A Little Scale Humor

A week or so ago I weighed both at work and the doctors office. The scale at work said I lost 6 pounds. I like that scale. 

So a couple of days later I weighed again and the darn thing said I had gained two pounds.  I thought it was defective. Or possessed. I talked bad about that scale the rest of the day.

Today, I saw three scales in one of the store rooms.  I decided to check my theory that one (or more) are not calibrated correctly.  Or they are  possessed.

I made sure they were all zero before I checked my weight on all three, one after the other--so there could be no weight gain between weighings.

The first scale IS possessed. It gave me the same weight that it gave me last week. I dislike the first scale--yes, I know, I liked this scale last week, but I don't like it anymore.  The only scale I dislike more is the scale at my doctors office--that evil one that weighed me as 6 pounds more than this one. The scale at the doctors office is WORSE than possessed--the doctors scale is the spawn of you-know-who.

But back to todays experiment: the last scale read my weight as a pound lighter.  I always liked that scale.  It is a fair and just scale.  A little slow on the uptake sometimes, but it's heart is in the right place. It makes me happy.

But my favorite scale was the scale in the middle. It told me what I wanted to hear--that I lost two pounds. Obviously it was the smartest, most awesomely correct scale. It is the scale that makes me happiest.  I think I will mark this scale so I always use it.

For consistancy of course.

Okay, so that was a little "light"-hearted tongue-in-cheek humor; but, it points to a couple of "heavy" truths:  First, Truth doesn't change. It may appear to change, depending on what it's measured by, but when it's all said and done, truth is still truth.  Second, just because I'm told what I want to hear doesn't mean it's True.

My weight did not fluctuate by two pounds in the span of  a minute. The only thing that changed was the measuring tool I used.

It's imperative that we acurately measure ourselves by the same perfect standard every time.  Otherwise we'll always be a little off. 

And the scales that weighed me heavier aren't really possessed. 

They're just misguided.

The Comfortable Voyeur

You'd think I'd be used to the voyeuristic tendencies of my FurKids by now.  After all, every pet I've ever had has felt it their duty to accompany me to the  bathroom and watch as I do my duty.

Tonight Moggy reclined in the hallway just outside the bathroom and groomed himself while watching me. No surprise there.

Bandit, on the other paw, has taken his voyeurism to a new height.  He grabbed ahold of the robe I left on the sofa, tugged it through the livingroom,  down the hall,  and stopped with it in front of the bathroom. He then scrunched it up to make it fluffier before he plopped down it. 

Bandit:  the Comfortable Voyeur.

Moggy: HelperKitty

Some days I think Bandit is dumber than a post.  He is so clueless and unassuming when it comes to his brother-by-another-mother, Moggy (aka The Cat). It always floors Bandit when Moggy picks on him.  And yet he continues to trust Moggy, and attempt to engage him in playtime.

You would think that Moggy, a rescue, would be appreciative of a warm, soft bed, access to plenty of fresh water, boutique catfood, enough toys to decorate a master suite,  and free Healthcare. If he is appreciative, he has an odd way of demonstrating it: he glares, alternates between tripping me up and lying down exactly where I need to stand (like when washing dishes or brushing my teeth--it's not like I can move the sink to accommodate him), and giving little love nips--okay, the love nips could actually be his version of yanking on my pigtails as a little boy way of showing affection; however, the bopping on the head is not. Especially when he draws blood.

Tonight I was in the guest bathroom and Bandit sought me out. Heaven forbid I do something without him. So he comes in for a scratch and a snuggle, and I ask him, "Where's your baby?" When he hears that phrase he will perk up and go find his favorite toy of the day, always passing up the other toys.

Upon finding his baby of the day, he will perform the death shake and, if he's not previously performed a successful squeaky-ectomy, he will give the squeaker a couple of chews, before bringing his baby to just outside my arms length.  It's his sadistic version of "fetchless fetch."

Tonight was no exception. But after he came in for the snuggle, then went in search of his baby, Moggy sauntered around the corner and without warning or provocation bopped Bandit on the top of the head three times successively. This is new.  He normally only goes for the singular head bop.

The look of hurt and bewilderment that overcame Bandit was heartbreaking.  It was as if I could read his mind, "All I wanted was to go get my baby--why did he bop me?!"

Scooping Bandit up, I  loved on him a little extra, and patted his  head softly while seriptiously checking for blood. Moggy sometimes bops with unfurled claws.

I reminded Bandit he has permission to defend himself against The Cat. And I scolded Moggy for being ungrateful and picking fights. I told him he needs to love his brother and get along with him, because hes the only brother hes got. Moggy glared. Then he blinked and he almost looked chagrined.

Almost.

I decided  to take Bandit with me to Austin on a Marketplace buying run. The Marketplace is addictive. I never knew all the stuff other people were selling that I needed. Anyway, a little time apart might be just what the boys needed.

When we arrived back home, Moggy ran to greet us and was actually civil. Then I went into the master bath. 

Moggy has taken to  turning his nose up at the chicken selection of the variety catfood pack, so when I saw the toilet paper up and over the cabinet in order to lie on the food dish, I thought Moggy was sending a stronger message than his usual patented show of disdain: the loud sniff,  followed closely by the nose in the air, and saunter away.

But then I realized two things: first, his food bowl was empty. And second, the TP was not shredded, nor was it wadded--it was neatly folded. Not only that, it was not covering his now empty food dish--it was actually on the cabinet edge I use to hoist myself up when the knees are bothering me.

Finally, it dawned on me--Moggy was trying to make amends by being a HelperKitty--he had neatly folded the TP  and readied it for Mommies next use!

Tarnished and Character-Laden

Lately I've been enamored by all things tarnished and character-laden.

When they introduced The Marketplace, FB actually did something right.  At first, I was angry because I didn't know why, all of a sudden, I was seeing all these garage sale type posts. I am a member of a local hometown online garage sale page; however, I signed up for it--it was not foisted on me. Not so with the Marketplace.  I asked where all these new posts were coming from and no one knew.  The response was always one of two: "So-and-so signed me up."  Or, "I don't know--they just started showing up on my phone." Well, I didn't know So-and-so. I began to wonder if FB was behind this, or if the 'droid had hijacked me.  After a decade or so of iPhone use, I'm still trying to assimilate to the 'droids  way of thinking and doing.  Thus far, it has been neither a pretty nor an easy transition.

After I got over being angry at this intrusion, I started noticing the really great deals to be had. And how rapidly they could be lost if I hesitated on making an offer.  But more than the deals, I was stunned at how quickly people are to discard perfectly usable stuff.  Especially if it was a little bit tarnished.

This month, within 24 hours I scored an antique typwriter, copper singing tea kettle, tulip light, and silverplated chaffing stand--all for pennies on the dollar.  Last month I scored dinning room chairs from the historic Stagecoach Inn, and bookshelves that were delivered to me.  Each peice is dirty, tarnished, slightly mared, or missing something easily replaced.

Take the tulip lamp. It's missing a single bulb cover. The five present are presentable and functional--the color is an okay amber; however, when lit up, it is stunning. But because I would have to replace a cover (unless I kept it facing the wall where its absence went unnoticed), I stole this georgous lamp for a song. On looking for replacement bulb covers I found beautiful covers that I fell on love with for $20 each. I normally would never think of buying $120 worth of covers.  But then I saw how it would transform my $35 lamp into something that replicated a stunning $560 lamp.  I may talk myself into splurging and buying six covers after all.

The chafing stand is pretty useless without the dish that goes with it, but I wanted to try a chemistry experiment for removing tarnish from silver (or in this case silverplate) before I tried it on a tea  and  coffee service I have. For $5 I couldn't go wrong. The experiment was a success. Most of the tarnish was removed with a simple soak in a receptacle lined with tinfoil, filled with boiling water, to which I added baking soda.  Plus, I had a nice cup of tea while the tarnish soaked away--maybe not all of the tarnish--a small amount remains in the cracks and crevices.  If I felt so inclined I could easily buff out the remaining tarnish. But I like the  look.  I think it adds character and definition.  So I'm leaving it.  It's going to make a pretty display.  I'm thinking a glass ball or flower pom-pom.

The typewriter is far from usable, but that's perfect since I'm a frustrated wannabe writer. I envision it displayed in all its patina-laden glory, sans the dust layer, on an  antique desk with first pages of famous novels crumpled and strewn around it.

The initial cleaning of the copper tea kettle has proven slightly problematic.  The lemon sliced in half, dipped in salt, and rubbed on the kettle, shined up the top beautifully--except for a dime-sized spot; however, the rest of the kettle is much more tarnished.  I may have to move on to another tarnish removal method. Also, it no longer sings.  This is less of a problem than you would think in the Age of YouTube.  I found a video that describes how to adjust the kettle, so I'll see if that does the trick. Retail this singing copper tea kettle sells for $160.  I paid $5. Even tarnished and mute, it makes a nice cup of tea.

As for the shelves, I noticed a couple of places that need to be touched up. Again, an easy fix.  And the dinning room chairs? At first I wanted to stain them a darker color and reupholster the seats, but then I decided I will just freshen them up with a deep cleaning.  Like the tarnish on the chaffing stand and copper tea kettle, I like their character as they are.

I'm not sure, but this new-found interest in patina-laden objects may be due to my own brush with personal patina.  Or, perhaps character speaks to me because I am one.

Patina? Character? Moi?

You betcha!

Independent Moggy

Moggy went out today and decided to stay out while Bandit and I went to PetCo.  I attempted to entice him with canned cat food--the sound of the popping top usually gets him running toward me. It didn't even phase him. Perhaps because the neighbors dog was raising a ruckus. I think Moggy was  rather enjoying antagonizing a new dog.

Bandit and I  stayed out several hours. When we returned I half expected Moggy to come running up to the SUV as he has in the past. I was saddened and a little hurt when he did not. And then I grew concerned that  something bad might have happened to him. Perhaps the neighbors dog had gotten loose...

Opening the front door I heard a frantic scratching at the back, and my fear intensified. Something might be chasing him.  I hurriedly wrenched open the door, and  Moggy shot inside like a rocket. I was surprised to find it was only him, and not a demon dog hot on his trail. 

Once safely inside, Moggy strutted into the bathroom, sniffed at the food bribe, turned his nose up and sauntered away--only to return a few minutes later to gobble it up. After doing his duty and cleaning up, he hopped into his newest lounge--my nightstand.

I suppose now he'll want a pillow and cushion to be installed in it.

Live Life Inspired

I have amazing friends. One, a Veteran-Teacher-Registered Nurse-Artist, posted a request for her friends to post their sixth most recent photo. So I did. 

My 'droid photo view is currently set in gallery mode, so I looked at the sixth photo to the right.  It was a photo of an old typewriter I recently purchased.  I have not found a suitable table or desk on which to display it, and I have not even cleaned it up (the dust is thick). It's currently sitting on a dinning room chair. The chair was from the historic Stagecoach Inn of Salado. Behind the typewriter,  the first  (and only) pastel I've done leans against the back of the chair. My pastel is supposed to resemble Georgia O'Keefe's Magnolia.

Then I decided to look at the sixth photo swiping down on the left corner.  There I found a photo of a Dollar Tree puzzle that you color once assembled. It's put together, but only partially colored.  From time to time I add a little color.

Upon seeing these photos, my first thought was: I live an artistically inspired life.

My second thought, close on its heels, was:  My life is like my projects, it's a journey in progress.

But then, self-doubt and negativity reared their ugly heads, and they said: you don't finish anything.

I had a decision. A choice must be made.  I could listen to them, the doubting nay-sayers, or I could choose to go with my positive first two thoughts.

And then I was reminded that daily we have the opportunity to choose to be positive. Some days it's harder than others.  Some days the silver lining is thin and elusive. Some days you have to hunt for anything good. I chose to go with my gut instincts which were positive.

Just for grins I looked at the very last photo I took.  Peppered in the gallery are photos of Bandit and Moggy, selfies, and friends and family.   But the very last photo I took, was of another project--it's a silver-plated chaffing stand that is sorely tarnished.

Frankly, I love the tarnish, but I wanted to try a bit of  chemistry I recalled about any easy way to remove tarnish: lining some sort of receptacle with tinfoil, adding baking soda and boiling water, then submerging the tarnished object.  So I prepared to submerge the stand.  And, since I had the tea kettle on, I made a cup of tea.

The results were truely amazing. Not all of the tarnish has disappeared--but the majority has. With just a simple soak. While I sipped my tea.

Again, this project is incomplete. But it's a process, a journey that mirrors my life.  I'll choose two positives over the negative any day. Every day. 

My life may appear incomplete, but in reality, it is a journey. Some days there will be setbacks like not finding the right table. Other days there will be advances like the removal of tarnish. But everyday there is a choice to be made.

I choose to live an artistically, inspired, positive life.

I encourage you to be positive and live your life inspired as well.

WWIII May Start in My Bedroom

If World War III starts anytime soon, it may start in my bedroom.

Moggy is having problems this morning with a couple of my basic rules to keep the peace:

1)  Don't knead Bandit
2)  When walking on my chest, keep your butt outta my face

It really doesn't seem that difficult to me.  However, Moggy can't, or refuses, to follow these basic rules of conduct.

I fear WW3 is about to erupt.

I'm a Junk Junkie

Have you seen the Marketplace on Facebook?

I am hooked on it.

Hi, my name is Mary Lou, and I'm a Marketplace  Junk Junkie.

I think the Marketplace is part of the last FB updates.  Either that, or the new 'droid hijacked me. 

On your FB page there's a house.  Click on it and you find a virtual garage sale. Depending on the market, and time of day, the junk you're selling can be seen by hundreds of people in minutes. And you can see the junk hundreds of others are selling. I've gone over the deep end in my purchases. 

Tonight I bought a singing Chantal copper tea kettle (retails for $160) for $5. 

It's tarnished, and it may never return to its former glory, but I love the lines, and frankly, it's cleaning up real nice--with just a salt and lemon juice scrub.  And by "scrub," I mean I've barely rubbed it. 

The girl selling the tea kettle, said it "just needs some paint." Yikes!! I knew I had to rescue it right then and there.  Paint is wonderful stuff, but it's not the fix for everything.

I haven't even come close to finishing cleaning it, but it's past my bedtime, so I'll post this and then pop into bed for a few hours.  I'll post the final results in a day or so (photos are on my FB page).

If I can stay off the Market Place long enough. 

I'm Puzzled

Anyone who reads my Facebook Page knows I have an ongoing board game challenge with three of the Borum Grandchildren. During the Christmas break we sit down to play every game known to man. And every year they beat me. In almost every single game. I don't feel too bad, since they beat most of the other adults as well.

Normally I am not competitive; however, board, card, and word  games are the exception.  In these games, I  play to win. To the point that I've had Church Friends refuse to play games with me.  I tell them it's biblical--Philippians 3:14 admonishes us to Run the race to win it. And Colossians 3:24 tells us  to Do everything as if we were doing it for God.  You wouldn't want to do a half-baked job for the Creator and Savior of the world would you?  Of course not!

So go for the win. I do. Even when playing with children.  There are no "participation trophies" at my table. 

However, I  also keep it in perspective--after all is said and done, it's only a game. A game I seek to win--but nevertheless, in the big scheme of things, it really is just a game.

It's not just the BorumGrands that like to play--the adults join in as well.  Even Santa stuffs an IQ puzzle in our stockings. This year Santa left us a pair.  I'm unsure if that's because we are so smart, or because he thought we needed remedial help.

Last night, after I ate dinner and read a little, I took a puzzle break. Several weeks ago I actually solved the Fifteen Puzzle Santa gave us a few years back.  I was thrilled when it happened--almost effortlessly. The win encouraged me to try the pair of puzzles we received this year:  the Classic Wooden Cube (that, when undone resembles a long snake chain of small connected cubes, but when reassembled correctly, forms a larger  perfect cube), or Klotski (the IQ puzzle based on a Chinese strategy game in which you maneuver the largest of 10 multi-sized tiles around the board and out through a thin slot, through which only the large thin tile can fit).

I'm hoping to be able to post a photo of the puzzles (blog readers may have to see my Facebook page to see it).  My cube needs a little more work--it's really more of a free-form impression of a cube.  I guess I could call it my attempt at PicasoCubism.  

However, like my Fifteen Puzzle, my Klotski now sports the correct solution.  I've only been playing with this Klotski  puzzle a little over a month.  Noone has solved it in less than 81 moves--not even the computer (and a slightly different version can not be solved in less than 100 moves); however, I literally found the solution for Klotski  in my sleep.

Impressive, you might say.  But then I would have to tell you that I actually had help.

Of course, after persusing the Facebook photo, you may have already deduced I had help (and just who helped me) by the slightly soggy appearance of one of the small red-dotted tiles.

You see, when I fell asleep, I dropped the puzzle and the tiles scattered. I retrieved one small tile from Moggy, before he could bat it into oblivion--and Bandit found another small tile and thoughtfully hid it from The Cat until I could retrieve it, from inside the mouth of The Dog. Hence the soggy.

I can't wait to tell Santa, and the Borum Grandkids, I solved this 81-move puzzle in under 15 moves. I'm pretty sure that's a record even they can't beat.

Two puzzles down. One to go.  I'm on a roll (dice pun intended).  Perhaps I should tackle the cube-to-snake-back-to-cube puzzle).  After all, I've already got the cube-to-snake part perfected, so I'm over halfway there. 

I think Moggy, my Hunter Extraordinaire,  is pretty adept at killing snakes, maybe he can assist me with whipping the snake back into the cube-shape...

I Killed the Pizza.

Someone once said there's no such thing as bad pizza--you just can't mess it up. They were wrong. Twice. On the same pizza. Because I'm talented that way.

Last week as I roamed the isles of my home-away-from-home (aka my small-town  WalMart  Superstore), I came across an item I had never encountered before:  pizzadilla.  It's advertised as "pizza + quesadilla." I love pizza. I love quesadillas. Win-Win.

And it would have been.  Until I killed it.

Leaving work early on Friday to attend my regularly scheduled medical appoinment, I shook off a hard workweek.   This particular Friday was worse than usual because our already streatched to the limit slim beehive was down another absent worker bee.  To make matters worse, because they can always be worse, my weary state was compounded by my waking up at 3am and inability to return to the land of slumber until after 5am.  The good news:  the in-between time was productively spent making breakfast burritos for the upcoming week.  

After my Friday afternoon injection and some disheartening news, I went home.  I decided it would be a leftover kind  of night. I'd pop something in the microwave--maybe a breakfast burrito--take the chill off, then crawl directly into bed.  Before 6pm. Like I said, it had been a hard week at work.

Opening the refrigerator, I perused it's contents. Nothing spoke to my belly--not even the breakfast burritos--besides, I rationalized, if I eat them now, I won't have them  on mornings  when I'm running late and pressed for time.  

Because I'm not a morning person, that would be every single  morning. 

Moving on to the freezer, I considered my frozen options.  And there it was--shining like a beacon amidst a storm:  the pizzadilla. 

I preheated the oven, popped that baby in, and grabbed my cell phone to set the timer function...and perhaps do a little surfing to while away the 15-18 minutes of cook time.

Twenty or so minutes later, I realized I never set the timer.

Kill Number One:  The bottom crust was pretty much toast.

Not the good kind of toast that's golden brown and soaks up the butter and jam. Nope. It was the kind of toast that is black as coal and grates on your ear like fingernails on a chalk board when the butter knife scrapes across the surface and deposits black char-flakes on the plate. 

However. I thought the top layer was salvageable, so that was dinner.  Before I trotted off to bed,  I boxed up the remains in a gallon-size baggie. (I wrote that on purpose--just to mess with your mental imagery.)

I normally  eat leftover pizza straight from the icebox.  Today I thought I'd zap it in the microwave for a minute--hoping to soften it up. Only, for some reason my one minute got punched in as 10.

I realized this when I thought to myself, that minute sure is taking a long time. 

Nothing gets by me.

Glancing at the flashing green remainder clock I read 5:32. 

Kill Number Two.

Even Bandit turned his nose up at it. 

Instead, we shared a breakfast burrito. 

I'll always have another sleepless night that will afford me more breakfast burrito making time.