Google Error 400.....

I tried to post yesterday. I apparently committed some kind of google indiscretion and it wouldn't post and it didn't save. I will try to capture my feelings of yesterday. Try, I say, because I have found that even the smallest lapse of time adds a different perspective.

Gutters are still the topic of my world. Yesterday, after reading my last entry, that did not refer to him as the love of my life, Drew goes out to the vast unknown to "look for" the gutters. These would be the gutters that I carefully salvaged and painted with Rustoleum paint. These would be the gutters that would go back on the building instead of a landfill. These would be the gutters that cost nothing, except my time and a little paint.

These would be the gutters that lie mangled beneath the ugly plastic barrels that a camper brought as a gift and was told to put them by the tree where said gutters were awaiting installation. That is the story I get. He looks downright smug. He wanted new gutters all along. I wanted to salvage as much as I could to maintain the rustic appearance of the building. I have heard every excuse known to man why this wouldn't work; and now he is almost gleeful. After I ask how the barrels ended up atop the gutters and listen to his lame explanation, I suggest that not ALL of the gutters can be beyond salvaging. I remind him that there are still some lengths that were not yet painted.......

Reluctantly he goes back out and does indeed find two sections that are intact--one painted, one not. I see him with his elaborate ladder set-up ( have to stop here to say that the eaves are so low he can reach up and touch them), I hear the drill as he secures them to the eave. "Come look at this." he says as he sticks his head in the door. Wish I had taken the camera with me. The two sections aren't properly connected. Instead of finding the connecting piece that I have absolutely no doubt is some where hidden in the rubble of my salvage attempt, he has screwed the pieces together in a fashion that will insure a rivulet of water cascading down almost dead center in the entrance. "This ain't gonna work" he says to me. I say nothing, just look at his handy work. Then he assures me that "Uncle Charlie's" is the only place that has the connecting pieces for this particular gutter--"if anybody has them, I don't think they make this anymore". Uncle Charlie's is at least 60 miles from here.

Off he goes on his mission to appease his wife......and I get the expected phone call about 45 minutes later telling me that those parts are way too expensive and that we would be better off buying new gutters. I give up. I tell him to do whatever he thinks is best and hang up. By now it is almost 4:00 and he has spent (wasted) the day in pursuit of gutters that I will no doubt hate.

I hate them. He pulls in with the new gutters hanging from the back of the truck. They are white. I don't want white. They are modern looking plastic ugly white gutters. Oh, but wait, he bought 4 cans of spray paint. I am still mute. I should feel bad, he is trying so hard. I don't. Off he goes to paint the white gutters with his cheap spray paint. All of the buildings and the fences on the grounds are barn red with black trim. The wind is blowing fiercely and rain is in the forecast.

Once again he is back with his elaborate ladder set-up. The freshly painted gutters are on the front porch. I keep mentioning the ladders because Drew has never been one to actually prepare for anything. He has two ladders out, big over kill ladders. I painted the eaves with a step stool and I am only 5'3"! I start to feel bad, because he is trying so hard and I go out to help him. He is taking down the ladders. He bought the wrong brackets. This will involve another trip to Lowe's and he can't return the now black brackets. To my credit, I didn't say a word; just went back inside to finish folding laundry and cooking dinner.

As I lay in bed last night, in the wee hours of the morning, when insomnia paid it's nightly visit; I pondered the state of the new gutters. I could hear the wind howling as a storm front passed through and I wondered how much of the cheap spray paint would remain on the ugly white gutters after being tossed by the wind on the concrete.

He has been up for a couple of hours now and not one word about yesterday's project has even been mentioned. He has made two trips to check on the heavy equipment for the renovation of the tent area. He brought me an iced coffee (bribe) on his return from the second trip. He mind has moved on to other things. I always joke and tell him he has ADD. No joke, he really does. Today he has to go to work at 3:00. I will be online trying to find instructions to tell me how to install those *^&##* gutters. As Paul Harvey would say....and now you know the rest of the story.

Gutters.....

Gutters...or Lack of Gutters

Good thing his birthday is over because I would have broken my promise about being positive! I am so @#$%$#%$%** MAD at him!! And of course he is not here so that I can tell him. I am all alone and the dogs won't even come near me..... they know.
The local grocery is having a good sale on items I need to stock the camp store. I carefully clipped corresponding coupons for these items so that I could take advantage of the sale. It is raining as I get ready to go. The temperature is dropping and I stick a sign in my door, knowing I won't be busy today. Drew offers to start my car (I have a VW bug, it's diesel and has to warm up to properly function), I am thinking how sweet he is as he even holds his jacket over my head as he walks me to the car. Umbrella is, of course IN the car. The rain is coming down in buckets when I end up parking in the outer regions of the lot. I have on an all-weather coat with a hood and I tuck my new hand-made purse carefully inside the coat, open the trusty umbrella and exit from the vehicle. The wind is crazy. It turns the umbrella inside out, so I shove it back into the car and walk briskly to the store opening, holding the hood onto my head. I stepped in some puddles along the way and now my feet are wet and cold. My hands are cold, too.
After loading the cart and checking out, I look out the store window to see that the rain is now coming down in sheets. Great, just great. My hands are still cold so I fumble in the coat pocket for my gloves; no gloves, they are in my other coat. Wonderful.
The rain pours down on my back as I load $200 worth of groceries into the back of the car--I say load, I was more like slinging it all in. My hands are so cold they are aching as I drive home. I can't turn the heat up or the windows will fog up. Thankfully I have seat warmers and I sit on my hands one at a time to warm them. I back as close as I can get to the front of my store (easier to go in and out without a dog escaping).
We have a new roof, really not so new anymore. But reinstalling the GUTTERS was not a priority for Drew. There is no sign that the rain is going to let up and I have lots of cold and frozen items to unload. I can't get the car close enough to the building to be out of the rain as I unload--and believe me I tried to back it right up on the sidewalk, almost wedged it in between two posts, but stopped in time. Now I wish I had backed it INTO the store. I sit there for a minute trying to figure out how I can stay somewhat dry and get only the refrigerator and freezer items out and just leave the rest. I usually load the items carefully with all the bags that need to come in right away grouped together. Didn't do that this time.
So , I bite the bullet, grab what I can carry and go unlock the door. The rain is bad enough, but when I pass under the eave that lacks a GUTTER the water pours down my back inside the jacket. I retrieve my gloves to protect my hands and after only six trips I have unloaded the vehicle.
Now here I sit, having stripped myself of all the wet clothes and donned a warm, dry sweatsuit. I am sipping re-heated coffee and thinking up ways to install the @#^##%^ gutters myself. It can't be that hard, can it?

Recess

I started reminiscing about my early school years yesterday. Recess was not a structured activity and we pretty much allowed to do what ever we wanted to amuse our selves while one poor teacher was assigned recess duty. That had to be the loneliest assignment. This was back in the day of no cell phones, so that in the event of an injury another student would be dispatched to the teachers lounge for additional help.
The teachers lounge. Now that was a magical place that we all speculated about. Rumor had it that there was actually a "coke machine" in there. On those rare occasions that we would "just happen" to be nearby waiting to see the door open (hoping for a glimpse inside) a cloud of cigarette smoke would puff out. This lounge had air conditioning! Those lucky teachers were in there enjoying a tall bottle of ice cold coke and a cigarette in the artificially cool air. The principle's office was also air conditioned. The class rooms were like ovens and we weren't allowed to wear shorts to school in those days. Dresses and skirts, no pants.
Recess in hot weather would be spent in any spot of shade we could find. This was South Georgia with 90% humidity and tons of pine trees. the swing sets were in partial shade, but hard to grab a swing unless you were the first one out the door when the bell rang. The girls would usually gravitate towards the trees. We would gather pine straw and use it to "build " a house by marking the boundaries with the straw. We would get very elaborate, adding more "rooms" while imagining our future families. We would name our children to be and assign them bedrooms, marking the placement of the imaginary furniture. It sounds so primitive even as I write this. Those were times of great contentment to me. No stress other than completing the assigned classwork, or maybe having a tooth come out and worrying that I would lose it before I got home to place it under my pillow for the nickle or dime that would magically appear the next morning. I enjoyed the structure and the repetition involved in the process of learning math facts and grammar rules, so that the class work was not something that seemed like work to me.
Today, it would seem that everything is rushed. Hurry to finish one task to move on to the next. Toys leave little to the imagination. Really, you can hardly call them toys. I can't even operate some of them. Whatever happened to plain old board games? I would drag out the monopoly game as a child and play by myself if I couldn't convince my sister to play with me. She always said I was different. I don't think she meant it as a compliment, but I am glad that I can entertain myself with very little. Does this make me simple? Maybe........

E-mail to Playtex Bras

After showering this morning I was not happy to find the freshly laundered bra with a hole in it as I was dressing. I like the way this particular bra fits. Makes the girls look perky and it is comfortable (when the underwire stays where it is supposed to be). I came upon a sale recently in a local store. The sign said 40% off one/ or buy one , get the second one at half price. I, of course opted for the better deal. Another woman was also purchasing bras and said to me, "Hey, if you buy two you can get half off." I patiently tried to explain to her that you only get half off the second bra. "Well half is 50% and that still beats 40%." she said to me in a tone that suggested I was not quite bright. Don't know why--self torture, I suppose--, but I tried once again to tell her that she was only getting 25% off of each bra she was purchasing (by now she had 6 in her cart). She just looked at me as if I had lost my mind. Whatever, I went on to the check-out where the clerk pointed out to me that I could get a second bra for half off. "In addition to the 40% off the first bra?" I asked. "No, but half is 50% off and that is better." she said. Again I tried to explain basic math and failed. Given the results of my purchase, it's a good thing I am good at math. Love of my life suggested taking the bra back to the store....it has been worn and laundered and if I were the salesclerk I wouldn't accept it as a return. Now that I think about it, though, I probably could get my money back, plus the 40% savings if I get the same person at the checkout. But, no, that would be wrong. Here is the e-mail to playtex...........



I have been wearing the underwire bra with a lace overlay cup for many years. For the past few years I have been unhappy with your product. The underwire pops out and stabs me in the armpit. I have tried to repair them and reinforce the channel with bias tape. Doesn't hold very long. A couple of years ago, I simply gave up and bought a different brand. Recently I purchased one of your bras--it was on sale and like everyone else in our current economy, I am trying to save money. I like the fit and have always thought your product to be a good value. That being said, I am sorely disappointed in this bra. The underwire is intact, but the side panel has a stress tear in it. I have only laundered the bra once (cold water, delicate cycle, air dry). Yes, i purchased the correct size. Cross my heart, I will never buy your product again!

It's All Elementary

The arrival of Flat Stanley has me reminiscing about my grade school days. Unlike high school, I loved my early years of education. I didn't go to kindergarten and had been away from my mother only a few times that I can remember. On the first day of school she walked me into my first grade class. I was painfully shy anyway and when it became apparent that she was not staying I started crying. Not just some tears, but that open mouth bawling. I wasn't the only one, but my mother took me back home with her. I might have thought I had gotten out of going, but the next morning my grandfather put me on the bus and firmly peeled my clinging hands off of his arms and sternly told me not to cry. I cried the whole way, mouth agape. I don't remember the bus driver; but he had to have had nerves of steel. We were at the beginning of the route and lived a good 30 minutes from the school. I do remember my teacher, Mrs. Lee. Upon delivery of her crying charge she scooped me into her arms and sat down in a rocker and proceeded to read and conduct class all the while holding me. I wasn't the only child to receive this care from her. She managed to make us all feel secure. I met my first friend. Jeannie Loop. I wanted to be her more than anything. We started out trading names. I would be Jeannie and she would be Kathy. Mrs. Lee allowed us to pretend like this. Soon we would swap our sweaters and coats until time to go home. One day we traded dresses in the restroom. The older children in our school had to use the bigger facilities labeled "girls room" and boys room", but the first graders had a restroom in the classroom. Jeannie and I pretended to be each other that entire school term until a day of reckoning came upon us. The restroom was occupied this day, so we decided to do our clothes swap at recess. I guess it never occurred to us that we could go to another restroom, but we went behind the wing that housed our grade and were caught disrobing by another teacher! She told us we were in trouble and I think she was going to take us to the dreaded Principal's office, but Mrs. Lee intervened and we were never punished. We did cease our clothes swapping activities, though. Geez, I wonder what ever happened to Jeannie Loop. Hmm, bet we aren't the same size anymore.

Flat Stanley Has Arrived

I got a letter from my precious Layla (8 year old granddaughter). She sent Flat Stanley for a visit. Flat Stanley has never been here before and he is to take in the sights and report back. This granddaughter is no more loved than the rest of my grandchildren; but she holds a special place in my heart. She is sweet and shy and wants to learn to sew. Her mom is artistic, as well, but her medium is not fabric. Layla and I can spend a day looking at fabric....not if Jill is with us, though. This being said, Flat Stanley will have to have the adventure of his flat life before he returns to Layla. This is a class assignment and if I know Layla, she thought long and hard before choosing to send him to me. I feel honored and will do my best to make her Flat Stanley a stand-out, rising above all the other Flat Stanleys in her class. Hmmmm, Flat Stanley might need some new flat clothes...... Yes the wheels are turning in my tiny brain..........