Cats Use Umbrellas, Too

I don't know why this umbrella is just sitting open in our yard, though I'm pretty sure it's NOT to make a cool fort for kitties. Honey has been cleaning like mad, getting us ready to move, and I guess maybe he felt the umbrella needed to dry out?

I'm thinking this is some pretty solid proof that cats don't like to get wet. Pretty darn cute, and silly. I may have taken the cake on silly though. Or a waaaay too overactive imagination....

I went for a short hike yesterday. CL wasn't home, and I thought about locking the door, but decided not to. I was already a bit up the hill, and I figured I would stay in sight of home. Besides, I live on a one lane boondock mountain road, right? I only hiked around for maybe 20 minutes, dragging sticks through the leaves and tossing acorns for Pheonix, Sebastian, and Maggie. Lilly was quite content in bed, thank you very much.

After I got my bit of fresh air I was hungry, and so were the kitties because they went straight for the food bowl. I washed my hands, always the first thing I do after a hike, whether or not I'm about to eat. You just never know when a twig of poison oak is going to leap out from behind you and wipe it's rash inducing oils on your skin. Then I looked down at the hungry scarfers, smiling, about to say something like, "fun walk, huh guys?". I always talk to them like I would anyone else. Any one else who's super cute and likes to hear my voice get all high pitched and googly. Ok, not all the time, but I just can't help it.

Well, Lilly had apparently gotten up from her nap, because she was standing next to the others. But she wasn't eating. She was staring at the curtain that gives us the illusion of having a seperate room. Plus it's nice when people standing at the front door CAN"T see you sleeping; I always shut the curtain before bed and open it in the morning. Yet it was closed mid day and Lilly was staring at it. And not just staring, she was poised for fight or flight, the hint of raised hackles showing and her tail starting to bush out.

Pheonix glanced that way, but resumed eating, so I wasn't sure what to think. Lilly was unwavering. I remembered that I had pulled the curtain closed while I sat at my computer by the front door. The heater was by me and there was no reason to waste electricity heating the other "room". But I thought I opened it before I went outside, because hiking always warms me up and then when I come back the house seems too warm. I thought I would disperse the heat at the front a bit. But here was Lilly, pupils dilated, starting to growl and never taking her ears from the closed curtain.

At first I thought, silly girl, she see a dust bunny catch a breeze or something? Mmm hmmm. Yeah, that would be a LOGICAL assumption. But I'm the girl who sees trees with aliens ala Sigourney Weaver bursting out of them, rotting corpses shambling through the dusk intent on brain paté, and ambassadors from other planets in all their cream puff glory. My stomach went sour and my blood started to pump a little faster. What if someone had entered my house when I wasn't looking?

There have been homeless people staying in that abandoned house down the street, and sometimes under the bridge to our road. And homeless pretty much usually means broke, and not always but sometimes leads to getting what you can however you can, regardless of legal concerns. I mean, what have you got to lose? I hope this isn't totally prejudice of me. I mean, I know having no permanent residence doesn't make you a criminal.

It's just that when you're standing in your home, and your cat is eyeballing a closed curtain like it's hiding the boogeyman ( boogeycat?) a lot of things cross your mind. Like, should I leave? Investigate? If I walk through the curtain am I gonna be like the dumb girl in every scary movie who you roll your eyes at and say, "dumbass, don't go in there!" And theives sound more realistic than the other things I mentioned... obviously. So what did I do? I grabbed the biggest butcher knife we have (not just for cooking, also handy in home invasions and horror movies!) and went for the curtain.

The scariest part was pushing the curtain aside. My knife wielding was compromised and and the element of suprise was up for grabs. I just about choked on my heart when it jumped into my throat, except I think I was holding my breath so I couldn't actually choke. It was all dark in there, because we keep heavy curtains on the single pane windows for heat retaining purposes. Nothing jumped out and grabbed me, but I still had to go around the bookshelf on the right.

There was nothing, or nobody, there. I checked every nook big enough to hold a person or zombie or cream puff assassin. Then I looked back at Lilly, who was peering into the room with such big eyes it was like she was seeing THROUGH the room.
"Lilly, you dork," I said. I gave a shaky laugh. "There's nothing here". She didn't believe me, so I turned on all the lights, just in case there was an invisible ghost or something. Light dispells spooks, as any kid knows. Lilly cocked her head, and examined a cobweb. (Crap, I just admitted there's cobwebs in my house. In fact, "Pretty darn big Cobs, too" my Honey remarked just this morning.

Anyway, once again my kitty-cat alarm system failed me. Mountain Lion alert= actually bug in some dry leaves. Invasion of horror movie humans or Other= cobwebs. I returned the knife to it's drawer. And, despite the protests of my inner Green voter, left all the lights on the rest of the day.

These are the flowers I got for Valentine's Day. Gorgeous, eh? I took them out to the four feet of sun we get for an hour here in the armpit of Hermit Mountain so I could get a decent picture. Everytime I do anything outside, ESPECIALLY if I'm trying to take a photo, the cats have to inspect my subject first. Always makes me laugh, and I always get their stamp of approval. Though sometimes they have to paw, claw, and/ or chew on whatever it is first.

These last few days of work have been the slooooowest eeevvvveeeerrrrrr. Also surreal. I feel kind of like I'm dreaming, and like I'm standing back, invisible, watching these days of change. It's really weird. I don't know if I've ever felt this way. Pretty huge changes though so I guess it makes sense. I'm leaving the area I've known for 17 years, that I grew up in, AND my job of eight years, that was pretty much my entire adult life. Yup, definitely don't feel quite awake.

Besides each work day taking forever, there's still the comraderie to enjoy. I won't miss the job, but I'll miss my coworkers for sure. PainterLady got me this beautiful handkerchief for Valentine's day, I think she said she got it in India. It's pink with blue trim and litle blue flowers, really beautiful, and it's so so soft. (My all black wearing, spiked collar, tripple wallet chain steel toe combat boot goth self from ten years ago would have a heart attack if she knew she would be wearing a pink handkerchief to work someday.) So yesterday at work Ted says, "A pink do-rag, huh? There's the Bloods, the Cryps..."
"And the Fluffy Bunnies!" I said. "See, you make a peace sign and curl your fingers down, and that's our gang sign."
"No, I think you should have to hop with your hands curled up, like this," Ted said, and then proceeded to demonstrate. This is a 6'5" sixty year old man here. I thnk everyone's stomach hurt after all that laughing. I will certainly miss laughing with them.

However, I will NOT miss Bosslady accusing me of cheating, which she did the other day. In these route evalutions, one thing we get timed on is vehicle loading. Well, my vehicle is in the shop so I have a loaner from Maintinence. There's an inner door between the drivers seat and rear cargo area, which we never close, but on the loaner it was closed and locked. And my key wouldn't work! I had to climb in the back and fiddle with the inner workings of the latch mechanism so I could get it open and load my vehicle. We have 15 minutes as our maximum allowable time, and because of that lock it took me 9 minutes. Yeah, still WAY within limits, but BossLady called me into the office. "Why where you messing around when you were supposed to be loading? You don't get time to mess around. There's no way it should have taken that long. It was a light day, none of the others took that long."

At this point my blood was boiling, pounding in my ears. I tried to explain about the lock, and ALSO the fact that the loaner has a big steel table bolted right where all my stuff usually goes. Neither my regular vehicle NOR the other carriers vehicles had that, so it was hard to try and get all my stuff to fit in. She just looked at me for aminute and then said, "Well you don't get paid to do that." At this point I was literally shaking with fury. "There was NO WAY I could have loaded faster with that vehicle," I told her. Then I got up and left the office, as this was in the afternoon and I had just finished for the day.

Having my integrity questioned like that, I started crying when I got home, from anger and at the unfairness of it. All I EVER do is try to do a good job, and it's never enough for her. I was so angry, in fact, that two seconds after I walked in the door I turned around and drove back to work. The whole way there I was trying to stop crying and think of what I was going to say to Bosslady. I wanted to walk into her office and tell her that I did NOT appreciate her suggestion that I was wrong, and that if she was going to change my time on the paperwork (which had been suggested) she better do it through formal channels because I in turn would file a formal complaint. Ah, the freedom of resigning! No more being cowed by this woman!

I have listened to my coworkers talk each other out of filing formal complaints before, saying that it's not worth it to go up against this woman. She will scrutinize your every move, make your life hell, and ultimately accomplish her goal of getting you to quit since the union makes it really hard to just fire us. Last week Joanne came in, trying to work, but she was so sick she couldn't do it. She was scared to cal in sick because she used up all her sick days having surgery. Well, when she told Bosslady she had to go home, Bosslady yelled at her until she cried. Every time I let my guard down and think, man Bosslady has been actually nice lately, boy do I regret relaxing.

So when I got back to work, I was still shaking and crying. I sat in the parking lot for a minute, rehearsing what I wanted to say. Then someone walked by and I turned my head. i didn't want anyone to see me like that, let alone Bosslady. I didn't want to walk in, voice breaking and hysterical, because I thought it would undermine my asserting I'd done nothing wrong. Or maybe I'm just still cowed. Anyway, I decided that I would wait until the next day, when I was calm. Also, every morning the previous day's paperwork is on our desk. if she didn't change the time then I would just let it go like always and thank the gods that it's almost over. I went back home, had myself an Irish Carbomb, and paced in anger for the next several hours.

Aaaaaand now I just wrote a fricken novel hahahaha. Wish it could have been all fluffy bunnies, but I really had to get that off my chest. Oh, and you know what fluffy bunny gang members deal in? Candy and easter eggs!!!!

Playing Human part 1

Ok, in my defense it was seven years ago that I thought this was good. Still, I have read worse. And it's definitely better than the company newsletter. If you're bored. Reallly, really bored and there's no new netflix in the mailbox, your friends are all out of town, it's raining, and the cats are asleep instead of entertaining you. Five more workdays...


It was late May, but it was forty degrees fareheight and the sun was low and caused Vivian to squint, like winter in the continental states. She shivered as the chopper lifted off behind her. She'd expected snow and maybe an appropriate vehicle, but there was just lichen and moss covering the rocks and the gnarled, scarred pines. She pulled her shades on. It cut down the overall brightness, but the sun still lanced her eyes over the top of the plastic lenses. Goggles would have been more like it. The thin air made her lungs work harder, as if she'd been walking instead of having just stepped out of a warm, properly oxygenated helicopter. Once she got in a cabin, safe from wind and sun with a raoring fire at her toes she'd feel better.

A balding man walked toward her, thick and round, or maybe that was just the layers of clothes necessary. He held out his hand and she was surprised it wasn't gloved like hers. He was probably used to the cold. Vivian hoped the assignment wouldn't take long enough to acclimate her.
"Ted Cohelan." He didn't smile.
"Sarah Johnson." She squeezed his hand, hard. Neither of them averted their eyes. The sound from the leaving chopper faded. He broke the silence first.
"So, Ms. Johnson, how much are you going to tell me?"
She appreciated his straightforwardness. "Depends on how much you tell me, " she answered. The wind whistled in her ear, and he must have heard it, too.
"Camp's right over the hill," he jerked his thumb towards a rocky rise. "Why don't we talk there." She nodded and picked up her bags, and they started walking. She despised small talk and didn't even try. Cohelan didn't attempt either. She could tell he resented her presence, but it wasn't personal.The only thing he knew so far was that Uncle Sam, the biggest sponsor of Project Lupine, suddenly wanted one of their own on the Alaskan site. They reached the top of the hill and she studied her new, if temporary, residence.
"What-?" It was out of her mouth before she could stop it. The wind seem to carry her voice away, but he'd heard.
"Is there a problem?"
She stared in dismay at the graying canvas tents of the encampment There was not a single solid structure, except a few solar panels here and there.
"I don't suppose there's some nice cabins with plumbing and electricity over the next hill?"
"There's a town about 105 miles from here with a bed and breakfast you can stay at." He looked hopeful. She wanted to tell him that after the last few months of dodging bullets for her country she felt a picturesque cabin was owed to her, but that was classified. Besides, just as she wasn't the one he really resented, neither was he the one who had asked her here. If her superiors were the source of both Vivian's and Cohelan's ire, maybe they'd get along after all. She slung one bag over her shouder and started walking again.
"This will be fine. The tents at least cut off the win, right?" The wind made it so much colder.
He nodded, disapointed. "I'll show you yours and you can settle in. Then we'll talk."
"We'll talk now."
"I'm in charge here." Ted stopped.
"Of your team, yes. Of me, no." He started to argue, but she cut him off. "I'm not going to get in the way. I'm here to observe and ask questions." He glared at her, jaw clenched and wind ruffling the fur of his parka, and weighed her words. She gave him credit for thinking before letting anger take his tongue.
"As long as no one's taking over the project. I have some rules, though. I don't want you in the lab by yourself, or approaching the wolves by yourself." He tilted his head, eyebrows lifted in question.
"Clear." It sounded like agreement, and his shoulders loosened. That didn't mean he was going to be friendly, but at least that word seemed to settle him.
They reached the biggest tent, and it was more like a cloth cabin than a dome or triangle you might see at a campsite in Yosemite. It haad four sides and a peaked roof, and plenty of headroom. At 5'11", Vivian always noticed and appreciated headroom. Cohelan pushed a flap open and she followed him in, hand unconciously hovering at her open jacket, ready to reach for her gun. It was a habbit she had no intention of breaking.

Love to read

I love to read. If I go for more than a day without reading something, anything, I start feeling stir crazy. When I'm on my ten minute lunch, I'll read the "postive outlook" propaganda that gets distributed to all the offices. You know, the company newsletter that tries to convince us our job is like living in a disney movie. Well, that's how desperate I get for reading material. Bitterness aside, that particular rag is always at least good for a laugh or two. Like when it mentions our "average" salary. Whoops, there I go again.

I actually had a point to make about READING. I only have six (WOOOOHOOOOOOO) workdays left anyway, so let it go, right? So, reading. I want to give people something to read. At work I think of the best posts to write (pardon the egomania) and yet, when I get home I'm too pooped to do more than plant my rear on the softest available surface with a nearby screen for zoning out. However, I do have something for you to read. If you're really, really, bored. Or pooped from a long workday. Or both. So While I get to transcribing it, here are some pretty pics for ya.

P.S. While a departure from regularly scheduled cat fawnings and garden lamenting, the coming story installments will always be second to any exciting new developements in the world of hermitdom. Is that an oxymoron? Exciting... hermitage...? Naaaaaah.

Nevermind I hate blogger!!! Never takes my pictures! ARRRRRG thats all I could get. I'm off to transcribe now. (these are from going to the beach with my sis- don't worry, I WILL email you those sooner or later!)

Mighty Mouth

Pheonix has a very unique voice. He says, "Puurr-row row? Merrow?", Whereas Maggie May has a teeny tiny voice. It sounds like, "mi? mi?". If she even makes a sound at all.

Well, I had this wild burst of energy, and I tore up the hill, Pheonix leading the way. I didn't go that far, or, I should say, MAKE it that far, I think there was some excess body weight slowing me down. Naw, I was probably just tired. Anyway, I stopped just around one of the giant Douglas firs and sat down. These trees are easily five - seven feet in diameter, so it's more like a wall than a tree when you're sitting against one.

Pheonix had just hopped into my lap when I heard the most awful screaming yowl, and it wasn't just one, it was yowl after yowl. At first I thought one of my kitties was hurt, badly, and I jumped to my feet, (despite Pheonix's disgruntled protest) and looked around the tree down toward home and street. Had a bad driver finally done what I'd always feared?

No. There was little Maggie with giant scared eyes, standing at the bottom of the hill looking up. I usually take liesurely strolls with my cats, so I can kep an eye out and make sure no one gets lost. Plus there is a LOT to sniff, and listen to, and we like to enjoy the forest unhurried. This time, though, I hadn't even realized Maggie was outside and wanted to come with me. She was left behind, and so unhappy about it that she cried out at the top of her lungs for me.

I called out to her, and her pointy ears were like homing missiles. As soon as she saw me heading toward her, she toned down to her usual tiny mews. I felt pretty darn loved. I didn't realize how much I'm her safety. You would think the fact that she sleeps next to my head every night might have tipped me off. In fact, when it's bed time, I call her and she comes running, settling into the corner between my pillow and the wall. Then Sebastian curls up at my feet. Then Lilly stretches out along my side. And then I can't move for the rest of the night lest I disturb anyone. And my chest swells with so much happiness I can hardly breathe.

Pheonix, meanwhile, prefers the fishtank, but he gets his snuggle time on hikes. Also when ever I catch him napping and he looks so darn cute I have to squeal and pet him. Hmmm, which is a lot of the time. You think he's working an angle?

Pheonix: Smarter than Western Medicine?

Pheonix is setting a good example for me, following the doctor's orders to take it easy for at least a week. No, the Doc didn't say to find a nice box to curl up in. It was no shooting hoops or lifting heavy things. I don't think Pheonix has EVER done heavy lifting, but he does his job. His job being to be cute and my buddy and a character, in return for love, love, and food and cardboard boxes and some more food.

Also, I wasn't supposed to lift my arm above shoulder height. So I was in a tough position. I had to go to work so I could resign, but I couldn't work. I couldn't bring myself to stay out on sick leave AND quit, because to me it seemed like that would be giving no notice at all. Then there is the matter of rent, and actual days needed for packing (oh boy). I have already paid my last month's rent, but I have to give thirty days notice, which means I have to do it at the start of the month. I want at the very least 2 weeks not working to pack, clean, and move, because working full time and moving is just not fun.

The ibuprofin didn't work. I tried to grit my teeth and bear it, but when Bosslady showed up around eight that day I had to tell her I couldn't work. I ended up needing two weeks to recover, and wasn't back at work until January 29th. I guess I could have given notice then, but I just felt like I'd be cutting it too close- I would still have the two weeks to move at the end of Febuary, but then life tossed in a couple more dilemmas.

My sub left. The office is now shorthanded.

The union unexpectedly reached an agreement on a new contract, throwing an emergency evaluation session into play. This is where every aspect of our job is scrutinized and a new salary is assigned. Sounds good right? Except the last two times, we got pay cuts, and this coming evaluation, sceduled for feb 23rd- march 7th, is gearing up to be the worst pay cut yet. I am so glad I never joined the union. I still have to take the contracts they negotiate, but I don't have to pay them for the reaming. It's several hundred dollars a year and I just don't find that appealing.

The most difficult curveball has been Clarence disapearing again. I am pretty sure he's alive, and doing well somewhere out in the world, but I wanted to make absolute sure he wasn't coming back before I leave. I have scoured the neighborhood for him, but no sign. The only way I refrain from crying all day every day for him is by thinking about him only in hopeful terms. Hoping he's happy, and safe and warm, and hoping that just maybe he'll come back one last time. The thought of him coming back to an empty house has definitely hindered my leaving.

I think it's time now. I'll help my office through the evaluation so they won't feel the pinch of two less employees. I'm able bodied again, thank goodness. And I raised a strong young kitty able to do well in the world on his own, free to live the life he chooses. March 8th I turn 29, and it will be my first day of freedom. My first day of a new year, a new life. I'll hit the road with trailer in tow march 30th. Until then, though, I think I will follow Pheonix's example, and find a place to curl up and dream. At least on the weekends.

Good News ...?

I'm interrupting my gripping tale of job resignation to share this breaking news: my landlord sent me a text message. I guess when your voicmail is full that's what people have to do. Anyway, it said, "Hi, it's your landlord. I have good news. Call me".

Ponder that for a second. What could possibly be good news, from a landlord to a tenant? "Hey, I won the lottery, I'm giving you the cabin". Whoah, okay that's a bit ridiculous, ha ha sorry. I am guessing it's more like, "Hey, I just realized that studios rent for less than you pay AND the utilities are included! Plus they have double pane windows and -" okay now I'm perching on the edge of bitter. Kind of like when I wish the company vehicle had anti-lock brakes.

I know, it's a choice to live in the second most expensive county in the U.S. of A. Which is why I'm leaving. I finally got the guts to at least broach the subject with my coworkers (Bosslady being thankfully absent). I posed it in the form of what if. "Do you think I should move to AZ to chase my dreams and see what else this world has to experience?" I tried to sound nonchalant but my nervous tone possibly betrayed me.

The funny thing is, after having listened to them proclaim time after time that "this is the best job in the universe", I thought they would be colectively discouraging. ("Better than being a professional athlete?" I would counter. "Better than being paid to scuba dive off the coast of Madagascar, taking pictures of coral reefs?" I knew a guy who actually did that, for National Geographic.) To my pleasant suprise, my colleagues took my question under serious consideration. The vote was fairly quick, and it was unanimus. Yes.

Now, I don't actually expect or desire or think I deserve to be handed anything on a silver platter, despite my lottery mention. I know that work is part of life, whether you enjoy or despise the particular job you do. It's just that, after having no electricity for two days for reasons that had nothing to do with weather or tree branches or other acts of nature, I'm ready for good news to really be good news. So why do I feel so full of dread?

P.S. I'm making breakfast now and thought this was a really pretty egg. :)

Damp is conducive to mushrooms and unfancy footwork.

It was the weekend. I had just finished a long overdue blog post and I felt pleasantly full, like I'd just had fresh brewed coffee with a dollop of ice cream in it. Maybe I did. I was ready to go counter my fatty indulgence with a hike with my furry loved ones. I can see it so painfully slow now, as I traversed the porch, my high pitched conversation with my kitties turned down to a deep, low, slow-motion drawl. Each step minutes long before my foot rests and my weight shifts, the other foot taking its steady turn at brief flight before connecting with the ground and accepting it's turn at the burden of weight bearing, the cycle beginning anew.

Okay, I'm just kidding. It actually happened so fast that all I remember was being at the top of the stairs one second, and flat on my back at the bottom of them the next. Speaking of bottom, boy did mine hurt. It hurt more than my arm at that point, though not as much as my ego. Luckily my flaming blush was witnessed only by cats who, let's admit, always think we're doing weird things anyway and aren't going to do more than cock their head sideways at you when you make a fallen spectacle of yourself. I disentangled my arm from the railing, the railing that certainly didn't stop my fall but, come to think of it, maybe did save my skull by grabbing my arm and keeping my head up just enough to not crack it a good one.

I got up as quick as I could, adrenaline jackhammering in my ears, and did a body check. Nothing seemed broken. Maybe the blush regulator, I think that was stuck in overdrive. I felt sore and silly, which is always surviveable. However, as the night wore on, I started to feel like I'd been in a car wreck. I hope you have never been in one, but if you have you know it's always worse the next day. And indeed, lo and behold, I couldnt even move my arm next morning. Well, I COULD. But I think if you're crying when you're trying to wash your hair, umm- don't wash your hair.

In fact, don't go to work right? Wrong. It's a mix of boss fear and "weakness" guilt that makes me hate to call in sick, so I had my Honey braid my hair for me (he did a better job than I do, too!) and even tie my shoes for me. Yes, somehow I thought once the 4 ibuprofin kicked in, I'd be able to power out a work day. At a job where I use my arms the ENTIRE eight hours. Lifting things. Dumbass. What exactly would it take? And more importantly, how could I resign AND call in sick? Off to work I went.

Oh yes, see, the mushrooms are illustrating how damp it is here.

Random Chance pushes Lady Luck aside

Driving to work when it's starting to get light out is so much nicer than driving to work before the sun even thinks about getting up. I really don't think it's fair that the sun gets to hit the snooze button longer than me. I don't care if life's not fair, it should be a rule- the sun gets up first! And yes, I'm still driving to work. See, I have sunday and monday off, and the monday that I wrote about the adventures of trestle walking and job resigning, fate stepped in. Wait, I don't believe in fate. Random chance stepped in.

Actually, random chance stepped in the previous friday, when I was heading to work, admiring the sunrise. The captivating beauty of the sky calmed me that morning, because I had originally intended FRIDAY to be the day I resigned. All my fears and agonizing and stressing and hemming and hawing over every tiny detail of the massive decision to start a new life had culminated in a night of insomnia. When I came out of the thick forest and into the dawn I felt suddenly at peace with my choice, I even felt a quiet strength. My doubt became hope.

And then my boss wasn't at work.

I had this letter all nicely printed up and folded into careful thirds (thats hard, ya know):

1-11-08
To my Bosslady, I am resigning. Please consider this my three week notice, february 1st being my last day. I feel lucky to have had this job and regret that I must leave. I wish you and everyone here the best- I will miss the comraderie.
Sincerely, Me

Okay, I don't know how "professional" that is or anything, but it took me five drafts to get that. And then, since she wasn't there I wasn't going to work with her until tuesday. So, fine, I'd have to rewrite it and change the dates and it would be a 2 and a half week notice instead of three, etc. So be it. Except then Mr. Random Chance doesn't just step in, (yes, I'm making it masculine since Luck is a Lady) no, Mr. RC YANKS the rug out from under me. Or, more literally, the stairs. The slick painted, wet all winter, no tread on them stairs. Ouch.

Forgive Me

O.. M... G.... I know, I am so bloody fired. Hmm, I wish that were literal. Ack, sooooo much has happened, so much to explain, but I can't do it without pretty pictures heehee! Let's just say that as much as we might think we can control our lives... we really can't. Love and misses, back soon, Hermitgrrl