This was taken on Lolo's and my first New Orleans trip. Lo liked it so much she had it blown up and framed. I have a copy framed at my house too. I thought the drawing came out kinda cute. 


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This was taken on Lolo's and my first New Orleans trip. Lo liked it so much she had it blown up and framed. I have a copy framed at my house too. I thought the drawing came out kinda cute. 


This is an open apology for the inadvertent lie I have been telling for years. For as long as I can remember, when asked, "What's your least favorite household chore?" I always said, "Mopping." I was wrong. I now know that mopping is a snap. It was the "mop-prepping" that I hated: moving things, sweeping, gathering dust bunnies. On Saturday, My Sweetie did the prep work and I mopped all four tiled rooms and it was nothing. I guess my new answer to the household chore question will be dusting. Rather than send you to the link from October about why I hate dusting, I will paste the pertinent part here:I also realized today that I have probably never gone one full day without sneezing ("I could not snop steezing!"). Maybe when I was in Hawaii, but I'm not sure. I'm terribly allergic to house dust which is a Catch-22. If I don't dust, dust will accumulate. If I dust, even with a dust mask, I will feel sick and miserable for two days and go through a whole box of kleenex. One of the main components of house dust is human skin cell flakes. I KNOW I'm allergic to THAT because I have sneezing fits when I file my nails. I vacuum/dust a lot and that is better than cloth dusting, but it still makes my nose and eyes run. I also use Nasonex but am too goofy to remember to use it every day. Plus I think it costs about $500 an ounce. Well maybe not that much, but close. I guess I should just buy stock in Kleenex.
There are no good household chores, but each person seems to have a rating system. In an ideal world we could all go to each others' homes and do the chores we do not hate and if there were enough people, everything would get done. For example, I would do all of your laundry if you would do all of my dusting (although someone else would have to do any necessary ironing). I rarely iron anything, but if I had a lot of ironing, I would trade that out for cleaning bathtubs. Or I could clean the kitchen for your dusting. Hmmmm. That really would be nice. Maybe I should offer this barter on Craigslist.


Friday afternoon I went to the Animal Services place to get the cat trap. I was a little overeager and had the trap set up way too early. As you can see the sun is still out and the kitty never came before sundown. I put that little sheet of cardboard in there so it would feel more natural to walk across. The gist of the thing is, when the animal puts its weight down on the part under the food, the door slams shut. Mr. Frowny, I mean the man at the Animal Services place told me to set it very "hair trigger" if the cat was too small. And I thought I did, but I did not, as you can see in my little video clip. (Which is my very first video on my new digital camera.)
So he sat there and ate and ate and nothing happened. I was kinda freaking out. I didn't want to scare him away to reset the trap and I didn't know how long until he'd be hungry again. He stopped eating and began licking his paws, so I stepped up to the door and he ran away. I went back out to reset the trap at a lighter setting. I set it so close to the edge I was afraid it would trigger if it thundered. We went into the smoking room for a cigarette and I was lamenting that I hadn't set the trap right the first time and My Sweetie said, "I bet he's out there right now." Well, HE WAS! So I missed the whole thing.
Anyway, now he was going crazy berserk in there (and at this point I became a little afraid that maybe he WAS feral), so we picked up the trap and took it to the bathroom. The kitty finally settled down in the cage, so I went out to the garage for supplies: a little litter pan, and a little box with a towel for a comfy cubby hole. When I got back, the cage was empty and My Sweetie was just sitting there. I said, "What the hell?" He said, "He's back behind the toilet." So I got the food and water out of the cage, took the cage out, and set up the litter pan and cubby box. Then I just reached back behind the toilet and picked him up by the scruff. He was very docile then so I knew he wasn't feral. I took this picture so you could see how small he is:
The kitty spent most of its time in the box but would come to me sometimes and eventually became very friendly and loving. All this time I was still calling him a her and calling "her" Elaine. Then I took a look and realized My Sweetie was right - it was a boy. I started calling him partner for a while but somehow started calling him Barney, although his Native American name would be "Walks With One Grey Toe." He has four white mittens like my cat Lilly, but has one grey toe on his back right paw. Anyway, what his name was didn't really matter Friday night because we were going to take him to the Humane Society on Saturday. I stayed with him until 6:00 or 7:00 in the morning and finally went to bed. When I got up around noon, My Sweetie had spent a lot of time with him and saw how sweet he was and was being awful quiet when I mentioned things like "what time the Humane Society closed" and "which exit we should take off of 30."
He didn't come right out and say anything, but I began to suspect his heart wasn't into throwing him out into the world to take his chances on a possible adoption. We were both saying things like, "If we didn't already have three cats..." and I even made the joke, "Why don't we just take Rufus to the Humane Society?" (Rufus can really be an asshat sometimes.) Usually when we have plans to go somewhere on a Saturday My Sweetie has to keep on me to get ready because my social phobia has turned me into the master dawdler, but he was saying nothing at all. That's when I knew. Finally I came in here (he was on the computer) and said, "Well, instead of going to the Humane Society, we can just got to Petco and buy an extra litter box and some kitten food." And that was that. Barney became our cat. We let him out of the bathroom to roam around after we put the other cats in their room and he really liked the library:
After we went to Petco Saturday, I made him a nice little section in here. It's a very large room with a french door and two french windows looking into the living room. It's a great set up because the cats can study each other through the glass. We have let them meet, but just for short periods. Today Barney hung out in the living room all afternoon with us while we watched Little Miss Sunshine. He jumped into this plant and I couldn't believe I got this picture in time. I need to start wearing the camera around my neck!
We took out all of the drawers before we attempted to move it and the bottom four drawers are so wide, we had to crab-walk sideways style down the hall with them. It was a lot of work, but the room seems twice as large now. Which is odd because with the exception of some wall shelves, which are now holding junk in the closet, we didn't remove anything. ANYTHING. So all of the same stuff is in there, but it seems like there is twice as much floor space. That makes no sense to me at all. I am baffled every time I go in there. I guess it's like one of those optical illusion things. Like this image where the center dot on the left seems larger because it is surrounded by smaller things:
But the floor in there is not surrounded by smaller things. It is surrounded by the same things, just in different places. I don't get it. I need to stop thinking about it.
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Tuesday night, Elaine, the stray kitty seemed a little more bold than usual so I went out there to try to make friends with her. The only things I made friends with were about 19 mosquitos. I have been getting an average of five bites a day for over a week now. I should be dead from West Nile Virus by now. Tonight I tried to sneak up on her from behind but she is faster than lightning. I called the animal control people today about a trap and he said I needed to leave a $50 deposit check. I told him I had cash, but he would have none of that. I do not have a checking account so My Sweetie wrote a check tonight and I am going tomorrow (Friday). I'm hoping he will find someone at work tomorrow to take her. My second option is the neighbor lady who was Reebus's mom although she lets her cats out. The main option is to take her to the Humane Society. I wish we could keep her, but four cats seems like too many (sorry, Jeanette). I will try to get pictures of the trapping experience. Wish me (and Elaine) luck with all of that!
I guess for about 20 years or so, my favorite painting has been "The Cardsharps" by Caravaggio (pictured above). I don't know about Josie, but I based this on an actual painting I had actually seen, unlike "The Mona Lisa" which is a made-up painting for a Tom Hanks movie. (Ha Ha, just kidding! I'm sure it is a real painting or Ray Evans wouldn't have written that song for Nat King Cole to sing.) The reason I think "The Cardsharps" was my favorite painting was twofold: It's right here at the Kimbell and 2) (oops, I forgot the 1!) Whenever I go to the Kimbell, I stand there and look at it for a VERY LONG TIME. Plus one time it played a crazy trick on me. (okay that's three things). In April 2002, we went to the Corcoran Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. AND IT WAS THERE! If they didn't have those little plaques that say things like "On loan from the Kimbell Art Museum, Fort Worth, Texas," I would have really thought I was crazy. As in "Hey I love this painting and it's in EVERY museum! How awesome is that!?"I pondered on the whole favorite painting thing some more and came to realize that "The Young Sheperdhess" by William Bouguereau (I wish I knew how to program that to F7) is my current favorite painting. I discovered this painting at the San Diego Museum of Art in January 2006. It's there on my right side bar thing. After I decided that, I realized I knew nothing at all about Bouguereau (which is probably French for "bugger of a name to spell") so I googled him. His Wikipedia page had a picture called "Interrupted Work" that looked A LOT like a painting postcard that I had on my corkboard.
"Interrupted Work"
This is a little corkboard in my guest room with a painting postcard from all of the art museums I have visited (except the Met). The picture in the bottom right is called "Whisperings of Love." This was a painting I really liked at the New Orleans Museum of Art. I saw the painting and bought the postcard in May 2003.
I ran into the guest room, grabbed the postcard, flipped it over and the very first line printed on the back was: William Adolphe Bouguereau. So I had bought these two postcards three years apart, from museums 1,840 miles apart, and they were pinned up on my board just 9 inches apart and I DIDN'T REALIZE IT WAS THE SAME ARTIST.
This picture has a great story behind it. I posted about it before, but it's such a minor part of the other post, instead of linking I'll just paste the pertinent part here:What I didn't mention in that other post was that after my Dad died, this picture was one of the things I shipped to Texas. When I pulled it out of the box (its original box - Dad had never taken it out of the box except to show someone every once in a blue moon) the upper left corner of the frame was missing. There was just a bright white square there. I just assumed something had happened during shipping and shook the box but nothing came out. If you look at the picture again you will see that the corner is different. At least it's not a bright white square. I used my exacto knife on some packing peanuts like this one:

2. When the music is perfect. I really, really love when the music is just right for the situation. I wish I could program all the background music for my life, but I can't. That's why it's SO GREAT when it just happens. I can be playing pool and the perfect song comes on and it just gives me a boost. It improves my mood and my game. I love it when I'm in a posh hotel bar and someone unexpectedly starts playing great standards on a grand piano. It's hard to explain, but if I'm doing something and the just right song comes on, it's as though a sense of euphoria washes over me. Yeah, it IS hard to explain. I give up.
3. The ocean. I love the sight, sound and smell of the ocean. My absolute favorite way to enjoy the ocean is to sit on a nice hotel balcony with a cooler full of beer on ice and my binoculars. I can spend hours and hours sitting there and looking. And I have - in Hawaii, Virginia, North Carolina and Mexico. And I loved it. Those Corona commercials? I totally get them. And I don't even like Corona.
4. Vacationing with my bestest buddy Lolo. When Lo and I vacation together everything is SO relaxing and fun. We have some sort of perfect vacation rapport. We do stuff together and do stuff apart. After we do stuff apart, we meet back up and regale each other with crazy stories. We laugh about everything and never get on each other's nerves. If one of us starts to tire, the other will infuse them with energy. We look so odd together people always ask, "How do you two know each other?" Then we always look at each other and burst out laughing. It's a goofy story. We have such a good time together. We e-mail all the time and talk on the phone a lot, but our visits are the best. We only saw each other twice last year and I won't see her until October this year (unless...). But I sure love our visits.So those are the 5 things that top my list for raising my vibrations. I also love a good cream sauce. If a menu says something like "...in a sherry garlic cream sauce," I will order it. And bisques. Mmmmmm, bisques. Especially Lobster bisque. Speaking of food, today I had a fancy version of "the perfect lunch." I had a leftover KFC chicken leg, some havarti with dill and two black plums. Yummy!
I can't believe I still have these two disposable camers floating around. I had forgotten all about them until the other day. About three weeks ago the lady at the top of the hill called me. Everyone on our street has a sheet of paper with the names and numbers of everyone on the street and of the two houses at the bottom of our street who are actually on another street, but face up our street. (They are honorary members of our street.) It's part of our neighborhood watch thing. She asked me if the white cat was mine. I got kinda defensive because I knew she was talking about Reebus. I said, "No he's not mine, but he's sort of the official neighborhood cat and everyone knows him and loves him." The lady who called me is "new" to the street and I thought she was going to complain about Reebus. I guess my tone was a little rude because then her tone got sort of rude and she said, "I just wanted to know who the owner was because he has been here a few days, not really moving and does not look well." Then I felt like an ASS and told her who the owners were.
I had just taken a picture of Reebus in May because he was sleeping on our lounge chair on the deck and he was lying in such a stupid position, I just had to take a picture. That picture is in one of those disposable cameras. Also in one of those cameras are photos taken from the Skybar at the Met. You'd think I would have remembered THAT, but what made me remember the cameras was Reebus.
I'll miss Reebus. I'm glad I took pictures of him over the years. Now I need to get those last ones developed.

I guess I jinxed myself last week when I kept saying how happy I was that whatever animal took the tomato didn't damage the plant, because less than 12 hours after that post, a whole branch had been pulled down and broken. For some crazy reason I decided to put it in water. That was 5 days ago and my "hydroponic tomatoes" are doing okay so far. I did put a tiny pinch of Miracle Gro in the water.
I'm not a typical female when it comes to shoes, but I bought these yesterday and I really like them. The reason I am not really a shoe person is because I have Fred Flintstone feet. And yes, it is the same shoe in two different colors. I've been buying shoes that way since I was 9. I actually bought a shoe a couple of years ago in THREE different colors. That's just how I roll. Yabba dabba do!

Today I had what I think of as "The Perfect Lunch." Not only is it tasty, but I think it appeals to me on an ancient, basic level. The meal is simply a leftover "oven-fried" chicken drumstick, cheddar cheese cut into small sticks, and an apple cut into slim wedges. Today I had a green apple, but any apple will do.
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I think part of the appeal is knowing that if I could slice through time, stopping at any random place, I would find someone, somewhere, eating a chicken leg, an apple and some cheese. If I close my eyes, I can see myself as an ancient shepherd on top of a bright green hill eating this very same meal while keeping a careful eye on my sheep. I can be a ten-year-old kitchen worker, slipping away from the manor house with my carefully pilfered items to enjoy a lovely picnic by a babbling brook. I might be a big sweaty, blacksmith taking a break from the fires to enjoy this lovely lunch someone had packed for me that morning.
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Remains of apples have been found in ancient Stone Age villages, cheese is guessed to be around 4,000 years old, and people have been cooking and eating birds for almost ever. The three make a great combination. So try this for lunch one day and let your imagination go wild.


I think this unrelenting wet weather is starting to affect me. I'm just really really tired of it. On top of the wet soggy mess that is the world around me, I am now getting mosquito bites on a regular basis. I thought when May ended, the weather would return to normal, but the rain continued through June and now it is supposed to rain every single day through Sunday. And probably after that. Our street is on the side of a hill with the yards cut out like stair steps and now My Sweetie is having nightmares that everything will collapse and all the houses will slide down to the bottom of the hill.
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On top of the daily routine news about floods, lake levels, water rescues and weather forecasts, the latest thing is whether or not there will be any fireworks on Wednesday. Even if they can shoot off the fireworks, will anyone go? I imagine the best choice would be Lone Star Park (a horse racing park) because there is a lot of indoor seating, but the fireworks display is "weather permitting." Sigh.
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Maybe I should rent one of those old movies about hot thirsty people trudging through the Sahara desert being hammered by the giant bright sun. Oh giant bright sun, how I long for thee.