blue sky

[click on the title for the full post]

I'm typically a positive, half glass full, happy sort of person.

I drive even myself nuts sometimes with my sunny attitude - sometimes you've just got to pack it in and give up on something.

With the dark days and the frigid weather and the cruddy roads I was having a hard time feeling peppy.

Intellectually I know that I'm better off than 99% of the people in the world and that I have an amazing life, but I was having a hard time remembering that.

I've had my head down for days, mostly out of necessity in trying not to fall on my ass on the ice.

When I finally looked up I saw blue sky.

The sky is blue!

work tamped down with more work

Waitress station, Red Key
Pipe [bottom right] is a chute where returnable beer bottles used to travel to basement.
Trash can [top right] is my nemesis.*

Today was a busy day of work followed by work. I've been spoiled the last few weeks and have only worked one job on Saturdays. I've tried to be protective of my Saturday afternoons, but was happy to work at Second Helpings today. 

We had some great volunteers come in and paint our training kitchen today. I couldn't paint my way out of a paper bag. I've lived in my house for over a dozen years and it has never once occurred to me to paint my walls.

Luckily, there were lots of people who did know what they were doing. I'm a damn good wet towel fetcher and spill wiper-upper. Everyone has a talent.

I raced home to clean the house. And by clean, I mean finally taking the wrapping paper to the basement and scooping the towels off of the bathroom floor. I didn't have time to ditch the vases of pine boughs or sweep or dust or put away the piles of Christmas gifts or cards. I'm ashamed to admit that I shoved some junk under the table - and it's not like you can't see under the table, but it made me feel better. Sort of like a play pen for piles of stuff.

I was doing the panic cleaning because NYC John was flying in at midnight and spending the night at my house before making the trek to his hometown. It's not like I haven't known it for days, I just thought the cleaning fairy might think it was a good time to show up.

No luck.

The Red Key was a little nuts, I got busy later in the evening, cooking right up until 10:00. Then the joint filled up with youngsters. The Red Key is doesn't serve pitchers or fancy shots so we don't get many people in their mid-twenties and early-thirties.

One of the youngsters wanted to fix me up with his dad. Who was there. That got awkward quick.

NYC John's timing was perfect. He walked in the door just as the dad was demanding my phone number. I'd admit that I didn't explain the big hug I gave John and handing him the key to my house to the group. I let everyone drawn their own conclusions.

Between youngsters, the late night, the lack of nap, the trash dumpster being across the icy parking lot and locked, I was good and grumpy by the time I got home.

A hot shower and catching up with an old friend was exactly what I needed to erase the furrow in my brow.

Life ain't so bad after all.

*that trash can is my nemesis because it has a swinging lid top and people love to stuff it to the gills. It's hard to get the bag out of and I typically have to wrestle it to the floor at 2:00 in the morning to empty it. It is bleached out the night before and there is usually bleach water at the bottom. I've ruined more skirts and pants and tee shirts because of that damn can than anything else in my 30 year restaurant career.
Sounds petty, but I'm allowed to hate one thing about my job, right? 

indiana state fair day 15 - 2010 edition

Not every day at the State Fair can be a, well, day at the fair.
Read about my misadventures by clicking here.

good bye blue

I spent Friday night cleaning out my truck.
The Chevrolet S-10 pickup truck I bought new almost nine years ago.

I know that cars and houses and shoes don’t have souls, but I do think they have personality – or at least affect my mood.

I never bonded with the truck. Partly because I didn’t like the color. Blue. How shallow is that? Light blue would have been okay. Metallic dark blue, not so much. When I got the truck I hesitated about the color but talked myself into it. I was more concerned with the features, or rather, lack of. I wanted a standard transmission, no power locks or windows. No frills. To choose another color would have added another $1500 to the purchase price and I didn’t think I cared that much.

I bought the truck after a failed experiment of driving a big old truck. I lasted about a year with the 1980-something Chevrolet 1500. I looked like a badass in it, but it was too damn big for the around town driving I was doing. I remember being more relieved to be rid of the big truck than excited about the new one.


The S-10 also had some unpleasant boy karma around it. I had a huge fight with A. centered around the new truck. I’d been to the license branch that morning to get the registration transferred but had not put the license plate on the truck yet. A. asked if he could borrow the truck for a gig. I was happy to loan it to him and told him I’d run home for the plate. It turned in to a big screaming match, for no apparent reason. I realized later that it was the beginning of the end of our relationship. Picking fights over nothing.

Anyway, it was not a great start for the truck. The first dent came when a date offered to walk me to my truck. For my safety. Ha! There was a fight in the parking lot by my truck. I asked the guys to move and they stopped, surprised -- I think being a woman didn’t hurt. Then the jackass I was with got involved and someone got slammed into the side of the truck. First dent. And the end of that relationship.

I drove the truck to Nashville twice. To see two different boys. I met up with A. one time, long after the breakup. I stopped for fuel and somehow almost knocked myself out with my own door. A sign maybe? I spent the whole trip with a splitting headache and a lovely oozy cut on my forehead. The next trip to Music City was fun, but no less awkward.

Then I got caught up in the chain-link fence next to my driveway on a snowy day. A hailstorm caused enough damage that the cost to repair it paid off the truck.

There was something psychologically comforting about having the truck paid for. At that point I didn’t care what it looked like, just that it worked. I’d make it through the winter with it. One winter turned into five and I was still driving it. Then I bought the house and not having a truck payment was critical. It didn’t make me resent it any less.

Even though I drove the truck less than 70,000 miles, it got a good workout, especially during the coffeehouse years. And I helped friends move and hauled water heaters and appliances and recycling.

Cleaning out the truck was cathartic. Going through all of the ticket stubs and papers and party favors that I cared enough to save, but not enough to take in the house was good for me. Finding directions in the glove box reminded me of fun parties. I laughed at my ‘emergency kit’ stashed behind the seat– my idea of emergency supplies includes Band-Aids, $40 and coins, tape measure, socks, sunscreen, earplugs and sunglasses. All of which have come in handy, I might add.

I found dozens of gift certificates that I’d stashed in the console. Starbucks, anyone? Who knew that I had three umbrellas? I also found sixty dollars in cash between the seats. I did not find my keys or Jimmy Hoffa. Or an old boyfriend, for that matter.

I’m ready for a new chapter – bring it on!

hi there

It always seems so awkward when I've been away for a bit but my whole life is a bit awkward, so I should be used to it, really.

So here I am. Again.

I seem to be in a topsy-turvy time right now. My house is all jumbled up. I was taking great pride in how clean my place was in December, January and February. The porch was clean, I could have opened the front door to anyone - and invited them in to the whole house. I'd gotten rid of furniture and stuff over the winter and moved my closet to the basement and gotten rid of a lot of junk.

Then I spent every free minute for four weeks helping Mom pack and move. My sister Beth was there even more. Not only was I ignoring my housework, writing, my Golden Gloves tickets and friends, I was hauling crap home - furniture, household goods and guilt. Not necessary in that order.

I was coming home around midnight each night with arms full of dishtowels, candles and books and a bellyful of McDonald's cheeseburgers, fries and resentment. There was a mess everywhere I looked - including the mirror.

I was missing writing deadlines and trying to squeeze my job into a forty-hour workweek. And trying to squeeze my ever-expanding ass into my jeans.

There was even a boy (age-appropriate, single and cute) who was showing some interest and calling. We talked on the phone for evenings in a row, always with me crouched down on Mom's porch talking in a low voice, no I couldn't come out and play.  He came to see me three Saturdays in a row at the Red Key. The fourth Saturday he brought a date.

I don't blame him really. I was a crabby mess.

You couldn't walk through my house. Two people I was really fond of died on Easter Sunday. A cousin died the next week. Another friend last week.

The tailgate fell off of my truck on the way to work. Worse, it didn't quite fall all of the way off. It was still attached by one of the cords that keeps it from slamming down.  I head an awful noise and prayed that it was not me. An even crappier truck drove up beside me an pointed for me to pull over. Fabulous. It was me. It was throwing sparks and trash bags from Mom's were spilling out.I'm too much of a goody-two-shoes not to pick up the trash. I had to bungee cord the tailgate and trash bags in the bed. Classy.Luckily I didn't have my glasses yet so I'm not exactly sure who drove by.

My water-heater conked out. I didn't wash my whole body -- just parts, for a week.

Work is a little dicey.

What do you think sent me over the edge? My freaking right turn-signal light was out. I even had the bulb and tool to change it in the glove-box but that didn't stop me from bursting into tears and pounding on the steering wheel.  

So here I am again. Trying to organize my house - like things with like things - as my friend Kim says and my life.

Write, write, write.

Look at me go!

i have become the crazy cat lady down the street

I was up late last night, cleaning and baking. The cleaning led to an allergy attack (perhaps I should dust more than once a year) and one of my eyes swelled shut.

I went next door to walk the neighbors dog. My cat, Felix walked out of my open door right in to the path of the dog. They started a chase, dragging me along. We slid down my steep front yard -me on my bum. 

My neighbor came home to see me sitting on my ass, cowboy boots tucked in to sweat pants, wearing a Dead Milkman tee-shirt, hair in a pony-tail on the top of my head and one eye and the dog doing his business. 

*sigh. 

Follow up: The next night I was a little smarter when I went to feed Claire and pulled my door shut behind me. Yep. The door locked. It was a long, cold three block walk to the Hostel to fetch the spare set. Different sweat pants, same cowboy boots (they were close to the door) and a short-sleeved CBGB shirt streaked with flour and pink icing. 

I let myself in the Hostel, found my keys and nicked a coat from the back of a door for the walk home. 

*sigh

out of whack

I've been out of sorts lately. Not only have I been crabby but it feels like my whole being is out of whack. 

I've been tripping over things, jamming fingers, banging knees on doors and getting paper cuts by looking at boxes at Target. 

Seriously, who gets not one, but two cuts from the box on an embarrassing feminine product? After I bled on it I had to purchase it. I was also running an errand for Tammy and the twins so besides the bloody box of embarrassment I also had baby bottle nipples and a package of Fig Newtons on the conveyor belt. And the woman in front of me in the line had her credit card denied so there was a big rigmarole and the people in line behind me stacked up. My hand is bleeding and it didn't occur to me to purchase a box of tissues to sop it up. And I was trying to catch the cashier's eye to tell her to let me swipe the box over the scanner so she didn't have to risk touching the soggy box. I'm surprised that I didn't have a stroke by the time it was over. 

I tend to be hyperaware of my surroundings and people's feelings. I'm really good at being sensitive to feelings and situations. Not yesterday. 

That photo, my friends, is of my Jesus key ring on my display table at the Hebrew congregation in my neighborhood. I hope no one thought that I was making any kind of statement...

And if that was not bad enough, I swore in front of a man of the cloth today. I popped in to the library after work and a man stopped me and asked if I was Nora. Why, yes I am. He introduced himself as the pastor of a neighborhood church and asked if I'd help him find music for the farmer's market that his congregation hosts. Sure, I'd love to. 

He handed me his card and I asked if I could give him my email address to send me the details. I remarked that I'd probably use his card as a bookmark and find it weeks later and "wonder why in the Hell I had it." 

*sigh. I'm going to bed, before I do anymore damage to myself and others. 

sick

I intend to revive last year's recap of all of the holiday parties that I'm invited to. I had to miss the first one last night (Christamore House Guild meeting). 

I haven't felt good for weeks, but it all came crashing down on Monday. I woke up feeling extra crappy and had no voice at all, but guess what? I went to work. I'm an idiot, really. I was able to score a noon doctor's appointment and have not left my house since then. 

Three whole days with out leaving the house - unless you count the 5:30 in the morning dart to the driveway to retrieve the paper. Three whole days of not getting dressed. 

I wish I could say that I cleaned the house and decorated for the holidays. Nope, I mostly slept on the sofa, popping a cocktail of antibiotics and Ibuprofen. And blowing my nose. And coughing. 

Three whole days of eating freezer food. Can you believe that I still had some soup left from the soup swap? It was a lifesaver -- and very delicious. 

I thought if I ever had three days at home I'd read, write, catch up on blogs and organize. Nope. Lots of watching fuzzy television (no cable or high-def TV), surfing Facebook and napping. 

I've been sitting so much my bum actually aches. 

There was a highlight to being sick. When I got weighed at the doctors office it showed that I'd lost 20 pounds since my last visit! And my blood pressure was lower than ever. Woo Hoo!

I'm off to shower. And trust me, it's time. 

points

I joined Weight Watchers in August and have lost 17 pounds. Over 10% of my starting weight. I'm at the weight I was when I started working at at Second Helpings three years ago. I'd love to lose another 10 pounds, but I'm thrilled with the progress so far.

I'm having fun opening boxes of clothes that I haven't been able to wear for a few years. It's like having a 24 hour boutique in my (clean and dry!) basement.

I'm doing the Weight Watchers program online, which is perfect for me. I can enter what I've eaten in to the points tracker and it figures out the points for me.

I've learned some interesting things. A fist full of my beloved red vine-y goodness is equal to eating a cup of chicken and dumplings. My Waterford Twizzler jar is sitting empty and I've learned to write without eating at at the same time.

Work is the hardest part. We're surrounded by food. The students are always creating dishes and looking for tasters. When a proud student comes to you with the first cheesecake they've ever baked or chicken Parmesan they made from scratch it would be rude not to taste it, really. Even if it is 9:30 in the morning.

Last week two pallets of candy were donated. Not cases, pallets. Of candy. Three Musketeers, Butterfinger, Snickers, Dove dark chocolate covered caramels and yes, Twizzlers. The helpful drivers brought bags of the sinful decadence to the table right outside of my office door. And the other thousand pounds are just a thirty second walk away. Damn it.

One thing I like about Weight Watchers that you can exchange activity points for food...or maybe beer. The State Fair helped me kick start the program. When you walk a 1.5 miles each way to eat a sandwich it sure helps. A brisk one mile walk equals a Jameson and water. Now that's math I can wrap my head around!

Many of my activities don't show up on the WW activity point scale. Sitting on my hands, jiggling my legs and holding in comments during a two hour committee meeting is not on the list. I think it should be worth at least one point.

Moving the humango oak bookcase, that took Dad and two other people to haul onto my porch --in the house by myself-- and standing it up with a complicated system of pillows and increasing taller chairs to lean it on should be worth at least five points. Getting the bookcase stuck in the hallway should be worth at least two points in frustration.

Squeezing around the bookcase to get to my bedroom for a month should be worth something. Having to hold anything that I wanted in or out of the bedroom over my head -- laundry, books, the cat, glass of water....you get the picture-- should be worth at least a point a pop. [thanks to Miss Adventure for helping me get it into the bedroom- where its going to stay- forever.]

Frenzied cleaning and organizing and recycling Saturday knowing that there would be company in the house. Worth at least four points. Cleaning out the truck, putting air in the tires, gas in the tank and wrestling with the hood that wouldn't open to add windshield wiper fluid should be a two point value.

Getting ready for the Gala and discovering that the two pairs of sheer black stockings that I own both had runs - at least a point. Deciding between tights and fishnet stockings to wear with the dress, one point (I went with the tights). 

Pulling out of the driveway for the Gala with Kipp in the truck and the hood popping open. Worth at least two points in embarrassment. Getting lost on the way to the Gala- in my own town, mind you. One point. Getting called out by the social reporter for the paper for not being "the Guild type," two points. 

Sweating over deadlines, two points. Feeling guilty over a messy house, one point. Constantly running late, three points. 

You get the idea- I'm losing weight, even if it is in a very neurotic way. 

i'm not tired, really. swear.

I almost didn't go out to hear music tonight. I was still tired from the day before -- fashion show followed by going to see music followed by the PHILLIES WINNING THE WORLD SERIES followed by a celebratory glass of champagne. The champagne would have been okay on its own, but paired with skipping breakfast, lunch and dinner, a day of nervous excitement and three beers before that- it was not the best decision I've ever made. 

I was dragging all day. It took me until noon to realize that I had a hangover. I honestly can't remember the last time I've had a hangover (some of those early coffeehouse mornings don't count). I muddled through the day and gave a torchbearer talk on the way home. 

And then I had to drive back downtown for a meeting. I agreed to help with a project that I feel like I'm failing miserably at, which makes me feel guilty and bad and useless. Anyone want to play along the marathon route this Saturday at 8:00 am? 

After the meeting I went home to feed the cat and sit for a minute. I had to talk myself in to going back downtown (for the third trip of the day). One of my very favorite musicians, Tad Armstrong was playing a CD release party for his first solo album. 

I'm glad I made myself go. I ran in to friends that I have not seen for ages and the music was terrific. Sam's Saloon is housed in a building that is 125 years old and has been a bar for over a 100 years (I'm not sure what happened during the whole Prohibition era). It still has gaslight fixtures and a potbelly stove in the lobby. 

I can sleep when I'm dead, right? 

To see photographs of the show click here. To read the review I wrote for NUVO click here. 

cinderella saturday

I want to start out by saying that I love working at the Red Key. Not only is it a fun, social, three-blocks from my home job but the money allows me to do things like travel to Ireland, heat the house and pay the mortgage. I've never once apologized or felt embarrassed about waitressing or working in a bar.

That said, working most Saturdays I've missed my fair share of stuff. This Saturday I felt extra Cinderella-like. I've had the last two weeks off - I really needed to work tonight and I've exhausted my options for getting my shift covered.

Today is the Broad Ripple Music Fest. And I am the music columnist for the Broad Ripple Gazette - hummmm, maybe I should be there. The festival matches venues with nonprofits and two places picked Second Helpings adding another layer of guilt.

I raced around the village seeing as much music as possible before 5:00 and stopping in to the two venues to talk about Second Helpings and to thank the volunteers running those stages. The night turned in to one of those excruciating ones that happen every year or so. Not only did the cool kids and lots of musicians come in, which I typically love, but every yea-hoo in town darkened our door.

The Red Key is a family owned bar - wonderful. I'm not a member of the family - not that I wouldn't be honored to be related to Russel, but I'm not his daughter. A customer tonight argued that point for quite a while tonight. Ugggh, seriously - would I choose Spitznogle as an alias?

I am the waitress and the cook and a lot of times I'm making the drinks too. I've worked at the Key for five years and I've got a bit of a routine. Except no one else was playing with my rules tonight. Gette posted this nice little insight in to the world of waitressing. In my crabbiness tonight I thought I'd expound on her list a little bit.

1. We have a business relationship. I am the employee and you are the customer. I can't give you free drinks or food, it is not mine to give away.

2. Just because I'm waiting on you does not mean that I'm stupid. Waitressing is hard work -not only is it physical but it stretches your brain. I've got all of the drink and food prices stored in there, the location of thirty beers and hundreds of liquor bottles and the recipes of thousands of drink combinations and what glass they are served in, I can do math in my head (two beers + a cheeseburger deluxe+ chips + cashews = $12.25), I remember who is sitting where and most likely I remember what you drank that last time you came in and whether or not you like onions.

3. I'm happy to tell you my name and usually throw it in when I'm delivering your first round of drinks. If you're going to ask me my name it is good manners to offer yours at the same time. Tonight a guy made a huge deal of asking my name and then proceed to call my Lora the whole whole evening, even after his friends corrected him. That same guy whipped a bottle cozy out and wrapped his beer in it. I couldn't tell whether his beer was low without picking it up. I asked him every single time I passed by if he needed another drink. He waited until I'd walked away from his table to shout LORA I NEED ANOTHER BEER as I was waiting on other tables. I never did learn his name, but he was wearing the moniker Asshat while he was there.

4. I'm not standing over your cubicle telling you how to do your job. I'm just saying.

5. If you don't see me for a few minutes chances are I'm cooking your food or taking out the trash. I'm not smoking by the dumpster or eating the last order of potato salad, swear.

I'm out of steam and ready for bed- you're spared any more ranting.

Phew.

snooze

I swear that I've had a headache since I was in Austin. I keep blaming allergies and general busyness.

I did some yard work after work-work. When I say 'yard work,' I mean that I dumped the dirt from the pots of mums that I let die in to the hole in my front yard and stepped on it to tamp it down. No matter how much dirt, plant parts and twigs I've packed in there over the years the hole keeps getting bigger and I keep tripping over it.

I wandered in the house and tried to make myself do house work, but decided to take a little break and read. Under the covers. Watching That 70s Show. And closing my eyes for just a minute....

I woke up six hours later, disoriented and in a panic. About everything. Work, the economy, my truck, my mortgage payment, insurance, my social life, my age, family, my cat, Everything.

It's going to be a long weekend.

snacks

I try to do business at locally owned places as much as possible. I also like to support places that are in not-so-great neighborhoods. I appreciate that they are there. There is a drug store on the way home that I frequent for my antihistamine and diet Pepsi needs. 

More evenings than I like to admit I stopped for a People Magazine, chips and a candy bar on the way home. No wonder I gained so much freaking weight. 

I stopped this evening for diet Pepsi and spent way too much time loitering the snack aisle talking myself out of chips and candy. Damn diet. 

half ass

...or is it half assed? Or half-ass? Damn it, I can't even title a blog post these days. I started this one weeks ago and couldn't even manage to hit the "publish post" button.

I feel like I've been running on tilt for the last three weeks. And it was bound to happen, really. I always joke that I'll be running at full speed and then, whomp: I'll just fall over and it will all be over.

My out-of-wackiness started the day after the fair ended. I had a frustrating day at work (as so many are, I just don't write about it), and it was one of the nights that I stayed until 8:00 to finish stuff up. I went home, fed the cat and went to bed. I woke up in a panic at midnight, realizing that I'd forgotten to pick up my projects from the fair, including two pretty valuable PEZ dispensers. I grabbed the entry book and read the bold type warning that basically said: anything that is not picked up is gone forever, dumbass stupidhead poopyperson [I might be paraphrasing a bit].

I had a finance committee meeting the next morning. I have a hard time sitting still through those on a good day, let alone when I pictured my precious circus pony Pez hitting the dumpster. That meeting rolled straight over to another meeting. My plan was to race to the fair and throw myself on the mercy of whoever I needed to. I was dashing out the door when I decided to check my messages since I hadn't been at my desk all morning. Woo hoo! One of the state fair volunteers remembered me from all of my visits to the building and knew that I worked at Second Helpings. When I didn't pick my stuff up, he rescued it for me. Yippee! Thanks Dave!

My last three weeks have included things like staying late at work, having several programs and files open and not clicking on "save" enough and having everything freeze up and get lost. I know Ralph, Jesus Saves! Which then made me push the limits on turning in my column. And it is really bad for me to know that I can submit it a week late and it still gets to print.

I had two groups of touring musicians stay at my house last month and friends were generous enough to put me up. The first group was lovely and I always look forward to Amy's visits. Amy Speace has played to thousands of people and was hand-picked by Judy Collins as her opening act. I was disappointed in the turnout in Indianapolis - only a handful of people. Amy wrote about it here. Anyway, I had fun getting the house ready- blowing up air mattresses, cutting fresh fruit, laying out towels and dusting. We had a great time catching up and I enjoyed meeting one of her new band members. I love being to offer my washer/dryer and wireless to folks that have been on the road. We drank a beer, caught up on our lives and I grabbed my pajamas and toothbrush and headed to Tammy's to sleep. As I was putting on my pjs I realized that I had not brought clothes for the next work day. Luckily it was casual Friday and I didn't have any appointments. My jeans, black tank and flip flops were a little more casual than usual, but it all worked out.

The next group made me really nervous. Six people that had been on the road for ten days. Their gig didn't end until midnight and it was 1:00 by the time the van pulled in to my driveway. They were rocking out to something AC/DC-ish, singing along at the top of their lungs with the windows down. By the time I parked and ran up the driveway hissing, "turn down the music," neighbors lights were flipping on and I could see curtains parting. I gave the two guys that I've known for years a tour, reminding them about where the lights are, etc. I sniffed something through the window that sent me flying out the door, "could you please not smoke pot in the driveway, or the house for that matter." I felt like such a raving bitch by the time I walked out the door at 1:30. I was scheduled to give a talk at 6:45, which meant leaving Tammy's at 6:15. I was careful to remember to grab clothes this time.

I burst out laughing when I unloaded my bag in Tammy's spare room - I'd grabbed a freaking tablecloth instead of a skirt. I also forgot to bring shoes and I was wearing cowboy boots. I figured I could sneak in to Tammy's room (if I could get by the big dogs holding guard) and grab one of her skirts. As it mercifully turned out, the talk was cancelled. I had a 9:00 meeting that I went to wearing the jeans. I stopped by my house to grab a skirt and was greeting with sleeping bodies, pans of food on the stove and overflowing ashtrays on the front step. Ugggh.

From there I decided to have lunch in the neighborhood instead of at work. I had a lovely time sitting in the sunshine and visiting with neighbors. A woman that I volunteer with on a project accosted me and yelled at me about the project and how mad she was. I'll admit that I needed a little kick in the ass, but no one deserves to be yelled at in public. As you can guess, the already strained relationship is worse.

I've had such a tight schedule of meetings and talks and work that if one little thing goes wrong a catastrophic domino effect starts. One day last week meetings ran in to meetings that ran in to more meetings. At the last meeting I was taking a deep breath envisioning a hunkering down with a library book at home. My cell phone rang and I learned that I was late for work at the Red Key. I'd totally forgotten that I'd picked up a Wednesday night 7:30 cooking shift. I raced to the bar and cooked 30 burgers in my beautiful dry clean only dress. I did something I never do and drank a shift beer while cleaning the kitchen. Just as I was walking out the door my phone rang again. I'd forgotten to go see a friend's band play. I pulled up to the venue, still in my good dress, smelling like grease, smoke and sweat and burst in to tears as I was racing to the door.

Typically I revel in those sort of days, putting on my superchick cape on trying to do it all, be everything to everyone.

Lately I feel like I'm not doing anything quite right. Work, writing, part time jobs, friendship, blogging, homeownership, boys, family and volunteering are all off-kilter. Even my cat is giving me hell and my bike and car are rebelling. Thrown-up hairballs, flat tires and plugged fuel filters abound.

Tomorrow will be a better day....right?

indiana state fair day 4

I almost didn't make it to the fair today, but you know how I love having a theme to blog about.

After Scott and I got home from the fair last night (10:45-ish) I washed my face and drove to Broad Ripple for a Second Friday, Second Helpings concert. I didn't get home until after 2:00. 

I had to meet a repair man at Second Helpings at 6:30. I'm sure that you're not surprised that I threw on the same jeans and top I'd been wearing the night before to drive downtown. I got a lot of work done at my desk (including the previous post). I gave a tour to a group at 9:30 and got them started in the kitchen. 

From there I swung by a friend's yard sale, dumped off my recycling and deposited a check. I contemplated going home for a nap, but made myself go grocery shopping. This dieting crap requires healthy food, right? I promised myself that I could be sleeping with in the hour. 

I walked out with a watermelon, asparagus, yogurt and bananas. I set my bag in the back of my truck and fumbled for my keys. The keys that were still dangling from the ignition. F dash dash dash. I was hot, exhausted and pissed off. And I had my sound system in the back of the truck. I'd stuck the PA, the box of cords and the microphones on the drivers seat while I was in the store. The speakers, speaker stands and mic stands were in the back. With the recycling bins and a watermelon rolling around. 

Once I calmed down I realized that I could walk to the Hostel (1.5 miles) and get my spare keys, and then ride my bike back. I called John to ask if he had the keys (from the basement project). He had them . In his hands. In Nashville, TN. I must confess to being a bit crabby to John. 

F-DASH-DASH-DASH!!! 

The sound system I was hauling around was for a band that was playing at the Hostel. John would not be back until 6:00-ish. I had be at work at the Red Key at 5:00. 

I called Heck of a Gal for a ride, thinking that we could drop off the speakers and my groceries and I could nap in the hammock or break in to my house. 

As I was pouting and beating myself up I realized that the drivers side window was down a few inches. I could stick my skinny little wrist through it, but no way could I turn my arm enough to lift up the lock. 

I put my MacGyver hat on, ran in to the deli and asked to borrow at stainless steel ladle. I had to do a lot of convincing and even offered to buy it. It worked. I was able to stick the bowl part and twist the handle though the opening. I was able to pull up the lock. Wheeeeee!

I was so relieved that I went home and loaded 30 chairs in to the truck and unloaded them and the sound system at the Hostel. In the heat. I did some serious debating with myself and headed to the fair anyway. 

The fair contracts with the Deaf School to used their grounds for parking. I like parking there, it is easy to get out and its on the close to home side of the grounds. 

I also like making the occasional trip to the fair by myself. The FFA kids run a store that is stocked with Indiana products. I love poking around there. I bought some Ball Jar products and my very favorite caramels. 

I checked out the fiddle contest and found a bevy of fair queens. 

I don't think they're counting Weight Watchers points. 

Here are the winners from the annual fiddle contest.

I walked over the brand spankin' new covered bridge. 

We like our corn in Indiana. 

The sky looked like it might rain, but it never did. So far the fair weather has been perfect.

Todays fair food: Grilled cheese sandwich from the Dairy Barn. They have a sandwich this year. It sure was Gouda!

I walked out of the fair grounds toward the Deaf School. I veered off of the sidewalk and walked toward where the truck was. I came to a 3 foot chain link fence and realized that I should have stayed on the sidewalk. Crap. I walked along the fence row and saw that I'd have to back track quite a way. A young couple had done the same thing. They suggested that we jump the fence. I was frustrated enough to do it. Ha! 

You know what happened next. My truck was actually in the fenced in part. I'd walked by it. I had to jump the damn thing again. 

I finally made it home and took a big fat nap. 

I was late to work because I sliced my little finger on the cellophane wrap box packing a healthy dinner and I was out of whack all night. I broke a glass - only the second in the five years I've worked there. I brought the wrong drinks and had to keep confirming what food people ordered - and since I'm the waitress and the cook, timing is everything. 

A friend came in and I was telling her how off kilter I was. I tapped my forehead with the end of my pen as I was talking. As it turned out, the ink end of the pen. I'd written on my forehead. I guess I'm lucky that I didn't poke my eye. 

Tomorrow is another [state fair] day. 

r.i.p twizzlers

Hello lovelies,

I've missed you! I had a lull in blogging. Partly because I was swamped, but mostly because I believe in the 'if you don't have anything nice to say, don't blog it' credo.

I realized that I was in a funk a couple of months ago when I was trying to finish my 47 things about me post and re-read #2. I always wake up happy -- no matter how angry I was when I went to sleep or how I wake up. I always worry that if I heard a burglar in the house my first thought would be "Ooooh, fun! I have company!"

Whoa! That was not true for a couple of months. I couldn't put my finger on what was wrong, but I sure was crabby and out of sorts. I really realized it about six weeks ago when I was hanging out with an old friend, that I was happy to see and all I could do was complain. I didn't even like being with me. Sheesh.

Ironically, that same friend told me that he woke up one day a few months ago and felt good for the first time in a long time. I told him that I was feeling like crap to keep the universe balanced. Well, I'm feeling better punk - I hope you still are too.

Long ago I decided this blog was not going to be about cats (have one, his name is Felix and he looks like a bat), hot flashes (been there, done that) or my weight. Well, you're just going to have to hear about my weight for a minute.

In order to feel better I started addressing the things that were bogging me down. The basement project was one. I stopped staying at work until 11:00 pm. I dusted off my bike. I reacquainted myself with the library - and thanks to Erin Brown I have a small display of my PEZ dispensers in the Glendale library. And I joined Weight Watchers.

I know that my activity level has declined over the years. I went from an active job at the coffeehouse to a mostly desk job. I started blogging and writing which requires hours on my bohunkus.

In the beginning I'd eat potato chips and other crunchy-saltys when I was writing. A year or so ago I switched to Twizzlers. They were 'fat free' and didn't leave trails of salt between the computer keys. I was feeling pretty damn good about myself.

The first time I typed my Twizzler intake in to the Weight Watchers program I almost fainted. One serving of Twizzlers is worth 5 points! The same as a cup of chicken and dumplings! So eating a bag of Twizzlers (not out of the realm of possibility in a three hour writing stint) was like eating four cups of chicken and dumplings! Or drinking 10 Miller Lites. Or eating two whole French baguettes. Or a one and a half Peanut Buster Parfaits.

So, the Twizzler jar is gone. And now that I'm paying attention to what I eat and am consciously exercising. I've lost six pounds in the last two weeks. Only twenty more to go.

And the State Fair started yesterday. How many points is a steak sandwich?

akkkk!

I was trying to add someone to my sidebar of blogs and deleted the whole list. (I'm working on recreating it)

And my truck wouldn't start this morning. After spending a good chunk of money on it last week.

I'm ready to start the day over...I wonder how long it would take me to walk home?

That said, I have an amazing group of friends.

Bad Influence Girl swung by this morning to try to jump start it. She took me to work when the truck wouldn't start.

Hostel John is going to look at the truck this morning and might very well have the problem fixed by the time I get home.

It's not so bad, really.

[edit: The lovely Marcella gave me a ride home- yet again. When I got home I stuck the key in the ignition and it started right up. John replaced the battery while I was at work. I must have been a really good person in a previous life!]

hello....anyone home?

Hi, long time no see. 

I had lots of posts written in my head, but I've been pretty darn crabby and who wants to read that - unless Crabbydad is writing, of course

 

I'm in a 'what the Hell I'm a doing with my life ?, why am I single ?, blah blah blah' mood. It was triggered by lots of factors and ended with me sitting on the floor sobbing over a relationship that ended 25 years ago. I opened a Pandora's box of old letters on Tuesday evening.

What was I thinking then? Ugggh. I just have to keep telling myself that if it didn't feel right at the time, it wasn't right. 

I'm working on stuff the boxes and my emotions back into the cabinet and getting back to my present life. 

Speaking of work, my next big home project is dealing with my basement. My basement has always been damp and with all of the rain lately it has been a lake down there. Lots of boxes are soaked and stuff is ruined. I only have one closet, so the basement is full of out-of-season clothes, holiday decorations and just plain old junk. Wet moldy junk. 

This morning I hung tons of things on the line to air them out and went to the pool for the first time this season. You guessed it: RAIN!

I now have clothes hanging all over the house. It ain't easy being green. 

Okay, enough of the pity party. I'm off to bed. 

the price of cool redux

Some of you might remember the 'price of cool' post from last year. I just reread it and I think it might be one of the better things I've written here. You might also remember how the air conditioner met its end. 

When I kicked the unit to the curb last year I had a grand fantasy - I thought that after I bought the house I'd put in central air. Bahahaahahhaah ha. Seriously. What pretend world did I live in? At that point I had a good chunk of money in the bank and had just gotten a raise and was thinking rich. 

I haven't talked about it much, but my mortgage took all of my savings and is way more than I thought it would be. It's over half of my salary each month. So having a part time job or two really makes a difference in my quality of life and my haircut. And I had a fun spring: trip to Ireland- good!, tree on house: bad!, bathroom remodeled, good!, computer croaking, bad!

Anyway, it's been hotter than hell in here. And I have poison ivy. Throw some freaking hot flashes on top of that and you have the recipe for one very cranky Nora. This morning I  swore that I was not coming home without a new air conditioner for my bedroom. One quick trip to Lowes later (that for the gift certificate LuAnn and Bill!) and I brought home this little beauty. 

Air conditioners have come a long way in the last twenty years or so. Quieter, digital, programmable and this:

 
A remote control. 

Fancy. 

primary election day

[written with tongue firmly in cheek]

I was a little disturbed when I woke up this morning and found Barack Obama in my kitchen making French Toast, wearing my 4-H apron. "Bacon with that? he asked with a smile. Pouring coffee, he muttered, "Let's see if she can top that."

Walking outside I found Hillary washing my truck with a sponge, a bucket filled with soapy water at her feet. "Good morning," she chirped. "All shiny and good as new!" As she opened the drivers side door, she whispered "French Toast is high in cholesterol" in my ear as I sat down.

Pulling out of my driveway, I was startled and almost drove over the sidewalk when I heard someone say, "Hello!" Michelle Obama was sitting next to me. "Nice truck," she said, "But I think she missed a spot. On the hood," she continued, pointing past my ear. "Just like she missed the point on NAFTA."

Approaching work, I was a little surprised to see Bill Clinton dressed as a traffic cop and motioning me into the parking lot. Chuckling, he gave me a little salute, leaned forward and half shouted, half whispered, " Drive safe. We need you today!"

Leaving Michelle with the keys to the truck ("I'll get that spot" she exclaimed, hustling out with a spray bottle of 409 in her hand), I strolled into work, only to find John McCain sleeping in my chair.

Jostling him awake and shooing him out of my office, I heard him ask, "Interested in being Vice President?" as he cocked an eyebrow and grabbed a wall with wrinkled bony hands."No," I replied, peeling his fingers off and giving him a shove towards the door."I was a POW you know," he sputtered as I sat down and turned the computer on.

A full screen image of James Carville flickered on the monitor. "There's a special place in hell for traitors," he drawled, squinting at me. "Are you there?"Jumping up and walking down the hall, I passed Chelsea holding a hot, steaming towel with a pair of tongs. "Manicure?" she asked, chasing after me.

I dashed down the hallway to the lobby. John Edwards was sitting at the desk in front of the telephone, running his fingers through his hair and chewing a pencil." Ms. Spitznogle, good morning," he said, handing me a stack of papers. "Here are your calls. You're very popular!"

"Too popular," I yelled over my shoulder, as I turned the corner into the chef's office. "WHO SHOULD I ENDORSE?" he yelled as I walked in the door. It was Dick Cheney."Nooooooooo!" I yelled and woke up.

[This primary season in Indiana has been a tough one.]

Seriously, don't forget to vote.

If you're interested in how the presidential canidates would work with nonprofit agencies you could click here, but none of them answered the survey. Do click here to see why you should care if canidates are willing to work with the nonprofit sector.