Stop. Just stop.
Stop what, you ask?
1. Stop running a negative campaign. Instead of slinging mud at your opponent, how about you tell us your plan on how to help our local, state or federal government? The more you diss your opponent, the more I’m thinking that (1) you yourself have something to hide, and/or (2) you really don’t have any idea what you can do for me. If you spent half as much time strategic planning on how to help with education, taxes, and medical care as you do on digging into your opponent’s past to find out he might have visited a strip club once several years ago when he was a young man, I might be more inclined to listen to you.
2. Stop robo-calling my home telephone and my cell phone. Please. I do not pay an inordinate amount of money each month on your behalf so that I can be deluged by calls at all times of day. I know that I can asked to be placed on the “Do Not Call List,” but unfortunately since your calls to me are not by a live person, I would have to listen to your entire recorded message before requesting to not be disturbed by you, but frankly, I don’t have time for that.
I wonder if George could even fathom what is going on in the political world today.
Play nice, people. Remember–the office that you are running for wasn’t created to boost your ego. It was created to help the people. Stop the smear campaigns and serve the people of which you are asking for votes.
An Irritated Taxpayer
Please forgive me readers. It has been two weeks since I have posted a blog.
You can’t fool me. I know you missed me.
So what have I been doing besides writing?
1. Watching those Kansas City Royals inch their way up to the Crown. I’m not a big “watching sports on TV” fan (except when it comes to college basketball), but those Royals have got it goin’ on! And they are a class act. Read up!
2. Taking my son clothes shopping. My son is a senior in high school this year and will be getting his senior pictures taken next weekend. We went shopping on Saturday for the perfect photo shoot wardrobe. For hours. This boy is more picky than my two daughters ever pretended to be. Seriously. We did finally buy a few clothing items. Were they what I would have picked out for him? No, but by that time I did not care. However, he will look great because, well, he is my son and he did get that haircut I kind of badgered him about. Love that boy.
3. Running. Then limping. Running. Then limping. This darn plantar fasciitis is a pain–literally and figuratively. I ran a 5K race a couple of years ago in crappy shoes without training and have been paying for it ever since. I know a visit to a podiatrist is probably the answer, but I’m afraid of what he’ll tell me.
” Wear these extremely expensive orthotics which will only work in ugly shoes.”
I guess I’ll continue running. And limping. For a while, at least.
4. Trying recipes that conceivably have no chance of working. A muffin recipe has been circulating around Facebook and Pinterest for a couple of months. The recipe only calls for a dry cake mix and a can of pumpkin.
Nope. Nothing else. That is it.
There’s no way this will work, I thought to myself. But I was having a major sugar craving and all I had in the house was a can of pumpkin and a spice cake mix. So I thought to myself, “What the heck? Why not try out this impossibly easy recipe? If it doesn’t turn out, at least Bruno will eat them.”
So, armed with my ingredients,
I mixed the two together, baked for 20 minutes at 350 degrees, and voila! Muffins!
And, dear readers, they are GOOD! Moist! Delectable! They most definitely deserve the credit they are receiving on Facebook and Pinterest.
Sources have told me that if you add mini chocolate chips to the batter, the muffins are even BETTER! (I believe them because everything is better with chocolate, right?) Swoon!
5. Last but not least, I’ve been perusing the newspaper for typographical errors. Fortunately for me (unfortunately for the newspaper), our nearest big city newspaper apparently doesn’t hire proofreaders so typos are plentiful.
This particular newspaper article was an inspiring story about an 87-year-old woman who was training to race walk in a half-marathon. I want you to pay particular attention to what she credits her success:
I know that exercising can sometimes seem like an exorcism, but this is a little extreme, no?
So there you have it–the things that take up my time when not providing fodder for my blog.
What have you been up to lately? Watching baseball? Shopping with a teenager? Trying to ignore aches and pain?
We had to say a final farewell to our cat Oscar. He recently had become ill the past month. Even after a couple of trips to the vet and three rounds of medication, his condition rapidly deteriorated. We were forced to make that trip to the vet that no one wants to make.
Oscar was one cool cat. We hadn’t planned to own Oscar, it was just fate. When our youngest daughter was a few years old, she was always requesting to get an orange cat named Spot. When we moved into our present home almost 11 years ago and had more room for pets, we decided that we were going to grant her wish.
Mr. Caffeinated Ginger went to the humane society a few days before Christmas to procure an orange cat named Spot. He found our Spot (who, by the way, has no spots) and as an added bonus, it happened to be Two for Tuesday–you could adopt TWO cats for the price of one. What a deal! Who can resist anything that is FREE? That is how Oscar also became a beloved member of our household.
I remember the evening that Oscar and Spot came to their forever home. Oscar just pranced right in like he owned the place. He had no problem settling into his new abode.
He was quite adventurous when he was a young cat. It was not unusual to find him on top of the china cabinet or the refrigerator. We also caught him walking on the top edge of the opened front door a few times. Sure-footed, he was.
Part of our basement has a drop-down ceiling with panels. Oscar soon found a secret passageway in the basement bathroom that led from the linen closet into the ceiling. He would walk around the ceiling meowing as if he couldn’t find his way out of the labyrinth. The first few times this occurred, I thought I had to “save” him, so I removed ceiling panels to reach him and came away with some cat scratches in the process. It didn’t take me long to learn that what goes up can learn to find its way down on its own.
Oscar was a very loving cat who absolutely adored being petted. He knew no strangers–if we had visitors in our home, Oscar wasted no time rubbing against their legs in hopes of a petting. He, however, did not like being picked up and held. Pet him all you want, but do not expect a hug and a cuddle.
Nighttime was Oscar-time. Oscar took to sleeping in our bed soon after he came to live with us. His mode of operation would be to jump on the bed and then poke us in the arm with his paw until we petted him, alternating between Mr. CF and myself. He slept at my feet every night and kept them warm whether they needed the extra heat or not.
Oscar loved a good can of tuna. Anytime he heard the can opener, he assumed it was tuna and would come in the kitchen and stare at me. Even when I explained to him that it was only a can of green beans, he wouldn’t believe me until I allowed him a good sniff.
Our house is a little more empty since Oscar is gone. I keep glancing at all of the usual places where Oscar used to lounge–the couch, the doorway to the family room, my bed. When I don’t see him, the hurt becomes raw again. It’s funny how a little 12-pound cat can become such a big part of your life and hold such a large piece of your heart.
Oscar, thanks for bringing your quiet gentleness and loving nature to our family. You are missed.