Muggy mug, as they say

Friday
It sure has been a sweaty week.  I am in Tampa airport typing this.  I just spent the week packing up my Mom's personal items from her Florida snowbird house and shipping them north, and making the place saleable.  We may have a buyer on the line, we'll see if I get the contract tomorrow.


Good old USAir forgot to load the pilot's cabin with oxygen on Monday, so I got to hang in Phoenix for an extra 5 hours, landed in Tampa at 10pm, and made it to Estero at 1am.  Luckily I had plenty of time to get everything done, wrapped it all up this am at 11, left my bathroom kit and bag of chocolate chip cookies sitting in the driveway, and drove through 2 hellacious rainstorms (squalls) that lasted about 5 minutes but were treacherous.


It was cooking hot and muggy in Estero, in the 90s on temp and humidity, but I had the AC cranked and work to do inside, so no matter except when I tried to do my walks.  Luckily it is a 'rest' week, meaning only 3 mile walks.

I drove through two squalls on the way to the airport.  It was pouring so hard I got the Corolla I rented airborne off the wake of an 18-wheeler I passed at 80 mph, did an Ollie off the guardrail, and right back in the fast lane.  Pretty smooth, as they say. 

Sunday
Been up since 3, who needs sleep?  Troubling times, trouble in mind.  I think my old cat is lying out in the yard somewhere, dead.  Woody has been having nightmares this morning, lying here and moan/barking (barmoaning?).  Does he know something I don't, in tune with a fellow animal?  I'll have to go look for Figgy.

Instead of doing the 7-mile training yesterday, I went to a 5 hour Literacy Council training session, so now I can read and maybe help somone else to as well.  After next Saturday's training, that is.  So I had to do the 7 miles yesterday, and ran out of daylight and only did 4, and now I have to 3 today instead of rest.  Next Saturday I will have go 12; the whole week is very tough with a total of 32 miles, yikes, my hip is crying out.  Just when I need those steroids they are being stepped down. 

We may have reached the lower limits for a while, because that mucositis in my mouth that was going away is lingering at an annoying level, and my eyes are still dry as a Utah BBQ.  It finally rained here in SLO, while I was in Forida.  Our umbrella took flight and landed next door, with no injuries.  We thought Mikey was inside the umbrella, but it turned out he was hiding in the trundle drawer under his bed.  FOX news was going to get this live, but found out we didn't subscribe to Conservapedia and that was, as they say, poop without a fly.

The finches in the yard have winged their beaks, as they chirp, at the new lot of seed I bought them.  I had to return it all and get the preferred and pricier nyjer thistle seed, sheesh, picky birds.  I guess here in the 'Arbors' (chirped while looking down their beaks), they have other options, so walk the talk or take a walk, as they say.

By the way, if I see them, I mean them they who say, I will display, so to say, some dismay at their way of having so much to say, enough said.

Speaking of which, if you didn't see the poemerizing from Mac and Pat in the last post, go back and read it.  Oh yeah, I researched who owns what, and what you post in a blog is yours unless you give that right away, as many sites make you do by having you check some box.  Who reads that crap, as they say?  So anyway, I will be sending all you commenters a contract that you will have to sign to get your cut of the action, your piece of the pie, as they say.  It will look like this, but don't worry, just sign it and send it back:
I hereby agree to give John Fiore all rights in regard to everything I ever write, and any money I ever make or have.  Agreed, check here.

I have to get a smaller font so I can be more verbose and cut down on mailing costs, further spurring our economy.  Always happy to do my part, as they say.  This week's cancer writing prompt came with this cheery poem:

Larson's Holstein Bull



by Jim Harrison


Death waits inside us for a door to open.
Death is patient as a dead cat.
Death is a doorknob made of flesh.
Death is that angelic farm girl
gored by the bull on her way home
from school, crossing the pasture
for a shortcut. In the seventh grade
she couldn't read or write. She wasn't a virgin.
She was "simpleminded," we all said.
It was May, a time of lilacs and shooting stars.
She's lived in my memory for sixty years.

Death steals everything except our stories.

Monday quick update

I found Figgy down by the creek out back of my house yesterday, and went down there to get her.  She was still alive but looked very bad, and I didn't want to leave her for the crows or raccoons, so I carried her back to the garage and put her in her bed.  I just came back from the vet, and they agreed that she was beyond repair.  I will bury her ashes in her favorite yard spot, goodbye Figgy.


On a lighter note, I forgot to mention my washing machine adventure on last Friday morning.  I woke at Mom's in FLA around 5, and decided I should start cleaning the sheets and towels I used.  Normally I leave my dirty clothes until I get home, in case anyone tries to steal my stuff and can be warded off by the odor, but also because I am generally vacationing when I am travelling, so why use vacation time to clean clothes?


In this case, I had a half load, so I threw my dirty clothes in, started the machine, and it filled up.  Then, when the cycle kicked to churn, the motor made that sickening smell of $$$ burning, and the breaker popped.  Aaaarrrgggghhh!  I saw the slack time built into the schedule going away. 


I started taking out the clothes and sheets and towels, wringing them out and putting them in a hamper, to go to the laundromat.  I then hand-drained the machine, and with about 6" of water to go, I was about to take off the outer skin and decided to try the machine without much load.  Lo and behold, it drained, so I tried a short cycle with no clothes, and it worked!  Back in went the laundry, and all was fine, disaster averted.


There is some lesson in there about how to start up things that have been sitting idle for a time.  I think there was probably a small rust buildup or lime crust that needed a gentle nudge to knock off.


Make sure you check the comments; I am miffed to find I cannot make money on Manny, Mo, and Mac, the poemerizing posse.