Taking care of business

Alright.  So I'm putting together this work table.  I don't plan to use it to work, as 95% of my time is consumed in something that looks like play, and more often than not, feels like play as well.  In the assembly process, a stumpy sized Phillips head screwdriver is going to come in very handy.  We have one.  It has a yellow handle.  TBGH has it in his tool box.

Trek to the basement.  Dig through the tool box.  Nada.  Hmmm.  What's this next to the furnace?  A tool caddy?  Search there.  Again, nothing.  Jeekers.  Is is possible he may have yet another tool box?  Is he holding out on me?  YES.  There's one in the garage!  No screwdriver there either.  How many tool boxes does this guy have or need?  I know he fixes EVERYTHING around here but goodness!  Could there be another I know nothing about?  I need to talk to him about this, ASAP.  A secret tool box is not good for a relationship not good at all.

However.   If I DO confront him about this issue, I ought to honestly confess the secret stash(es) of books behind the front bedroom door (and in my closet, and in the attic), the overflow of yarn stash (with more being delivered today, eek!) plus the bare beginnings of a lovely, but soon to be expanding fabric pile which seems to be creeping in directly behind the delivery of my new sewing machine.....

Better go buy my own damn stumpy Phillips head screwdriver.

COINCIDENTALLY…

Alright.  So, I had a follow up appointment with my gastroenterologist after a recent colonoscopy.  (Alert!  I promise not all of my posts will contain waste production organ content.) Though one never knows….

In any case, I got there early, filled out the necessary paperwork in triplicate, did the blood pressure/weight/height thing.  Only one of those numbers is consistently disappointing, and that number is 5’2”.  Ah well.  I was wise enough to marry a very tall person, thus producing tall children who have NOTHING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT.  I digress.  Into the exam room I go, realized as soon as the door closed that my cell phone was in the car.  Poor pitiful me, my Kindle and Audible apps are on my phone.  I miss the good old days where for entertainment in waiting rooms I always brought an honest to goodness tree killing kind of book.  I digress yet again (noticing a pattern here?).  In strides the doc, good morning, good morning, “What­ brings you here today?" he asks.  Told him I got a phone call after the procedure asking to schedule this follow up.  He looks around on the trusty computer monitor, this is good, and that looks great, no biopsies, no anything…am I having any, um, bowel issues?  Nope.  It was a mistake, they called me for a follow-up by mistake.  

Where’s the coincidence you wonder?  There’s another Linda Vallier right here in this small area in this small state in this small nation on this small pale blue dot.  So, I presume that the follow-up was not for me, but for the other lady with same name.  Somewhat unusual as “Vallier” isn’t exactly common around these here parts (I mean parts as geography, not parts as in…um, parts).  This sort of thing has happened before, so I really shouldn’t have been too surprised.   We see the same dentist, see the same group of primary care doctors, both donate blood, we were born in the same year (I’m older by 3 months, pfft).  I’ve actually met the lady.  She’s very nice, likely not as scatterbrained and thus not nearly as entertaining as yours truly.  Oh.  She’s taller though, drat.

Actually this is the second time in my life that something namesake related has happened.  Way back in my school days, there was another young lady with whom I shared my maiden moniker.  She too was taller, not at all hilarious, and younger by one month (why do I always have to be the old one?).  In addition, in those much younger days, the said tall person referenced earlier liked both of us (what a scamp).  I’ve wondered from time to time exactly “which” Linda he hoped would open the door when he knocked (anyone remember Mystery Date?)  Some surprises are good, some not so much.  In any case, after nearly 40 years, I don’t plan on asking.

If you give a me a glass of water.....

Alright.  So, this morning I woke up at 5:00am (way too early) because my bladder was about to burst.  Before I ran to the bathroom, I figured I could "hold it" long enough to run to the basement to throw last night's wet laundry into the dryer. While I was loading the dryer, I noticed the nail polish on my right thumb was really messed up, so when I came up from the basement, I stopped to paint my thumbnail.  As I was doing that, I saw there were just a few dirty dishes in the kitchen, so I ran a sink full of hot water, then washed them without getting my right thumb wet (it was somewhat challenging).  Looking at the clock, I saw if I showered really quick, I'd be just on time for a 7am AA meeting, but needed to find my Big Book before I left.  I looked in the basket where I "ALWAYS" keep it, but it wasn't there.....so the search began for that.  During the search, I looked in that same basket at least twice more (does anyone else do this?  look for something in a place you already searched?  or is this just me..)  I finally located the book in the last place I looked.  It was the last place because once I found it, I stopped looking. (tee hee)   Hopped into the shower to get cleaned up for the day, washed up while hopping up and down on one foot.... got out, got dressed, got my coffee hot, and nearly walked out the door before realizing I still had to take care of the bladder issue!

For cheap entertainment, I should just follow myself around and watch what happens.

 

Thinking 'bout Pa.

Today for absolutely no reason whatever, I'm remembering my dad..  Bruno, an Italian name for a very Finnovated guy, source of endless nonintended hilarity.  These are ALL true stories (you really can't make this shit up)

Fishing...retrieved his fishing pole from the trunk of the car, tramped at least a half a mile through the woods to the perfect fishing spot.  "Ahhh Shit" says he, "I am snagged on something".   Traces back along the fishing line to find the snag....in the trunk of the car.

Fishing...sprayed his hat with bug repellent and couldn't understand why his fishing partners were cracking up.   The but repellent that he believed was a spray, was in fact foam, rendering him one of the world's largest Finn sundaes.

Carpentry....Working on remodeling the kitchen, was amazed and dismayed to find he'd cut through the power cord to his circular saw.

Carpentry...Installing wood paneling in a bedroom..step one, lay the paneling on two sawhorses.  No sawhorses available?  Not a problem...lay it on the kitchen table.  Cut the paneling to size, but forget the paneling is on the table, so cut through paneling AND table.

Carpentry...Spend all weekend repairing and repainting a bed frame for your newest grandchild.  Prop freshly painted headboard against garage door.  In an attempt to air out the garage, open second garage door....or so he thought.  Open door the headboard is propped against, which is lifted up then SMASH onto concrete floor.  Repeat as needed.

I saw an ad this morning for Ancestry DNA, they can supposedly trace your heritage back "thousands of years". I thought "What if I did that and found out I wasn't Finnish?" Then I looked in the mirror and laughed and laughed and laughed...you can't swim outside the gene pool.