Japan, Libya and Then The Disaster on Califa St.

So, there I was,  thinking I had finally achieved that blissful state where one accepts whatever happens and calmly copes with it when I realized I do not completely have the hang of it.  Dang.

It's like this, folks. On Thursday,  after managing for days to avoid as much as possible the news of the world,  I went into the water heater shed to get a garden tool out and discovered  that my water heater was leaking,  big time, and probably had  been for a while because the plywood floor under it had stopped looking like wood and more closely resembled a layer of stringy, overcooked whole wheat spaghetti.  I called the plumber who came and shut off the hot water, drained the tank, removed it and pronounced the heater (and the floor) dead, totally dead.  Then, because I had to make arrangements of  various kinds I had him put down heavy plastic sheeting on the floor and restore the water heater so I would have hot water till the new unit came, along with various bowls and catch basins arranged tastefully to keep more water from dripping on the moribund floor.   I am handling this rather well in spite of the fact that I have to pay the plumber for his work  and will have to pay extra for tearing out the floor and replacing it before getting a new heater.  Not to mention the cost of the new thing....oy.....


While  I was madly tapping keys on the computer to find a replacement, the serviceman from my Heater/Air Conditioning unit arrived to do spring service and, upon clambering up onto the roof where the heater sits, promptly clambered down again and approached me with gloom dripping from every pore.    It appears that the enclosure that surrounds the heating unit under the metal cover has a large crack in it which has been enabling the carbon monoxide gas, produced by the burners to mix merrily with the heated air which it has been blowing valiantly into my rooms  below for who-knows-how-long.......  A very dangerous condition which could have killed me at any moment  (not to mention the cats).  To replace the housing would only cost about $2000.  Oy!  But the unit is 22 years old.....really should be replaced ...........a brand new energy-efficient unit can be had for only $6000 to $8000.  Maybe two "oys".and a "vey".

This news is not only horrifying  but also  very enlightening.   I stop Googling water heaters and Google "carbon monoxide poisoning" I get a list of symptoms which relate exactly to one of my mystery maladies that lays me low frequently.  No wonder I get light-headed, dizzy, nauseous, unable to balance with headaches and shaky legs to boot.........oy, oy, and Eureka! Perhaps just turning off the heat will cure that sickness.   But,  it will be cold.  Sigh.  However, I  am handling this pretty well.

I promptly (and calmly) put the heat switch on the thermostat to OFF,  don heavy sweats and a hooded fleece jacket and begin searching the internet for Heaters and A/C units.  Meanwhile,a day passes and  the plumber arrives to install the new water heater (I ordered it while I still had the strength)  and promptly shuts off the hot water and removes the dripping tank and announces he cannot install the new unit until the floor is repaired.  "But, but", I stammer,  the customer service agent who took my order told me you would have plywood on the truck to fix the floor.  I can see by his face and his rapid shaking of the head from left to right that I have been so gullible as to believe a lie.   This time I just send him on his way after paying again the huge fee for taking out the water heater (groan) and contact my handyman.  Now, of course, I have no hot water for the forseeable future as well as no heat..

Handyman Michael arrives and I send him off to gather plywood.  He returns and advises me that the plywood that I used to pay $8 to $10 per sheet now costs $32 but we must bite the bullet.  I remain calm while he proceeds to tear out the shredded floor and only part of the drywall at the lower edges of the water heater closet.  We end up rigging a small electric heater with fan onto the floor beams of the heater shed to try to dry out the beams before repairing the floor.  Night comes and I sleep in my sweat suit.

It is now Sunday.  I wake up to the sound of pouring rain clanging on my skylights.  I don yet another fleece hoodie over my sweats and the first hoodie , feed the cats and try to convince them that they would not really like it outside amidst the sheets of rain and the puddles.  They refuse to believe me and shriek and complain mightily for hours threatening to report me to the ASPCA.  I remain calm and adamant. 

The hummingbird feeders are mostly empty and those birds don't know or care about the small deluge.  Their frantic dive bombing maneuvers indicate that they need nectar!  I decide to jerry-rig a waterproof costume out of good old black garbage bags and I am just getting ready to make a hole for my face so I shouldn't suffocate, perish forbid, when I find myself thinking a naughty thought.  If I just forget about making the hole and simply take the drawstring from the 2nd layer hoodie I can don the garbage bag, tie the hoodie string around my neck tightly and .........hmmmm......I guess I must face the sad fact that I have not really quite achieved the blessed state of nirvana after all.    Failed, failed again!

Oy, oy, oy, oy vey!
 
At this moment I caught sight of some huge shapeless creature in the mirror. ......... a huge, hulking,  fleece clad, garbage bag covered monster.  My heart sank.  What dreaded thing had invaded my house while I was busy  waterproofing myself?  Tenks Gott it was only Me.  I had to laugh till I wet my bloomers and thusly will live to fight another day.  That was a close one.  Saved once again by a sense of humor and the thought of what a fine blog this might turn into..........

Now, don't bother me.   I am working on remaining calm.

Oy.

Ode to Blogging Pal

Oh, shit!

I feared that one day I would discover a a negative element element about blogging.  It has happened.  One of my favorite  followers and most beloved bloggers has left the building.

If you weren't a friend of Geraldgee you don't know what you missed.. He was a sweet, wonderful artist, photographer,cartoonist and  all around renaissance man.   He was of my era, we bonded and  I miss him mightily already.

Fly high and free, Gerald.

http://geraldgee.blogspot.com/2011/02/mood-indigo.html

What Does Your Pet Call You?

I am in a very strange mood this lovely Sunday.  Just bubbling along a bit in the Curmudgeon Corner here.....musing about trivia which has begun to be less trivial to me.  The grain of sand that has found its way into my shoe has slowly turned into an almighty boulder with prickly spikes and can no longer be stoically ignored. 

I refer to the fact that I am becoming increasingly irritated by reading blogs written by bloggers'  pets in which the pet calls us "their Person" or "their Human".  Perhaps it is because  I am coming across more and more bloggers who are, frivolously or magnanimously, turnng over to their pets the keys to their blogs.   I dunno.

Now do not, for one little minute, misunderstand what I am saying here.......I love blogs written by (and about) animals ( I refer you to the brilliant Liza Bean Bitey of the Minneapolis Biteys who owns the blogger known as "Pearl,Why you Little..."  and if you happen to have a pet flea who takes it into his mind to write your blog for you one day, I will be tickled pink to hear what the world is like from the flea's point of view.  Of course, your pet flea might choose to call you his Host rather than his Person or Human and I will object to that terminology as well.  Just nothing feels or sounds right, dammit!

I am going quietly bonkers here trying to come up with an acceptable term to describe those of us who are, let's face it, owned by our pets.

Owner?.....don't make me laugh...totally inacucurate and upside down. 
Master/Mistress ?  ........ha....ditto, in spades. 
Cat Lady/ Dog Man?.....ugh....my lip curls....
Provider?.......oy....this gets worse and worse.
Slave?.........closer but still no.
Concierge?   Caregiver?  Angel?
Lover?
Paramour?........wrong, wrong, wrong.

Bleh!

There simply has to be a decent word for our pets to refer to those of us who are simply fools for our animals.   I suppose, since English is their second language, there may be a word in catspeak or dogspeak which would be perfect......or maybe we just have to make one up like those awful letter combinations we are forced to copy in order to leave comments.....  All I know is that I am revolting against the existing order without having a working plan to offer in its place....like most revolutions, I guess.  As a lover of words I seem to have failed miserably.

Does anyone out there have any ideas?  I welcome all suggestions and, as you can see from my wretched efforts, they do not have to be brilliant.

Incidentally, I asked my own children what they call me behnd my back and not one of them had the guts to answer.....

Help me out here folks.

Addendum to WTF

Hi, darlings......I just want to report that the rotten bastard who plagarized Edward Gorey has posted a sort of apology giving full credit to Gorey for the material he stole.  I feel much better now even though he has not been punished for his crime.  Perhaps all my rage and indignation and nasty letters paid off.


Thank you all for your support and for all the info you provided.  Gosh,  could one call this a victory for the good guys?

WTF

Watch out, folks.....I think the top of my head may just blow off at any moment.  Something I just encountered in Blogsville has made me realllllllly angry.

I rarely look at "Blogs of Note" because I haven't got enough time to keep up with my own chosen 'blogs of note', but, for some reason I just clicked on it and took a look at the anointed few.  Whoops.   Holy Crap.  Who is responsible for this abomination?

I suspect it may be very bad form and maybe even blog-suicide to criticize, but I am baffled and incensed by one of the selections........something called Amazing Facts.  This particular post consists entirely of 26 exquisite drawings by the sainted artist, Edward Gorey....in fact a complete reproduction of his epic alphabet entitled "THE GASHLYCRUMB TINIES".  There are several things that are driving me to the point of detonating, the first being that the artist and author is NOT even give a line of credit.  I consider that to be a crime against genius and should be punishable by something much worse than death....(I don't know right now, but don't worry, I am working on it).

The second point that is agitating me to a dangerous point on the gauge is......since when is simple outright plagarism to be rewarded rather than condemned.  Aaarrggh.     Grrrrrr.  And other letter combinations of the same ilk.

What makes it all even worse, is that there is no identification as to who is responsible for the blog and therefore no way an indignant person such as myself can make her feelings known to the perpetrator.  Urk and Faugh!

..No, seriously, my darlings.......how can this happen?  And do any of you know of any way of  making this right?  How does one communicate one's annoyance with the purveyors of "Blogs of Note"?  And how does one identify a dastardly, no-good, dirty, stinkin' cowardly thief who not only gets away with his crimes but gets a medal for them.

All I can say on the positive side is.....if you  have to steal from someone, there is no one better to steal from than the blessed Edward Gorey.

Sob.  I have just discovered that Blogsville is NOT perfect after all and this really burns my fanny..

My Close Up - Mr. De Mille

The other nite I decided to try to get a photo of Bitsy and Winnie was next to me on the table so I practiced on her.  I think this the funniest picture because she looks like Devil Cat when she is really the sweetest kitty in the universe.

Then I started chasing the real Devil Cat around and got a few decent shots while standing on my head.

The sad part is that when I downloaded them I somehow screwed up and out of 21 pics only a handful are visible.
 
I am hoping that one of them is of Bitsy and that she looks recognizable if not adorable.

Not too bad but not the greatest.  I will have to try again.

This one might have been OK if the idiot taking the picture had not lost some of the ears outside the frame.....she looks almost saintly which is the biggest con job since theWolf seduced Red Riding Hood into thinking he was Granny.

Sorry about that.


Her fur coat does photograph rather well.



I will attempt to retrieve one more and then call it a day.

I think I have one more of Winnie.  Half asleep but looking rather contemplative........how 'bout dem whiskers?   When I first got her she had nothing but little bristly black stubs.  I believe that the length of the whiskers is supposed to correspond to the girth of the cat so they can judge which openings they can get through.    Hmmmm, Winnie, either I will have to open the doors a bit wider for you or else put you on a diet.........no more num nums for a while, old girl.   Well, maybe we will start the diet tomorrow.........

Watch Out What You Pray For

Once again I have had my nose rubbed in that little innocent looking warning........you have before you both a triumphant Lois - Mighty Tamer of Cats and a Defeated and Exhausted Lois - Slave to those of the Feline Persuasion. 

Loyal readers may recall that I recently took in a small gray waif of a cat who immediately threw my entire household into a state of chaos.  Overnight my sedate LadyCats, Gussie and Winnie, found themselves being hissed and growled at by this impertinent young whippersnapper with no breeding and the manners of an alley cat.  And while they were coping with how to handle this interloper, I found myself cast back in time to the role of guardian of the gates which required much rushing around on roller skates (a figure of speech of course......clashes mightily with my new primary rule of "Don't Fall Down") to slam doors ahead of the little ingrate who seemed only to want  to escape from this prison and/or my kind ministrations. 

After enduring this struggle for almost 2 months I finally said, "Enuf is enuf....the hell with it......if you want to go out and be eaten by large dogs, rained on, starved,  ignored and despised, well go right ahead, Missy".  And I dramatically flung open the front door, whereupon the little snippet gingerly extended a paw onto the porch, smelled and sniffed her way down the steps, checked out each blade of grass on the lawn and eventually turned right out of my line of vision.

As I closed the door I had mixed feelings.  (being a Gemini I always have mixed feelings, sigh)  On the one hand - Free of that little pest at last....no more being awakened in the middle of the night with unholy shrieks of cat warnings, and on the other hand, sadness that I might never see her again and how would she ever survive in the harsh cruel world.  I made the serious mistake of saying a short prayer for her safe return.  I should have saved my breath and my sympathy for myself.

Not 3 hours later I was ensconced in Crochet Corner in my lovely recliner industriously poking the crochet hook in and out and trying not to think of cats at all when a strange sound forced its way into my consciousness.......could it be???  Yes, it was!!!  There at the front door squealing and complaining bitterly at being barred admission and left out in the cold was the little gray thing.  When I flung the door open she marched in like she owned the place, cast me a disdainful look,  headed straight for the snack  bar and then disappeared out the back door (which is left partly open during the day to accommodate Baskin, the mentally challenged tabby who dines and pees indoors but sleeps out in the garden shed. Go ask!) 

I must confess I was overcome with relief and triumph, both of which only lasted about 10 minutes when I heard the same strange sound at the front door again.  Dragging myself out of the recliner once more I tottered to the door, flung it open to see Miss Congeniality march in once again, pause for a snack and disappear out the back door.  I will save all of us the time and strength by skipping to the punch line which is that it only took about 17 repetitions of the scene to reduce me to a small puddle of sweat and tears and to knock it into my own mentally challenged brain that Bitsy had learned how to find her way home and intended to use the lesson to her advantage even if it killed me.  Thankfully, now that she has  got the maneuver down pat she no longer has to repeat it endlessly.  Now, after the return and the snack, instead of rushing out the back door she wisely takes a nap to prepare herself for the next round.  And, while she has not forgotten how to hiss and growl she seems to have found it less necessary.  There may be  hope after all.

Oh, yes......and she has even learned to come in out of the rain......will wonders never cease?