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I Don’t Know What It Means . . .

8 Mar

. . . but we have a flock of buzzards in the yard this morning.

There were six stalking around in the yard, and two on the ridge of the barn. The really disconcerting thing was that they followed me around the house and were waiting outside the front porch when I got birdseed and peanuts. The Squire came looking for me when he saw them move around there. I don’t know if he was afraid I’d try to make pets of them, or if I’d fallen and the vultures thought I was already dead. Yes, I’m pale, but gee willikers! To quote Monty Python, “I’m not dead yet.”

Later on, they moved around to the carport and began to eat the peanuts we’d put out for the squirrels. They reminded me of the old cartoon of two buzzards in a tree, and one says to the other “Wait, hell! I say we go kill something!”

One of THOSE Days!

2 Mar

Yesterday morning, The Squire and I got involved in putting together a jig-saw puzzle and suddenly realized we had Someplace To Be. We gathered the things we needed, and he put the stuff in the car. As I was coming out the kitchen door, he called to me. I thought he said, “Lock the door”, but what he said was, “Don’t lock the door.” He had not collected his wallet, jacker, or – most importantly – his car keys. For that matter, both sets of keys, as I don’t generally bother with my purse if he is driving; he has the keys and the VISA, so what do I need?

So, there we are, with neither my keys nor his. He went off in search of the spare house key, unlock the kitchen door, collected his wallet, etc., and came back out. He settled himself in the driver’s seat and then let out a stream of invective.

He’d laid the spare key on the counter and come out without it. We were now well and truly up the proverbial creek, without a paddle.

After calling two friends, neither of whom had a key to our house, we had no choice but to call a locksmith. I’ll tell you right up front, spending $200 for your own stupidity will definitely improve your memory!

Another City Slicker!

28 Feb
stock image

I had to swing into Tractor Supply this morning to pick up bird seed – again! – and stopped to admire the baby chicks. I’d love to have a few chickens, but The Squire is, shall we say, less than enthusiastic about the idea.

While I was mentally selecting my flock a woman carrying a small child came over to the pens and stared at the peeps for a few moments, and then asked the clerk, “Are these the sort of chickens that lay eggs?”

Bless her, the clerk answered her with a straight face. “Yes, ma’am. Most all of the chickens in these pens will lay eggs.”

The Horn Doesn’t Work

26 Feb

When I went over to the thriving metropolis of Joppatowne this afternoon there was a blaring of horns beyond anything I’d ever heard before. Everybody was rolling down car windows and craning their necks. I was wondering if the Canadian truckers had gotten as far south as Maryland.

As it turned out, the left turn signal was not working properly, and traffic was backed up over the top of the hill. While I can understand the frustration, blowing the horn won’t make the light change! Pull out of line, go through the intersection, and make a U-turn at the next break in the jersey wall, for Pete’s sake. It’s not rocket science. The guy at the front of the line wasn’t going to try to make an illegal turn, if for no other reason than he was driving a company truck.

It’s a good thing I’m perfect, isn’t it?

You Talkin’ to Me?

21 Feb

A friend of mine orders her meals from one of those “we ship it; you cook it” places and seems to really like it. When I am working full time, The Squire sometimes has a problem coming up with things to fix for supper. “I’m running out of ideas”, sez he.

“Welcome to my world”, I replied.

stock photo – tofu and rice

I asked my friends for recommendations about the various programs, and she recommended one of them in particular. I looked into all three, entering that we’d want vegetarian meals for two people.

Well, when somebody says $70 for three meals, I know they are not talking to me!

Cutting up the Pig

21 Feb

Back in the dark ages (I was still married to the Late and Unlamented) my dad gave me a set of three wooden cutting boards, shaped like pigs. The smallest was made of quarter inch plywood, so it didn’t have a long shelf-life. I have no idea what happened to the middle one, but the largest is still on duty in our kitchen.

The last 60 years or so have not been kind to it, although considering the hard use it’s had, I have no reason to complain. It is badly stained, and you can see daylight through the crack in the bottom.

Recently, The Squire got a piece of pine and cut out a new pig for me, but the old one is still in service, sitting beside the stove.

Welcome to Baltimore

14 Feb
Thanks to Shay Simmons over at
Little Grey Bungalow
for the photo

Yesterday, it was in the mid-50s.

We woke up to snow this morning. Not much – only a quarter inch, and it didn’t stick to the roads or walks, but good grief!

What is this “Customer Service”. . .

28 Jan

. . .of which you speak?

I started my “life of crime” working in Customer Service for Ma Bell. Other than not being able to handle business phones, I took care of whatever came in on my line. Moving? I can handle a “T & F” (To and from) with no problem. Question about your bill? I can explain it. Need an extension in another room. I can schedule that, too.

I went to work for a major bank after my firstborn came along, and again was in customer service. Stop payments? Over drafts? Balances? Last five checks? Not a problem.

Later on, I worked for one of the Blue insurance companies. Again, we knew how to handle everything that came along. How many hospital days do I have left? Do you cover physical therapy? Why didn’t you pay for the meals I ordered in from the restaurant? Not a problem.

There was a day when you could call a company and tell the operator “I need to discuss whatever; could you please connect me to the proper department?” and wonder of wonders, she did exactly that.

Now everything is these bloody phone trees. Press one for this and two for that. Or worse yet, they want you to say something. “Pay a bill.” “Claims.” And then the metallic voice says, “I didn’t get that.” You know what I think? They just want you to go away and not bother them! “We have more important things to do than actually interact with pesky customers.”

I HATE Computers!

26 Jan

My mum died in 2011 and I am still going through her stuff. She was a hoarder, and I am a procrastinator, which is a pretty bad combination. I found a bar pin with her initials – AJP – and thought I’d take a chance and put it on Freecycle. I took a picture of it, but now my cellphone won’t “Bluetooth” with my computer. OK. I’ll just download it to The Squire’s computer and send it to myself.

His computer won’t send it, saying there is a “Permanent Error”. Lovely. I tried posting it from my own account, but using his system, and none of my email addresses show up.

He gets funny videos and such from a high school classmate, and I have frequently asked him to send them to me, so I can share them or post them here. Last night I tried to forward one and it bounced back. Apparently, I don’t exist.

The Squire tried to correct all of this, but Comcast is being uncooperative, to put it mildly. He was involved in a “chat” with their IT department, which never ends well, and they promised yesterday afternoon that somebody would call him back within a half an hour. So far, nada.


Calamity Jane Reporting In

23 Jan

Where to start?

I did check in with my GP and he told me I had gotten the shingles vaccine, but it is obviously possible to have a breakthrough case. There is a new, two-step vaccine on the market, and he recommended I get that, but I have to wait 90 days, so I just hope I stay out of trouble until Apil.

Our church dates back to 1724 on the current location – it was actually established in 1692 by Queen Anne of England – and back in 2017 we restarted our Colonial Fairs, renamed as Historic Fall Festivals. I managed to celebrate the occasion by getting a stress fracture in my left foot, and it has bothered me ever since. The last job I had involved a lot of walking and even though I wore tennis shoes most of the time, by Thursday I was nearly in tears. The Squire called the podiatrist, and his office was able to squeeze me in on Friday. One x-ray later, I am wearing a surgical boot and under strict orders, both from the doctor and The Squire, to keep off my feet. Well, I don’t have to tell anybody how that is working out, do I?

The abovementioned job ended on Thursday, so I am hoping to catch up a little bit. The dust bunnies are getting aggressive, and I owe about a dozen people letters and notes.

The Squire is doing well. Our GP is very, very pleased with his blood levels, so that’s good. He is taking Trulicity, and all I can say is, it’s a darned good thing we have a good health insurance policy. That stuff is PRICEY! We could never afford it if we didn’t have a prescription program. America so desperately needs a national health program. I wonder how much people in other countries have to shell out for this stuff?

And that’s the news from this end of the swamp.