tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298333162012-01-29T20:22:24.022-06:00True stories... only funnier.Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.comBlogger13881100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-83791399502878843182012-01-27T07:00:00.005-06:002012-01-28T21:17:10.102-06:00

See if you can figure out what this dream is about before I spell it out at the end: I dreamed The Husband and I were "up north". For those of you unfamiliar with the term "up north", it is a retreat to a cabin or lake home some distance north of your year-round home.  People where I currently live go "up north" somewhere.  People who live south of where I currently live come here to be "up

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-54799408209650287832012-01-26T07:00:00.000-06:002012-01-26T07:00:11.263-06:00

You ever been invited to help out in an event that was so poorly organized and so badly executed that you swore to yourself that if they asked you to help out again you never, ever would? And then when they don't ask you, you feel all hurt? ::pout::

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-9421239203972025272012-01-23T07:00:00.005-06:002012-01-29T08:01:04.347-06:00

We crossed paths in the driveway; I was just coming home from work, and The Husband was making a quick run to the grocery store. He told me, "I'm getting bacon, milk, and coffee.  Do you want anything?" "You had me at bacon." The heavens opened, and the angels sang. (I was inspired, you see.) So here's the game: Insert the word "bacon" into famous movie quotes. You've already got the Jerry

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-11691426979960428642012-01-22T13:20:00.000-06:002012-01-22T13:20:06.088-06:00

It's been a while since I mentioned the afghan I "rescued" from a second-hand store. I delivered it to its new home this morning. The woman who received it runs a home for mentally disabled adults. I don't know how many Sundays I'd sat in the same church with her and her busload of residents, but earlier this month I suddenly "knew" that's where the orphaned afghan needed to go.  No apparent

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-76569726073719078862012-01-20T07:00:00.005-06:002012-01-28T21:25:35.553-06:00

It's a big deal to talk on the radio. It is. Even after making a lifetime career out of doing it, the first time you open a mic at a new job, it feels like the very first time you ever did.  The only difference is you're pretty sure it won't kill you... this time. I "get it" when guests come in and tell me they're nervous to be on the talk show.  They put on a brave face for the host, but when

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-20477936900654713932012-01-18T19:59:00.001-06:002012-01-19T08:03:52.391-06:00

When book pushers libraries and on-line book outlets show me "If you like (fill in the blank), you might like...", they are never right.  I never like that other book. If you like Harry Potter, you might like this other book with dragons in it. Uh, no.  Actually, I dislike fantasy as a whole.  However, JK Rowling writes pretty.  Go away. If you like Hunger Games, you might like this other book

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-35872287700763457222012-01-17T07:00:00.004-06:002012-01-28T21:32:09.553-06:00

I wish I could remember who the comedian is (Milt Something, or Something Milt), but I don't. He has this bit about getting older and how you never hear little kids complain like grown-ups do. You never hear kids say things like, "I pulled a muscle playing tag yesterday, and I am SO sore today." Or, when he bends over to pick up his marbles, the kid never groans as he straightens up. The Husband

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-11738136735777430152012-01-16T07:00:00.000-06:002012-01-16T07:00:09.481-06:00

We were all lounging around the television when Younger Son grabbed a blanket from the livingroom end table. He fluffed it out, and confetti from New Year's Eve that had been trapped in the blanket fluttered about the room. We all thought it was the most hilarious thing we'd ever seen.

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-67519535941290809092012-01-13T07:00:00.004-06:002012-01-16T07:15:27.070-06:00

Went in person to pay a bill at the hospital.  (I racked up some frequent flyer miles last year.) The accounts receivable clerk had her own office near the main entrance.  When I arrived, she was busy on the phone. So, I waited. She had a lot of paper shuffling to do. So, I waited. I'll be honest, I had a bug up my behind before I got there, which was part of the reason I decided to pay in

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-40018383958760147522012-01-12T07:00:00.005-06:002012-01-12T08:09:39.422-06:00

Late yesterday afternoon, I received an e-mail from my boss. It was a request for me to record an interview with a local charity to help them promote an upcoming fund-raiser. Here is the reply I sent: Done.  It has been running on air since Monday. (Yes, I *am* that good.) Still hate my job, but hell, somedays I'm damned good at it.

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-60715207444201380212012-01-11T06:37:00.002-06:002012-01-11T06:38:55.132-06:00

I wish I'd known that if I pick a blog name like AckThbbbt, I'd have to retype the letters a-c-k-t-h-b-b-b-t every time I log in, leave a comment on another blog, check my e-mail, send someone the link... I'd have picked something shorter, for sure. Your turn, go!

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-75209287954992564522012-01-10T07:00:00.003-06:002012-01-10T21:30:06.040-06:00

The Husband often calls the boys together when he has something to teach them... such as how to fix an appliance, sew on a button, or prepare food.  (I don't cook or sew.  Apparently, I got married so I wouldn't be naked or hungry.) Usually one of these events is preceded with a loud call of, "BOYS!  COME HERE FOR A MINUTE!" They come running, listen and watch attentively, and leave when

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-37570243489099170832012-01-09T07:00:00.015-06:002012-01-09T07:51:15.934-06:00

Note:  This is not the funny you are looking for. This is a personal note to G.G. Mueller, but you are welcome to read it. Lily died a year ago today.  At the time, your Dan had been gone less than a month. You and I hadn't met yet. Lily's death came at the end of a long journey.  Dan's exit was quick. Still, you and I traveled parallel paths a year ago. Early December, you posted about the

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-15688679852674857092012-01-05T06:43:00.001-06:002012-01-06T06:38:42.242-06:00

Once again, Andy's sending folks over, and I don't have anything in the fridge to serve them. If y'all (trying to speak the Andy-lingo here) don't mind leftovers, I invite you to enjoy all the funny of days gone by that you can eat.  It's all good, ain't made nobody sick, yet. Now, if you'll excuse me, Imma gonna take the curlers outa my hair and put on my good pajama pants now that I have

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-89270451575083919332012-01-04T07:00:00.002-06:002012-01-04T07:00:11.305-06:00

Alrighty... I stole this from Dani. Take the first sentence from the first post of each month of 2011. That’s your year in review. January:  May your pleasures be doubled and your pains be halved this year. February:  Elder Son gave me a big hug last night. March:  Ever notice how your least favorite socks and the most ill-fitting pairs of underwear are the ones that last the longest? April:

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-7829995677185137082012-01-03T07:52:00.000-06:002012-01-03T07:52:52.490-06:00

Here's my theory on the Mayan calendar ending in 2012: After centuries of drawing calendars, one of them finally realizes that the whole mess starts to repeat in 2012. "Dudes!  We can just use the first version over again!" "Sweet!  Anyone remember where we put it?"

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-86781572611167836402011-12-30T12:43:00.000-06:002011-12-30T12:43:10.164-06:00

Younger Son tells me late last night that I'm a good mother. Me:  That's sweet.  I do have my moments. He:  I think you have bad moments.  All the rest is good. (You wish you had my kids.  I know you do.)

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-3470474947508953682011-12-28T07:00:00.013-06:002011-12-30T23:11:58.169-06:00

On the one hand, it's nice that a lot of people have liked my crocheted projects, and they've ordered so many items that I've been working on commissioned projects since the beginning of November. On the other hand, I've been so busy making things for other people, I haven't had time to listen to the yarn. I still have baskets of yarn waiting to be transformed into something, but for two months,

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-29620215721157005632011-12-27T07:00:00.001-06:002012-01-05T06:45:37.585-06:00

The boys are off school for Christmas break, but The Husband and I are working. One afternoon, Younger Son calls my cell to say hi. Tells me he had made breakfast for himself and Elder Son and was about to make grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch. Me:  I hope your brother appreciates all that you do for him. He:  Eh.  It makes up for all the things I do to him. Fair enough.

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-36729472708731780802011-12-26T07:00:00.002-06:002011-12-26T17:09:21.546-06:00

Early Saturday, The Husband was puttering around the kitchen preparing for the next day's Christmas feast while I washed dishes and the boys played computer games at the table.  At some point, Younger Son left his post to give The Husband and me a hug. "I love our family," he said simply. "Really?  Why?" The Husband wanted to know. "Because we like being together.  Not everybody gets along as

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-60137118041364852142011-12-24T18:00:00.000-06:002011-12-24T18:00:03.596-06:00

Originally written December 2009 Driving slowly up and down residential streets looking at Christmas lights as we do every Christmas Eve... with The Husband and me in the front seat, the boys in the back... All of us, at the top of our lungs, belting out "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" with Bruce Springsteen on the radio. Loud voices! Reckless abandon! Best. Christmas Eve. Ever.

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-88920846159028279292011-12-23T07:06:00.000-06:002011-12-23T07:06:00.073-06:00

I have a junk mail filter on my Ack!Thbbbt! e-mail address. If you're not in my address book, your note will automatically go to the junk folder.... which I check and empty on a daily basis. I mention this because I think I might have deleted a couple legitimate e-mails thinking they were spam. If you've ever e-mailed me and I haven't responded, it's because your note ended up in my junk folder

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-54391712509186534152011-12-21T19:57:00.002-06:002011-12-27T20:41:52.208-06:00

There's this guy who calls the radio station frequently. Sometimes he's annoying.  Sometimes he's just lonely. I think the difference depends on what kind of day *I'm* having. But, what he calls about is usually the weather. "What is the temperature right now?"  And when I tell him, he'll say, "Well, I heard it's (some other temperature) at the airport." "How much snow are we supposed to get?"

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-11533175858290135912011-12-21T07:32:00.003-06:002011-12-21T08:15:46.603-06:00

Conversations with Elder Son from the past 12 hours... 9:35pm (He had to work last night.  Otherwise, I *think* he might have mentioned this earlier.) He:  What time do you get up in the morning? Me:  About 6 o'clock. He:  (nods) Me:  Why? He:  I have to make food for Spanish class. Me:  He:  I picked an easy recipe. Me:  Do we have everything you need to put in it? He:  It only needs potatoes

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-91287160643466997632011-12-20T07:54:00.000-06:002011-12-20T07:54:46.810-06:00

Wondered why the lining in my winter coat kept tearing at the armpit. It was never too tight.  No unnecessary stress at that seam. Solved the mystery this year. The day I put my coat on... ... with my car keys in my hand. I did the equivelent of "keying" a car to the inside of my coat. Rrrrrrip! Noted. Don't hold your keys in your hand when returning your library books to the drop box. And

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-21218496148063427112011-12-19T07:00:00.002-06:002011-12-19T07:00:15.322-06:00

Imagine I'm a guest on The Late Show with David Letterman. What song does Paul Shafer play as I enter the theater?

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-48008210824490660302011-12-15T20:18:00.000-06:002011-12-15T20:18:35.049-06:00

On my way home from work for three nights now, I've had an idea I've wanted to blog about. But by the time I get home, eat supper, tuck The Husband into bed, and settle in for some "me" time on the computer, I've forgotten what it is. Whatev's.

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-52189112990261391752011-12-13T08:19:00.001-06:002011-12-13T21:24:26.663-06:00

Hey. Remember that chick who oversteps her bounds? Yeah. Yesterday, I had an issue at work. (I may have mentioned it in passing.) I blew off steam about it to her because she was something of a witness to what happened (and she agreed that I was right, so that's nice).  But sometime between then and this morning, she went out and contacted people she knows at a temp agency and gave them my

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-49388003547431034372011-12-12T20:28:00.000-06:002011-12-12T20:28:04.146-06:00

Maybe if I get a new job, I can grow my hair long again.

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-20713265200379016862011-12-12T20:17:00.001-06:002011-12-12T20:27:27.172-06:00

I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate my job... I hate

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-78147099792309456542011-12-12T07:00:00.014-06:002011-12-23T07:30:53.940-06:00

The question I get the most is, "Are you feeling any better since you changed what you eat?" Sadly, the answer is, "Not really." Because I've got more than one issue going on (bum gall bladder, dead thyroid, and an intestine that's just not doing a proper job of things).  Fixing one problem fixes one problem, and the other problems have to catch up. And they're slow about it. Imagine you have

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-57051466859070287972011-12-08T07:00:00.005-06:002011-12-08T07:00:10.218-06:00

I'm flirting with The Husband... Me:  Hey, you wanna have a date tonight? He:  Usually, that kind of proposition comes with a negotiation over money. Me:  *blink* He:  *blink* Me:  Alright then.  How much do you want? He likes the way I think. :-)

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-45909191235433492932011-12-07T07:00:00.001-06:002011-12-07T07:00:10.920-06:00

Our basement carpeting was ruined in the last big rain, so The Husband has decided to replace it all with a nice tile down there. Over the weekend, he told me he was running down to the hardware store to rent a floor stripper. I had just one question: "When you rent a floor stripper, do you have to pay for it with single dollar bills?" Thank you!  You've been a wonderful audience!

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-67458800602492904382011-12-06T07:00:00.002-06:002011-12-08T07:40:00.278-06:00

Conversation with Younger Son... He:  How long do mice live? Me:  I don't know. He:  (long monologue about mice for sale at the pet store... then...) How long do mice live? Me:  What did I tell you the last time you asked me that? He:  I don't know. Me:  *blink* He:  *blink* Me:  Right. He:  Wait, what? (Go on, read it again until you see it...)

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-599438884081289872011-12-05T07:00:00.003-06:002011-12-05T07:55:42.821-06:00

Elder Son had still been sleeping when I left to run some early Saturday morning errands. But, when I returned, he came out of the house to meet me in the driveway. "Hey!  Good morning!" I greeted him. "Grunt," he grunted back. "It's really nice of you to come out.  You wanna help me with some of these bags?" "Huh?" "Here, take this bag." "What? No!"  And he made a move that was clearly a dodge.

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-3340796142640988662011-12-02T07:59:00.001-06:002011-12-02T08:01:58.145-06:00

Dear Radio Sales People Marketing Account Representatives, Quit writing your ad copy with instructions to "add Christmas bells under". This means we are supposed to record the commercial as usual, but add the sound of tickling bells along with our voice and the client's music jingle. What you want is your client's commercial to sound festive without swapping out their usual jingle with actual

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-25844741585912093242011-11-29T07:05:00.001-06:002012-01-08T17:27:48.571-06:00

It's not that I haven't got any Christmas spirit, but I had a revelation yesterday. There was a lot of happy chatter yesterday about Black Friday, the shopping, the crowds, the really good deals... But, I didn't join in. Because I realized the only thing *I* bought on Black Friday was yarn. So I could make chemo hats for a woman I've never met who has cancer for the third time. Merry Christmas?

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-70510678236737513962011-11-28T07:00:00.001-06:002011-11-28T07:00:02.512-06:00

It's like asking on your first day of driver's training, "Now, which pedal is the gas, and which one is the brake?" And having the instructor mash down on the gas and say, "This one!" I have this friend who takes my questions and runs with them. "Hey, do you know anyone who makes those microwave corn pillows?" Shortly after saying, "Let me check," she will call several craft stores and search

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-13146667908183229302011-11-23T07:00:00.003-06:002011-11-23T07:00:15.441-06:00

Have you ever dreamed you woke up late, and you're rushing around trying to get to work... and then in real life your alarm goes off at the regular time, but you're not at all rested because your dream was so exhausting? The Husband and the boys have all dreamt at least once that they've gotten up and walked their entire paper route, only to have the alarm go off... and they have to get up and

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-87160573088387585562011-11-22T07:00:00.002-06:002011-11-22T07:00:15.778-06:00

As I waited for The Husband to join me for lunch, a co-worker wandered over to say hello. He:  Hey Roses!  Don't you look like a little prince! Me:  Thaaaaat's nice.  (No, it isn't.) He:  I'm just saying, with the long wool coat, your shoes with the buckles, and the boy haircut... Me:  Y'know, the last time someone told me I looked like a boy, I chased him around Freshman English class and

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-30229275384779333162011-11-21T07:00:00.004-06:002011-11-21T07:00:03.950-06:00

The cat's toys often end up behind the heaviest piece of livingroom furniture. I spent some time digging them out over the weekend, and I piled all his toy mice next to his window basket. Later, as he lounged in the sun, he lazily glanced over at the mousy dogpile. "What do we have here?" he silently wondered.  "A mouse... another mouse... wait, what now?" He sat up. Reached a paw out of his

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-68491994090949108592011-11-20T10:37:00.000-06:002011-11-20T10:37:07.022-06:00

Original post by Grandma's Legacy: Bill The Cat In a Window:I just thought a few of you would appreciate this considering conversation that happened here in the past week.Thanks, OB!Heh...

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-29883774625246865082011-11-18T07:00:00.005-06:002012-01-08T13:11:08.886-06:00

Lily's son calls it "The Bu". (short for "Malibu") Lily's husband built it. At least, parts of it. We didn't plan it this way, but things just happened to work out that we purchased our new car just hours before my brother-in-law came for a visit.  (I have just now decided Lily's husband must be referred to from now on as Tiger... as in Tiger Lily.  Naturally, right?) The engine was still warm

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-13313929855102241092011-11-17T08:10:00.002-06:002011-11-17T08:10:00.956-06:00

The doctor's office called... with sincere apologies... to say they simply forgot to send the results. Everything's fine. I'm ten for ten, baby!

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-78143701393183479242011-11-17T07:00:00.002-06:002011-11-17T07:00:09.907-06:00

At the end of September, a study came out stating that one out of ten mammograms comes back with a false positive. I am very sure of the time of year this study came out, and I am very sure of the "one out of ten" numbers because I had just gotten my tenth mammogram days before this study hit the airwaves of the radio station where I work. One out of ten. And I had just gotten my tenth. Huh.

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-90039081858066911522011-11-16T07:00:00.001-06:002011-11-16T07:00:22.551-06:00

Proof that I don't make up all the good stories that I tell, Grau has submitted visual collaboration to my claims of Bill the Cat tattoo-eyness.

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-83000734490133342572011-11-15T07:00:00.004-06:002011-11-15T07:00:22.846-06:00

One of the local ice cream shops hands out reward cards.  Everytime you buy an ice cream cone, you get your reward card punched.  Buy ten ice cream cones, and your next one is free. While cleaning out a drawer over the weekend, The Husband and I found a couple of these punch cards.  Each one had a couple punches on them. "Should we keep these?" The Husband wondered.  "We obviously keep

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-23259109951266012542011-11-13T21:12:00.005-06:002011-11-14T20:37:49.206-06:00

He:  "Say, your blog is named Ack!Thbbbt!, isn't it?" Me:  "Yeah, it is." He:  "Right.  Have I ever showed you my tattoo?" Me:  "Uh..." I was speechless. And suddenly very afraid. Fortunately, he pulled up his sleeve rather than pull down his pants. To show off his Bill the Cat tattoo. Ack! He:  "You know, that totally came out sounding not the way I meant it." Actually, it came out sounding

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-62758685660896845422011-11-10T07:00:00.000-06:002011-11-10T07:00:14.234-06:00

Dear Son; If I tell you I don't know the solution to your problem, it's because I have learned from experience that, even when I *do* have a perfectly good answer, you will not accept it.  You will waste my time and yours explaining to me why my solution will not work until eventually, you will come up with your own answer or discover reluctantly that my way does, in fact, solve your problem. So,

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-4631489532219996802011-11-09T07:00:00.001-06:002011-11-09T07:00:05.388-06:00

The man at the front desk where I work has many duties. Everyone for both the radio station and the newspaper come through his door. He greets guests, clients, and subscribers.  Happy people picking up prizes, confused people wanting to place an ad, and angry people who ran over their paper in the driveway with their snow blower and want the 14-year-old paper boy fired. The man at the front desk

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-14666624981084477522011-11-08T06:53:00.001-06:002011-11-08T07:52:04.808-06:00

What is it with you men? That's right, I'm calling you out. What is it that calls you to reach for the lightest color hand towel when you spill something?  Particularly, when you spill something of rich color? With the choices of several darker colored absorbant items to choose from, why is it the lightest, most stainable color you grab? And... It can't be the ratty white towel. No. YOU use the

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-67575058175605953842011-11-07T07:00:00.001-06:002011-11-07T07:50:03.416-06:00

Several days in a row, packages have arrived for me at the radio station. The man at the front desk was in charge of holding them for me until I could take them off his desk. He pretended to be terribly off-put by this burden, but he really wasn't. One day last week I walked into work and asked, "Any packages for me?" He replied, "I have nothing to give you today.  Not even grief."

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-15459581335344030702011-11-03T21:28:00.001-05:002011-11-04T06:50:07.995-05:00

Earlier today, I forgot how old I am. For a moment, it was a toss up between 42 and 48. I had to think about what year it is now, and what year I was born. I did the math (twice), and it came out to 55, but I was pretty sure that wasn't right. Should I be worried?   (Btw, I know I'm 45... now.)

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-77937482261753943852011-11-01T07:49:00.001-05:002011-11-01T07:49:33.344-05:00

At risk of revealing the secret location of the Ack!Thbbbt! house... If your child came home from trick or treating last night chattering excitedly about the clown riding around town on a unicycle and juggling clubs, that was Younger Son. He was SO thrilled entertaining others, he didn't seem to notice that he didn't collect any candy. That's my boy!

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-26938929114307758572011-10-27T07:53:00.003-05:002011-11-07T07:53:57.853-06:00

I was embarassed to admit that I liked this song.  It's wrong, yes.  But I like it anyway. It's bouncy, it's a car-dancing tune. However, the lyrics... At first, I couldn't make out the lyrics. And I didn't particularly like how the vocals in the verses were processed.  No matter, the chorus was catchy.  I thought it was some kind of weird remake of The Drew Carrey Show theme song. I did. You

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-8234556576939980672011-10-26T06:47:00.000-05:002011-10-26T06:47:36.748-05:00

You know that delicate layer of consciousness between sleep and awake where your thoughts are brilliant and you solve the world's problems... however, once you break that layer, the solutions are gone and you're left with a feeling of having lost something very important. Well... I stumbled across a very thick layer of brilliance last night.  So thick was this layer that I remember what it was

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-47139022131851092011-10-25T07:56:00.001-05:002011-10-25T08:00:32.424-05:00

-A "Here's Your Sign" Moment- Members of the Ack!Thbbbt! household have identical cell phones.  (Which is why Younger Son easily grabbed the wrong phone the other morning.)  So, a couple of us pasted stickers on the backs of our phones.  (Mine has a kitty.) Younger Son left his cell phone in the changing room at Target. This is the conversation I had with the Lost and Found clerk... Me:  My son

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-80327020552438471332011-10-24T07:00:00.002-05:002011-10-24T08:35:12.697-05:00

Okay, you know I don't always hear everything correctly, right? Well, it's not just me... Elder Son created a game through an on-line website.  He spends a great deal of time tweeking and updating this game, and he enjoys watching the stats of how many people visit and play his game.  Apparently, he had set a goal for himself to get a certain number of people.  He wanted to fill an entire list

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-87654783506267058872011-10-21T07:37:00.001-05:002011-10-21T13:28:15.445-05:00

My family members' phone numbers are programmed into my cell as their names, so when I get a call, I know who it is right away instead of having to decifer a string of numbers. This morning, Younger Son grabbed my phone by mistake on his way out the door. So, I called him. From the phone he left behind. I can only imagine what it was like for him to look at the digital display on what he

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-43722913664904302042011-10-20T08:07:00.000-05:002011-10-20T08:07:05.661-05:00

I wrote a long, heartfelt response to your post today, but Blogger ate it. I don't have time to recreate it so this will sound lame: Ask your doctor about a "gut permeability assay". Perhaps the foods you eat that your body cannot digest are causing some other issues that cause depression. My mother and I both suffered from depression. She might have benefitted from this simple blood test. I am

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-16729777241248299392011-10-19T07:00:00.000-05:002011-10-19T07:00:09.414-05:00

"My brotha from anotha mutha" sounds affectionate and bonding. "My sista from anotha mista" sounds whore-ish. Discuss...

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-34543134002549356122011-10-18T07:00:00.002-05:002011-10-18T07:58:38.344-05:00

One last question from Younger Son as I tucked him into bed... He:  Mother, which side will you be on in the zombie apocalypse?  Human or zombie? Me:  I dunno.  We'll see how fast I can run.

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-44175950781746134602011-10-13T07:06:00.004-05:002011-10-23T21:39:25.735-05:00

We set up the stage Sunday night.  (When I say "we", I mean I held things while other people screwed them together.)  Last night was final dress rehearsal. And I had a moment. A moment all to myself. *** I was exhausted during rehearsals a week or two ago. Who am I kidding?  I was exhausted for all the rehearsals. Sitting off to the side, trying to stay out of everyone's way, I leaned my head

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-46652037692229555692011-10-12T06:54:00.001-05:002011-10-12T07:54:49.485-05:00

I don't remember ever dreaming about my brothers, but they showed up in a dream late this morning. They were making very loud noises moving appliances around in someone's basement. (Usually, I recognize houses and places, but this one was not familiar to me.) And then I dreamed Lily's husband came to visit.  Why not?  He's a brother-in-law. Again, we were somewhere I did not recognize.  Outdoors

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-47263087002742658342011-10-11T07:00:00.033-05:002011-10-11T07:00:20.839-05:00

I landed my current job in 2004. Shortly after, a strongly worded memo was posted by the production department that all bits and pieces of audio needed to be saved with an "end date" (a specific month/day/year) so that old audio would show up as expired and could then be deleted to save computer memory space.  Until this memo, we all put TFN (till further notice) as an end date, which meant a

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-21514530287933583862011-10-10T07:00:00.000-05:002011-10-10T07:00:16.514-05:00

"Roses, do you have any Tylenol or Advil?" my fellow castmate asked. "I have a couple aspirin." "That would work." Normally, I wouldn't have any, but The Husband had just happened to toss a couple aspirin in a tiny Tupperware container for me to carry to work last week.  I never used them, but I also never took them out of my bag. "You're gonna have to trust me that they're aspirin," I informed

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-71923516464318689812011-10-09T11:39:00.000-05:002011-10-09T11:39:29.688-05:00

Perhaps a flu shot was a very bad choice for someone on an egg-restricted diet. Holy cow. (I'm feeling much better, now.)

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-24106332473324323912011-10-07T07:00:00.002-05:002011-10-07T07:00:11.259-05:00

Elder Son drove Younger Son to an appointment earlier this week. For the first time. Alone. He didn't want to do it.  The Husband asked him to. (FWIW: The Husband asked me first if it was okay with me.  We both agreed the boys would be trucking off together someday... a lot... and perhaps a short hop across town would be a good way to ease all four of us into that eventual reality.) Before they

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-32413174733452801752011-10-05T07:00:00.001-05:002011-10-05T07:00:02.860-05:00

The Husband and I were in bed when there was a tentative knock on the door. It was Younger Son. "Are you guys watching TV in bed?" he asked. "Yes." "Okay.  I heard funny noises, and I just wanted to be sure where it was coming from." "You hear that?" I winked at The Husband.  "We can make all the funny noises we want now, and Younger Son will think it's the TV."

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-38862106921555172672011-10-04T07:04:00.001-05:002011-10-04T07:04:00.063-05:00

After rehearsal, there was much discussion over details, one of which was how the assortment of bagels and pastries on the coffee table would not be edible. The director explained, "We can't afford to buy fresh bagels every day.  So, we'll have to make do with the donation from the local bakery.  Since we'll be using them for several days, they're not going to be very tasty." A cast member

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-281409679968917012011-10-03T07:00:00.002-05:002011-10-03T07:00:07.565-05:00

I was trying to figure out what The Husband was doing Friday evening. It looked like he was eating ice cream with a tongue depressor. I watched, and I watched... When he finally realized I was studying him, he took the stick out of his mouth. "I'm sorry," he said.  "Should I not be eating ice cream in front of you?" He was referring to my new and temporary diet restricting me from eating dairy,

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-49185414872080981152011-09-30T07:00:00.003-05:002011-09-30T07:54:41.216-05:00

Had a conversation with my dad over the phone. The usual stuff... how's the weather... how's work... oh, hey, I've gotta get my gall bladder removed.. you know, nothing special. And he tells me that he's had a date. "You had a date." "Yeah." "With a woman." "Of course." What I said to him was, "Good." The first thing I thought, of course, was how long Mom had been gone.  And quickly concluded

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-70258170031077493522011-09-29T11:48:00.005-05:002011-09-30T06:30:21.213-05:00

Oh sure.  Thumper sends people over here looking for "teh funny" now when I haven't been posting anything all that funny lately... Great timing, lady! It's not that things haven't been funny; it's more that I can never remember what I was going to tell you by the time I sit down at the 'puter.  I can't even remember long enough to jot myself a note (which I know several of you were just about to

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-74565918636114032592011-09-27T07:57:00.002-05:002011-09-27T22:01:50.353-05:00

I don't mind memorizing my lines. I can even tolerate the long hours of rehearsal after a full day of work. (Don't like it, but I can put up with it.) But, I have never been good dealing with egos. I do not like people who walk over people. I do not like people who behave as if they are better than other people... especially when they clearly are not. However, when you live in a small town with

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-73405545748809156692011-09-26T07:00:00.001-05:002011-09-26T07:00:01.869-05:00

Elder Son's job at the radio station consists mostly of waiting for a cue, then pushing a button. Sometime the cues come as quickly as five minutes apart.  Sometimes he waits twenty minutes for a cue. Always, the timing of the cues depends on the action happening during the sporting event being broadcast. He has gotten to the point where he can do homework between cues. Over the weekend, he 

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-76674410023919684032011-09-20T07:52:00.000-05:002011-09-20T07:52:55.268-05:00

... getting ready to climb into bed and your spouse, who went to bed an hour or two before you, moves his legs back over to his own side.  And when you slide under the covers, you realize he hadn't been hogging the bed before you got there as much as he had been pre-heating your side of the bed. I love that man of mine. I really do.

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-25627606291772696642011-09-16T07:00:00.017-05:002011-09-24T11:03:31.717-05:00

I've been thinking about Lily a lot lately, but in order to tell you why, I'll have to tell you more about that medical procedure I mentioned last week... and in order for you to make the Lily connection with me, I'll have to explain what I was doing in the mid-80's... *** Around about 1985, the first "Back to the Future" movie starring Michael J. Fox was popular.  I loved that movie.  I saw it

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-55246452914424085772011-09-15T07:00:00.003-05:002011-09-15T07:56:48.023-05:00

Today is my birthday. But, with the The Husband's early morning schedule and me being in the play and all, I won't be able to celebrate with anybody I really care about. Can't even check my own blog and hang with you guys until late at night.  :-( So, feel free to do something nice if you wanna. Maybe I'll see it over the weekend. Thbbbt! (I'm so freaking tired, you guys.  I will never do

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-46337561759510449602011-09-14T06:58:00.001-05:002011-09-14T06:59:34.727-05:00

My family does not have texting on our phones. We can receive texts, but we cannot respond. If I had a choice, I wouldn't even receive the evil things. Here's my question for those of you who understand the beauty of texting and embrace it: Why the hell do people send texts at god forsaken hours of the night? I understand that I don't fully grasp the concept, but I believe texting hours should

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-70227659637704624052011-09-12T06:40:00.000-05:002011-09-12T06:40:01.035-05:00

I don't remember my question, but Elder Son answered it with a stern and immediate "No." And then he added, "With a side of Oh, Hell..." After I stopped laughing, I told him, "If that hadn't been so funny, I'd be yelling at you now for using such language." "I know."

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-41285380801933748752011-09-07T08:32:00.000-05:002011-09-08T07:56:01.238-05:00

Play practice was long and stupid last night. 'nuff said. But on the plus side... At one point during rehearsals, I was backstage making a senior member of the cast crack up laughing, and he suddenly turned to me and said, "You're kind of a smart ass, aren't you?" Made my day.  :-)

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-68504846940718302282011-09-07T07:02:00.002-05:002011-09-07T08:01:54.552-05:00

I fell asleep last night thinking about Lily. When my radio alarm went off this morning, the song "Who Knew?" by Pink was playing. "If someone said three years from now You'd be long gone I'd stand up and punch them out 'Cause they're all wrong... I'll keep you locked in my head Until we meet again And I won't forget you my friend. What happened?... But I keep your memory You visit me in my

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-60304797651511342842011-09-06T07:59:00.000-05:002011-09-06T07:59:52.001-05:00

Everyone in our family is rather grouchy when tired. Today is Younger Son's turn. Let's see, what all went wrong in his world today? His alarm clock didn't go off, and I woke him up at the wrong time... and in the wrong way. He didn't want orange juice... "How come we always have to have orange juice?" As I was directing bathroom traffic to avoid pile-ups, I barked at him to do something he was

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-42748623903052796862011-09-02T06:43:00.002-05:002011-09-06T08:07:28.047-05:00

I auditioned for and accepted a small part in the local community theater's upcoming production. The director had been afraid I'd really wanted the female lead, but I told him the secondary female had all the funny lines.  He then tried to tell me I was wrong, which I thought was really foolish for someone who didn't want me to feel bad about getting the part he was assigning me, but whatever.

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-54234234328813203122011-09-01T08:10:00.000-05:002011-09-01T08:10:53.879-05:00

The Husband and I helped Elder Son take advantage of a small job opening at the radio station.  It was a last minute thing, and in the span of three days, he ended up filling out an application, getting an interview, and receiving a phone call informing him he was employed. That phone call came yesterday afternoon at 4:30. School starts today in Wisconsin. As Elder Son left the house this

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-68951024092344209062011-08-31T11:35:00.000-05:002011-08-31T11:35:53.891-05:00

As I was checking in at the hospital for some tests, the receptionist asked, "And what are you having done today?" For a moment, the name of the procedure escaped me, and I struggled to recall it.  "Uh... " and I smiled at her, "What options do I have?" She played along, "Oh, we have thousands to choose from." "Any of them include cookies?" "No.  No cookies." "Darn." "I know."

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-83678537471824715512011-08-29T08:06:00.000-05:002011-08-29T08:06:08.234-05:00

Elder and Younger Sons have been into this on-line game called Minecraft all summer. So, when I stumbled across Minecraft socks, I had to tell them.  They listened intently (which is quite unusual for boys their age) while I described the green creeper sock, the pink pig sock, and the Minecraft landscape sock. But it wasn't until I casually remarked that the three sock set came in a square

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-37536038801647162172011-08-24T13:27:00.002-05:002011-08-24T13:27:49.788-05:00

Note to self: Whenever you bring yarn to work so's you have something to do during your lunch break, bring your crochet hooks, too. Just sayin'...

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-14954203486116767472011-08-23T07:00:00.001-05:002011-08-23T07:01:37.564-05:00

He:  Did you know our plumber moonlights as a stand-up comic? She:  That would explain why our water tastes funny. (Thank you.  I'll be here all week.  Tip your waitress.)

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-69333310065736727212011-08-22T07:00:00.002-05:002011-08-22T07:00:18.193-05:00

I chat up my contestants before we play the quiz during my radio show.  Find out what they're doing, what their weekend plans are, how many kids they have... Most often, during the school year, I get parents sitting in their cars waiting for their children to get out of school.  Through the summer, I never know what I'm gonna get. On Friday, I got Mark. Me:  Are you done for the weekend, Mark?

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-24801564898661937002011-08-19T07:30:00.001-05:002011-08-19T18:49:29.982-05:00

In case you missed it in the comments, our company wiped 12 employees from the payroll Monday. I'm not affected... much... but The Husband's work-life has taken a big hit.  One third of his staff is gone leaving 100% of the work to those who are left.  Even worse, the company has cut everyone's hours by two each week.  Instead of a 40-hour-week, we all work 38 hours in order to save the company

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-75656409851337276332011-08-16T07:00:00.000-05:002011-08-16T07:00:09.432-05:00

It's not just me, and it's not just my children. Now their friends are getting clever. Over the weekend, Younger Son's buddy was over playing computer games.  Sometimes they howl if the glare from the windows shines on the screens, so I had this exchange with Younger Son's pal: Me:  Hey, is it gonna bother you if I open this door? He:  No. Me:  (opening door a little wider)  How about now? He:

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-81648374152384370602011-08-15T07:40:00.000-05:002011-08-15T07:40:53.685-05:00

The last time The Husband asked for "a sign", we packed up our house and moved two hours away so he could take his current job. He revealed to me over the weekend that recently he'd been asking, again, for a sign. "You didn't." "I did." He got the sign Friday afternoon. Changes are being implemented today. We will not be moving. We will not even be changing jobs. But, changes are coming.

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-40165808345212354932011-08-12T07:01:00.005-05:002011-08-15T08:12:22.875-05:00

My waking thoughts: "I had a Barney dream.  I haven't had one of those in a long time. Wait, I had a Barney dream... and I'm not sad!  Something was different! What was different?" I quickly sorted through the scraps of half sleep looking for what was different about this Barney dream. I wasn't sad. More, there's more... There wasn't another woman... but more... He. Didn't. Leave. Me. He didn't

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-5406505102856542272011-08-11T08:10:00.000-05:002011-08-11T08:10:07.150-05:00

Dreamed I was applying for a job at a radio station. The program director loved me.  Made a point to tell me how much he liked something he heard me say on air.  Gave me details about what I did right and why it was right. (Do you know how long it's been since I heard anything like that?) Then, as I waited for a meeting with a higher up, several other employees wandered through the lobby and

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-5729114929158328962011-08-10T07:00:00.007-05:002011-08-10T07:00:27.571-05:00

How do you grow into the kind of person that makes the kindest, most-giving people of a charity not want to help you? How can you be SO awful that they consider creating a policy so they can come into your home and forcibly take back that which they have given you? You might think this speaks more about the charity than the recipient, but I was in the room, and I didn't want that man to have

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-5976579626819574062011-08-09T07:00:00.005-05:002011-08-09T07:00:10.274-05:00

He:  Why do you smell like bananas? She:  Because I was just eating a banana. He:  Aw!  You know how I like watching you do that!

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-44728070590294822962011-08-08T07:00:00.000-05:002011-08-08T07:00:02.735-05:00

It had been a busy week for Younger Son. He was volunteering at Vacation Bible School at the church for three hours each morning and participating in the high school Band Drill Camp for six hours every evening.  In between, he was responsible for finding his own lunch and cleaning up after himself.  He needed to get up early to get to church, stay up late for band camp, then get up the next day

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-88285976889608138212011-08-05T07:00:00.004-05:002011-08-13T18:42:04.394-05:00

Half a life ago, I worked as a waitress at a very large restaurant in a Michigan tourist town.  Because our uniforms were inspired by German styles, it was common to be asked to pose with folks while wearing our waitress uniforms. They always wanted the male waiters in the pictures, too, since they had to wear lederhosen.  Just look at us.  We're adorable!  Who wouldn't want a pic of this?

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29833316.post-56526021775281330602011-08-04T07:00:00.005-05:002011-08-04T07:00:13.195-05:00

Here's the funny thing: I didn't want any of Mom's clothes, but I took a pair of jeans and a cuddly sweatshirt. Glad I did. And I didn't want any of her toiletries, but because there's little chance of there being a whole lot of sentimental value attached to them, I brought some of those home, too, just to get them out of Dad's way. This morning, the very last of my solid deodorant fell out of

Roseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07027536960284875200noreply@blogger.com4