Oh, dammit. That is the classic earworm. Chuck the best man Mann, dammit, where are you? You deserve this earworm worse than I do! 24 hours later, it's gone, because my Mother has put another one up there.
"There once was a farmer who took a young miss
in back of the barn where he gave her a ... lecture
on horses and chickens and eggs,
and told her that she had such beautiful ... manners
that suited a girl of her charms,
a girl that he'd like to take in his ... washings
and ironings and then if she did,
they could get married and have lots of.... Sweet Violets"
There. If you're a Harvey, you've got it stuck in your head, too. Who says I'm not generous?
My mother lives with us in the winter, ostensibly coming "south" because the farm is too darn cold. Inevitably, she brings the cold with her.
The dusty aviary is a very boring, quiet place when we're here. Imagine what it's like when we're not. So we've decided to try to get Mom to hang out with some other hip oldsters while we're gone during the day. I think she'll like it... eventually. Anyway, to get her there, we had to get a physical. Part of the physical was a TB titer. However you spell that.
You know that you have to go BACK to get the damn thing read, right?
So, Friday afternoon, I run out of school like a bat out of Hades to catch the early subway. And don't you know, they had "scheduling" issues at about 30th street, and we sat for 4 minutes. Just long enough for me to miss the early train.
SEPTA: never there when you need them.
So, I get out to Bryn Mawr at 4:25 (the docs close at 5) to find 3 inches of snow on the ground.
And every light was red. I swear.
We got to the doctor's office (I practically ran through the hospital. I would have piggy backed mom if she would have let me) just as the nurses were locking the office. DAMMIT.
But they read her arm, and I have to go back on Monday to get the paper. I do not have to take Mom with me. Thank the lord.
The next circus was getting back to CVS to get her meds, as they had to get one of the scripts from far away and couldn't get them before Friday afternoon. Of course. So, trekking through the snow on the Main Line, where people either drive like me (paranoid freaks) or like testosterone poisoned morons, we passed one or two CVS stores. Mom kept pointing them out, and I would say, Wrong One! We have to get to Bryn Mawr!
Finally, we got to Bryn Mawr. I "parked" - surprisingly, there were few cars there, but the lot was a mess. I told her to stay in the car while I went in and got the meds (and toilet paper, bread, eggs, and milk, as it was snowing, and this is PA). So I did. And when we were pulling out, she looks up at the store and says "There's a CVS! Is that the one?"
Have I talked of the audacious squirrel yet? I don't believe I have.
We have a squirrel issue.
It started when the boys wouldn't put the lid on the garbage. I'd see Rocky out there, digging for choice tidbits, which he'd escape to the corner of our fence with, and munch away. Just out of reach of Loki, who goes a little nuts over squirrels.
So I talked the boys into putting the lid on.
Rocky just took the lid back off.
Then we started locking the lid on with the handle.
First, rocky took a crap RIGHT ON TOP of the garbage can, as if to tell us what he thinks of that. Then he learned how to pull the handle down enough to take the top off.
One day, Stinky was taking out garbage for me. I hear a screech (Stinks still wins the "scream like a girl" contest in this house. No puberty yet.) and suddenly I see him marching back toward his fort cussing the whole time (apple falls far from the tree??). Apparently, Rocky had jumped out at him when he took the top off the can.
Stinky comes back, slams the lid on the garbage, and puts a BRICK on top of it. My kid is smart.
Two days later, we see Rocky eating through the lid of the can. Rocky is smart, too.
Now, Rocky is probably a 10+ pound squirrel at this point. Never let it be said that the Rogers don't have some tasty treats in their garbage. That furry rat is positively ROTUND. And he likes his standard of living very much, thank you.
He left us another love note when we only put bathroom garbage out one day. Wasn't quite up to the usual food caliber, I suppose. But most days, he gets to chow down. So, as he eats:
- it's harder for him to get out of his pre-chewed hole (because he's FAT now) and
- this means, you never know when he's going to jump out at you when you open the can
We have gone to the nuclear option of garbage cans.
Metal with locking lids.
Bright side? If he chews through this, it's aluminum, and he'll get Alzheimers, so he won't remember where our house is. Win win. If I have to have dementia in my world, I'm going to use it to my benefit.
And that's birdwoman's life in a - ha ha - nut shell (squirrel? nut? I know it's a stretch. But I'm only flexible when it comes to humor. You should see the jokes I subject my students to: like "he threw sodium chloride at me! That's a salt!!" Say it out loud. If you don't get it, you need to take chemistry again.)
I'll take you through the trial I was on last week (jury duty for 2 weeks) sometime, maybe. Then again, that was boring enough to live through. I doubt you, my faithful reader, wants to live through it again.