These are the thoughts and observations of me — a woman of a certain age. (Oh, my, God, I'm 65!) I'm single. I'm successful enough (independent, self supporting). I live just outside Chicago, the best city in the world. I'm an aunt and a friend. I feel that voices like mine are rather underrepresented online or in print. So here I am. If my musings resonate with you, please visit my blog again sometime.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
09 August Happiness Challenge -- Day 27
Thursday. Nice men. It was a strange day in Loop today, what with the police shooting & killing a man with a knife at noontime on State Street. But that doesn't mean Chicago isn't a terrific city. I bought a new microwave at Sears today. The box is bigger than I thought it'd be and I had a hard time getting into the cab. The cabbie helped me get it in and out of the trunk. Then, as I headed toward the door of the train station, I took a tumble on the wet pavement. Bruises on my knees, cuts on my arms. Embarrassing and painful. The cabbie left his car and helped me get back on my feet. So did a very nice man. Then, while I was on the train, a (rather cute) guy asked me if he could help me on the steps, since box looked so heavy. He did much more than that. Turns out he and I got off at the same stop and he carried it for me practically to my front door. Thank you, three men I've never seen before!
I was eating lunch a few blocks away as this went on
August 27, 2009 (CHICAGO) (WLS) -- A man who was shot by police after allegedly pulling a weapon on another man along busy State Street is dead, officials said.
And yet nothing seemed unusual. Didn't even know about this until I got back to the office. Kinda spooky.
And yet nothing seemed unusual. Didn't even know about this until I got back to the office. Kinda spooky.
So far the score is tied.
Gal 1/Reynaldo 1.
Regular readers know Reynaldo is my skinny beige cat. He is always sweet but often so hyper that I am completely exasperated. Imagine John Grogan's Marley mixed with Lilo's Stitch and you have my Reynaldo.
This morning, for the second pre-dawn in a row, he has raced into my bedroom, trying to get me to play with him. No, I don't know why he doesn't play with one of the other two cats. And anyway, he's Rey, so reasons are immaterial.
First he walks across my body and meows in my ear. An unpleasant way to wake up. I yell at him and pull the covers over my head. He digs at the sheet as if I am a buried treasure. I yell at him. He jumps onto my dresser. Sometimes he flips the light on, sometimes he just knocks things over. He wants me to get up and chase him. I want to sleep until my alarm goes off at 6:15.
Yesterday this went on for more than 40 minutes, until the alarm went off. This morning he began way earlier and really pissed me off. For he decided that the figurine on the TV stand needed to go and knocked it onto the floor. It is, believe it or not, an angel holding a cat -- a gift from a past art director who admired my compassion for homeless animals. Like Rey … until that dark day I brought him home from the shelter.
So I got out of bed and he raced out, sure I was finally playing his game. But no, I simply closed the door and went back to bed. Where my diva cat Charlotte was looking at me like, "Please knock it off. I'm trying to sleep here."
I hadn't done this before because the litter boxes are tucked beside a partition in my big walk-in closet and I didn't want to inconvenience the two cats who are not demonically possessed. To wait 90 minutes to use the facilities seemed unfair, but what the hell. I wanted to go back to sleep and besides, I was busy playing Annie Sullivan to Rey's Helen Keller.
The alarm clock went off, I opened my bedroom door and triumphantly saw the cat I thought I'd vanquished, looking at me expectantly. I stepped over him and went into the bathroom.
Where he had taken a dump on my pretty new pink bathmat.
This isn't over, Reynaldo!
Regular readers know Reynaldo is my skinny beige cat. He is always sweet but often so hyper that I am completely exasperated. Imagine John Grogan's Marley mixed with Lilo's Stitch and you have my Reynaldo.
This morning, for the second pre-dawn in a row, he has raced into my bedroom, trying to get me to play with him. No, I don't know why he doesn't play with one of the other two cats. And anyway, he's Rey, so reasons are immaterial.
First he walks across my body and meows in my ear. An unpleasant way to wake up. I yell at him and pull the covers over my head. He digs at the sheet as if I am a buried treasure. I yell at him. He jumps onto my dresser. Sometimes he flips the light on, sometimes he just knocks things over. He wants me to get up and chase him. I want to sleep until my alarm goes off at 6:15.
Yesterday this went on for more than 40 minutes, until the alarm went off. This morning he began way earlier and really pissed me off. For he decided that the figurine on the TV stand needed to go and knocked it onto the floor. It is, believe it or not, an angel holding a cat -- a gift from a past art director who admired my compassion for homeless animals. Like Rey … until that dark day I brought him home from the shelter.
So I got out of bed and he raced out, sure I was finally playing his game. But no, I simply closed the door and went back to bed. Where my diva cat Charlotte was looking at me like, "Please knock it off. I'm trying to sleep here."
I hadn't done this before because the litter boxes are tucked beside a partition in my big walk-in closet and I didn't want to inconvenience the two cats who are not demonically possessed. To wait 90 minutes to use the facilities seemed unfair, but what the hell. I wanted to go back to sleep and besides, I was busy playing Annie Sullivan to Rey's Helen Keller.
The alarm clock went off, I opened my bedroom door and triumphantly saw the cat I thought I'd vanquished, looking at me expectantly. I stepped over him and went into the bathroom.
Where he had taken a dump on my pretty new pink bathmat.
This isn't over, Reynaldo!