The Second Coming (aka the Legend of Con Revisited… again and again and again)

Have I mentioned how eternally blessed I am? My husband is amazing… very male, but still amazing. My daughter is happy to be my friend, to spend time with me, and bead with me. My grandson is my joy. My dog pees on the carpet. Okay so every sunny day must have gnats – those would be the dog and my baby talking, pistol slinging grandmother.

My mother had been told dinner was between 2 and 3pm, it was her choice as to whether my grandmother would be coming. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I didn’t want her to come, it’s that she’s 91 and has good days and bad, and often spends the remainder of an afternoon in bed because her back is basically broken and she’s in deep pain. My mother is an excellent judge of what my grandmother can and can’t tolerate. So yesterday morning Ducky was informed by my grandmother, my mom had only just told her at 8am they would be coming to dinner. What the heck is the deal, it’s not like she had plans. The ham went into the oven at 12:30 at 350° and came out at 2:30 (20 minutes after it should have and the center was still cool) mom and grandma showed up at 5 minutes to 3. Next year I am telling her dinner is between 1 and 2 and not tell her I’m serving at 2:30.
Ack!

So we’re sitting there eating dinner and my grandma turns to Psam and ask her if she saw the article about her in the paper? Mom, Ducky and I all roll her eyes (I’m silently curious as to how much the story will change.)

Several months ago my Grandmother received a phone call from the “Niagara Falls” police department needing a bond to release her grand daughter for attempting to smuggle drugs over the border into Canada. Does my grandmother call someone in the family to verify? No, she ask if she can talk with her grand daughter. Sure, no problem.

“Becky, are you okay?”
“Yes, grandma, I’m fine, how did you know it was me?”
“I recognized your voice in the background.

The “Officer” gets back on the line and tells my grandmother that they need her to wire $4500 to them to secure her release and bond. Now this next direction from the “Officer”, should have sent bells ringing, but no nada, not my grandma, “Don’t contact your local police, we’ll deal with the issues here, it’s out of their jurisdiction.”

So my grandmother, accompanied by the armed idiot that lives down the street from her, go to her bank and retrieve a cashier’s check for the requested $4500 and go to the local drug store where she can wire it off. You did note that the idiot down the street was armed right? And that he walked into the bank with my grandma? Right? Armed? Riiiight.

Thankfully the wise man at the drug store alerted my grandmother to the fact it was a scam. Had she called to verify that her granddaughter was missing? In Canada? At home? No. At this point my grandmother and the armed idiot that lives down the street from her go home and my grandmother swears to not tell my mother. But someone did and my mom came into tell me. Ack!!

Fast forward to Sunday: Ducky and I go to do my grandmother’s wood and in the middle of one of my numerous treks from the wood shed to her wood chest in the living room she proceeds to tell me her story. At the end she tells that she would have called me “because you are knowledgeable about these things”, but you were at work. Folks, take my word for it that has never stopped my grandma from calling me for something frivolous before.

“Grandma, why didn’t you call mom?”
“Because you know more about this stuff than she does.”
“Excuse me? She’s always been your go to girl. That’s ridiculous.”
“Well, she would have yelled at me.” (by the way folks this is before I knew that the idiot down the street had walked into the bank armed.)
“That should have been a hint grandma.”

That same night my mom tells me that grandma thinks I should run a public service announcement to alert people to this scam. Sadly, the day after I found out we had a lead news story about the victim of a scam, a different scam, but nonetheless an elderly victim is out money – feeling raped - scammed. We run these stories constantly, I live in what has become the number one retirement community in the US (Google it - #1 Retirement Community), the retired and elderly (sometimes they are the same) are big targets of scam artists.

Fast forward to the following Thursday night dinner. Over hamburgers my grandmother tells me I should run a public service announcement so that people don’t get conned by these people.

“Grandma, I’m not running a PSA.”
“Don’t you care about me?”
“Of, course I care about you. But grandma we run news stories about this all the time, if you’re not going to listen to a news story why would I think you would listen to a PSA?”

Since then the story has evolved and my grandma as dropped her side arm slinging side kick, with no mention of the bank at all. She will only mention that she got the money to wire off to the con men if cornered – and then she will give some credit to the guy at the drug store. She is now pretty much a wise hero of this legend in her mind. Oh, and the phone call to check on Becky – well she now has made that call and of course Becky couldn’t answer the phone because she was a work.

I just roll my eyes faster and inwardly cringe when the topic is mentioned and the history retold, I mean reformulated into its’ latest incarnation.

How was your Easter?

Sith,
Cele

March 11th - Or A Day In The Wake Of A Disaster

My world goes round, my family is safe, my home is whole –dry – stable, and there is food on my table. My heart goes out to the Japanese people.

In total ignorance of the growing crisis in Japan (I was watching cable not network TV – so no information crawler) I took two sleeping tabs and went to bed at about 10:30. At 11:30, Beady Dee Dee called me. We are on Tsunami watch, after we checked out CNN together and her husband the Chief gave me some info through her I got dressed and was at work by Midnight. Yes, she chatted with me that long.

The National Oceanic Atmospheric Administration or NOAA has an amazing array of informational sites for professionals and the public. KCST began disseminating information and Tsunami watch information. Phone calls began coming in. CENS (Community Emergency Notification System – or reverse 911) called me at the station (WTF) at 2:30AM or 3 o’clock to let me know I needed to be at the newly opened EOC (Emergency Operations Center – aka the Siuslaw Valley Rural Fire District’s main station.)

Thirty minutes later I was called by incident command that they were going to sound the Tsunami siren in 15 minutes.
This gave me enough time to write up and record a new dissemination and air it. It went something like this….

*********************************************************************************
The National Weather Service has issued a Tsunami Warning for the coastal areas of the Pacific Northwest.

At approximately 9:36pm PST an earthquake registering an estimated 8.9 struck the eastern coast of Japan. A Tsunami wave is expected to hit the Northern California and Oregon coast at approximately 7am (7:15 – 7:20 – 7:25 – sometime between 9 and 10am [seriously it changed that much.)

The Tsunami siren has sounded – please do not call 911.

Residents living near the beach and those in the Tsunami inundation zone are advised to evacuate to higher ground. The Florence Events Center has been opened as a relocation center (as was Three Rivers Casino, the Florence BiMart and Fred Meyer’s parking lots.)

Please do not call 911, do not go to the beach

Again, the National Weather Service has issued a Tsunami warning for the coastal areas of the Pacific Northwest. Stay tuned for further information and updates, you’re tuned to FM 106.9 KCST.

****************************************************************************************

And the phone calls began. I don’t call it the headless chicken republic for nothing. Excerpts from actual phone calls I answered (and for a while I was the only one at the station – so I answered them all) –

“What’s that siren? Can they turn it off I’m trying to sleep?”

“What’s that siren?”
“The NWS has issued a Tsunami Warning ma'am.”
“What should I do?”
“Well ma’am where do you live?”
“On Siano loop.”
“You need to evacuate ma’am. They have opened the Florence Events Center as a relocation center. That or higher ground would be where you need to go.”
“But how do I get there?”
“You drive ma’am” (Siano loop is just over the dune from my house – which is not in the Tsunami inundation zone and take my word this woman could hear the siren it’s less than a block from her house.)
“But I don’t have a car.”
“Ma’am, I suggest you call a taxi then.”
“Oh.”

I had several phone calls in the same vein. One lady wanted to know if they would let her take her pets - see has dogs, cats, and birds. I really didn’t know the answer to that one. Several phone calls, and I mean several wanted to know if their house was safe. They lived at least a mile outside the Tsunami zone.

What frustrates me, and I imagine the EOC too, is that since the 2004 Indian Ocean Tsunami that killed tens of thousands, the City of Florence and other communities along the Oregon coast have been neck deep in educating residents in disaster prevention and preparation. You can not drive anywhere in Florence west of Highway 101 and not see signs that either tell you you’re in a Tsunami Inundation Zone or that road you are driving is
designated as a “Tsunami Evacuation Route”.

Monthly free workshops teach residents how to be ready in the event of a multitude of disasters – but they all focus on earthquakes and tsunamis. So how can you be in Florence for any amount of time and not know 1) If your house is in an inundation zone 2) what you should do 3) what emergency supplies and equipment you should have on hand in preparation 4) HAVE A FUCKING PLAN!

We kept our listeners up on where they could go, what schools were closed for the day or just on two hour delays. Sadly, at least one of the valley TV stations reported that Siuslaw schools were closed for the day, when in truth, until 8am they were just on two hour delay with morning kindergarten canceled. But of course at TV station 65 miles away would know better (according to phone calls) than KCST, even thought we get phone calls directly from the 97J Superintendent of Schools. Yes, they did finally cancel school for the day – the “I told you so” phone calls were delightful.

Then finally they called us at 10:30 to say in 15 minutes they would ring the all clear. It was a delight for me to make that announcement – Being a mile away from a Tsunami siren inside a building I didn’t get to hear the chimes. Several times before my airshift was over I made sure to invite people to openly say thank you to the officers, firefighters, city and county employees who made their Friday safer. Being a Friday, I still had a full day of work to do (I hate Fridays) and didn’t get to go home from work until 6:30 – over 18 hours after I arrived. But it was a fulfilling day.

I demanded pizza for dinner, ate three pieces, brushed my teeth and was in bed by 8:45. I didn’t get out of bed until 9:30 this morning. Yes, I did not go to yoga.

This afternoon I went and had to settle for kelp with 400mcg’s of iodine, because the two pharmacies I checked didn’t have potassium iodide (my friend got a bottle but it was expired) I need to go buy some potassium to go with it – no bananas won’t work, Ducky hates bananas. One pharmacist looked at me and the guy who asked for the potassium iodide like we were idiots. Do I have to worry about fall out from the Fukashima Meltdown? You betcha – check out the Unisys satellite image. Be safe, be educated, be smart.

Now I’m going to go have ice cream (Umpqua Dairy's Chocolate Brownie Thunder,) read the high wind warning one more time, say a prayer for the people of Japan, and go back to bed.
Sith,
Cele

Some Days You Should Be The Doer, and Some Days The DON’T DO IT AT ALL-ER

Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed, except this morning I had an airshift, so I guess technically I got paid to get out of bed, way early. At least the airshift part went right.

Like everyone else I experienced grocery shock at the supermarket this morning. If it is a super market, shouldn’t I have a super time shopping? Only the bottom line was super, a bit worse than last week, I’m sure a worse to be surpassed next week. Ducky and I have been on a diet, eating less, healthier, and actually getting our geriatric butts on the cross trainer. So I was in deep shock when I paid $80 this morning for fruits and vegetables. Okay, Arlo refuses to go strictly vegetarian so there was a chub of dog food for him (and even it has peas and carrots in it.) wow! Grocery Shock.

The nurseries are slow to stock annuals this year, because it’s snowed twice since April 15th; frost out day for the Central Oregon Coast—April 15th. We’re lucky if we get snow once a year, but twice since mid April, well the nurseries already lost their first stock of annuals. I guess I can understand their reluctance to move too fast to stock anew. So my lily garden, er I mean Ducky’s lily garden is a bit slow getting color to it.

That can’t keep me from getting my baskets done, albeit late, but done none the same. So today I bought some Bacopa, trailing Lobelia, white Allisum, even some Geraniums for my pots. Okay I did buy a Lavateria, some Lupin, and Snapdragon’s for the Lily garden. But whether I should touch them is in question. After having taken down last year’s brown, petrified Bacopa baskets I hung three new ones, removed the old potting soil and copra so I could paint the old baskets black. Three baskets later I realized I’d painted my right index finger a better coated shade of Krylon semi gloss black than the baskets.

I grabbed the Vita Start off the shelf, poured about a healthy tablespoon into my half gallon pitcher and went to nourish my new plants. Since Ducky and I added the new room I’ve used a left over bucket of wall mud for an improvised stepping stool. It’s stood me well for all these five years. I heaved it over to the part of the deck nearest the first basket stepped on my trusty bucket, and the lid collapsed under my considerable girth. Of course I was wearing my new jeans, my best boots, and a look of frustration. I pulled my foot out of the mud; my boot stayed stuck.

I set down my pitcher of Vita start, rolled up my left pant leg to keep the wall mud from getting everywhere else and unwedged my favorite left boot from out of the bucket of five year old wall mud. I spent the next fifteen minutes cleaning wall mud out of every crack, crevise, and stitching hole in my best boots. Teach me to be down to one pair, thank heavens I wasn’t wearing my moccasins.

After this set back I tempted the fates of the gods by actually using a step ladder. Dividing the half gallon of Vita Start between the three, I gave the new baskets a good healthy wetting. Then I began getting out my windchimes (my deck is kind of a temple to the wind gods) and actually got them hung, well five out of six, without much incident. Playing it safe I put the ladder back in the garage, no need to tempt fate more than necessary. My day was looking up.

Right up to the moment I went to put away my pitcher and Vita Start and realized I just dowsed my brand new Bacopa and Lobelia baskets with carpet cleaner. I shit you not. Now I know that a little bit of soap is good in plant water, but carpet cleaner? I grabbed my half gallon pitcher rinsed it.REALLY.DAMN.GOOD. Dug the ladder back out of the garage and drown my new baskets with clear, clean water. Please send good healing thoughts for my plants.

Now I am off to recuperate from my day with a glass of merlot and a hot tub.

Watch this spot, just incase it goes awry.

Sith,
Cele

2008: The Year of Walking Dangerously

2007 was barely a warmed over memory when I came to the realization that 2008 was going to be a painful year, on and not just any year, no, it’s a leap year and a nine year to boot. My last nine year was 1999 and I taunted fate by flying on a nine day in a nine month. I was ever so bold. But nine karma is coming back to haunt me

My colourful Romanesque nose is still tender if touched just right. The mauves have paled into nonexistence, but the greens and yellows still persist. But why wait until the damage is healed is what I say. Why put off tempting disaster, strike while the iron is hot. And I didn’t even have to think about it. I know better than walking on my beautiful wood floor with my shoes on, but it had been a while since I’d fallen to the floor writhing in pain, because I’m challenged by walking flat-footed.

Friday night I arrived home to a cold house, 56 degrees indoors does not a cozy evening make. Ducky was in a hot shower basking in the glory of scalding water when I came home. I placed our highly expensive halibut fish n’ chips on the counter and set about to build a fire in the woodstove. Arlo was jumping all over me for attention, two inches off my heels as I chopped and gathered up my kindling, his ever present bulk being pushed out of the way so I could cut the wood, lay the fire, start the fire, “Sheesh Arlo, back off.”

I soon had flickering flames leaping up from around the kindling; the fire grew in the woodstove. Ducky had just walked into the living room as I walked from the new room. I have no idea what I was talking about, probably the greetings of the evening between us, chatter about Halibut fish n’ chips that cost an arm and a leg and your first born child, all I know is I never made my destination. Suddenly my foot slid out from underneath me and I landed, close to face down, with my left fist wrapped around the fire starter shoving my underwire as far into my ribs as humanly possible without bringing around death. Mammograms do not cause this much pain or discolourment.

Arlo was upon me in a flash licking my face; Ducky was once again berating me for wearing “those damn boots.” I laid in pain barely breathing. Gathering my courage I forced myself to roll over, checked my nose, and shoved the dog OUT OF MY FACE saying, “It wasn’t my shoes, there is water on the floor.”

When you come home from work, and your dog is all happy to see you, stop and give your loving dog a pet, a hug, and a good doggy treat. If you don’t your retaliatory pisser will jump up and pee on your futon, which will run on to the floor and you will slide your banana boat size boot through it and land on the floor writhing in pain.

My nose is just about free of colour. Only a slight bump remains on top of the ridge where I am doing my darnedest to grow a Cher inspired nose. But my boob, oy, my left boob has pain that will not be denied. A mottled purplish bruise has sprung up like X marking the spot, and Ducky is swearing I am days away from that walker, but now a seat with safety belt is being threatened along with the training wheels.

Anyone want a retaliatory pisser?

Painfully,
Cele

Grace Under Foot

The only person surprised was me, my mother knew from my early days that I am graceless. Really, she is often heard calling me “Grace.” It’s amazing I did so well in dance as a child and teen.

An avid horse person in my formative years I could often be seen falling off. Ice-skating, I was the kid whose finger was cut by a blade of the couple Ice Dancing behind me. Yes, I fell in front of them and she ran over my finger. The whole nonevent could have been avoided by 1) someone telling me how to turn and 2) just keeping me off the ice in the first place. And because no one listens to that mumbo jumbo about looking both ways before bolting across the street, I’m the kid on the block who got run over by a car (and I mean laying on the ground looking at the oil pan run over) and by no means think I do things half assed the driver was a cop. Poor guy. Really what is more important: Looking both ways? Or Soups on?

So there is the evidence of a problem that has not gotten better with age, but only become more pronounced. Ducky often offers to get me a walker with training wheels for my next birthday. Give me a new pair of shoes and I’ll fall all over you.

Now as strange as it may sound this habit of falling is compounded by the fact I’m eternally in the dark. My eyes have always been light sensitive and my night vision (though not what it use to be) is excellent. But not right after I turn of the lights. So you can imagine the walls I don’t see immediately post lights out.

Monday night I was so tired I rushed brushing and rinsing. I turned off the light as I stepped out of the bathroom entry, paused just long enough to release the girls from bondage, and turned back into the bathroom to place my bra on the counter. It never made it that far. I never saw the doorjamb that ran in to my already Romanesque nose.

I distinctly remember a sharp click sounding, resounding, and later pounding the pain through my face. But it is a memory in after thought, because all I could do is hold the sides of my nose in an attempt to pressure the pain away and not cry. When I could finally move out of my crouch to turn the light on again. I found no blood pouring from my nose, only a slight chunk missing from below the bridge of my nose and a purple knot. For all the pain I endured the darn thing should be broken.

Remember how Cher had that awesome nose with the bump on the ridge (you know before she fixed it and ruined her looks?) Well add a black bruise and you get a full mental image, well except Cher’s stunningly beautiful and doesn’t have saggy girls.

In pain,
Cele

Warning Labels are for Sissies

You have no idea where my fingers have been for excruciating amounts of time. Held fast to inanimate and sometimes should be animate objects for much longer than desired. No not by design, but by sheer stupidity; by such tunnel vision that all logic and thought of cause and effect are so gone, they are not even on the horizon. Nix, nein, nil.

In beauty college, yes I went to beauty college, (didn’t everyone) they taught us that super glue was originally developed for surgery, but found lacking: its adhesion destroyed by moisture, and it’s strength is severely tested by time. I stand here today to say, bunk! Sissies performed those test. I can vouch for the strength, toughness, and fastidious grip of superglue.

But friends, I think superglue is out done by nail glue, and do you know why? Of course you do you went to Beauty College too. But just incase, it is because nail glue has an additive not found in your common utility draw variety of superglue. Oh, no, nail glue includes an anti fungal.

An anti fungal. So tonight when I stuck my fingers, quite firmly, to my terracotta Halloween, glow in the dark, neon orange and black, Bat cut out candleholder. I. WAS. FUCKIN’. STUCK. But fear not, I will not get fungus. When my nail has become glued to the wrong side of the tip of my finger – and will not look right whether French tipped or nude, I will fear not, because I will not get fungus. When I glued my hand to the table, more than once, in the same day – because, shit I can – I only fretted just a little, but it had nothing to do with fungus. You try getting you palm unstuck from 26 year old formica.

So I have to ask, why do some things stick and other things do not – regardless of amount of pressure applied, porosity, and logic? Why is it that the no clog tips, clog until you just throw them away? Why is it that I can struggle for five minutes to unglue my thumb and index finger, but the nail won’t stick to nail? Why is it that some really cheap plastic tips just break in two when you try to glue them? And why when I accidentally drop just an itty bitty little drop on my new: jeans, jammies, or shirt - it 1) burns (I mean really smoking burns) 2) never comes out 3) and holds the originally color remarkably well. If it wasn’t for the stiff factor, and that hideous smell, I’d consider gluing all my news clothes. Hey they won’t get fungus.

Sith,
Cele

Bunnicide To Save Our Children from China With Love!

I know I’ve be MIA and with few good excuses. Everyday or so I’ll sit down with the intent of writing a blog and become sidetracked by everything you have written. You guys rock. I’ve even started a few blogs, hmmm, that somehow are saved for later, whenever that might be.

But this morning their was an obscure form of bunnicide in blazing colour at the bottom of the front page of section B in the Eugene Register Guard. The, obvious, hands of a woman firmly wrapped around the head of a fuzzy, stuffed bunny whose sole eye was attached to a chain device of torture. She was pulling on said bunny’s head with firm grasp. Poor bunny. Apparently when a bunny screams on paper it doesn’t make a sound.

I was surprisingly shocked, stupid I know. I just wish more companies paid as extravagant and detailed attention as the bunny tester of Specialized Technology Resources, a company that test children’s toys. Sixteen hundred employs, working forty hours each week to destroy toys with the aim of protecting our children. The latest lead tainted toys made in China for American kids are lunch pales, dispensed by a well intended California organization to promote healthy lunches for school kids. And the basic cost for STR to test a toy line? Just $35.

$35 or better yet, what if we all demanded American made? What a concept. But wait, while America has outlawed lead based paints, there is no law that requires toys to be tested. None, Nada, Nix.

Mattel toys, whom we trust so well, suffered a 1.5 million item recall earlier this year for lead paint on toys. That was only their first recall. This year Mattel has placed recalls for 20 million toys. It boggles the mind – and tells me not enough books and puzzles are sold anymore. The Toy Industry Association is pushing for federally mandated testing. Finally!

And remember that stuffed bunny being sacrificed to make sure babies and toddlers won’t choke on tiny gnawed off parts? STR says a check of stuffing inside those plush toys uncovers filth. Whoa, Nellie! You Betcha! Dead bugs, sawdust, even metal shavings according to the Guard’s report. I was appalled, even at the age of fifty one, I love giving and getting plush toys. And for now on I’m going to be searching for the American Made label – at least they’ll be our bugs.

It gives a whole new meaning to the rabbit died – btw a quick check of five stuffed animals in my collection unveiled that three were from China, two from Vietnam, and one from Korea. I’ve not even checked Ducky’s Duck Collection. Bummer.

Today’s To Stupid To Live! Award shoud go to the MIT student who wore a fake bomb strapped to her person when she went to Logan International Airport to greet her boyfriend this morning. I thought the prerequisites for getting into MIT was brains? And an art project? Get fucking real.

Today in history 1937 - JRR Tolkien’s the Hobbit was first published.

Sith,
Cele