The Moon, Mars, and Monkey Grass

Most of the time, I’m up and about during the wee hours. Jack says that my midnight is about the equivalent of 3:00 in the afternoon for most people. So obviously, I have to find some way to occupy my time besides watching reruns on television. (Not that I don’t do that too.) Sometimes I read. Sometimes I set up my recorder to tape strange sounds in the woods. Sometimes I go outside with my handy night-vision binoculars, but I can’t find them right now. Where are those things?!!

During the summer, the dogs and I have a ritual of running out to the pool and looking for the big bullfrog that takes a late dip around 1 a. m. All I have to ask is, “Want to look at the frog?” and they knock me down on the way out the doggy door. Of course, I use the real door, except for once last week when I locked myself out of the house by first locking myself in the garage, then once I found my way out because there were no lights and groped my way to the back door, I had to crawl through the doggy door.

Anyway, about a week ago, I scooped Mr. Frog out of the pool with the whatever you call that pool dipper thing, as is my habit, and put him in the monkey grass. Suddenly, Bear jumped into the monkey grass trying to catch the frog, and since Bear weighs about 90 lbs. I was very much afraid that he’d squashed our amphibious amie. I was even more worried when the big squishy guy didn’t show up for the next week or so. Bear was pretty inconsolable. He walked around and around the pool every night looking for the frog that he may possibly have flattened. Much to my relief, Mr. Frog reappeared last night, fit as an unflat frog can be. I know that I’m going to have to sit Bear and London down and talk to them about hibernation, but at least I don’t have a death on my shoulders. Not that one at least, yah ah hah!!

Now I noticed that not one news station mentioned the fact that during the last week of August, Mars was going to be closer to the moon that it had been or would be for another 5,000 years. Of course, that entire week was the cloudiest of the summer. However, I took my little camera, aimed it at the moon (I don’t have a tripod and I’m no professional) and snapped a few shots. Above is a photo of Mars to the left of the moon (like many current politicians). I sent this photo to Jack with the tag line, “A picture of your home planet. With love from Earth Woman.” Just in case any of you wanted to come back and see this phenomenon in another 5,000, I just saved you the trip! [Editor’s note: The person writing this blog is obviously under the delusion that not only more than one, but even one person is reading it.]

So what was the point of this whole message? The many benefits of staying up and howling at the moon, of course. How dense can you be?

[Editor’s note: The person writing the editor’s note is also the writer of this blog. How crazy is that?]

Time to Drink the Kool-Aid

Lately, I’m doing everything I can think of to avoid thinking about the reality of life: it’s just too crushing. Like today I filled salt and pepper shakers. Actually that’s a lie. I just filled one pepper shaker. That was all the energy I could work up.

I went on an interview with a job placement group last week and felt like Methuselah at a frat party. Although I’ve actually never been to a frat party, but since I’m so damned ancient I can get away with saying things like that.

How old am I? This past Labor Day weekend was our 29th anniversary. My Mom called to impart good wishes and I thanked her but gently reminded her that our anniversary wasn’t until the next day. She asked, “Isn’t today the sixth?” By jingies it was our anniversary and we didn’t even know it. I went to get my cards out of the car and came back into the house to give them to Jack but he was nowhere to be found and he didn’t answer my calls. Then I heard him running down the stairs. I flew out the back but he was gone. Nothing like waiting until the last minute to make a romantic trip to the grocery for cards and flowers, Captain Obvious! But just kidding. I applaud his effort. This tendency is exactly why I like to go to card counters on Valentine’s Day, stand behind a group of men and yell out, “Procrastinators!” I’ve gotten some great reactions.

But don’t think I’m insensitive. Today I was coming back from an errand and playing the soundtrack to "The Departed." I was listening to the Irish song where the lead is yelling out “I’ve a sailor’s peg, ‘cause I lost my leg. Climbing on the topsail, I lost my leg!” I noticed that the car next to me had a handicapped sticker so I rolled up my window. Thoughty of me, right?

If you haven’t noticed, I’ve decided to pepper my language with old geezer type words since that’s what everyone has made me feel like lately. Maybe I should start calling interviewers, “Whippersnappers” and asking them where I am over and over again. I interviewed a guy (over the phone) for a magazine article the other day. I knew he was young by his voice and also by the fact that I’d seen his picture on the company’s Web site. Since he couldn’t see my Dorian Grey reflected-in-the-mirror hideous image, he didn’t know my age because I hadn’t called him a "young man" or referred to other ancient things like the Beatles. He was describing a Seniors Day event that his facility put on for “baby boomers” and he actually said this, “You know. We want them to know that they can still do things besides plan their funerals.”

Wow, good to know. He actually inspired me to put down my Funerals ‘R Us Planning guide, but only long enough to fill one pepper shaker. Now, I’m exhausted.