MacGyverism

Now this is news, and maybe, just maybe if I run out of mortar on a Sunday and can't make it to the hardware store, I can use this idea for repointing some bricks. Inmates use toothpaste and pancake batter to cover hole allowing female to join male prisoner Published: Wednesday, June 27, 2007 1:40 PM ET Canadian Press SCOTT CITY, Missouri (AP) - Police said inmates used pancake batter and toothpaste to cover a hole they made to allow a female inmate to slide into the next cell and join a male inmate. Now steel plates are being added to the Missouri jail's interior walls. The hole at the Scott City Jail was discovered this weekend, said police Chief Don Cobb. He said inmates removed a block from the wall, after making a digging tool with a nail, a wire from a light fixture and a toothbrush. The mixture of pancake batter and toothpaste looked like mortar, he said. Prisoners will stay in a county jail until a security check is completed at the city building. The city jail's exterior walls already are reinforced with steel to prevent inmates from escaping, Cobb said. "Unless they can smuggle in an arc welder, they aren't getting through that," he said.

Egg on Crib Pegs

As I sit in front of my computer, all I can think of is the huge piece of strawberry pie in the refrigerator. As my Ab Lounge gets dusty, and my muscles go into atrophy, all I can envision is the rhubarb and strawberry pie I ate today. As I look down at my tummy, and the muffin top that is hanging out of my pants, all I can think of is how the past few weeks of gluttony has adhered in the most unflattering way. The L'il Debbie's and the Twinky type things are a sudden onset addiction. I am starting to look like an egg on crib pegs. Now, about that strawberry pie that is beckoning me. Bartcliff's (I hope I am spelling it correctly) Bakery in Clinton Ontario, has the best strawberry pie in the world. They are not stingy on the strawberries. They are heaped on top of each other in the crust (which also happens to be divine), and then they cover the whole thing with whipped cream. The pie looks like a cosmic marshmallow. I am also lamenting the lack of rain. The clouds were ominous, big fat thunder heads were rolling across the sky. The air has been like a heavy damp blanket, and there was a few grumbles of thunder. A few drops of rain and that was it. No kabooms, or cracks of lightning, there was no pathetic fallacy to mirror the renovations we have been doing in our one rental, or the bickering between Adam and I. (He was getting mad because I kept sticking pieces of painter's tape on his appendages). Bummer.

"Up In Smoke"

Last night, or what would be around the "Witching Hour", 3:00 am (ish~~~and don't tell me that it is midnight, because that is a fallacy), Adam was driving home from work. Near Wellesly, Ontario, he came across a barn on fire. He was the first to the scene, he called 911 from his cell phone and directed the police and fire departments to the scene. The barn had burnt down practically by the time he drove by. A Mennonite man joined him pounding on the door of the nearest farm house, which happened to be vacant. From television reports, the loss was substantial. Thank goodness no lives were lost human or animal. I remember when we did the drive together a few years ago. It was either in Petersburg or St. Agatha where, around the same hour we encountered a huge barn fire. Fire crews were already on the scene dousing the inferno. I remember being awestruck by the huge timber frame skeleton falling into the onyx night. I rememember seeing a huge beam fall through the air like it was a lit match. The heaving, breathing sound of the barn could be heard through our windows. What had stood for over a hundred years was reduced to ashes and cinders. What had been constructed with hand hewn nails and hand planed boards, communal sweat equity - a piece of history, was disappearing in the dead of night. The dramatic fire, had brought onlookers, and close neighbours and passersby, who could do absolutely nothing for the building. The fire was so hot and the sparks flew so far, that people were wetting down nearby houses. I remember driving by the land after the fire, and it seemed like this barn had never existed. Nothing remained of what was, except a large empty lot. What that barn had seen; the changing from candlelight to electricity, horse and buggy to the Model T, dirt road to highway was lost to an inferno that I will never forget. But energy is never lost or gained - it only transfers.

Picture of a Mow Maniac

This is what a Mow Maniac looks like. . .see all the abrasions and the seriousness? This is the mugshot of someone who has been hit with flying debris from their lawnmower when the turf is too dry, look at all the little scratches! This is the expression of a Mow Maniac who is intent on keeping their lawn 2 inches high. Actually, a friend is using this as their profile pic on Facebook, and I can't stop laughing. It is the world's worst profile picture, I laughed so hard I cried.

Mow Maniacs

For this post I will resort to my speaking voice and a different font. "What is with those people who mow their already poo brown lawns twice a week? Are you kidding me? Honestly, you dumb turds. . . leave your grass alone. I am so sick to death of hearing the whirrrling of lawnmowers blowing out their crappy emissions. It doesn't irk me as much as it did last week, when there were smog alerts and the Mow Maniacs were out there full throttle looking pleased as punch (albeit sweaty and limp because of the humidity) with their redundant accomplishments. Please, give your heads a shake. Once a week is enough". Oh that feels so much better. I just needed to say it. I can remember as a kid running barefoot and probably bare bottomed on burnt turf. It was a horrible feeling, and scarred me for life. It scratched, it pierced and it itched. I don't like to walk around without shoes on now. It's all because of those terrible Mow Maniacs. I may be being too harsh. Maybe I am a tad jealous of their perfect lawns. Maybe I have inner lawn envy. No matter what I do, my garden looks like one of my cats planted it, or the weeds are springing up, regardless of the "environmentally friendly" things I put on it. If I could only teach my dogs to pee on the Dockweed specifically, I would probably have a good lawn.

I gardened a lot today. Instead of my usual "plunking", I decided my best course of action would be to rip out all phlox that had taken over my garden. See, I was attempting an English type garden, and it didn't work out at all, just one big mess, and as I have mentioned before, I can't see the forest for the trees. I thought of telling Freecycle there was a free for all in my garden, but. . . I just didn't want to deal with all the people milling around, and making appointements etc.. My inlaws did it, and told me it was a bit of a pain. I didn't wear gloves, I decided to just jump in to the mess and start hacking away at it with shovels, clippers and sheer brute force. I know that my mouth was moving, and spewing obscenities. Even the mantra "tall at the back, short at the front" doesn't help me when it comes to gardening Zen. What I want to do is seriously rip out everything green, and then throw down landscape fabric, get some bagged soil (I can't stand loads of topsoil. . .it always is weedy), and then plant some hostas and hollyhocks. That is all I want. My husband hates the bagged soil, he has opinions on gardening but, I don't think I have ever seen him actually garden or tiptoe through the tulips. My second option is take everything out, and plant grass seed. Third option is get fake grass that costs 10,000 for a 50 *50 foot square. I saw it on the London news last night, and I honestly thought of remortgaging the house. Whilst gardening, I had an episode with Wookie. I have mentioned that she has a horrendous attention seeking bark. If I am on the couch having a tea, she stands in front of me and barks in a high pitched yelping bark. If I am busy with something, she does the same thing. This dog though, is not lacking for any sort of attention. So, I decided to take her out with me, I attached her chain to one of those screw in the ground type apparatuses, and then proceeded to damage my garden. As I was walking to the back yard with the limp dead flowers, she started into her glass shattering monologue. I returned, everything was fine. Then, I had to start ripping out some other foliage, five feet from the end of her leash, and she started her oration again. It was getting a tad embarrassing, so I gave her a stick. This did not work. She decided to go over to my travel mug of java and tip it on purpose. Fine, I thought, even though it was done deliberately and with contempt, I would ignore it. I grabbed some more refuse to take to the compost pile, came back and my clippers were gone. The dog, had hidden my clippers, which I found half an hour later in a blob of Russian Sage. This dog is too smart. In an irritating way.

Memorial Stolen

Here is a Letter to The Editor that I wrote on behalf of an acquaintance. It is a long shot, but I figured that you just never know who may be reading this blog. If anyone has any information regarding the stolen memorial angel, please send me an e mail. I have removed names in order to preserve privacy. It was a large concrete cast angel that sat on a bench (quite large). Memorial Stolen To lose a loved one is an experience of deep sadness. To memorialize your loved one is a profound and intimate action that facilitates healing the void left by sorrow. Our family was touched when friends made donations to help memorialize my mother "*****". We chose a fitting ornament for our garden which would remind us of the love and memories that we shared. We chose a sweet angel which sat upon on a bench that gazed across our country property. It was an appropriate reminder of the love and care which "***** *******" altruistically extended to our family and friends. Looking upon the memorial, our family was given comfort in our time of loss. We anticipated sharing the changing seasons with the angel on the bench. As the large figurine was heavy concrete, it would withstand cold bitter winters, or the hot sultry summers, or the seasons in between. We took consolation that the angel would look upon us when we were gardening or brushing soft snowflakes from our shoulders. Unfortunately, on the night of Wednesday, May 30th or early Thursday morning, May 31st, the angel was stolen. Be it a prank or be it a “want” of the selfish individual(s), the angel that gave such solace for a period of a week was stolen from it’s bench. At least one very strong person or a couple of people would have been implicated in the theft. The robbers would have had to walk up a large hill and carry it back down the hill gingerly in order to avoid twisting an ankle or some type of abrasion. The thieves perhaps, did not realize that the weight they carried was not merely a physical weight, but a weight consisting of the bittersweet blend of our grief and loving reminiscences. The bench was left empty, a sole reminder of what was. The burglars did leave a “gift” in it’s place. . . that nothing seems to be sacred. Our family has priceless memories of our mother, grandmother, and friend and the memorial has now been replaced. The angel is a tangible item. For those who now have the angel and are in search of the perfect matching bench on which to place their new acquisition, the bench is sold at "*****************". Yet, when acquiring this item, you will have to pay this time. . . with money from your own pocket.

Limbs

Here are pics of me on my dreaded lawn tractor. . . this time I was dragging big tree limbs. I was laughing so hard at one point because, it just was funny, I had to drive in 1st gear, and I had to travel via the road. A friend drove by and pretended to run over me and beeped her horn because the second limb that I took, took up the whole road. I screamed. Ewww, in the last pic I look like a carp. Totally in motion. Oh well.

Drive By Fry Guy

This marvelous piece of graphic art was sent to me by one of my titillating blog readers, Dave. I thank him very much his contribution to this tiny blog, and for giving me a big laugh on many occasions. The detail which is depicted in this visual representation of the notorious Drive By Fry Guy is exemplary, the checkered outfit, the cell phone (which I am pretty sure is fake), the realistic trees which dot my street, and the point on top of the Fry Guy's head is quite evident. Although, the grill should look angry and have gnashing teeth. Since the Drive By Fry Guy has been rotating his extensive 1980's car collection, I have been unable to snap a quick picture. (I have had delayed reaction, and only in hindsight do I realize the peon has driven by). Sightings have been documented by certain neighbours who are more on the ball, and my husband waved to him (now dear, was that the smartest thing to do?). He will be seen at Pumpkinfest , any local tractor pulls, or just pretending he still actually lives here. http://urbanitch.blogspot.com/2007/03/come-again.html http://urbanitch.blogspot.com/2007/04/blyth-brook-pics.html

Pirates and The Coleman 5101

Yesterday was the school play, "Treasure Island", and the actors were from the Grade 4-8 classes. What an amazing production! Although the school gymnasium was thick with the sultry summer air and multiple mouth breathers, our family truly enjoyed ourselves. The amount of work that went into the theatrical production was mind boggling, be it the sets, or the costumes. The actors themselves were so talented. The palm trees were expertly constructed, and as I sat in my seat, all I could think of was "how on earth did this one teacher get these kids to work together so seamlessly and professionally?". Tibbles decided to watch from afar with her friends, and her grandmother gave her some money so *"my little Chrissy"* was in heaven with her orange pop and chips and sitting with her little buddies. *(If you haven't seen the movie "Pecker", I thoroughly recommend it, and then you will know why I am calling Tibbles, "Little Chrissy"). When leaving, a lady who was "bun presenting" for me, while I flipped wieners, at a previous school fundraiser, said "I have something for you. . . " Out of her trunk she lifted the COLEMAN LANTERN 5101! Good condition (a bit of rust) with it's bubble globe. I can't actually use it until I find canisters of the LP fuel, but it is a great addition to my working collection. We had, in conversation, meandered onto the subject of Coleman Lanterns, I told her that I was in a race with my dad to see who could collect the most. At a yard sale in Brussels, my father had beat me to one, and managed to steal it right out from under my nose. She had found it very funny that I collect vintage Coleman things without being an avid camper, or even just a camper for that matter. I must have about eight stoves down in the basement, and I have at last count five working lanterns, and four good condition vintage coolers and three or four Quick Lite space heaters. The utility of Coleman lanterns, coolers and stoves transcends camping application. It's not unusual to be without power for a while in any season and I have used my Coleman collection to cook, illuminate and keep things cool in a retro fashion.

Nursing Home for Dogs. . .

My view on aging animals, is that if the dog is not able to have a "quality" life with you, then for goodness sake, be humane and euthanize. Obviously, it seems that these dogs are "able" (in the article below). Isn't it sad though, that when Fido gets a bit long in the tooth, he is sluffed off for someone else to nurture, wouldn't home care (obviously these people could afford it) be more apropos? A person I knew, had a terrier, it was blind, toothless, deaf, and spent it's days in a play pen full of doodle. When asked "why don't you put it down?", she was angry. The dog, managed to escape (did I mention that it could only walk in circles?) one dark night and was AWOL for many hours. The dog was found in a remote hole in a field a day later. My personal theory is that the dog was trying to find a place to die. A few months later, they did decide to put the dog down, and the person buried her dog in the back yard in a large storage container (Rubbermaid), with her other pets that had previously passed away. She said she liked the idea of the grave site being portable, in case they moved, the dogs and cats could move with them. How "Martha Stewart". . . the grave site is sealed, weatherproof and portable. . . it's a "good thing". http://www.cbc.ca/cp/Oddities/070613/K061331AU.html Japan to open first nursing home for its aging dog population Published: Wednesday, June 13, 2007 10:18 PM ET Canadian Press TOKYO (AP) - Japan has a new nursing home for a swiftly greying population - dogs. The country's first nursing home for dogs comes with round-the-clock monitoring by veterinarians and a team of puppies to play with the aging pooches to help them keep fit, a pet products company said Wednesday. Owners pay the equivalent of $850 Cdn a month to keep their dogs at the Soladi Care Home, which opens Friday, according to a joint release by Soladi Co. and the Endo Veterinary clinic in Tochigi, eastern Japan. The home can accept 20 dogs at a time and will feed them specially fortified food. Researchers say that a boom in pet ownership in Japan, coupled with better health care and a more balanced diet, has led to a surge in elderly pets in Japan. That has spurred doting owners to turn to vitamins, aromatherapy and even acupuncture to help their companions through their old age.

Bat House and Jaundice McSkin

It has been two years, but finally the bat house has been erected underneath one of the gables of my house. South facing, of course, so the little flappers can soak in the heat from the sun. My father made me the bat house two years ago, and Adam wanted it put up in a tree, I wanted it on the house, because of : 1) Solar loading from the bricks. 2) It looks really neat. So, we came to a workable compromise. I would dig up my vignette of hibiscus flowers, pine trees, funny looking furry hens and chicks, normal hens and chicks, hollyhocks, and a chalkware reindeer ornament, in exchange for the erection of the said bat house underneath the gable. In doing so, I decapitated the reindeer and killed my hollyhocks. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ On another completely non related note, I did succumb to the Olay commercials and their "fight the seven signs of aging" slogan , while getting a fake bake tan. Now I look yellow. My face is ochre. WTF? I have been using it correctly, but I look like I have a really bad disease like jaundice. Talk about false advertising. I was supposed to look like I was on vacation for a week, it looks like I was on vacation for a week and picked up a tropical disease. Thanks. And before my non commenting readers (I know you are out there. . .I can see the stats), think, why don't you go out in the sun, Lisa? Well, I can't without the 50 proof sunblock, I have McSkin. Duh.

Fundies

After burning the candle at both ends yesterday afternoon and evening, I went to bed late. I anticipated a deep sleep, albeit shorter than usual because I just had to watch Canada's Worst Handyman, and then the news and then something else that I can't remember. I awoke with a start to what I thought was a 1980's K-Way jacket and/or fanny pack being thrown over my head. It was the slipperiness and the sound of the material that woke me up, and then I noticed Adam doing his morning dance of "where's my underwear that you usually put out for me". He was throwing clothing left right and centre, opening drawers, flinging t-shirts like monkey poo, and talking in a muffled way. El Crapo Grande. . . yes I forgot to lay out his fundies. His Mr. Briefs were no where to be found, he said. "Gosh. . .gee whiz. . .man oh man" was heard from Adam's mouth. In my haze, I did not recall placing them on top of his socks, shorts, t-shirt and toupee. (Uhhh, no he doesn't wear a toupee, but I am sure if he did, I would probably have to lay that accoutrement out as well). I got up out of bed, in a daze and reached into his top drawer and said "here, here are your underwear. . .top drawer, did you look?" The K-Way turned out to be my Grade 8 Graduation dress, pastel mint green taffeta with whale boning, that my Grandmother made lovingly for me. (Yep, still have it Nana). I actually made Gibbles try it on, just to see, it didn't fit, I forgot I reached my full height by that time.

Cute

After having dug to a depth of 10 meters last year, Scottish scientists found traces of copper wire dating back 100 years and came to the conclusion that their ancestors already had a telephone network more than 100 years ago. Not to be outdone by the Scots, in the weeks that followed, British scientists dug to a depth of 20 meters, and shortly after headlines in the UK newspapers read: "British archaeologists have found traces of 200 year old copper wire and have concluded that their ancestors already had an advanced high-tech communications network a hundred years earlier than The Scots." One week later, an East Coast newspaper, reported the following: "After digging as deep as 30 meters in fields near Come-By-Chance, NFLD ...George Upshal, a self taught archeologist, reported that he found absolutely nothing. George has, therefore, concluded that 300 years ago Newfoundlanders were already using wireless."

Grass

If I was to meet Prince Harry in a bar, I probably wouldn't recognize him. I really don't find the Royal Family particularly attractive, so I would just assume that it was another freckly redhead with a fake accent trying to impress me. That is, unless he was wearing a crown with some jewels and ornate filagree, then that would tip me off. I have accomplished absolutely nothing today. I have lost my shed keys (again) , and was going to cut the grass. I usually carry about 30 keys on my keychain, this ensures that I always have the one I need. Most of the keys are from previous addresses, and I realize, I could get rid of them, but, since the wad of keys is heavy, and is obvious, I don't lose them. I made the mistake of disconnecting my mail key and the shed key for some obtuse reason. Now I can't find them anywhere. It seems, that there is a neighbourhood battle of who can cut the grass first. Although it is a known fact that a more lush and long grass property coverage (couldn't think of the correct term here), is more healthy and less prone to weeds, everyone is rushing to mow. Now I will be considered the Turf Rebel, as my dandelions and daisies rear their heads.

Oh the joys of parenthood. It seemed that Gibbles had finally injested her whole lunch at school. In reality, it was just hidden (thrown into the recycling container). It was a good lunch too, a pasta salad with red peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, AND chick peas for protein. This non lunch eating "phase" has been going on for some time now, regardless of what I put in the lunch, it comes home, wasted. If I have posted this story before, my apologies, but I mentioned this to another mother and jokingly said, "I might as well just cut out pictures of food, and send them with her", the other "good mother" retorted, "I guess that would be a call to C.A.S.". I would never, ever, insert glossy 8 by 10 pictures of pie, or roast pheasant with oyster stuffing in her lunch, instead of the "real thing". I have thought about it though. Then last night, I found out that Gibbles and a friend had made three "prank" calls. I was outraged. Thoughts of "how could she betray my trust", "haven't I taught her well?", and "what the H*LL was she thinking?" drifted through my mind as I marched both Gibbles, and Tibbles, the observer of the infraction to their rooms at 7:00 pm. Gibbles is now grounded and I have threatened bringing out the "Tough Love" book. (It was my parent's copy, need I say more). This morning, prior to coffee, another battle of the hormones erupted. My daughter refused to eat breakfast citing that a toothpick had embedded itself into her Croc. (A likely story, I am sure it was lodged there on purpose, as toothpicks do not stand up on end). I still made her ingest her quicky breakfast (she had 4 minutes until she had to leave), of cheese on toast. So my discipline time line / modus operandi runs as follows: 1) Grounding 2) No computer/ Television 3) No friends over 4) Hard work 5) Embarassment by recounting any and all attitude and naughtiness to relatives. Also putting reminders to eat her lunch on Facebook (which she can't access for a week because she is grounded (evil laugh).

Wookie just ate the fridge magnet of our sponsored child, Eva. Just her eye was left. Crap, now what am I going to tell the kids? I guess I could do a collage with all the bitty pieces. Cubist. Walking Buddy and I were chased by a large golden retriever and a bull last night. I wasn't sure if the farm fence would hold the bull. W.B. said she could see the bull's "junk" flapping as he charged towards us. Wookie "should" be out of heat, but in the last week or so, we have been chased by a few dogs, and now, a bull.

Graduation . . .

I think my blog should be titled "what's in your mouth, give it back". I swear I must say that at least a hundred times a day. Wookie has eaten shoes, her blankets, earplugs, and started to nibble on my record collection. I have to extract things that shouldn't have to be extracted from the jowls of this dog. Ya, the slobbery Lab part of the mix is really coming out. She has developed a taste for Kleenex. There was also a battle between the pug and Wookie in relation to kibble. The pug won, Wookie lay defeated by the washing machine. Stella chewed nuggets triumphantly out of the side of her mouth. We went to the dish washing fiesta at the Arena yesterday. . . it's for graduation fundraising for my soon to be Grade 8 daughter. It was enjoyable. The other night it was flipping wieners for a hot dog fundraiser. I grilled. It's been a long time, since we still haven't replaced our BBQ. I am curious as to how other schools treat graduation. We have to fund raise approximately $9000.00 to send our kids to camp, have graduation dinner, flowers, D.J., hall . . . Now, don't get me wrong, I am not one of those parents who begrudge graduation fun, but I remember that our school had a great primary school graduation. We used our sweaty gym, for a huge dance, Kate Young from CFPL London News M.C. 'd it, and we wiggled around to Alphaville and other bands. Some were wallflowers, some slow danced in circles. Lots of teenage angst and overactive hormones. There were actually (if I remember correctly), chaperones who, if we danced too close, separated the junction. I didn't have to wear my MONOBLOCK. My dad drove me in the MG. It was simple, and it was great.

Alternative Birthday Song

Happy Birthday Adam!

King of the Herbs

Normally I do not put spam on my blog. But this one caught my eye and screwed it back in, it was addressed to my husband, and it could quite possibly be Hakim Marsha (pictured above) in disguise. See my previous post on "Gun Show". "What’s your 2007 resolution?bernadette bev cathee emiliMine is to be more powerful and more pleasurable to my wife in bed,and that is going to happen thanks to the team at herbal king,i am now 3 months into the program and already can noticegains in both length and width.constance connie ashlan billIt is quite amazing!cassie anitra avis amelieOh yeah and using public toilets I don’t feel embarrassed any longer.Why wait, check out their website today, you will be glad you did. Regardsdyan austina charla angyJason" Give me a break, I have had a few beers tonight and can put together a sentence, please if you spam, at least do a quick edit. I know I am bad with the dreaded apostrophe, but geez, this one is ridiculous.