Have you considered that Mr. Professor just might have hidden talents?
Posted in Uncategorized
And: The Race to the Unemployment Office!
The organizer, Nick Goddard, is a laid-off computer programmer.
Posted in Economy
No, this isn’t about same-sex marriage/marriage equality, but about the propensity of younger people to put off traditional commitment or skip it entirely.
We keep hearing that marriage is one of society’s pillars, but what might society look like without it?
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Posted in Family. And stuff.
Mostly, I think, because I am not that practiced at it.
I am shockingly health and should be grateful for that, but being shockingly healthy (most of my wounds have been self-inflicted) has robbed me of the opportunity to learn how to be gracious when I’m in pain.
I started having an earache about five days ago, began treating it with over-the-counter medication about three days ago, and finally made a doctor’s appointment yesterday. There, I stood at the window getting instructions on how to fill out a form, and an older woman came and stood six inches from me. Let me remind you that I don’t feel all that special, and I have never been a fan of people who are rude. So I angled myself so that she couldn’t see my form (as if I was there for an STD as opposed to something most people normally grow out of; evidently, as I never had an earache as a child, I’m growing into them, and for my next trick I shall wet my bed).
Well, the older woman tapped my arm and said, “If you’ll go sit down, I can get a face mask,” and then she coughed up a significant part of her lung into her hand.
WWJD, you’re thinking? Well, that’s not fair, as J would have probably laid hands on the woman and healed her of her TB. Me, I have no such skills, so I crisply informed her that I would be happy to sit down once I had the rest of my instructions, at which point the nice lady behind the counter said, “Barbara, you need to wait your turn,” at which point Barbara reached around me and grabbed two face masks.
I sort of thought she was going to hand one to me, but no, they were both for her. Bless her heart.
It wasn’t a long wait, but my regular doctor was off so I was attended by a physician who looked so much like Opie Taylor I nearly said that out loud. This is the price one pays for living long. Eventually, your doctor, your dentist, your everything will be younger than you. He did a perfunctory exam of my ear, nose and throat, pronounced me infected, wrote a prescription, and sent me on my way.
Guess who was waiting in line at the CVS? That’s right! My old friend, Barbara! She still had on both of her face masks (very Michael Jackson-ish, if you ask me) and she was standing at the counter urging the nice pharmacist to hurry up, already.
When she was finished, she came to sit next to me in a line of chairs they have for people who are mostly younger than me. I picked up a gossip magazine (I’d already read the “Atlantic Monthly” there) and thumbed through it and wondered if I felt better, would Barbara be rotating on my last nerve like she was? Probably not. So I practiced loving Barbara — silently, and I stayed in my chair — until she collected her significantly large bag of pills and left.
File this under TMI, but for my earache – or otitis media, for you science majors, I’ve taken so far today:
Two doses of Amox TR-K CLV, 125 mg., and I’m considering taking a third, though I’m only supposed to take two a day.
Two Zyrtec Ds.
Roughly 15 Advils.
Three squirts up my nose of a worthless saline solution that tastes like the ocean.
A bag of barbeque potato chips.
Enough diet Coke to float a small boat.
I’m willing at this point to ingest just about anything and if you have suggestions, shoot them my way. I know I’m going to be O.K. and I know I’d like to space these ear infections out to where my next one hits an hour after I’m dead.
I’ve had a lot of time to think and ponder and cogitate and — I’ve got to tell you — I’m wondering how ol’ Barbara’s doing.
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Posted in Friends. And stuff.
On the road to Emmaus, a crucified Jesus appeared to two disciples, but they didn’t know who he was. They began talking, and Jesus explained to the disciples the scriptures in a way they’d never heard.
The three went to dinner together, and after Jesus broke the bread and prayed over it and handed it to the disciples, he disappeared.
The painting, “Kitchen Maid with the Supper at Emmaus,” is by Diego Valazquez, and the servant girl is working, but she’s also listening to the conversation going on behind her. And that’s important.
Posted in Girl stuff
Posted in Economy
And I actually collect frog stories, so that’s saying something.
I have come to know some of the readers of this blog — known their trials, their tribulations, their triumphs, even — and yet none of the stories I’ve heard has touched me as much as this one, from frequent reader Jac:
I have a 12-year-old frog living in my house.
My son wanted a pet back when he was 5, and the frog seemed like a safe-enough choice at the time. Since he had asthma (my son), furry animals were not an option. I thought I had found the perfect solution when I saw that bright-colored “Grow-A-Frog” box with the cute cartoon on a shelf in the toy store.
My son would gain a pet and learn all about the life cycle of a frog: tadpole to frog to frog spirit up in heaven. And, since it wouldn’t be around for long, we wouldn’t have to worry about a strong attachment developing. I was sure that the whole deal would last no more than a year.
Boy, was I wrong!
First off, there was no tadpole in the box. They had to send it to us through the mail, and since they couldn’t send tadpoles through the mail in the winter, they first sent a cute, tiny “froglet.” We also received a warning that once the tadpole arrived, it should be kept in a separate tank from the froglet because sometimes even cute, tiny froglets get hungry and eat tadpoles.
That should have been the first red flag, but I ignored it and bought a second tank from the Grow-a-Frog people.
But guess what? You get a free froglet when you buy an extra container! By the time we had successfully grown a frog, we had several tanks going with four various-sized frogs. Over the last 12 years we’ve spent hundreds of dollars on various containers, filters (that never work because frog poo is more than fish filters can easily handle) frog “magic clap hands” (but we only bought that once because frogs can’t clap under water), gravel, food, food, and more food at $15 a shipment.
We are down to one frog and the best we can tell, it’s Mr. Professor. My son was really into science and I suppose at 5, that sounded like a scientist’s name.
The thing is, my son will be off to college in about a year and a half and Mr. Professor is still going strong. He’s slimy, smelly, and not very affectionate — all in all, a lousy pet. I never thought to check the life span of my purchase — big mistake!
I have to admit, I have secretly hoped that he wouldn’t make it through our longer vacations, but every time we’ve returned, he’s bobbing there, staring back at us ready to gobble up more food. He’s gigantic now and not at all tiny and cute. He certainly looks nothing like the cartoon on the box.
My mother-in-law suggested that we release him into the creek in back of her house, but I figured that would make me liable for creating some new hybrid species. I imagine giant frogs coming up out of the sewers and people wondering, “Who is responsible for this?”
And, as a “Dating Jesus” reader, you know that frogs have a pretty bad reputation in the Bible.
A few months ago, I decided to Google this frog and find out how long the species was expected to live. Thirty years. 30. Can you believe it? And these are dangerous frogs if they’re released into the wild. They are actually illegal in some states. I never knew these things and there are no warnings on the harmless-looking box. To get an idea of how resilient these frogs are, CBS did a news story and the regional manager of the California Department of Fish and Game said, “You can’t poison these frogs. You can’t blow them up There’s no way to get rid of them.” Fox had the headline: Killer Meat-Eating Frogs Terrorize San Francisco.
No joke.
That leaves few options for me since killing an exotic pet is illegal in Connecticut and releasing the frog could cause the end of our ecological systlem as we know it. I have no other choice but to move to Arizona or California, where police stations accept these frogs. Or perhaps “Dating Jesus” readers could pray for a spot for Mr. Professor (and soon) in Froggy Heaven.
Posted in One of God's creatures
While I think it’s fabulous that the under-rated group, Player, is enjoying some more time in the sun with their “Baby Come Back,” these Swiffer commercials have almost turned me off the product.
No means no, mop. And are there absolutely no men with a Swiffer in their hands? Just asking.
Posted in A short whine
