Thanksgiving In London

While at the airport to catch my flight to Louisville, KY for the Thanksgiving holiday yesterday, I accidentally boarded a flight to London.

The confusion started when I ran into some security trouble at O’Hare airport. Now, may I just begin by saying that I sometimes say threatful things. These are not things of which ever I mean. That is to say I don’t mean them. I never say them to people, but only to stationary and non-hearing things such as a mailbox or a door frame. So when I cursed a chair and said I would bomb it if it did not cooperate, I was overheard and made to sit in the exact chair I had threatened. To be fair to the chair, I was curt with it before it was curt to me in response. I’m not going to get into why I made angry comments to the chair, but suffice it to say I was having a rough day, and I doubt I’ll be seeing Paul, my godson, any time soon. So being made to sit in the chair was poetic and just desserts, which is exactly how I like my desserts. I once ate a custard that was more literal than poetic and I did not care for it.

Upon being dismissed from the chair, I fell into an open bag of a kind young man with big arms, and since he didn’t notice me, I didn’t want to startle him, so I remained silent. I did tap lightly on the interior of the bag and said “Excuse me, I don’t want to cause any trouble, but I’m in here,” but nobody heard me, so I just took my medicine and fell asleep.

When I awoke I was in an overhead compartment next to the miniature set of golf clubs that had woken me with their incessant rattling and head-knocking. I was able to unzip the bag to get some fresh air, and again I tried rapping gently to alert people to my presence, but decided to let them all be. It had been a rough day for all of us.

I spent the last 8 hours of the flight rummaging through people’s things looking for a good laugh, but I found nothing. When they opened my compartment, I let my eyes adjust, and then allowed my body to be passed above the heads of all the people until I was on solid ground.

When I deboarded the plane, I knew immediately I was in London, because the first thing I saw was the Abbey Road crosswalk where Marvin Trapp and the Polka-doors posed for their famous album cover in 1941, so I laid down for a nap, as that had been a longterm dream of mine.

I spent most of today watching plays and fog and coppers. I hope to find a youth hostel to stay at. Do you suppose they’ll have turkey? I found sweet potatoes in the overhead bin.

When is Thanksgiving?

Can someone remind me if Thanksgiving is next weekend or the weekend after. I need to start putting together my invite list. Alright, thanks. Bye-bye, honey.

"Foiled By the Letter H!" and "Judging My Granddaughter"

For nearly two weeks yon passing I have been unable to access my computer access web networking blogspot, and for this, Dear Reader, I apologize. The problem was that in the night a spyman must have come into my house without permission and replaced the power button on my computer with the H key and then broke it, for I have spent many hours of many days pressing holding down the H button, and the computer would not go on. Only today when I complained of lack of sleep from holding down the H button did my godson Paul point out that the power button is not in the center of the keyboard, but altogheter elsewhere. So now I’m confused as to the spyman's intentions, but I will get used to that. The good news is that the computer is on.

This has been a traumatifying time for me, because the letter H has long been one letter that I do not trust with any rigor therein or whereby. And to spend long hours pressing it and staring at it has furthered my frustration and ill feelings against it. Some say it’s just a letter, but I see it for all of which what that it is whence and hitherto therefore. Like two vertical golems of darkness bound together at the waist stands the letter H, pouting in a corner, ready to pounce on me. Think of all the bad H words. “Hatred”, “Hell”, and “Hahahaha!” (as in a maniacal laugh) all come immediately to mind. But it is a subversive letter as well, hiding in words like “Happy” and "Heaven" and “Hello Honey, how are you? I hold your hair in a horse harness,” which are perfectly innocent until you notice the golems with their bad attitudes. I just try not to make eye contact, hoping they will get bored and leave me alone. But holding the key down for hours has made me cross to the darkside for longer than I had hoped, and I now find that I’m using the letter H more than ever before, which could become a problem. Stop it, please. Thank you.

So in addition to that, new things are happening. The weather is getting colder which is leading to aches, pains, confusion and I no longer sleep in my tub. Therefore I have lots more time to make my business phone calls. I have caught up on my necessary phonecalling through March, so I decided to make a call for next May.

My godson Paul’s goddaughter Brandy (I think of her as a granddaughter) is in the Girl Scouting of America Organization Agency, and their troop will have a beauty competition when the weather gets nice again so that they can stop fighting over who is the prettiest. This is an instrumental step in the lives of these young girls, because the winner will get into the college of her dreams and be a doctor or a homemaker or something. I care very much about Brandy and want her to do well, so I agreed to help with the organizing of said pageant. A phone call to a professionally judgmental person can be listened to in the player below.

Personal Train Me, Please

Dance class stopped plodding along today. Due to various frightening events in my everyday life, I have only made it to one class and I spent most of it getting my head stuck and unstuck and stuck again in my costume dress's arm hole. I think that perhaps I have put the dessert cart in front of the meal horse on this one, because now I am fretting that perhaps my body is not all painted up and readied for public display and liftings without hernias ensuing. Also, my head may have a larger circumference than I bargained for.

I asked my godson, Paul, to get my money back from the place as he is more frightening with his voice than I am with mine. (Although I did once portray a rabid wolf who ate children in a school play, and my performance had everyone depressed and angry for weeks afterwards, but that is neither here nor over there.) It took a lot of shouting, but Paul was able to get the money back in exchange for I never take another class there and that Paul stays 500 meters from their offices at all times. All of today’s shoutings have got me all cramped up in my stomach, wrists, neck, back, feet, abs, spleen, taste buds, cheek puffs, shoulder humps, yarn-bucklers and skull cap, which I am none to the pleased with by or of. Nevertheless, I can't remember a more beautiful day.

I still plan to take some dance classes (somewhere else) at some point, but first I must get into repair. Parts of me that are loosened need to be firmly stowed away and tucked under where they belong. “Keep your arms and all other flapping parts inside the train at all times,” a conductor man would surely say to me.

So I placed a call to a gymnastics man who could train me into tonefulness and versalability. The call was recorded by me to ensure personal homeland security and that quality customer service is being enjoyed by all, not absconded henceto and hitherforth.

Press play on the player below to hear my phone call.

Mantis Encounter!

Yesterday I became troubled upon an altercation I stumbled into as I crossed over to the Walgreens. Now, ordinarily I do not stop for anything that looks like it needs my help, because this is a ploy that many burglars and mafia people will use to ensnare foolish people into, but I will stop to help three things: (1) worms, (2) turtles, and (3) praying mantis people. Today will be my last praying mantis helper day due to anger caused to me in the story which follows this paragraph.

As I was making my street crossings to the sausage pickle basket egg cheese emporium where I like to purvey Monday mornings, I crossed paths with a gentleman who looked like he needed my help as he was much smaller than my foot and I almost stepped directly atop his head and brain region. I stopped short when I saw him and could tell this was no ordinary man. It was a praying mantis. He was sitting in the street and praying. Ordinarily I leave people alone when they pray as it has not gotten me the things I wanted when I have interrupted them in the past. But due to the size of this gentleman, I thought I would let him know he had picked a dangerous place to worship. There are many cars, trucks, bicycles, and robots that could easily run a mantis right down. So I surveyed the ground and grabbed a nearby stick with which I began prodding his person to let him know the time had come to wrap it up and move on.

He spun his head around to look at me and we had a good staring match. I said, “Excuse me,” and suggested that he move, but I have never communicated with a mantis and didn’t know which vocabulary words with which he would be familiar.

He appeared angry as he took a step towards me. I backed up a little out of terror and he stepped another foot towards me. This continued for several hours until I was very hungry and needed to stop in for a quick bite, so I grabbed a cookie biscuit at a bakery and then continued the chase with the vicious mantis. I yelled “I am trying to help you,” but he would not relent. I could not go directly home, because then he would know the locale of my dwellings and that thought was disquieting. I ran in a zig zag pattern for about an hour to throw him off, but he had his wits about him and followed my every move.

I ran to a department store because I knew the mantis would not want to venture on the likes of an escalator, and I needed a new pair of slacks. So I went to Goldblatt's but it was closed for remodeling and instead was the Department of Human Services which was fine with me because I need to renew my city sticker and also the services of removing the mantis from my path.

Scared to make the walk home all alone, I rang for Paul to come get me. He was headed out for drinks but said he would come get me in a few hours. This was fine because I've been meaning to count the dots on my left arms for some time, and this allowed me the chance to do this.

As a postlude, I do want to add that Paul has done a couple nice things for me lately. Yesterday, on the drive home I saw a robot-bicycle-man propelling himself down a street. I yelled "Who's that robot!" and Paul informed me that it was a just man on a bike. It was nice for him to calm me, because he knows that I don't trust robots, vacuum cleaners, belts, or anything you can build a robot out of.

The other nice thing he did was to get me a new stereo. I had complained that when I listen to my phone calls I am always frightened at the sound of my voice because it sounds like a burglar man or a specter has broken into the stereo to hex me and that is something I find alarming. It is a stereo from a car, and how he got it I don't know, but I wonder if the gash on his hand has anything to do with it. I don't know how to hook up a car stereo to my speakers, but I imagine I will tie some wires to it to get it working in no time for tea.

I'm sorry, did you just say something?

Alright honey, bye-bye.

I Elude the Snares of an Evil Canoe Heist!

What an awful weekend.

First off, the futon has sustained another injury caused my godson, Paul, himself. There is a gash in the cushion where the fabric used to be. I checked my godson’s pockets, expecting to find a shiv or a broken glass bottle with which for him to use in his normal barfights. To my shock, all I found was a comb, so evidently he is turning even that into a weapon with which to gash my furniture and nice things. With his hair condition, he really only would need a wet towel for grooming and danderfiling, thus causing me more suspicion directed at his person. I did not question him on the comb as I did not want to stir the pot of frogs.

But the second bad thing began when I heard my godson place a phone call to a canoe rental company. It began innocently enough. He had invited me to a reunion of his family which I agreed to join, only for the purpose of protecting my name against embarrassments of mine that he may have chosen to mention. Here is the call he placed to the canoe boat rental dock place.



Now, I respect and was impressed with his thriftiness, however, mere minutes after placing this phone call, I heard him chatting with the postman and laughing about tossing me in the water. I imagine that he would like to see what my hair looks like when it is wet, and I was determined for him not to see me like that, so I called back the canoe place to ensure my protection. You can hear the call below.

EPILOGUE

I averted certain drenching by screaming and smoking constantly throughout the entire boat trip. I had alerted the people in the canoe office that if they no longer heard screams or saw my smoke signals, they should call the police. My scheme with the canoe house ended up being for naught because Paul’s family cancelled the trip after declaring that the day was “too loud and musty” to be with on the canoe. I personally thought it was a beautiful temperature, and every time I stopped screaming I could hear the lovely babblings of the brook in which we were astreamed. Their inability to detect ideal outdoor conditions furthers my suspicions that Paul’s family is nothing but drunkards.

Lie Detecting

Pardon the intrusion in my posts of late, but I have been occuppied with an unexpected houseguest. My godson Andrew is in town as his Houston job has dried up and he is looking for funding. He stops in every 3 years and 2 months to see how I'm doing and whether there is a space on the futon for him. Of course there always is, but I am a smidgeon worried this time as I do not have a duvet this time around, since he ruined the last one with his drunkeries.

His name Andrew and he has always never been up to no good. I love him dearly, but he has a mischievous streak of which I am none too pleased. He is not a bad son (I call him my son), although he was never very good at origami or any of the folding arts I taught him. It's just that he is often angered, sometimes on my behalf.

He is not a responsive gift recipient and when I presented him with a sausage cheese egg pickle and sausage basket, he snorted at it, not like a pig, but like a non-plussed burro. He is the only one who has not appreciated the baskets that I give, and this was of course offensive to me.

I have argued with him to stay off the booze train, and he says he is cooperative, but last night I was not sure. I wanted to be sure, so I attempted to enlist the help of a lie detector test. I was thinking that perhaps being hooked up to one and the subsequent flashings of colorful bulbs might make him nervous enough to not get on the wagon again. The rental of such a device necessitated a phone call, of which I recorded, and of which you can listen to on the player below.

Too Much Pudding Information

When I bumped into an acquaintance at bingo the other night I was appalled to heaer her go on an on regarding a hair she found in her dessert. First off, the church has financial troubles as it is without her raising a stink to boycott the chocolate pudding. Second, in mentally selecting a culprit for the hair, the conversation drew all attention on her as she is thinning in the back and the pudding was resting gently behind her for several minutes before she partook. Thirdly of all, it is very unappetizing to hear of such things from other people. Other people’s sophomoric body sheddings should not be shared with by me. I may have lost the bonus board as a direct result of her squeameries.

But on the up and up, what I wanted to tell you about was of my stool samplings of lasterday yester. I had belief of tapeworms that may have been rollicking out down up in there and so I visited my doctor who checked it all out with big metal tools and lights, slapped me on the back and said I was good to go. He gave homework to wrangle up a sample of a dirty culture from my droppings, but I had troubles with the home stool sample kit he gave me, so I placed the phone call below.

Press play on the player below to hear the phone call.

Espionage Against Me

Getting to my dance lessons has been difficult thus far. I have remitted full payment for the class, and today was supposed to be the first one, but I had to miss. I was only 20 minutes late when I was about to leave, but during my customary detailed inspection to make sure nothing is amiss in the apartment, I noticed a crack in the floor that perhaps had not been there before. I followed the crack and it seemed to run the entire length of my living room. I immediately suspected that it was a spy-type thing where perhaps people could follow me from one end of the room to another to achieve some sort of goal of their own of which would not be shared by or helpful to me. I attempted to thwart them by stacking old magazines and newspapers on top of the crack, thereby creating an opaque substance of which for them to not see through.

I had just completed my thwartful task when I found a second crack in the floor, equal in length to the first. I rushed to my magazine and newspaper room, but had only enough to cover half of the crack. At this, I went reeling and into a shopping spree to Walgreens of which where to buy more magazines and newspapers but the man there said he didn’t sell those, only pastries, and did I want to order anything. I was unaware that Walgreens had changed over to selling only yeast breads, but this is fine with me as I like eating a croissant from time to time, for my constitution. I bought the pastries and took them home.

Upon home arrival it was clear that the stack of magazines had been moved no less than a quarter of an inch of where I had placed them, so I readjusted them and filled the other crack with the pastries.

When I found the third crack, it became clear I would not make it to my dance class, as I was 3 hours late and the class is only an hour-thirty. I laid down flat on top of the crack to block at least 5 feet 1 inch of the lateral, floor-length peephole. From this spot I could just reach the phone to call the floor man and he said that cracks like the ones I am experiencing are perfectly normalized in a hardwood floor.

Soothed by his words and promises, I went out to buy some baton twirlers at Walgreens. Because they recently decided to sell only bread goods, I was prepared to use breadsticks if need be. However, when I reached the Walgreens, their new policy is that they sell only Mexican food and beer, so I am using tostadas which is messy, but luckily my floor already is bedded with newsprints and magazines on of which to catch it all. I trust I will catch up with the rest of the class in a timely manner.

Alright, Honey. Bye-bye.

I Am Going to Die...

...Some day. Don’t worry everyone, I feel perfectly good (although my shoes are a bit tight) but when you get to be 84, you realize that you only have another good 30 or 40 years left. And that gives you great pause, in which time you think of many things like

• Did I live a good life?
• Can dogs be trusted?
• Who’s that man? I haven’t seen him in the neighborhood before.

So I thought that maybe perhaps it was time to start thinking about funeral planning and to share those thoughts with acquaintances since 4 decades can really sneak up on you.

Size:
I would like to have a big funeral where everybody is sad that I’m dead and there are lots of acquaintances curious to see what my body looks like one more time.

Shrine:
I insist that there be a shrine of all the pictures of me that weren’t clawed up in the bear attack that took my life. Should that be all how of which it goes down. Candles should be burned liberally and constantly for three days, but kept a respectable distance from the photographs, except the metal ones, in which case, heating them is fine.

The Viewing:
There will be a whole silver motif going on. My casket must be silver or wood coated with silver laminate. I will lowered into it, dressed in a silver sequined suit. Silver tears must be painted on my eyes and I would like some face painting done as well—perhaps a squirrel or a rainbow balloon. I don’t know how it would be worked, but I would like people to be able to rotate my head at their own will, perhaps with a system of pulleys or something, so that they can see the back of my head and how nicely shaped it is. I will get my hair done up in a fashion that does not negate the natural angles of the back of my head.

Minister:
I would like a minister of every faith and sect just to make sure I’m good to go. They can take turns leading the service. They can either switch off section by section, sentence by sentence, or word by word or just have them speak all at once. Any aforablementioned option is good with me, provided that the speaking part not run longer than 4 hours.

Readings:
A poem must be read that will sound deep and cause any sort of confusion.

Desserts:
There will be a cake with roses on top, tastefully done up. No spiders please.

Flower girl:
She must be a 6-year-old Asian girl in a pink dress (I will provide the sewing pattern and material), and I would like her to weigh 52 pounds, although I am flexible on that last part.

Groom:
Between the ages of 35-50.

Circumcision:
N/A

Cremation:
I would then like to be set ablaze with a cigarette in my mouth for comic effect to remind people that I believed in humor and also that I smoked.

Cost:
I would like to spend no more than $26 Canadian.

Dancing With Gentlemen

Inspired by the events of which unfolded in front of me at the Pickle Sausage Basket Cheese Festivalathon from a week ago, I have been finding myself reeling in starstruck dizzyness, and feel I must get back on my feet to pursue my dream of which is of becoming a dancer of which. The children of Lawndale Elementary really inspired me to believe that the children are the future... of dance.

To be a dancer, you must have 8 items, traits, and personabilities: (1) grace, (2) persona, (3) good inner-ear modulation, (4) hands that can stick straight downwards, (5) toeless shoes, (6) a big hat to capture the audiences attention and dreams, (7) people skills, and (8) a knowledge of dance steps and animal life. Thankfully I have 7 out of the 8 things above, so I am well on my way to becoming an all well and good ballet dancer. Once my hissing, spitting ear is cleared up, I'll be as right as a rainmaker.

So I bought an ear enema kit and I kindly called for ballet lessons. To ensure my homeland security and that quality customer service is received and had by all, I have recorded the phone call and you can play it now in case I ever need witnesses in court, you will be the one. The phone call is below.

Alright, honey. Bye-bye.

Press play on the player below to hear the phone call.

A Time To Remember - The 2nd Annual Sausage Pickle Basket Convention

I am just happily returned after a week-long trip to the Pickle Sausage Basket Convention at Lawdale Elementary School in Horosburg, Virginia. The is the second of some such convention of which that I have attended, although I have been an appreciator of both sausage and pickles and also of cheese baskets for many years and have given them exclusively as gifts for the past times to friends of mine and family too.

I don’t like to bother other people, so I keep to myself mainly. Thusforth I wouldn’t say I met many new acquaintances, but I did get to fraternize and matronize with many former acquaintances, none of whom remembered me until I showed them my back scar.

The convention began when a bell was rung in the dining hall to tell us all to come closer because there was something the man ringing the bell wanted to say. By the time I was close enough to hear him he had finished speaking, but I surmised that he said “Welcome to the Pickle Sausage Basket Convention. Mill about if you will.”

There was much to see. The world’s second pickle sausage basket (circa 1809) was on display in the principal’s office at the elementary school where the convention was held. It was a sight to see, which is for sure. I wanted to post my pictures, but when I tape the pictures to my computer screen, friends have told me they are still unable to view them. So that will have to wait until the windows man gets back to me.

In the nurse’s station we saw a demonstration of how sausage pickle baskets are put together. It was interesting to see the sausages and pickles and cheeses and some crackers and artificial greeneries in the state that they are in before being compiled into a sausage pickle basket. Many of us had questions of which to ask that took us well into the night.

On day two, we were shown a filmstrip on the history of pickle sausage baskets in the janitor’s closet. The airconditioning in the auditorium was not working well, and the large fans were too loud, so I missed a lot of it, but here is what I picked up on the rich history:

(1) God created man.
(2) Man invented sausage.
(3) Man invented cheese.
(4) Man invented pickles.
(5) Man tied food together with a string.
(6) String-tied pickle/sausage/cheese bundles damaged the food products.
(7) Man invented baskets.
(8) Man put food products in the baskets.
(9) God created woman.

It was very fascinating and had me all attentive until I nodded off and woke up hours on the soccer field out behind the baseball diamond.

On day three we sampled sausage pickle baskets from all over the world in the cafeteria. My favorites were the ones from the Ukraine and the Greek Islands.

On day four we had a bathroom break.

On day five we were treated to a lovely performance by the Lawndale Elementary Players who wrote a special play just for the occasion. I couldn’t hear most of it because the man with the hat was talking my ear off that smoking was not allowed in the Pembrook Auditorium. But I applauded at the end anyway. I thought perhaps I could be a part of the show next year, as I have always wanted to dance. I may think about getting dance lessons sometime soon.

On day six I was back home writing this blog entry. If want to read what I wrote, start over at the beginning of this entry.

Regrettably Hypnotized

I have for the last 5 days and a couple hours have had quite a nerve-wracking week. A stage hypnotist has altered the weekly routine that had worked so well for me for the past many years. On Friday I was at a birthday party to celebrate the annual aging of an acquaintance and I was elected by the crowd to appear on stage with a hypnotism man who was on stage making jokes and singing songs and putting coins in his mouth to hide them from me. I thought hypnotism would be interesting and hoped it would get me in touch with my inner void so I could mine it for my history.

Unfortunately, the outcome was not made in this fashion. I don’t remember my time on stage, but I believe I was made to do harmful things because for the last week, anytime I pass a wooden door, I involuntarily bang my head on it. This has caused some additional confusion in my latest week. After five days of this numblesuch, I thought it best to contact a professional hypnotizer man to help out. As always, I recorded the call to ensure customer service was being had by me, and also for purposes to protect my homeland security. If your ears are not faulty, you can hear the occasional bang on a door as I pound my head on it.

Alright, honey. Bye bye.

Press play on the player below to hear the phone call.

Computer Window, part 2

I am starting to get very alarmed about not hearing back from the windows man about installing a small window in my computer. I still haven't heard back from the first windows man I wrote to, so early today I did send another email to a different window man. I thought maybe I was too wordy for window man 1 and that maybe he has all sorts of other things to do than provide good customer service. I'm afraid to report that windows man 2 has also not responded vis a vis. Upon returning home from my meander in the park, I sent another email to him.

Not having had heard back from both concerns me as I am accustomed to quality servicemen, and perhaps these are not two of them. My back is beginning to get itchy and red with worry. I will print the two emails I sent to the second windows man below:

Last night I wrote:

Dear sirs:

Who can I email with my questions about Windows installation please? i have many questions about it and am anxious to get started. Thank you.

When I did not hear back today, I sent this follow-up message...

To whom it may concern:

It has been very long since my first email. Please tell me the email of a man to which of whom I can contact about installing windows. I am starting to feel nervous about this and I'm not sure who can be trusted.

Sincerely,
Miss Fairwell

Hopefully this is just a minor misunderstanding with gentlemen and they will be forthright and prompt in their response to clear up this tempest in a tea kettle to which I will happily receive.

Alright honey, bye bye.

Computer Window

As my faithful readers will know, I am very new to a computer. I know this blog makes me sound as if an expert in what I know, but each post takes me many an hour to post, what with grammaticals and what with all the hyperlinks for me to click on when I post. There are many questions that I have for how to do certain things, like is it possible to make my computer my only appliance. Can I wash my dishes and store food in it somehow? I know I don't have the capability now, but perhaps there is a “patch” that will make it better? I have no idea about these things.

I called a computer man to ask him for help, but the first thing he wanted to know was “Does your computer have windows or is it an apple?” This was confusing to me, because I know I’m not using an apple to type, so I deduced that this was a joke. But upon closer inspection of my computer, there are also no windows on my computer. I told this to the man on the phone and he said I would first need to have windows on my computer in order to make it work properly.

So now I am in contact with a window installation man. His ad promised “Low Cost Quality Window & Siding Installation,” and since I need low cost I went with him. Now that I am in the computer world, I will contact him by email. I will use the big letters in my email so they know I am serious and mean business. All my correspondence will be preserved and presented here to ensure I’m getting quality customer service. I will keep you updated on any response so you can be a witness that good customer service is being had. I will keep you updated when I hear back from them.

From: Madge Fairwell
To: Service@window...
Date: Aug 13, 2007, 8:49 AM Subject: Windows Installation

DEAR SIRS:

I HAVE A PROBLEM FOR YOUR HELP. A WEEK AGO MY FRIEND SOPHIE DIED UNEXPECTEDLY WHEN SHE TRAGICALLY BREATHED TOO FAST AND LEFT ME A COMPUTER IN HER STEAD WHICH WAS NICE OF HER. I'D RATHER HAVE MY FRIEND THAN THE COMPUTER, BUT THE COMPUTER DISTRACTS ME FROM MISSING HER TOO BAD, WHAT WITH ALL THE THINGS I CAN DO. IT DOESN'T EAT ALL THE MIX WHEN WE PLAY BRIDGE TOGETHER WHICH IS NICE. THAT SENTENCE WAS A JOKE TO HELP ME MOVE ON. LAUGHTER IS A SALVE.

I CONTACT YOU TO HAVE WINDOWS INSTALLED ON HER COMPUTER. SOPHIE'S DAUGHTER TOLD ME THE COMPUTER IS READY TO GO, AND IT WORKS FOR THE THINGS I LIKE TO DO WITH IT LIKE TYPING AND CORRESPONDENCE WITH OTHERS. UNFORTUNATELY I HAVE MANY QUESTIONS AND WOULD UTILIZE THE ANSWERS TO ENHANCE MY COMPUTER EXPERIENCE. I CALLED THE MAN AT THE COMPUTER STORE FOR HELP SETTING UP A WEBCAMERA FOR MY PICKLE CHEESE BASKETS. HE ASKED IF THE COMPUTER HAS WINDOWS WHICH IT DOES NOT. THERE ARE VENTS ON THE BACK BUT HE SAID THOSE DON'T COUNT AS WINDOWS. I WOULD NEED WINDOWS FOR HIM TO HELP ME.

PLEASE HELP ME BY ANSWERING THE FOLLOWING QUESTIONS SO I CAN CALL THE MAN BACK:

1) EXPLAIN PLEASE HOW THIS IS DONE WITHOUT HARMING THE COMPUTER BOX?

2) WHAT ARE THE SMALLEST WINDOWS YOU CAN INSTALL? I WOULD LIKE THEM TO BE SMALL ENOUGH TO NOT BE A NUISSANCE BUT BIG ENOUGH FOR ME TO ENJOY VIEWS THROUGH THEM.

3) WHAT ARE WE LOOKING AT FOR PRICE? I AM ON A FIXED INCOME AND NEED TO SPEND NOT MUCH.

4) WILL A MAN COME TO ME FOR INSTALLATION? A MAN BETWEEN 35 AND 50 WOULD BE THE MOST INTERESTING TO ME AS I AM NOT MARRIED.

5) CAN YOU ALSO DO HOUSE WINDOWS? A CHURCH FRIEND OF MINE HAS A DARK WINE CELLAR AND I WOULD LIKE TO GIFT HER WITH ONE IN IT.

THANK YOU.

MISS FAIRWELL

I Need Some Welding Assistance, Please.

Today I was very frightened by some things I saw when I was outside. First off, a man with a badge on his arm came to my door to give me what he called "mail". I did not trust him, as I have known my mail carrier for 7 years now, and this man was taller than the one that I'm used to. He handed me a stack of envelopes, and while they look like my regularly expected bills and adverts, I cannot verify with all certainty that they are not forgeries. I have a magnifying glass with which to look at them closer, but since I am not an expert, I decided to take them to the crime lab.

I got in the car to deliver them, but the key would not fit in the ignition. Although I live alone, it seemed someone had switched the keys on my keychain to replace my car key with my wine cabinet key. The car would not be started by a wine cabinet key, and so their sabotage was for a moment successful. I then caught the problem and was able to find the proper key for the car, just two keys away from the wine key.

On my way to the crime lab, a woman on a bicycle jumped her bicycle up onto and over my hood and cab of the car. This startled me quite a bit, and as I looked in the rear view mirror, she was pretending to be hurt on the ground behind me, but I could not be fooled. Still, I was becoming shakier by the minute.

I stopped at Walgreens to pick out a sausage, pickle, egg and cheese basket for my grandnephew's baptism, and while perusing the aisles, I saw some scuba gear on display for the summer. The sight of the scuba gear gave me quite a stir, as I am not accustomed to the underwaters or people who are familiar with these types of frightening masks. (I could not find the sausage pickle egg and cheese basket.)

I never did make it to the crime lab, either, because while I was driving I discovered that someone had moved the sidewalk into the middle of the street. So once I hit that bench with the ad for the Alderman on it, I was too tired to figure it all out. I walked the rest of the way home and immediately called a nice welding man to come over promptly and weld my doors shut.

I have posted the phone call on this blog. You can play it on the player below. I'm sorry the quality is crackly. The phone must have sensed my anxiety.

Press play on the player below to hear the phone call.

A phone call from today

I tape all of my phone conversations, because I don't trust anyone, and to ensure proper customer service is had by all. Below is a transcript of my telecommunications with a lovely gentleman from this afternoon. (Unfortunately, since my recorder was on the fritz during this phone call, I had to write it all out in Gregg Shorthand as we spoke.)

JARED

B&B Carpets, this is Jared. How can I help you.

MADGE

Yes, hello, Jared. Do you deal with carpets there?

JARED

Yes.

MADGE

I was wondering, can you get gum out of carpet.

JARED

Uh, yes ma'am, we can do that.

MADGE

Okay, good. And if it's several pieces of gum, you can do that, too?

JARED

That shouldn't be a problem, we deal with pretty much any stain or substance that might get caught into carpet, uh-huh.

MADGE

Okay, there's like 8 pieces of gum in the carpet. Is that okay? I have a God-daughter who is going through a bit of a gum phase right now. So you don't have any problem with that? With her bad habit?

JARED

I suppose if the gum is ground in there real-- how long has the gum been in there?

MADGE

Three weeks.

JARED

Yeah, that's not going to be a problem. I doubt the gum would have had time to really stain it, and we can pretty much take all the goo out of there.

MADGE

So you have no problem with it?

JARED

No.

MADGE

With my granddaughter's habit?

JARED

No.

MADGE

I think it's excessive. Her mother should control that.

JARED

That may be. Would you like us to come out there.

MADGE

Do I need to vacuum first?

JARED

No ma'am, we'll take care of that.

MADGE

Because there's a lot of dust and paper and some mothballs and sandwich crumbs and salad leaves and things all alike and akin to what I'm saying now. So that's not a problem.

JARED

No ma'am, we'll vacuum it and--

MADGE

How much do you charge?

JARED

How large is your carpet?

MADGE

Not that big. Just the size of my living room and half of the kitchen.

JARED

What are the dimensions?

MADGE

No larger than a barn loft. Possibly a lot smaller.

JARED

Do you know the square footage?

MADGE

It's rectangular in shape and size and I certainly wouldn't be able to walk more than 27 or 28 paces in it long-wise. Not even close to 27 or 28 paces I would say with some certainty.

JARED

... okay ... Maybe like 12 by 20?

MADGE

Sure. Let's call it a deal.

JARED

Well, we'll have to see when we get there, but a 12 by 20 room, depending on what all features you want with the cleaning would be anywhere from $125 to $700. Are you just looking for a basic wash?

MADGE

Sure.

JARED

That'd be about $125.

MADGE

Okay, that sounds reasonable. And I assume that's per piece of gum and scrap of wood and tinsel and if there are any pennies or watermelon seeds as well?

JARED

No no no, we just charge you for the whole carpet. We don't charge the way you're asking.

MADGE

So you're saying you will only charge me per hole in the carpet?

JARED

No, I said "whole" carpet, as in "the entire carpet".

MADGE

Right. It has gum all ground up. That God-daughter of mine is going to be the next Typhoid Mary, don' t you tink?

JARED

I'm not--

MADGE

Okay, so you'll just charge me for the gum, not any of the lumber bits or condiment drippings or blood.

JARED

We will take care of the entire carpet. I can't guarantee you over the phone how it will look. That depends on the carpet. But somebody who comes out there will be able to give you a rough estimate.

MADGE

Okay, but over the phone you can tell me that it will be at least $125 per gum incident, possibly more.

JARED

No. Ma'am, it will not cost that much.

MADGE

I'm very satisfied with your responses.

JARED

Thank you.

MADGE

I feel you have been helpful and thorough, and I trust you to clean my carpet.

JARED

Alright, well thank you for your trust. Let me just get your information and we'll schedule a time--

MADGE

And, Jared, tell me, and be honest: Do you get gum out of hair, too?

JARED

No, ma'am.

MADGE

I'm going to have to call you back later then. First things first. Can you transfer me to a barber, please?

JARED

This is a carpet cleaning place. I don't know any barbers.

MADGE

You never got a haircut?

JARED

Of course I do, what does that--

MADGE

Transfer me to him, then.

EPILOGUE

He continued to refuse to connect me with his barber, I became adamant and belligerent, and it ended with me giving his manager a very unfavorable review of our conversation. Now I'll be sleeping in gum again tonight, thanks to that kid. (My bed is piled with things that I cannot get under, so I'm sleeping on the gum floor, hence my due interest in cleaning it.)

The Furnace Has Hold of My Hand Again

This is the third time and it's getting ridiculous now. Every few months I attempt without results to remove the wire whisk that is stuck in the furnace from when the daughter of a church friend placed it there. Each time, my hand becomes stuck and I end up shouting through the floorboards to the landlord below to call the paramedic to rescue me as a shiny knight of metal armor upon a horse with sticks and other things of which to pry me out would do. This time was of particular worriment, as I had recently became very cold in a latent menopausal tremor and had switched the furnace from vacation mode to home again mode, causing a roaring blaze which is usually something to celebrate by but this time was a nuissance only.

My forearm became lodged slightly off right and below of the flame, so the searing was not too bad. I can say that at least it was not lodged directly center and above the flame. On the positive, most of the hair on that arm no longer grows anyway, following a fishing boat accident from about 30-40 years past. So not too bad. ... But I do need that whisk, as it has now been 8 months since I have had scrambled eggs for breakfast, and I have long since tired of all the other egg varieties.

I have asked the church friend's daughter for proper remuneration for which I am owed allowance upon top, but she is four and just sort of laughs or cries, dependent on whether she is feeling malicious or guilty at the moment I ask. I would never go to the mother on this one. I do not believe that the sins of the father are placed on the head of the son, nor do I believe that the mischieveries of the daughters are placed on the backs of the mothers to replace those lacks of items which have deprived the eggs from me.

The fireman was nice about it and has offered to cheer me up by taking me to the deli for a pickle and fish sandwich, and that's where I will go now.

-- Madge

Ode to My Dead Acquaintance, Sophie

Sorry to begin with sad news, but an acquaintance of mine, Sophie, died last week from breathing a little too fast. She was a dear acquaintance who I had known on-and-off in a casual , not-sure-what-she's-up to way since 1992. On a lighter note, it's good it happened when it did and not 10 seconds later, because I was about to beat her at Gin-Rummi when it looked all along like she was going to beat me. So she went out on a high note, which is nice.

I have kept her laptop which she had with her in a bag that day. She might have wanted it this way, and I'd like to think that when she's looking down on me from heaven she is perhaps satisfied that I have it. A neighbor showed me how to plug it in and unplug it to start and stop it, and then she showed me how to get to the blogs and said I had to start one so all would know what I'm up to when they don't hear from me for awhile.

I won't go into the particulars of my past experiences and adventures at the moment, because it's a rich history that runs deep and backwards throughout the time of the last decades, so for now I'll concentrate on the day-to-day happenings, as this will update the people that I meet so as not to worry whenceforth.

Today was an entirely appropriate day for the most part. I went to the early service at church and spoke with the Downing girl about bracelets and trinkets and necklaces and rope and twine and other things with which to tie things onto other things. She's a lovely girl and with a little hope and luck and prayer, she won't have to worry about all that back hair plague anymore.

By the time I got to to the snack table it had been all cleaned off which was a minor disappointment as I had only eaten half of my fruit and nut bowl at my house in the a.m. in anticipation of the goodies that often abound awaiting on the welcome hour table. I went to grab a table at the cafe across the street from the church, but they did not allow to smoke within its innards so I ordered a pickle, sausage and cheese basket sandwich to go and took it to a park wherein I ate my food order and smoked just one or two of the Pall Mall's I had left over from last week.

Well, that's about all for now, I have a stew in the kettle that's whistling it's readiness now, so I must tend to it. So take care until we speak again, and be very careful of oncoming vehicles and streetcrossings when crossing the street.

Alright honey, bye bye.

-- Madge