Too Busy -- WHATEVER!

Know what makes me roll my eyes?

When I say, “Hey, do watch American Idol?” And the reply is, “I’m too busy to watch TV.”

You have to love it – too busy to watch TV.

As if TV watching requires the dedication and commitment of singing in the church choir or chairing the Junior League or coaching Little League. Yeah, that’s really comparing apples to apples, isn’t it?

But wait, maybe I’ve been too hasty in my judgment. Just maybe the all-too-busy-one is really a super hero saving the world from destruction one event at a time. That would be dramatically time-consuming.

A former co-worker used to take every opportunity to expound on her lack of free time or rather, her self-appointed worth. If we heard it once, we heard it a hundred times. Didn’t matter what we discussed, Michelle never robbed us of the pleasure to hear how SHE DIDN’T HAVE TIME. More likely, she purposely didn’t watch TV so she could declare it – TO US!

It’s all a matter of perspective and priority. If you want to sit down, relax and watch a little tube, you will. You make time. If you don’t, you won’t. It’s that simple.

There’s no calculated formula for whether you have time or not. OK……fly in from work + take kids to sports practice + help with homework + cook supper + feed pets + chat on phone ++++ DIVIDED BY watching Chuck, Heroes, and CSI Miami = -5.75 hours. OH NO! The TV view-a-meter registers the huge flashing red “NO TIME.”

If you want to run a marathon, you make time to train. If you want to attend church, you get up early Sunday morning. If you want to get a ticket, you run red lights in College Station. See the correlation?

My son didn’t own a TV. A product of the computer technology age, he watched his favorite shows on-line. It worked.

How about that “old fashioned” invention the VCR? Practically every household has one or two. For years, my friend, Kathy, taped her daytime soaps to be replayed during the mundane chore of ironing. She’s now graduated to a more high tech operation—my personal favorite, THE DVR.

What a great little tool -- which, by the way, if you’ve been reading my blog, you’ll know I was only introduced to my personal DVR four blessed months ago when I refused to be labeled as one who clings to the obsolete. I take full advantage of its revolutionary capabilities. My most difficult task is viewing a recording before next week’s episode.

I'd be remiss not to mention is anything more awesome than fast forwarding through commercials? Why, it practically cuts the viewing time in half! I’ve considered taping EVERY show I watch just to save a time. But you know what? I personally am not that busy.

My advice to all you anti-TV busy-bodies, don’t try to impress with how important you think you are, just state the obvious -- I don’t watch TV, I do other things.

Cat Swimming 101

Yesterday morning Cheddar took a dip in the pool.

But let me back-track to set the scene.

Cheddar used to be a pain in the butt. He was a night owl. Sleeping all day and only a small portion of the night, he meowed incessantly to wake us. He was hungry. Easy fix, you’d think. Just leave a bowl of dry food at his disposal. But, that was a no-no.

Before Stop-n-Go died, the Vet put him on a special diet with prescription food for kidney function. Cheddar wasn’t supposed to eat it, but anyone who’s had multiple pets knows it’s impossible to prevent one from eating the other’s food, so they both ate the same thing. Apparently Science Diet KD is rather rich in nutrients. Cheddar had to “loosen his kitty belt.”

Weighing in at a whopping 21 pounds, we had the almighty Cheddar struggling valiantly to extricate himself from the scale and the vet tech.

“You have to put Cheddar on a diet. He weighs entirely too much. It’s unhealthy!” Dr. Taylor scolded.

Alrighty then…..far be it for me to contribute to his detrimental lifestyle.

Cheddar came home with measured portions and Science Diet WD, aka diet food. THAT’S when the waking us up in the middle of the night started. Cheddar thought he was starving!

Around 3:00 – 4:00 a.m. (I assume that was his previous grazing hour) Cheddar commenced to meow. When mewling had little effect, he launched a more aggressive attack. He learned to bang kitchen cabinets. That’s right. He put his paw in the door, pulled just hard enough to open it then let it bang shut. He continued in this fashion until Mike stormed out of bed in raging defeat to put him outside.

Nightlife actually kept Cheddar occupied for a brief time. Then around 5:00 a.m. he appeared on the bedroom window sill next to Mike’s head, slapping his tail against the screen and of course, meowing. There again, Mike could only take so much before he charged out of bed to let the cat in and give him a morsel.

It was bad. This went on night after night, month after agonizing month for well over a year! There was no place to secure Cheddar that his mournful meows, slaps and bangs wouldn’t penetrate.

Relief arrived in the form of Amanda and a New Year’s vacation. She stayed at the house while we visited Mike’s parents. Cheddar never woke her once. He slept peacefully all night every night.

I knew it could be done. The timing was perfect. He’d done without for a whole week. I just had to convince Mike to remain put.

“Think of Cheddar as a baby. He’s accustomed to us responding to his every whim. If we want him to sleep through the night, we have to quit giving him a bottle. Ignore him, no matter what. He’ll stop when he doesn’t get his way.”

And that’s when it stopped as quickly as it began. Our first night home Mike remained still during the cabinet-banging. Cheddar slammed only twice before returning to sleep at the foot of our bed.

He hasn’t been obnoxious or annoying in the middle of the night in a long time. So, when he stirred at 4:44 this morning, I hardly noticed.

“Meow, meow.”

Nuzzling beside me, giving my paw a few licks, I thought he just wanted to snuggle. Alas, no. He had more devious plans. He banged a cabinet!

Without thinking I leapt out of bed, tossing a pillow in his general direction. When I heard scurrying paws, I felt bad, so I decided to let him out.

“Uh, I thought we weren’t getting up anymore. He’ll get back in the pattern.”

Touché Mike. He’s absolutely correct. I pulled a no-no, plus I'd said exactly the same thing to him the week before, and he couldn't miss the opportunity to reciprocate.

The sound of the alarm woke me. I lay in bed outlining my morning activities.

“Merrrrowwwww” bellowed at the kitchen window. Even though it was open, the sound was too loud, too urgent. That wasn’t his normal, soft I’m-home-let-me-in mew.

“Chewwie,” I answered climbing out of bed.

Merrrrowwwww!

As Cheddar came through the front door, he brushed against me. It was ice cold. My cognitive skills translated “cold” into “wet.” Even without my glasses I could squint well enough to tell it hadn’t rained. That much water would have been Ike all over again.

Turning on the light, I discovered a completely soaked cat! It was like I’d bathed him! He literally dripped.

I didn’t know what to think, but Mike’s initial response was the pool. I couldn’t imagine that. Cheddar is scared of the water. I know he wasn't leaning over the edge trying to get a drink. I can’t even get him to come near enough to pet when I’m in the water.

Upon surveying the scene, Cheddar apparently took the plunge by the jump rock and tried to get out as evidenced by major splash marks on the sidewalk. There were splashes for approximately 6 feet along edge of the pool where he finally found success by the Jacuzzi. The wet tracks led through the trellis and over the fence which was also soaked. Poor Cheddar must have shot like a bullet when he came out of that burr cold water.

Amanda blamed it on the ghost of Stop-n-Go. "He materialized, said Boo, and it scared Cheddar so bad he fell in." While I LOVE this version, it’s fairly obvious something alive chased him into the pool. We’re guessing one of the mean birds who inhabit the back yard trees might have launched an attacked forcing our poor kitty off balance. Who knows…..but I’ll bet Cheddar’s eyes were as big as saucers when he hit the water.

Toweling him dry I could feel his little heart pounding. He doesn’t look nearly so large when he’s wet.

Since this story had a happy ending, I can laugh. Believe me I do every time I think of Cheddar’s swimming debut. It’s scary, though, because this event could have had a much different outcome. Ironically, Stop-no-Go died April 14th two years ago. Cheddars dip in the pool was on April 13th.

I'm sure he won't soon forget this escapade. I know we won't.

I'm so glad Cheddar aced Cat Swimming 101.

Decisions, Decisions

As the work days wear on, I find myself plagued by that age old question -- what do I wear today?

Come on, ladies, and maybe some of you guys, too, I KNOW you know what I'm talking about. It's the perpetual decision looming behind the closet door morning after morning.

I open the door and flip the light switch. Illuminated before me is a vast array of pretty-looking garments. One would think, WOW! This is a great closet!

I want to wear something other than black today. It seems I'm always clad in black slacks, black capris, black skirts, black jackets. I have a lot of black, I guess. I don't particularly know why.

I reach for the brown blazer then remember Amanda says she doesn't like it on me. Makes me look frumpy. I don't want to look "frumpy."

I fondle the sleeve of the red tailored Studio I dress, recalling the last time I wore it which was to a co-worker's wedding three years ago. It's gorgeous -- would be ideal for my new job. As soon as my fingers hit the sleeve, I also remember why it hasn't been worn in three years. IT'S TOO SMALL.

At this point, I vow to lose the twenty pounds (a whole dress size) I put on during chemo three years ago and STILL haven't managed to shed.

My eyes next fall on the new shirt I bought on clearance at Macy's after Christmas sale. Really stylish, it's hot. I take it out, grab beige capri's and make four steps toward the bedroom before halting in my tracks. The neckline is awfully revealing........perhaps a little too risque for the country club front desk. Can't have cleavage showing (yes, this shirt gives EVEN ME the appearance of breasts.....that's why I bought it!)

So, it's back to square one.

I re-hang the hot shirt. Perhaps something to go with these beige capri's will work.

I reach for the sleeveless leopard-spotted turtle neck with decorative buttons adorning the back. It looks good with black, brown, or beige and doesn't accent the disappearing waistline I'm so displeased with (again, why I bought it.) Perfect!

EXCEPT, what if I get cold? I don't have a dressy enough blazer or sweater to put with the top. More importantly, what if my upper arms gross somebody out? That would NOT be acceptable. I hear so many females declare, " I don't wear sleeveless tops because my upper arms are flabby," as if to inform it's a duty of all women everywhere. What if my new co-workers have this bare arm-itis? Hmmmmmm......maybe I'll rethink my choice.

I wish I was like Mike. He gets dressed in the dark most mornings, a feat which completely eludes me. He dons a short-sleeved or long-sleeved Oxford or pullover with a pair of coordinating Dockers. His most difficult decision certainly must be which pair of socks to wear. Or maybe, did Cathy iron this or did I snag it from the laundry room too quickly.

Rifling through my "great closet" there is something wrong with EVERYTHING I look at.

I steal a glance at the clock on the bathroom counter. I've already wasted a full eight minutes and still have nothing to wear!

I need to leave the house by 7:40 to be comfortably in my chair before 8:00, which by the way, is part of my actual job description. You think at some point in the past, someone may have mistaken 8:10 or 8:15 for 8:00? So, yes, this IS high school where attendance is taken via the time clock and video surveillance. The tardy bell rings promptly at 8:00 a.m. -- sharp. I'm not willing to get detention. Besides, if I leave later than 7:40, I won't get my usual parking spot across from the walkway, nor will I have time to stop by the club's kitchen to fill up a glass of ice water or cranberry juice cocktail. Perish the thought! I must get a move-on.

That said, I have an easy solution. The black ankle length capri's and the black & white skirted top I also purchased on clearance at Macy's after Christmas. It flatters my non-existing waist and I receive compliments each time I wear it. Another benefit, I haven't technically worn it to "work" yet. I interviewed in the outfit for this job, but only my boss and one receptionist saw me.

Sigh.

So much for wearing something other than black.

But hey, the proverbial "THEY" say black makes you look thinner.

And, why would I possibly want to ever appear thicker?