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Third verse, same as the first!

Today is the anniversary of the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Don’t worry, I didn’t know that either, but a couple of friends posted about it on Facebook, including one who posted a link to the Gordon Lightfoot song, which I have always loved in some morbid way. So after I listened to that, I went looking to see if my Gordon Lightfoot cd had made it into my iTunes library at some point, which it had. Gordon is easy to listen to. If you like one of his songs, you probably would like them all, which is a nice way of saying there is a certain sameness to his music. And that made me think about when I first got it.

A million years ago, back when I was married, Mike & I took a vacation in South Haven, renting a little cottage type thing right on Lake Michigan. We spent time on the beach of course, but also making day trips to all the fun surrounding communities. We were in Holland one afternoon checking out their cute downtown, and we discovered a shop having a going out of business sale. It was late in the game – they were down to selling fixtures. In fact, now that I think about it, that’s where I got the big white crate that we used for a TV stand for a while and now serves as my nightstand by my bed. They also had a stack of CDs from their in-store music, which were selling for a buck apiece, back in the day when people still bought CDs. They had some Christmas music, some county, and a Gordon Lightfoot greatest hits collection. I think I might’ve bought the entire stack for five or ten dollars.

Later in the week, we had a rainy afternoon so we spent it inside reading and playing cards and listening to music, including our new-to-us Gordon Lightfoot album. After a while Mike said, “Didn’t we already hear this song?” Pause, cock head, consider. “Nope, I don’t think so.” We returned to our respective books. Twenty or thirty minutes passed, when Mike exclaimed, “Ok look, this is THE SAME SONG!” At which point we discovered why yes, we had accidentally hit the repeat button, and it had been playing the same track over and over again. Which surely we would have noticed sooner had we not been engrossed in whatever we were reading. But did I mention the sameness?

Apparently the other problem I have is forgetting that his name isn’t Edmund Fitzgerald, since I just googled that instead of Gordon Lightfoot when I was trying to find you the link for the song I’m going to share, which is NOT “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”. Instead, I’m going to share “Song for a Winter’s Night”. Are you familiar with the Sarah McLachlan version? Did you know it was a cover of this one? I didn’t, until my friend Mikem pointed it out. Could it be more different? I don’t think so. (Because hers sounds NOTHING like a Gordon Lightfoot song, and his, naturally, sounds like every other Gordon Lightfoot song.)

Here you go. Enjoy! 🙂

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POST Traumatic Stress Disorder

Ok, so y’all remember about my crazycakes interaction with the not-a-nun, right?

 

I went to the post office today to check my PO box again.

 

And.

 

I saw a man, wearing a clerical collar, wrestling a HUGE box out of his car.

 

Needless to say, I RAN in the other direction.

 

Shew….

 

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Symptoms of Adulthood

Sometimes I have random thoughts like, “I wonder what would happen if I got in the laundry basket and rode it down the stairs like a sled”.  And then I remember how lame my health insurance is and I decide perhaps that wouldn’t be the best way to test it.

Klondike also just reminded me that the stairs are pretty steep and the landing zone at the bottom is small and full of walls and corners and things.

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An open letter from my houseplants

To: Management

From: The interior house plants

Re: Blatant discrimination

It has come to our attention that there are some serious discrepancies in how plants are being treated in and around Wendy’s House of Whimsy, and we are not going to stand for this gross injustice. It can no longer be ignored that the outdoor plants are being watered almost every single day, sometimes TWICE a day, whereas we, the indoor plants, are being forced to survive on one watering a week, maybe, if we’re lucky.

To which we say, What the Fuck? 

Those outdoor plants are here for just a fleeting moment. Even with your constant babying, they frequently  turn in a day’s time from something pretty and thriving-ish into a dry, shriveled, mess that you then spend weeks nursing back to health – maybe. You don’t have the greatest success rate with that, you know. Not like with us. We stick with you throughout the abuse you heap upon us, the feast or famine phases where you don’t water us for weeks and then you flood the crap out of us. That poor lonely guy in your office who got all weird and dead looking – didn’t he grow a brand new, healthy base so you could whack off the dead stuff and start over and doesn’t he look fabulous now? And the one in the living room, who got stupidly tall and spindly and couldn’t stand up by himself – same thing – didn’t you chop him down and didn’t he grow back better than ever, through basically no effort on your part? Yes. Yes, they did.

We get it. The outdoor plants are pretty. They have flowers, and we don’t (except for the Christmas cactus, once a year, which didn’t actually start happening until you started WATERING IT ON A QUASI-REGULAR BASIS).  

We don’t begrudge you your sensitive little flowering bastards for the patio and the porch. That’s fine. All we want is equal treatment: watering on a regular basis, and maybe pulling the dead leaves off so we look as attractive as possible. Because hi, we will still be here in the winter when those hyper-sensitive outdoor pretty-boys are nothing but distant memories. 

Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter.

Best regards,

 

The spider plant on top of the bookshelf

(On behalf of everyone else in the living room – we know you water the plants in the kitchen more often. Grr.)

Aside

My dad lies.

I thought I shared this story with you a while ago. Apparently I did not.   Klondike & I took a day trip somewhere, and I asked my dad to come by and feed the pack and let them out. (Klondike brings his two dogs up when he comes.) This conversation took place the next day…..after Dad’s report that all the dogs behaved nicely and ate their food immediately upon being presented with it.

————————————————————————————————

Me: You are so busted. Did you bring over cottage cheese (to stir into the kibble) when you came to feed the dogs?

Dad: No.

Me: Ohhhh, hahahahaahahaha! We found a spoon in the dish drainer and neither one of us had used it for anything so I thought maybe that was where it came from, and that that was how you got all the dogs to eat right away. Hahahahahaha!

(pause)

Dad: Tuna

Me: What?

Dad: I didn’t use cottage cheese. I used tuna.

Me: Um.

Dad: I had some tuna I didn’t like so I stirred a little bit into the dogs’ food and they all ate as soon as I put the bowls down.

 
Oh, my dad. He thinks he’s so funny.

Sometimes I do, too. 😉

The pack

The pack

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My mom is the Rain Man of the grocery store

Mom, aka Rain Man

 

Klondike says this will be our million dollar idea: the “ask Fran” grocery app.

Aside

File under this kind of stuff only seems to happen to me…..

I have a lovely woman, Pam, who cleans my house. Judge me all you want. I hate to clean and I’m not very good at it, and the money I spend on Pam is completely worth it. She comes every other week, and I don’t even have any cleaning products or supplies – she brings everything, plus a couple of helper people.

It is not unusual to find something left behind, like a rag or a can of Pledge on a bookshelf, or something out of place, like a dog toy on the coffee table or shoes on the bed. No biggie. Generally. It’s also possible I don’t pay enough attention to my surroundings. Just fyi.

Pam and her crew were here today.

Once they’d left and I was alone in the house again, I went to the bathroom. (This would be the part where I don’t pay a lot of attention to my surroundings.) After I was finished, I stood up from the toilet to flush it.

I can’t believe I’m telling you this story.

There was a toilet brush IN THE TOILET. HOW did I not notice that before??

There is now a toilet brush in the garbage. Sorry, Pam.

And also, I can’t stop laughing.