be the only thing to stop me. It has to work.
So, if you see me this Friday with some kick ass shoes you'll know what happened. And, if you don't see me at all Friday night, it's because I'm still at work.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Huh?
I'm at the age when I get offers from AARP. Heck, I'm a card carrying member now! Today, I got an offer from Costco to get hearing aids. To be fair, it was really addressed to Hubby.
There are some days I think he could use them.
There are some days I think he could use them.
Eleven Days Left
The result is an abbreviated tax season with just 75 days. The filing deadline for your U.S. individual income tax returns remains April 15, 2013.
Tax Day Remains April 15, 2013, Despite Holidays And Hopes For Extensions(Don't forget to feed your accountant.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)