The Decision

I have made a decision. 

Finally. 

It was a hard decision. I put in hours of careful thought and research. Unfortunately every option I discovered was lacking. 

I thought I found what I wanted, and need, during my recent disastrous trip to Florida; however, it was flawed as well. But it was so close to what I want and need, I thought I could find it, orcdfind something close and modify it, or maybe even  recreate it in Texas. 

That was not to be.  

Until tonight. 

It is not what I found In Florida. It's not as cheap as I found in Florida. But I think it's exactly what I need. I ordered it off Anazon.com and look forward to its arrival next week.

Behold: My 2022 Planner ! 

Check this out on Amazon

Goal Setting Planner Undated - 12 Month Productivity Habit Tracker and Life Planner, Effective Goal Planner, Undated Planner, Budget Planner & Financial Planner, 10 Minute Planner with Added Extras https://smile.amazon.com/dp/B09GRSMRYY/ref=cm_sw_r_other_apa_glt_i_BSADBG6TASYQ67EPKCXK

  

I Am Thankful

 I am thankful for Family and Friends who see my flaws and love me anyway.

I am thankful for a fulfilling job that allows me to make a difference in the lives of men and women who have fought for the freedom I enjoy.

I am thankful for all of my needs (e.g
home, food, clothing, SUV, etc) and many of my wants being filled.

I am thankful for FurKids and their unconditional love which reminds me of Gods TRUELY unconditional love.

I am thankful for God sending His Son as the blood sacrifice for my sins, and His free gift of salvation to all who will believe and receive it.

I am struggling with this one, but because I am to be thankful in ALL things, I am trusting God as I am thankful for ALL leaders and those in authority over me--because I KNOW that GOD is in control, and He can use ANYONE to accomplish His goals and bring glory to Himself--even if they don't recognize it or even WANT to be used of God. 

I am thankful. 

The Plan Almost Became Reality.

The Plan:

Clean out the backseat of the SUV.

Drop TheGirls off for grooming.

Run a few errands:

      Breakfast.

      Run the SUV through the Car Wash.

      Bank run. 

Go home and change into game day clothes. 

Pick up TheFreshlyGroomedGirls.

Drop TheGirls off at the house. 

Arrive at The Game around Half Time. 

The Reality:

Clean out the backseat of the SUV.

Drop TheGirls off for grooming.

Run a few errands:

      Breakfast.

      Run the SUV through the Car Wash.

      Bank run. 

Go home and change into game day clothes. 

Doing good so far. 

Pick up TheFreshlyGroomedGirls.

Oops.  Jinxed myself.  

ThevGroomer took a little longer than anticipated. Third quarter came and went, and TheGirls were not ready. In the Groomers defense,  when I let TheGirls outside this  morning they played in the dewy sand.  

Translation: TheGirls were a hot, muddy, mess and they resembled unkempt mutts. 

The Groomer was a miracle worker and my hot mutt messes now look like the retired AKC Champion Chinese Cresteds that they are. 

This miracle deserved photographic documentation. So off to Linda's house we went for a puptacular glamor shoot. Linda is my friend who is always up for a photo shoot. We has a slight delay as we hit post-gane traffic--however, in Belton that means sitting through two, maybe three,  stop light cycles.  

Delayed and Unrealized Goals:

Drop TheGirls off at the house. 

Arrive at The Game around Half Time. 

Additional Goals Added:

Puptacular GlamorShoot. 

Then we came home and Lou's Zoo (including Lou and Moggy) promptly fell asleep on the sofa. 

BTW, in case you wondered: 

                           59-14 

                        #GoCru!

As for the Sofa Snoozing, I don't think TheZoo and I can handle the time change this  Sunday. But, sleeping in an hour still sounds good--even after our nap. None of us are Spring Chicks any longer. 

Tonight's Plan:

Turn the clicks back an hour. 

The Reality:

We shall see--or in this case, we shall hear. 

Following Directions

I sometimes am rebellious, headstrong,  willful, and onerey--especially when it comes to following directions. 

You likely are not shocked by that revelation if you know me personally, or  have read anything I've written.  I claim both my parents had a bit of those qualities. So you might say it's in my DNA--except, truth be told, it's a choice. 😉 

When one of my former Social Workers defected to another VA, she gifted  me with a small "Break the Rules" poster. I follow that advice. Almost daily. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm not an anarchist. I believe there is a time and place for rules. Rules can help guide us, keep us safe, provide utilatarian structure, or further aesthetic  artistry, etc.  I'm not a total rebel.  

For instance, I like following the order of holidays. To that end I  believe it's good to prepare for upcoming holidays, but not at the expense of rushing through the "lesser" holidays leading up to a major holiday. 

When we bypass Halloween, Veterans Day, and Thanksgiving, in a headlong rush to arrive at Christmas, we miss fully experiencing the costumes, tricks, and treats of Halloween; the bittersweet remembrance of past sacrifices of our Veterans that ensure our current freedom; and the gathering of family and friends as we express our gratefulness around a gluttonous Thanksgiving table. 

Because of this I rarely shop far in advance of the next holiday--just this week I decided not to purchase Halloween candy because Halloween is still "too far away." Besides, next week is Columbus Day. 

I will probably regret this decision, when after Columbas Day, I return to purchase Halloween candy, and it's all sold out.  But the real irony of my decision is adding another book or magazine to my cart each time I passed the book section as I criss-crossed the store "just browsing,l." I ended up with four total--three Christmas books and a Thanksgiving themed magazine. So much for following my  Holiday Rule of Order. 

Most reasonable rule followers will agree: under certain circumstances breaking a rule can be acceptable. There are times when a particular rule becomes obsolete or irrelevant and  is in need of revision--or  was just stupid at its inception.  

Sometimes you need to be a rebal, color outside the lines, be innovative. 

However, there are also times when the rules make sense and should be followed.  

The photo, taken during my  shopping experience today is a great example. I'm not sure the Christmas tree was meant to be a joke, the project of a bored or embittered employee, or the result of someone who didn't bother to understand the rules before breaking them; however, I do know this Christmas tree is not aesthetically pleasing to my eye. In fact, the sight of it was so odd it stopped me in my tracks as I exclaimed, "that Christmas tree is trying to be a girl!" I had to explain my comment to several clueless customers--but it was kind of fun watching the light bulb go off when they finally saw it. 💡

For the record, this slightly rebellious rule follower thinks the rule of "A-B-C-D" is much more eye-pleasing than the jumbled mess of  "A-C-B-D"--at least when its applied to Christmas tree assembly. 

Sometimes even inconsistant headstrong, willful rebels need to color within the lines...and follow directions. 

Bare-nekkid Technique

The guy at the drive-thru window had only one glove on his hands. The other hand was bare-nekkid. 

The logic behind this practice is kind of like keeping one hand dry and clean while dredging chicken prior to frying said chicken. When practiced correctly, the gummy batter--mess is contained and minimized.

Drive-thru Guy took my germy money,  entered my order onto the germy cash register keys, and returned my germy change to me--all correctly with his ungloved, bare-nekkid hand.

In chicken dredging,  the gloved hand would be the dry hand dipping the chicken into the dry seasonings and coating.   The bare nekkid hand would be the gummed-up  hand dipping the chicken into the  egg, buttermilk, or wet batter. 

So far his bare-nekkid technique was spot on. 

He then proceeded to hand my drink and food order to me--using--you guessed it--his ungloved hand!

Obviously he has never dredged chicken.

I really wanted to educate him on the purpose of the gloved hand--hint, it will not make the wearer "MJ" cool--but I didn't have the time I knew it would take.

Besides, most people use gloves incorrectly anyway during this Age of Covid.

In order to be effective,  gloves must be removed and replenished with clean gloves after each and every contact with potential contaminants.  And your hands still have to be washed with soap and water (or a 70% alcohol-based hand sanitizer in the absence of availability of soap and water). During the Age of Covid, to use gloves in any other way renders them useless--and in fact, increases the probability that germs will be spread.

Moral of the story:  Bathe your hands after each potential contamination,  and use your gloves correctly--or allow your hands to be frequently bathed as they run free and bare-nekkid.

Easy-Peasy

The Plan:  

A quick trip to Sam's for three specific items. Easy-peasy. 

The Reality:

A cute couple offered to help me load my three items--that morphed into12--into my SUV.  I thanked them profusely before I declined their kind offer.  I have this. Easy-peasy.

 
As I reached out to open my back door, I noticed two things: The car wash last night missed a smudge, and when my  hand approached the locked door it did not unlock.

I've always loved the way my beautiful crushed burgandy paint job sparkles and shines. But it's even more dazzling when it's actually free of dust, and road grime. So, I recently purchased an "all you can wash" pass that equaled the cost of 2 car washes a month.  I have utilized it 3-4 times a week for the past couple months, so I'm for sure getting my money's worth, and better still, the smudge will be taken care of today.  Easy-Peasy. 

 
As for the locking mechanism, not unlocking occurs for any number of reasons: The key is too far from the handle.  The clicker battery is waning. Or, my favorite: the door desires my actual touch before  it allows itself to be laid bare and vulnerable. Okay. Maybe not. 

Oh, and here lately, I've forgotten to actually lock up a couple times--albeit usually at home, between grocery unloading trips (one of the reasons I will struggle with bags lined from my shoulders down to my fingertips, and slung around my neck as if I were a horse feeding on an oat feed bag--just to avoid the 15-step return trip to the SUV). 

When my hand tapped the SUVs back driver side handle,  and there was still no tell-tale pop of an unlock,  and the door immediately swung open, I realized I had in fact left my Lincoln unsecured. Again.

Alzheimer's is going to be so much "fun" at my house! That is, if I can still find my way home.  

BTW, did I mention I actually have a Ford?

Yeppers. I broke in to someone else's SUV. Thankfully it was empty. And just as thankfully,  that cute couple who offered their assistance were not around to become my unwitting accomplices. Or witnesses against me to the PoPo.

The Stabbing

The warning started out as a minor annoyance.  Stubbornly I refused to give in to fear and alter my plan just to appease The Warner. After all, I had a right to be there.  My self-appointed mission was to rid the area of the unwanted--the undesirable--the unproductive. I would cleanse the area. I would be victorious. Right was on my side. How then could I fail? 

Simple: I would not fail. 

I did not see the blade.  But I felt it's sharpness as it sliced through my skin as easily as a hot knife battles a stick of butter.  

My precursory examination revealed a 3.5 inch superficial scratch. The wound was not adjacent to any vital organs. Though it was intended to warn me off, it only galvanized me. I deepened my resolve. I would conquer the enemy. I would succeed. I would...

Become woozy.

And notice the blood pooling at the end of the "scratch."

In that moment of heightened clarity I realized I had actually been stabbed. 

Perhaps I am not as invincible as I thought. Perhaps even Right experiences setbacks.  Perhaps I better become less philosophical and get about the new tasks at hand: ensure my personal safety and survival. 

I quickly scanned the area. The enemy had retreated. Safety. Check. Now, to ensure survival. 

I doused my wound with the only liquid I had: my beloved DDP.  I continued to bleed. But the edges of my wound were straight, even,  and did not appear to be gunked up.   I didn't think I would require stitches; however, if I did, I was confident the surgeon would have good material with which to work. 

Oddly I did not feel pain. Just that initial awareness of a scratch. Could I be going into shock so soon  after being wounded? I thought it unlikely, but picked up the pace just in case. 

As I applied clean paper napkins and pressure to stanch the flow, I whispered a quite "Thank You" for every take out and drive thru attendant who obviously thought I am the messiest diner in the the history of dinners. I decided I would henceforth endeavor to be less dismissive of their generosity.  I would graciously accept all the napkins they tossed at me. 

If I survived this ordeal. 

Emergency averted, I became angry.  This attack would not go unanswered. I would stand my ground. My task would be completed, and this attack would be avenged. Once the blood loss slowed, and my initial shock at being attacked passed, I sought out the culprit. 

It took a few seconds.  Everything appeared normal.  Innocent. 

But then I spied the evidence of my attack. Still on the tip of the blade of my smaller Red Yucca:  my blood.

I completed my task with a newfound vengeance. And I relearned a valuable lesson...

I'll take time to put on long sleeves when I weed the larger Red Yucca next.

Or hire the job out. 

Nightie Pockets

So yesterday I bought a cute retro camper/tent camping sleep shirt with assorted woodland animals. When I realized it had pockets I laughed.  Who needs pockets in a sleep shirt?!

Tonight after work I came home, fed Moggy his cat food, watered plants, put TheGirls outside for a potty break, nuked a couple taquitos for dinner, grabbed a DDP (breaking my new goal of only 1 DDP a day--which I have been very successful in abiding for several months), put out TheGirls dog food, changed into the cute new sleep shirt with the useless pockets, and put the phone on to charge--that's when I realized I was supposed to pick up Rx refills at Walgreens.

What to do? What to do?  Put bra and real clothes back on?  Wait until the second reminder text tomorrow to pick up the meds? Or break the new nightie pockets in.

Today was a labor intense day. 

I left 2 hours after my shift was over--and still didn't complete all my tasks.

Yes, what to do...

Needless to say, the Pharmasists,  Pharm Techs, along with the Neighbors across the street (and their visiting Friend),  now join the neighbors on either side of me, and a couple previous fast food drive-thru workers in seeing me in my night clothes.

And since I am on this side of town, I'm going to run the SUV through the car wash as soon as I pick up my meds.  We'll the CarWash Guys to the list. 

Nightie are not just for WallyWorld anymore. And the pockets came in handy after all. 

"My People" are branching out and invading every establishment.

. 

The Value in Worthless Leaves

A couple months ago, as I rushed off to somewhere exceedingly important, I spied a crinkly brown leaf in my potted plant by the door. 

My hands were full.  Or maybe I didn't have time to stop and remove the leaf.  I told myself,  it's acting as mulch, keeping moisture in and heat out. Maybe the Swiss Cheese plant--whose leaves are still whole--likes its roots to stay cool. Kind of like roses. Besides, leaves are biodegradable right? It's probably adding some much needed nutrients. 

It's basically the same argument I make when I'm too lazy to rake up fallen leaves or newly mown grass.

So I left the useless withered leaf in the potted plant without giving it much more thought.

The next time I watered my plants the leaf was gone. The wind had brought it to my front door, and later blew it away. No big deal.

A few weeks went by and another leaf was blown into the pot. Again, it was brown and crinkly.  Useless, except as mulch or plant food.

This occured a few times over a couple months. Each time I saw the leaves, there occured a small niggling sensation in the back of my mind.

Almost all of the leaves on the trees in the neighborhood are still green. Some in my back yard are turning yellow. Only a few of the yellow leaves have actually fallen. And none of the fallen are as old and brittle as the leaves that are being blown into my potted plant. The wind must have blown these leaves in from a far off spot.

Or maybe they are "mulch" from a neighbors yard.   😉

Tonight as I watered my plants I noticed another leaf had blown into the pot. With this much fairly regular traffic,  my "sheltered" area apparently  isn't as sheltered as I thought.  As soon as the water hit the leaf, it startled--which in turn  startled me! 

My leaf was none other than Mr.Toad!

Toads are great critters to have in the garden. They have a voracious appetite and can consume ten thousand  slugs, bugs, gnats. and skeeters in one summer. I welcome any animal, amphibian or not, that gets rid of skeeters and gnats so I can enjoy relaxing outside.  Mr. Toad looks like he could very well be an Insect Eating Champ.  He has the physique of one who has obviously let his figure go to "waist."   Can we say "skeeter Buda belly?"

Since I want to encourage Mr. Toad to take up permanent residence here, I have started looking at frog shelters.  Thus far, I have only found two I've liked.  One looks like  a gnome cottage built by the Artist Owner of That Art Place during one of her clay building classes. I've considered taking one of her clay building class--she usually hosts one  each month. Unfortunately, my schedule and hers have not meshed.   Case in point,  her next class is on a Saturday I'm scheduled to work.

The second frog shelter I like is one my Garden-Buddy ordered online. I can't be a copy-cat and get the same one. Well, I could; however, I'm not.

The most  important characteristics I am looking for are a bottomless structure to allow for burrowing in the cooling mud or earth, and a frog shelter that is Moggy-proof. I really want it to have a back door. An escape hatch as it were. Or a vestibule a cats paw can not get around. I would be heart-sick if my Toad SafeHaven turned into  Moggy's private  SnackPantry. 

So I'm on the lookout for a Toad Abode worthy of a king--or at least my new Prince.  

As in Charming. 🤴

Nothing is too good for my worthless leaf. 😉

My Personal B Slasher Flick

Disclaimer:  Recycling  FaceBook Memory from 2012. 

I survived staring in my very own "B" slasher movie. 

During my recent vacation, I drove all day and arrived at my first nights destination:  an Arizona motel with all king size beds--my choice was between  a "mountain view" in rooms on the front side, or a hot breakfast included with the rooms on the back side of the motel. 

Luckily  I chose the mountain view.  

I used a travel site to reserve my room just six hours before I checked in rather than dealing  directly with the motel, so I was not too alarmed when they didn't have my reservation.  

I also knew the motel was rated 1-2 stars, and would be rather worn and run down.   

However,  I did not expect to be the ONLY guest--and I expected the manager/owners to know how to run my card, as well as know the travel site did not charge me (so they needed to).   I also did not expect "Bubba," their rambunctious Pitt-Lab puppy  to jump up on me and "nuzzle" my neck. Oh, and did I mention my phone had sketchy service? The only reason I could show them my reservation on my iPhone was because it was on the last window I opened--and was still in memory. 

My overactive imagination saw the makings of a really bad slasher movie:  single woman with no access to the outside world, makes a late night arrival and spends the night as the only guest of a remote, run down, motel. The manager/owners that didn't know what they were doing are really impostors  that killed the real manager/owners, and the neck-nuzzling Pitty-Lab  is their people-eating answer to Cujo. The inaccessibility to the outside world is a given in every "B" slasher. 

The difference:  I survived. 

I piled all of my bags on the chair I placed in front of the door before I went to sleep.  Of course, that would not have stopped anyone intent on breaking in--there was a HUGE picture window next to the door--but it made me feel like I was being proactive rather than reactionary--and I didn't talk to the TV like I do when I watch slashers.  :~)

The next day I was able to see just how rundown the place was:  the pool was dry, the flower beds were overgrown, there was trash and broken objects littering the grounds, and the rooms on the backside (meal included) were totally uninhabitable--broken windows, doors ajar, doorknobs missing, etc. and my wonderful mountain view on the front-side was blocked by junker semi. 

My bed was semi-comfy, the fridge ran warm, and the shower ran cold. The room and linens were clean and one towel was actually almost lush. The dining area and lobby were  actually kind of nice and the "bones" of the place could be quite charming and picturesque with a lot of work. But it really was eerie being the only guest and the owners not realizing they needed to charge me...

Not the best place I've stayed--but wonderful material if I ever decide to write a slasher. :~)

Facts and Stats

I read a medscapes.com article this week that referenced the CDC report I am sharing.  I'll add the medscapes link in the comments when I locate it.  In the meantime I've added  a CNN link that says a lot of what I reference, and a link for a Colorado story along the same lines.  Both links are at the end of my post.

Medscaped.com said Massachusetts reportedly has a 69% fully vaxxed population. If true, Massachusetts likely leads the nation in the race for vaxxers and herd immunity.

Interestingly, the medscapes.com article went on to say basically what the CDC report I'm sharing  says (medscape reported even higher percentages; however, I"ve linked the CDC report since it's what the article was based on): 

Of the 469 Barnstable County, Massachusetts folks who recently tested positive for COVID-19; a whopping 346 (74%)  occurred in fully vaccinated people.
 
Let me repeat: 74% fully vaxxed folks. contracted covid.

On a positive note, only 5  of the 469 Covid positive people, were actually sick enough to require hospitalization.

Repeating: only 1%  required hospitalzation. 

The media bombards us with stories about the hospitalized being almost exclusively the un-vaxxed.  HOWEVER, the CDC reported that of the 5 Covid positive requiring hospitalization, FOUR  were fully vaxxed.

Repeat: 80% of the Covid positive, in this particular study, who required hospitalization  were fully vaxxed.

There were no covid deaths reported.

Repeating:  0% fully vaxxed and 0% un-vaxxed Covid deaths.

274 of the 346 fully vaxxed who tested Covid positive were symptomatic. The remaining Covid positive were asymptomatic (without symptoms).

Repeating:  79% fully vaxxed, Covid positive showed signs of being ill.  The REMAINING 21% of the fully vaxxed, Covid positive did NOT show signs of being ill although they were.



I'm NOT disputing severity of covid, and I feel  deeply for those affected by it. I'm just saying the EUA vaccines are not the end-all solution everyone is pushing to be mandated.

The EUA vaccines do exactly what they said in the very beginng they will/will not do:

1.  The current EUA vaccines  will  NOT keep the vaxxed from contracting covid. (74% were fully vaxxed)

2.  The current EUA vaccines will NOT keep the vaxed from transmitting covid. (79% fully vaxxed Covid positive were symptomati, and therefore COULD take precautions against transmitting.  HOWEVER. 21% fully vaxxed Covid positive were asymptomatic--and therefore totally oblivious.)

3.  The current EUA vaccined  WILL reduce the symptom severity, and likely avoid death when you contract Covid. (Only 5 people required hospitalization. No deaths. HOWEVER, of the 5  hospitalized, FOUR--or 80% were fully vaxxed. The media would have us believe the vast majority of those contracting Covid, and the Covid potistive requiring hospitalization are the un-vaxed.)

The CDC says their report is "insufficient" to draw conclusions about the effectiveness of these EUA vaccines against Covid.  That's true--since the beginning of time, well at least since the first statistical reports--ALL research articles end with a disclaimer saying something along the lines of, "more research is required." The statement sparks interest, leads to increased funding and research, and additional  independantly corroborating research lends validity to findings.
 
Just so, you know, Massachusetts is not alone in this:  Colorado is experienceing a similar high number of fully vaxxed people contracting Covid.

https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&url=https://www.reuters.com/world/us/vaccines-less-protective-colorado-county-with-delta-variant-surge-cdc-study-2021-08-06/&ved=2ahUKEwjgg7v0h5_yAhVYj54KHc_nB3kQFnoECDUQAg&usg=AOvVaw3wDBCJFLaq0KoJ7nO7kHlH

https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&rct=j&url=https://www.cnbc.com/amp/2021/07/30/cdc-study-shows-74percent-of-people-infected-in-massachusetts-covid-outbreak-were-fully-vaccinated.html&ved=2ahUKEwiMj-CXv53yAhWwAp0JHVaFBWkQFnoECCAQAg&usg=AOvVaw3ADR7TXEzmbHYsYFrIa8yt&ampcf=1

https://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/volumes/70/wr/mm7031e2.htm

Blowing Up

I'm going to blow up.

Has nothing to do with the day I had at work (my 24th year Anniversary BTW 😀).

Or having to circle the block before one of the cars, parked and empty in the curbside space, moved.

Nope. Not even any kind of  emotional outburst reason. 

I'm going to blow up because I bought a cheese burger and fries from Whataburger, and the fries, took me back to the McDonald's fries of my youth...

Remember them?

They were deep-fried to perfection: crisp outside, tender inside, and best of all...sprinkled with that supper fine popcorn salt! 

Oh man! Pure comfort food heaven.

But my ankles are gonna blow up.

Today it's totally worth every last milligram. 

Critter Visitor

A critter visited my  'hood this morning. I initially drove by, then realized it was NOT one of the neighborhood cats Moggy terrorizes.  

I backed up a couple houses so I could snap this photo. 

The photo did not reassure me--I can't decide if it's  a sliver fox,  or if  Wile E. paid a visit. 

I prefer it be  the smaller grey fox since they usually feed on berries, grubs, and small furry woodland creatures--not family pets--especially since Moggy decided to be an outside cat this morning.  But I have learned what I want, and what is reality, are sometimes mutually exclusive. 

When I last saw Moggy, as I entered my SUV, he was slinking around in hunt mode.  I figured he was after a bird. Or squirrel.  Or even a lizzard or toad.  He was moving stealthily toward, the vacant lot that seperat my privacy fenced back yard my around-the-corner neighbors.   

When I turned the corner and came upon the vacant lot, i grew concerned. Even if I knew where Moggy slunk off to, he doesn't come when called unles shis tummy is rumbly.  

He had just finished off a rather hearty breakfast and was not looking to obey me. 

All the way to work, and throughout the day, I hopped and prayed Moggy kept himself out of the critters reach. 

I say critter because I'm still undecided as to what exactly I saw thus morning. The tail is bushy enough to be a grey fox,  but he is larger than the foxes I've seen around town, and his face looks more canine-ish to me. 

The good news is:   Moggy is safely inside and does not have any evidence of having been in a fight. Today. 

So, what say  ye:   grey fox or coyote? 

Independence Day Parade Preparations

So....I've been waiting for Main Street to start filling up with pick-ups and pop-up tent frames, and the odd flatbed trailer.  They usually start flooding Main Street and Central the end of June. 

The banners are up. The flags are flying. A couple places have been roped off. Even a couple port-a-potties and risers have been set out. The COB (City of Belton) barricades have popped up, so Belton's Finest can block off the streets a little before the parade. But the preperations are nothing like years past. 

Well...I happened to be downtown. 

OMGOSH!!! That's where everyone is! All the way from the Courthouse  down to Sonic (unless the route has changed I think Sonic is just past the end.)

Anyway, not only is every square inch already spoken for, vendors have already set up. And pop-up tent frames, flatbeds, and pick-up trucks are no longer "enough."

People have started renting cherry pickers and window washing risers!!!

Who rents cherry pickers and window washing risers for a parade? 

Too many people for this introvert. I'll stay inside with my AC and watch it on the TV. 

Happy Independence Day! 

The Bad Daughter

I'm The Bad Daughter. Mama asks me to do one thing when I travel: text her along my route, and again when I arrive home, so she knows I'm safe.

I try. I really do. But I forget. Far too frequently. When I do manage to remember, it's usually in the wee hours of the morning.  So I tell myself, "I'll text her when she gets up." And being The Bad Daughter I am,  I forget.

When I left this time Mama said, "Text me every time you stop."

I laughed and said, "I can't promise that I'll text 'every' time I stop, but I'll text you when we leave the hotel in the morning, and again when I stop to visit Alicia and Bill.  And I'll try to remember to text you when I'm safely back in Texas. I love you!"

As I drove away I got the giggles. You see, I am my Mother's ornery, prankster Daughter. I come by it quite naturally since I get it from her. 

But I'm also a woman of my word, and I did exactly what I said I'd do.

I texted her  when we were packed and leaving the hotel the next morning.

My goal was to prepack the night before our departure  and  leave by o' dark-thirty the next morning.

Didn't happen. I like my sleep too much and I was too tired to pack. Besides, I hate partial packing because it leads to repacking. 

I use my own blankies in the hotel room, and pack them on the seat between The Girls travel beds while we travel. They make the entire back seat a comfy cozy haven with multiple soft resting spots for The Girls who are teathered in for safety. The FurKid Boxes and my overnight bag go in the back, along with my rollater. Moggy's carrier goes on the front seat next  to me, with the water cooler and a basket or tray  to keep all the things I need enroute handy.

I considered what I could prepack...

Prepacking the FurKids:
If I take diaposable bowls for food and water, I can chunk them along with the disposable litter box, potty pads, and any fast food wrappers or fresh fruit peels/cores I accumulate. I bring a small trash bag for each day, and a large trash bag for the end of the trip litter box dump.  If I pack up the FurKids stuff, except their leashes, collars, vest harnesses, (all required for the actual driving portion of any trip),  one toy each, a small bag of treats, brush, comb,  and their breakfast. And I keep out the cleaning supplies for any accidents and a final swiffer of the floor and wipe down of the hard surfaces to pick up cat hairs--so few places allow cats, I strive to leave no cat hair behind so as to not wear out our Cat-welcome. Let me see, that means I can pack up and place in the car: pretty much nothing related to the FurKids

Prepacking me:
I can place my dirty clothes and overnight bag,  in the SUV. Except for my travel outfit and morning toiletries. But then I have to remember to place both the overnight bag and the dirty clothes bag on top, so I can easiltly add my morning toiletries and sleepwear to the appropriate bags. Since that's inconvenient, I typically wait until the morning of departure to pack my bags.

I also travel with my cooler for extra water and DDPs--most Sonic and Whataburgers have DDPs, but not all McDs do. And other drive-thru chains think Diet Dr Pepper means non-diet, or worse yet, diet coke.  They even think Diet Pepsi means diet coke. Diet coke is just pure nasty. I will go without before I drink diet coke. The cooler obviously stays out until we hit the road. 

In addittion to the cooler, I travel with my garden tote (to get cuttings from Mama's garden). Cuttings remain in the hotel as long as possible--they go into the SUV right after the cooler, and just before the FurKids due to their fragility. 

Last, but not least is my very important  TEA/BEA. 

TEA/BEA  you ask? 

That is my Tray (or Basket)  of Easy Access:  

The TEA/BEA houses treats for meal stops, so I'm not tempted to feed FurKids unhealthy people food.  Leashes for enroute potty breaks.  An atlas or free state maps picked up at Welcome Centers (to be used in spots where we have no phone service, or GPS Girl and Google Guy have a difference of oppinion about the route--they fought it out in the middle of a National Forest just before I lost all service one trip so I said I would settle the fight.  I went old school and pulled out Mama Map/Auntie Altas.).  The TEA/BEA also holds reservation confirmation emails,  shot records (and destination emergency vet address/contact numbers) for the FurKids, our itinerary when we are going someplace new. And of course my wallet  keys, phone, and tablet preloaded with audio books for the trip--because of course, I wasn't thinking when I saved my audio books  to my tablet, and my reading books to my phone--and the phone and tablet are not synced!  Back in the day, the TEA/BEA also housed the actuall audio book CDs checked out from the Public Library.  Since the TEA/BEA sits atop the Cat Carrier, it can't be pre-loaded into the SUV either.


So, Plan B was to wake up by 6am, shower, pack the SUV and leave by 9am. Check out was 11am. That's usually when I manage to leave. So being ready to leave by 9am was a best case scenario.  It hinged on two things:  Me actually getting up at 6 am, and Moggy not hidding under the bed--his favorite Morning of Departure Game.  I texted Mama just before I turned in the room key. It was 0845. My new "Best."

I also remembered to text from Alicia's home. I even added photos of Alicia and her garden.  Alicia and Mama have a little plant growering competition.  I kill almost all my plants, so the two of them leave me in the dust as it were.

My visit with Alicia lasted much longer than I had planned.  As a result, I did not arrive at the Texas state line until 10pm. Which was around the time I had originally told Mama I thought I would be arriving home.

True to my word, I texted Mama that I had "arrifed safely back in Texas." I was counting on her to assume I was  back home.  Knowing it's been years since she left Texas and she likely wouldn't remember I still live five hours inland.

So I texted the times I told her I would: departure, Alicia's, and Safely Back in Texas.  And I was truthful, albeit expecting my words would mislead her. But the reason I giggled when I left her drive?

I drove to the end of her street, and at the stop sign, I texted her from my very first "stop."  

Yep. Very. Bad. Daughter.  

 

Saturday Brunch

LOL I'm so forgetful...

I love Saturdays.  For one thing. I turn off the alarm and allow myself to sleep as late as the FurKids let me. 

Since we are all sloths-in-training the other 6 days of the week, you would think that would mean sleeping until noon.

Nope. I get up earlier than normal.

So I feed the FurKids, put them out to potty, and bring them back inside.

Then I go back to bed and nap until noon. 😉

The second reason I love Saturdays are the posts I see of the elaborate breakfasts, or pricey coffees everyone else enjoys. 

T

his past Saturday I decided to take a photo of my own brunch. Only I forgot to post the darn thing.

So here's my Saturday brunch...a partially deconstructed pizza.  I just needed some onion, garlic, and anchovies to make it perfect...😉

Mini Zoo

'Tis the season of puppies and migrating sweaters--they all end up at work.  My sweaters. Not puppies. 

A friend posted about the uptake in puppy posts iwas her feed and how difficult it is for her to resist adding another puppy to her home. 

The following post is my response on her FB page. 

True story: 

One of my Veterans said he and his wife have mini doxys. I, of course, told him about my BFFs mini doxy,  named Mini, and asked about theirs. 

He said, "Weeeell," with a sly grin,  (I love stories that start out with a good southern drawl, and twinkling blue eyes 😉) "we started out with a brown and black shorthair female from  Dallas. Then we decided to raise minis so we went to Houston for a black longhair boy. We decided to get his half sister as well." 

I'm oooing and awwing all over the thought of 3 minis.  And commenting on the fact that doxies are notorious for being headstrong. 

He continues to tell me the boy tried to "get with" the halfsister, but didn't seem to know what he was supposed to do. 

I'm thinking to myself that might not be a bad thing since the blood lines might be too close. Or he might just be too immature for mating at that time. 

Not to worry.  

When the boy "got with" the Dallas shorthair she gave them 7 puppies. 

I go back to ooing and awwing, and wondering how quickly they sold their litter. Most are spoken for right away, or even orders placed prior to birth.

He said, "We fell in love with those puppies, and couldn't sell them."  I'm wondering how long that's going to last...

He then described the various colorations and hair lengths.  One of which wa a piebald (tri color).

I said something about puppies and he said...

"Oh, they aren't puppies anymore.  That was 9 years ago."  That's when the sly grin broke out onto a full fledged smile and the blue twinklers started dancing. 

Ten. 

For 9 years. 

And I thought I have a Zoo!

HEB Changing Directions Sermon

(Full disclosure: 

This was originally an FB post March 20, 2016. The knees are worse; however, the Truth remains constant.) 

Funny how God works sometimes....I started heading toward the HEB checkout closest to the produce department (and my SUV) and one of the ever helpful Employees redirected my to an empty express lane--at the far end of the checkout lines. Out of my way, but my knees are still good after my recent steroid shots, so I only grumbled a little bit under my breath.  "Besides," I told myself, "the extra walking is good for me." 

At the HEB checkout I realized I left my wallet in the SUV--parked on the other side of the parking lot.  I left my purchases at the register and took the mini cart to put it away, so another customer would be able to use it--they are always in great demand. Again, I only grumbled a little bit. 

Exiting HEB, by the door closest to the express lane (my original destination), I saw only one other mini cart was in the area--and it was turned the "wrong" way.  I grumbled under my breath about inconsiderate people making extra work for the employees by not taking the 2-seconds it would have taken to turn the cart around.  

I slid my cart into it and started to turn them both the "right" way when I noticed the other cart had more silver at the handle. 

You guessed it--someone had left their wallet. 

Turning around, I looked for the owner, but everyone was either male (don't judge my stereotypical thinking--that ladies wallet could have belonged to anyone, but statistically speaking, the odds were better for it belonging to a female), or they were empty-handed and going inside. Again, statistically speaking, the odds were greatest that the person who left their wallet had done so on their way out--likely with hands full of purchases. As quickly as those mini baskets get snapped up, I was sure they had just left. 

My dilemma:  I still needed to make it out to my SUV to get MY wallet, so I could hike back to the far express lane and pay for my stuff: however, if I did that before I turned the wallet in, the owner might walk past me. So, once again, I changed direction and went back inside.  

I found an Employee and asked for the Manager (the Service Desk where I normally deposit found objects was swamped). The Employee wanted to know "what department" Manager I wanted. I told her any Manager would do. 

A young man looking to be about 12 years of age (they get younger looking every day) introduced himself as one of the Managers, asked a bunch of questions, and took the wallet. Then, I finally made it to my SUV to get MY wallet and once again trudged back in to pay for my groceries. I grumbled a little bit less because I still glowed from the inner knowledge of doing my good deed. 

The point is, even though it was not MY plan, had I not been directed to the express lane farthest away from my destination, it likely would not have been me that found the wallet. It could have been someone equally honest--or it could have been someone that would use the situation to their advantage. I will probably never know if the wallet and owner are reunited, and that's okay. 

I did what I was meant to do. 

The bottom line of this afternoons HEB "sermon" is this:  Stop grumbling when your plan and Gods plan don't seem to be the same--God has us in specific places, at specific times, for a reason.

Doggie Bag Tired

Man-oh-man, what a week this has been! 

The whole week has been physically and emotionally draining. I've had to use my "mommy voice"  with, and think for,  far too many folks.  It's nice knowing I'm needed, but I'm ready to be less needed. 

My Supervisor said she thinks I need a bulldozer. 😮 

My response was, "Some might say I 'rollator' over everyone already." 😉

Yesterday, when I finally arrived home after work, I was so physically tired and emotionally drained I didn't even want to consider cooking.  The mere thought of making a sandwich was overwhelming.  

I finally decided my dinner would be a bottle of water and a small apple. 

I couldn't even polish off the apple.  

I ended up sharing it with TheGirls, then going to bed early. As I fed TheGirls small chunks of skinless apple, Moggy sat next to me and kneaded my leg. With his claws extended. 

He didn't want any of the apple--he just wanted my undivided attention 

Talk about a needy cat! 

Of course, after just a few hours sleep I woke  up hungry, so I trudged in to the kitchen in search of a quick, but filling, snack. 

When I opened the fridge I spied my Sunday lunch leftovers: 4oz steak (medium rare), half a sweet potato (fully loaded), and half the bread loaf.  I don't like soggy salads so I always finish them at the restaurant--one of the reasons my doggie bags are at least half of the main course. 

Back to the fridge:  I ate half of the half leftovers standing up.  

At the open fridge.  

Straight from the take away box. 

No nuking. No utensils. 

Tonight I'm less tired. But not by much. 

So, I finished the steak off. 

I did not nuke it. 

I'll leave it to your imagination as to whether or not I used utensils.  😉

Addicted to Naps

A Facebook Friend posted a meme that said, "One day you're young and wild, the next you're into air fryers." 

This was my response:

And naps.  I'm heavily enamored with naps. Some might even say I'm addicted. 

It started out innocently enough as just a Sunday afternoon thing.  

Then I needed more.  And my addiction progressed into a weekend thing. 

Now, I am full-blown hooked on everyday naps.  Yes, naps.  Plural. 

As soon as I come home after work, I take a nap. In good weather it's outside in the zero gravity lounger on my back patio.  I start out relaxing while watching birds and squirrels vie for seed, and the pups frolicing in the weeds....errr....grass.  In no time at all, I'm out for the count.  

In bad  weather (which includes weather too cold for a jacket and blankie, or weather too wet for ducks), I start out chilin'in front of the TV.  Watching reruns from a time when actors acted.   I frequently snooze sitting upright on the sofa.  If I actually lie prone, I have to set an alarm so I don't drift from one of the four stages of non-REM (non-Rapid Eye Movement) sleep cycles into the  deep sleep cycle of REM. 

Having caught my second wind,  I'm then awake until 2 or 3 am. 

At which point I take a nap before I have to get up and start getting ready for work. 

My Mom and Kindergarten Teacher would be proud. In my early childhod days, they faught to get me to submit to  a 15 minute nap. Now, I take  two, 2-hour naps a day. At least. 

I've often said I need to seek out funding for a nap-at-work field study.  I would hire the Researchers, leaving myself to be one of the Study Subjects. 

No sacrifice is too small for the sake of Science. 

Or my nap-addiction. 

Third (Fifth) Time's A Charm

At least I hope this time's a charm for the "pedicure" and "tiara" for #29. 

The first real appointment  (the second after the first late afternoon "emergency" work-in) resulted in a snow day cancelelation and subsequent reschedule. Given the option of one week out, or two, I went with two since #29 had lost its voice, and,  silly me,  in the middle of a pandemic,  I actually entertained thoughts of a holiday roadtrip during the first week.

Number 29, a party-pooping homebody,  vetoed that idea. 

The hoped for road trip did not materialize as 29 refound and raised its voice to a crescendo that rivaled the roar of the loudest aircraft ever built:  the XF-84H.  It was so loud it could be heard 25 miles away, and it's endearing nicknames included "Thunderscreech" and  "Mighty Ear Banger"--the turbo jet, not Number 29

Until Number 29 became its twin.

And we were once again worked-in emergently at the end of the day, too late to do much of anything except reschedual, and introduce drugs to appease Number 29. 

The drugs were effective. Mostly.

At the rescheduled appointed time Number 29 revealed an over abundance of virulent fluid.  After six failed dry-off attempts, and failure of the root-tip to be vizualized on multiple photo shoots (my roots run deep--and apparently curl better than my hair),  we decided on an additional reschedule. 

We were hopeful that this re-reschedule, the fifth appointment, would put an end to the seeminly never ending pedicure, and we could get on with the tiara.

I went home to complete the drugs.

Today was in fact the fifth appiontment, counting the two emergency work-ins, but I'm counting it as the "charming" third actual visit. 

Although it's now filed under the Win column, it was not an easy victory.

I correctly predicted it would take 3 packs to staunch the flow today (we stopped last visit after six packs and no signs of letting up).  And I lost count after ten unsuccessfully attempted x-rays aimed at capturing the entire root on one film,  to ensure insurance understands the problems encountered. In addition to being exceedingly long and curling, my roots are apparently quite camera shy. 

We finally succeeded. 

This time I had to resort to the bite block and multiple applications of the anesthetic--but the root canal (pedicure) is completed.  Finally.  The smaller abscess in a side pocket where I previously lost a chip of tooth near the gumline, and the gyser inside the root canal are both drained and dry.  The temporary crown (tiara) is in place.  The permanent crown impression has been sent off and  its coronation will occur in a couple weeks.  I'd send you a formal invite, but the coronation room is a little too small due to  current pandemic physical distancing limitations. 

Sadly,  the anesthetics wore off--a little too quickly since I was out of pain relievers at home. The dentist offered me a prescription for pain meds, but it wasn't painful enough to take him up on the offer.

However, after the procedure, I did go straight way to Walgreens to replenish my motrin stash. Just in case...

Water Woes

Sunday dawned a beautiful, albeit chilly, day. I decided to move a couple plants outside to take advantage of the sunshine. As I moved them, I realized they probably would like a drink of water. All my outdoor faucets are winterized, and while it takes no time at all to pop the cover off, I didn't want to deal with reattaching the hose, and then reversing the process.  Luckily, I have a watering can that sits under the edge of the eaves and catches rainwater runoff. It was filled to the brim thanks to four days of duck weather.

Each time I pick up that watering can I remember "you get what you pay for."  You see,  it was a cheap can. The handle is hollow on the underside causing it to bite into my hand each and every time I use it. I really dislike that can, but I'm too tight with my money to buy a new, more expensive, watering can when this hand-biting bucket is perfectly capable of preforming the job.

I've considered wrapping tape around the handle to close the gap. I've also considered stuffing the gap with part of a pool noodle or other foam product.  Or recycled packing material, or even a rag. I know I have something that will work. Although I develop back-up plans for back-up plans at work, I never get past the planning stage of fixing that watering can.  But that's a whole different blog post.

Anyway, I bent over and reached for that awful can and, because Murphy loves me--or rather, because I failed to fully plan or consider the consequences, as I picked up the full bucket, my wallet, hanging on the chain around my neck, with all my cash, credit cards, gift cards, business cards, single emergency check. TDL, and voters registration card fell in the full bucket of rain water and got soaked.

There is always a silver lining: thankfully, this mishap did not occur in a dirty bathroom.

It also forced me to declutter my wallet.  And now all my cards are squeeky clean. And only my signature on my voters registration card smeared. Even the other paper products dried quickly, and since they were spread out over every horizontal surface in close proximity nothing stuck together. Really, when I stop to think about it, I have no water woes to write about.

Except the water mishaps continued--just a little.

During lunch, ice flew out of my glass when I added splenda to my tea. Not a big mishap.  Just a small peice of ice. The resultant melt was easily contained with a paper napkin. Which ensured my ability to wipe down part of the table where I laid my cteadit card. Everything else remained at home. Drying.

While my next water woe was not technically mine, I'm including it in the list. Partially because it occurred within my personal space. But more importantly, I needed a  third woe.

Not to be outdone, my water clutziness rubbed of on our waiteress, who dripped tea on the floor when she attempted to refill the glass.

Okay, so it did not really occur in my personal space.   It was my lunch partners tea, and the spill was within my six-foot physically distanced perimeter.  So I'm counting it.

While brain storming titles for this blog post, I googled water. I know: how lame.  But I learned I've been drinking water wrong. Everything from the type of water, to the amount of water, to the way water should be drunk. I've been doing it wrong my entire life. Don't get all smug--according to the articles, everyone--including you--has been drinking water wrong.  

Good thing I changed my drink of choice to Diet Dr Pepper. 

I used to de-stress by reading while taking a nice long soak in a warm bubble bath. I'd love to partake of that wonderful ritual right now with an icy DDP.

But I'm afraid the water woes might get real and cause me unreparible bodily harm.  So I'll stay dry and  de-stress with just the cold DDP instead. At least I hope to stay dry--while spilling even a drop of my DDP would  not be a true water woe, it would constitute a hydration hazzard for this "pepper."

Paying Respects

During most TV shows the FurKids  just snuggle next to me while I watch the show.  However, they all perk up when TV dogs bark. 

KatE barks back and stays lazer-focused on the TV.  She also has the best hearing, and barks when the neighbors, or their dogs,  go into their back yard...or the kids across the street come out to play...or a delivery is made at our front door...or she hears a squirrel.  She can hear a squirrel no matter how stealthily is moves. 

Her Mama, Kenzie,  is a little less excitable--except with the squirrels. She doesn't allow too much of anything to interrupt her beauty rest. And she is dead weight when I need to move her out of  my place so I can go beddie-bye each night. She is the fastest sleeper I've ever known--going from settling in to dead sleep in sixty seconds flat.  Or less.

While Moggy does not react to outside visitors, or most TV shows,  I have caught him playing in my books and actively watching  nature shows...and travel shows involving the beach--in particular serene beaches without crashing waves.  

Knowing The FurKids like to watch the occasional show, I try to leave the TV playing softly on a timer when I'm expected to be away for long stretches of time . Softly so they are not inundated with sound. And on the timer, because I set the timer when I first bought the TV, and quite frankly, have forgotten how to undo the settings I set--when the TV goes off while I'm a show, I simply over-ride the sleep setting by turning the TV back on.

Since The FurKids like the occasional show, I was not too suprized when I  heard a stylized version of Taps playing on the TV during a funeral scene and saw KatE sitting at attenton watching it.  I thought it was sweet and my heart melted a little.  I was in another room and did not have access to my phone/camera, otherwise there would be a photo to accompany this post.

As soon as Taps ended, KatE eased into a heads-up down position and continued to watch the credits roll.  She evidently has discerning taste in what she watches, because when the ads started she put her head down and went back to ignoring the TV.

Until the next show started and her head  poped back up for a look-see. 

The entire time KatE watched the Taps  presentation, Kenzie was snoozing, and Moggy was in the other room with me. 

I don't believe in consequences,  and I can't really say KatE was actually paying her respects; however, the timing was pretty cool...😉

The Travelin' Cat

With respect to traveling, Moggy, my domestic short hair (DSH) cat has come a long way.  Pun unintentional.

When Bandit and I first rescued him, Moggy was like most of the cats I've been the servant of--yowlingly vocal about his dislike for traveling in the SUV.

The small confines of the cat carrier and potty breaks while harnessed and on the leash--which only occasionally worked at the hotel--and never in route because the traffic noise spooked him, soon gave way to the blanket wrapped crate (which restrained scratched litter from freely flying throughout the SUV).  For the comfort of His Royal Catness, one of his travel  litter boxes was tucked away in the back of the crate, and one of his cat beds took up the front half of the crate. While the crate set up worked well, for a couple years,  Moggy remained quite vocal.

Until I realized he really like to listen to male voices reading the audio books I checked out from the public library to pass the driving time during those multi-thousand mile road  trips.  This was a great way to travel...once Moggy settled down for the story.

During our last trip to the west coast  Moggy decided he was having none of it. I don't know if the altitude hit him hard, if it was the cold, which he normally loves, or the fact that he realized he was religated to the back of the SUV. For whatever reason, Moggy would not quiet himself. In desperation, after trying all the tricks,  I placed him in his carrier and repacked the SUV so his carrier faced me from the passenger seat. He cried briefly until he put his paw on my hand and that was the end of it. He was quiet for the rest of that long day of driving. No yowling. No crying. No restlessness. Just sweet quiet contentedness.

The car carrier became his prefered mode of transport. When he stirred and became restless, it was my cue to stop for potty breaks and I would transfer him to the crate until the next stop.

But the furthest Moggy has come in his travel routine is this:  every day when I arrive home after work, Moggy has been willingly hopping into the SUV while I gather all my paraphernalia. He's been doing this for several months. This week he stepped it up a notch and refused to exit the SUV. So I've been locking him inside while I unlock the front door, check the mail box, and bring the trash cans back from the road to their storage place. Once I am finally ready to go inside, I  pop up the liftgate, and Moggy plays a subdued game of  King of the Inside Mountain prior to exiting the SUV.

This two shall pass--one of my Christmas gifts this year is a wearable sling-type carrier.  Boy is he in for a surprise!



Update:
I started this post a couple days ago. Two nights ago,  as I stepped out of the SUV,  he moved to where I stepped--yep,  his little paw ended up mn under my big foot.  He still entered the SUV and performed his "refuse to leave" routine. When he finally came inside with me, rather than giving me a wide berth, he continued to stay underfoot. I think he's actually trying to get back at me by tripping me. 😉

That's okay, the entire Zoo piled in my bed, and snuggled close, when the neighborhood fireworks started tonight. 

Looking forward to a fabulous 2021, filled with God's blessings, good health, safety, and lots of travel--have to break the sling--carrier in and get Moggy acclimated to it. 😉