All posts by kathygaillaughingatlife

About kathygaillaughingatlife

Born in Arizona, been living in Pacific Northwest area for 19 years. Writing is therapy; to look at life in perspective... get out of my head and on the page in front of me for a better view. Live with my husband, a son "on the spectrum and two rambunctious Norwegian Elk hound pups. View all posts by kathygaillaughingatlife →

Spoiled Dogs!

July 31, 2014Puppy Postsdefinition of spoiled, dogs on vacation, Off leash Dog areas, Spoiled dogskathygaillaughingatlife

Spoiled? My dogs? Nah….

Last weekend we embarked on a new type of vacation. A trip dedicated to travel with our dogs. They are old enough to have reliable good manners and can be trusted not to chew up the decor at the hotels!

We did select a dog friendly place to stay in Oak Harbor. I was pleasantly surprised to see how many places are listed as “pet friendly” when searching the internet. For those of you wishing to plan a get away with your pets, check out sites like www.bringfido.com . Lots of options are listed no matter where you intend to roam. The most important parts were the reviews and comments from happy pet owners.

So are my two Norwegian Elk hounds truly spoiled? I certainly did enter them in the “Spoiled Dog” contest! Our travels on Whidbey Island lead us back to a winery by that name that we’d discovered on a previous, “BP” (Before Pups) trip two years ago. We’d enjoyed their Pinot varieties especially and were back to ensure a purchase of their lovely dry Pinot Rose before it sold out this season.

Yes, we planned an entire vacation around two pups! That is what parents do when traveling with children or grand-kids if they want to enjoy the trip. Plan ahead, make good choices and spend the time relaxing and enjoying….not struggling against situations that are fraught with peril from the get-go.

For dog owners lucky enough to live in the Pacific Northwest, it is a true paradise of pooch playgrounds! Seattleites love their dogs! The numbers available confirm it. There are now more dogs in Seattle than children, by a lot: about 153,000 dogs to 107,178 kids, according to figures from the U.S. Census and the Seattle Animal Shelter. The area’s canine oriented facilities certainly bear out this. One can’t sling a dead cat (apologies to cat owners for the bad pun!) without hitting a “Doggie Daycare” or” Pet Parlor” these days.

I want you to know there are at least six Off Leash dog areas on Whidbey Island alone. There is a non-profit organization called FETCH- (Free Exercise Time for Canines and their Humans!)that maintains five of these parks. See www.fetchparks.org. We hit them all and went back for a few extra visits to the pup’s favorite one, the Patmore Pit! This off leash area is 40 acres of open grassland dotted with lush islands of brush and trails through the trees on the outer edges. Our female pup, Elki was in dog heaven as she romped through the bushes, struggling out the other side with vines and branches trailing behind her. Her brother Gordon seemed content to follow her lead or possibly just couldn’t keep up with her pace. She is lighter than he by about 20 pounds and she can run circles around him on most outings.

When we finally could coax our cavorting canines back to the car our boy would flop on the back seat to nap. His sister was doing a great imitation of the scene in “Foot Loose” where the troubled teen daughter of the local preacher is hanging out of her boyfriend’s truck with her hair streaming in the wind. Elki struck a similar pose sticking out the window as far as she could squeeze her head and front paws, barking “Yippee”. She was on the look for the next opportunity to run wild and free. We wondered if she’d ever truly get tired.

I will say that when we settled in for the evening that Elki was so deeply asleep she was snoring! This is the pup that usually sleeps with one ear cocked so as not to miss a single sound.

My definition of “spoiled” pertains to fruit that isn’t picked and eaten at its peak of flavor. In the case of our pups, the Oxford dictionary says to spoil someone is to “Treat with great or excessive kindness, consideration, or generosity”. I think my pups must have read that one! They love us excessively and are so generous with their affection toward their human family members that we are probably the ones who are spoiled.

Maybe Gordon and Elki will enter us in a contest … one called “spoiled humans”… cause we certainly are!

Not the “good” towels!

July 2, 2014Living on the Spectrum, PMS (and it's not the medical one)clueless guys, guys not using laundry hamper, Notes on guest towels, ruining good clotheskathygaillaughingatlife

“No way!”

I leveled what I hoped was a stern enough look at my husband to convey the seriousness of my message.

“What?” he looked genuinely puzzled as he stopped in his tracks.

“No way… are you going to use my brand new pale yellow tea towel to scrub the windows on the deck outside. That is WHAT!”

My trip to Europe this past spring had presented me with many opportunities to support the various local economies I visited. I’d made space in my already bulging suitcases for these lovely pale yellow linens, purchased in the gift shop at Keukenhof Tulip Gardens in Holland. The design, crafted and woven in Holland, depicted cheeses created by the weave of the fine cotton fabric. Wiping down grime on the deck door outside windows would certainly to ruin that look with indelible stains.

I plead temporary insanity for actually putting the linens on the towel rack in the kitchen. I’d forgotten previous life lessons around males and their utter lack of understanding regarding the use of cleaning apparatus. The universe was providing me with yet another reminder. This was after all, the same man who’d used the leaf blower to clean up construction mess during our flooring replacement project.

Guys just don’t get it! It must be genetic. They all seem to have no clue that grabbing the first handy thing to do a grimy job is not the best choice. They totally ignore the bins of “cleaning rags” that are placed strategically in the same cupboard with the cleaning solutions.

My brother used my brand new champagne gold bath towels to dry off his 1965 Ford Fairlane sedan. This vehicle had spent many years in the Arizona sun. The towel was forever stained with the oxidized teal colored paint that came off with every swipe of the drying towel.

My husband has made a career out of ruining his “good” clothes by refusing to change out of work attire when his attention is sucked into the vortex of a particular gross, nasty mess that demands his immediate attention. This same very manly male has been observed polishing the wood floors of our home by twirling about like a figure skater, in his stocking clad feet!

He claims the dogs do a lot of damage to his socks. In fact I’ve heard the phase “How did they get these anyway?” so frequently that it has become a family joke. The floor of his corner of our walk in closet is littered with discarded stockings. I know from his basketball playing days that if he chose, he’d make a perfect shot every time. Maybe a hoop needs to be installed above his hamper. I purchase his Merino Wool socks in bulk 6-packs at Costco to counter this abuse.

A recent gag gift for my husband was a pair of Evriholder® Slipper Genie for Men. For the uninitiated these are open toe slippers with microfiber fingers on the bottoms that catch hair, dust and dirt; just walking around the house. He thought they were a hoot but I’ve only seen him use them the one time and they disappeared into his home office, never to be seen again. The good part is that he has ceased scrubbing the floors in his stocking feet.

I recently fished them out of his “junk box” from under the desk… I have them handy just in case the sock-skating starts up again!

Back to the towel issue, I recall reading a confession from a similar minded woman regarding protecting the guest towels in her powder room. In preparation for her bridge group’s arrival that next day, she had scoured that sink and spiffed up the area by hanging some of her cute hand towels. As a precaution against the unlikely event that one of her guys would utilize this particular facility, she’d pinned a note to the towels. It read “Don’t you dare touch these with your grubby dirty hands, Mom.” Of course you know she forgot to remove the note much to the amusement of the card playing gals. My friend still gets kidded about her guest towels!

I can’t use notes…my guys do NOT read them. Even on bright colored paper, placed strategically in the center of a completely empty counter top. I will still get inquiries, via phone that could be answered if they’d just read the note!

I do get my revenge. Every once in a while one of my husband’s favorite ratty old T-shirts is “lost in the wash”. After all some clean up jobs are just so ugly one has to throw away the rags when finished.

Binoculars, Golf Clubs or PC’s?

June 11, 2014Living on the SpectrumBird watching, golfing, PC Cpmputers, UNIVAC computerskathygaillaughingatlife

What do Binoculars, Golf Clubs and PC computers have in common? Well they are all part of any given conversation with my Dad.

My sense of enjoyment for all things in nature, I got this from my father. A graduate of Oregon State, he spent several summers working as a fire watch; climbing up into the lookout towers of the forests near Corvallis. He definitely had plenty of time to hone his skills, identifying many birds not just by sight but by their calls. He graduated with a degree in Forestry and went back home to Indiana. He paused there just long enough to enlist in the US Air Force. He eventually wound up at Luke Air Force Base in Glendale, AZ. He met my mother, married and his first child (me) was born before his obligation of service was finished. He packed us all into the car, even my Mom’s parakeet and we headed back to Indiana for a visit, but never left! His desire to work as a Forest Ranger was not as strong as his desire to be near his family of farmers with their roots planted deep in the Midwest.

His years of college education did not go to waste. Using an old telescope he’d purchased at some farm sale or possibly an “Antique Shop”…we’d crouch in the brush waiting to spot some of the avian life that populated our area. I soon learned the difference between a Hairy Woodpecker and the Downy variety…and many others in that family. I learned the calls of so many birds as we patiently waiting to see the feathered features, lured by their sweet greetings.

Eventually the old telescope was replaced with some decent binoculars, but the joy of spotting a rare bird or even old familiar friends each season, was always part of my relationship with my Dad.

Of course as I grew a bit older the thrill of spotting a Purple Martin was replaced by seeing the cute boy up the road that I’d hoped would ask me to dance. His house was within range of the scope as well…and a much more interesting view for an adolescent female.

As I reached college age, I used my father’s lack of participation in his chosen field to ridicule him. He’d been terribly disappointed that I had not accepted a work scholarship to the University of Arizona. I told him I had “no idea” what I wanted to do just yet and did not want to “waste the funds.” When he pressed me, I took the cheap shot. I reminded him that he had not exactly used the four years he’d spent at Oregon State to any great purpose. Unless he considered dragging his daughter out to sit and get eaten alive by mosquitoes, while watching for some weird birds he was chasing, as good use of his tuition money.

That did end the discussion and put a damper on our relations for a bit as well.

My father has been not the most communicative parent. I usually call him and our phone conversations revolve around my latest new bird sighting or how the weather is affecting his golf game, but mostly about computer issues. My siblings and I joke about the fact that to keep our father on the phone for more than a few minutes, we have to talk on a subject related to computer programs! If we call with a real problem to be solved, Dad will spend hours; tirelessly searching the Microsoft pages and emails us with suggested solutions.

Dad’s growing passion for computing and all things related eclipsed his desire to watch birds. He quite literally began on the ground floor of his local bank’s launch of computerization. I remember seeing the first UNIVAC type computers at his bank. With two big drives on the top, looking like some sort of gigantic robot eyes, they were a bit daunting!

Dad was so proud when he took all of us downtown to the main bank to see these marvels in person. The units were so large, that only one section at a time could be brought up to the Data Processing floor in the elevator. They were all behind glass, in a special air-conditioned room too. Only the key punch station and a small monitor were out in the main area. This was in 1964 and was only the beginning of a romance with hardware and software that lasted the rest of his working career and on into his retirement years.

A small local bank was where he wound up working when he decided to stay put and live close to the place he’d been born. Eventually a move to a larger bank, in a bigger town, enabled Dad to attend the NCR computer school in nearby Dayton, Ohio. He had a clear aptitude. Dad’s enthusiasm for learning kept him alert enough to make the drive back home in one piece too. He did confess to hanging his head out the window of his VW Bug, using the cold night air to keep awake during the wee hours, after his training classes in the evenings.

I remember playing with Dad’s programming templates and drawing tools. I thought the plastic shapes were interesting. I would trace around the curlicues and odd shapes to create some truly unusual art that could rival some of Picasso’s work during his Cubism period. My dad seemed to prefer the water colors and oil paintings of his mother’s work. He suggested maybe I would benefits from study with her a bit during the summer.

While I did spend time painting with Grandma, one of my summers was spent at the 2^nd National Bank of Richmond, Indiana doing keypunch work.

To earn some spending money and probably to keep me out of trouble too, my Dad arranged for me to do some data entry a few days a week. While my girlfriend donned a Dairy Delight T-shirt, slightly stained with cherry sundae mix, I got to dress up my nice Bobbie Brooks outfits and work at the bank. This air of sophistication gave me such a thrill I didn’t mind the monotony of typing names and addresses into the punch cards that would update the computer records of the banks’ customers.

Dad’s love of computers knows no boundaries! On a visit to my home in Arizona one winter I knew that he’d turned a corner, when instead of his golf bag, he’d brought his “Ozzie”!

Dad’s first portable was the Osborne 1, which featured a 5 inch (127 mm) 52-column display, two floppy-disk drives, a Z80 microprocessor, 64k of RAM, and could fit under an airplane seat. It could survive being accidentally dropped and included a bundled software package that included the CP/M operating system, the BASIC programming language, the WordStar word processing package, and the Super Calc spreadsheet program. He proceeded to share all of this with me and anyone else he could con into sitting by his side while he demonstrated this marvel.

Suddenly I was back in my childhood sitting with my dad, but at a desk, not on a tree stump. I heard a familiar humming sound, but it was from a machine not the little Ruby-throated birds or pesky insects circling in close to suckle my blood. My attention span stretched to the max as I struggled to keep up with all I was seeing and hearing. The only thing missing was the itchy mosquito bites!

In my second pass at college I discovered Apple computer products! My Dad and I were now on separate paths. He preferred PC computers that would allow him to tinker around with their code and programming… My Macintosh offered no such opportunity.

Conversations during this phase of our lives were shorter due to the limitations on subject matter outside the realm of DOS programming. Fortunately Windows replaced the PC operating systems. When I out grew my old Mac, it was replaced with a new IBM PC that ran Windows programs! Dad was back in the role of being my personal computer support person. On more than one occasion he did walk me through some tricky spots and get me back in business quickly.

Until recently I never appreciated just how much I retained from my early years “bird watching” with my dad. Moving to the Pacific Northwest has provided me with a veritable bird sanctuary right in my own back yard.

I am excited to call my Dad and regale him with my sighting of a Pileated woodpecker chipping away on the Alder tree outside my bedroom window. Our computer discussions now involve a discussion of whether or not he will install the latest Windows operating system on any of his computers. He has several machines and still enjoys tinkering around with them. But at the age of 85 he has other concerns. Like whether or not he will endure this new chemo therapy or just let nature run its course.

Happy Birthday Dad, I love you! And I hope we will have many more conversations. Any topic will be fine too…birds, golf, the weather or even the latest computer article you just read.

The Path usually not taken…

May 15, 2014Puppy PostsLow tide at beach, mephisto footwear, No dogs allowed, Off leash Dog areas, OLAEkathygaillaughingatlife

The “Path not taken” was the theme for our timed writing exercise at this week’s writing group. I’d arrived just as the group was starting its introductions…a bit late due to my usual predicament…dogs!

My dogs chose the “Path Not Taken” that morning… it was the path that is usually underwater! But we are in low tide season up here in the Pacific Northwest. OLAE, the off leash area in Edmonds, has been experiencing a major expanse of beach exposure. Receding waters in the Puget Sound open up the natural rockery barrier between our dogs’ “allowed” area and the public beach where the wagging tailed visitors are not so welcomed!

“It was not their fault! They were tempted.” This is the stock answer from my Hubby when ever our pups commit some transgression. But Hubby was not the one jogging in heavy stiff soled Mephisto®foot ware, burdened by the additional weight of wet sand! I had not planned on this level of exercise before sitting in my writing group that morning. I’d planned on contemplating the beauty of the snow kissed peaks of the Olympic Mountains and being calmed by the sounds of the waves crashing on the beach. Now my thoughts were derailed by wondering if I’d have time for a quick change into drier attire before I arrived to sit and write.

My pups were, in their defense, truly tempted. A low flying gull that teased them with hope of capture, coupled with their lack of literacy had them flying down the beach in hot pursuit. They raced right by the bright yellow sign that said “No dogs allowed past this point”. This barrier is usually enforced by deep enough water and a high rocky expanse that discourages, or at least slows down most of the canine curiosity about what is on the other side of that point.

As I jogged after my escaped canine charges, I tried not to slip on the still moist rocks, recently exposed and still covered with algae and sea weed. Muttering commands that my mischievous mongrels pretended they’d never heard before, despite the 6 weeks of Puppy Manners class where they’d performed perfectly, I finally caught up with them. I was aided by the presence of a Beach Ranger who sternly informed me that “Dogs must be leashed in this section of the beach!” She stated this as I was breathlessly struggling with the clasp on one of my dogs’ collars and had the other one in firm grasp. Talk about stating the obvious!

Her terse smile did not brighten her words. “I hope that you are going to go back where you came from.” Her nod toward the other end of the beach indicated a “Path frequently taken”.

I am currently searching for a real time “app” for my Droid phone that posts the tidal charts in Edmonds. I believe I will need to consult this on a daily basis for the next few months or risk time in “Dogie Detention.”

Powder with an Extra P(ee)!

May 10, 2014Memories of MomChildhood Pranks, Coty Face Powder, Depression Era cosmetics, Extra special ingredientskathygaillaughingatlife

My Grandmother prayed as she sifted the tainted contents of the “Gay Powder Puff Design” box of Coty Fragrant Face powder. She needed Divine Intervention to endow the flour sifter from her kitchen with magical properties that would transform this substance back to its original state. A miracle was required to restore the gossamer lightness and caressing texture to the Coty face powder. If not perfectly, at least close enough that her oldest sister, Mary, would not suspect that her two young nieces had urinated into the beautifully decorated container!

My mom’s Aunt Mary was the terror of her siblings and extended family. She had quite the temper. Woe to those who crossed in her path when she was in a mood. Family lore has it that my grandmother had failed to successfully toilet train her almost two year old twin boys. Aunt Mary decided this was enough and took over the task. Her “rat tailed comb” incited such fear that the boys scrambled to get on the chamber pot. Even if their pants were still up, they peed in the toilet bowl.

Urination is the theme of this tale. For some reason, which to this day my aunt cannot explain, she and my mother took the box of face powder under the bed, squatted over the box and urinated. My mother and her cousin were only 3 months apart in age. My grandmother folded her youngest sister’s child into her brood of five while Evelyn worked at her beauty salon.

This was at the height of the Great Depression. Most of the family lived with their mother, my great grandmother. My aunt’s family being the exception, her father was a well to do business man and her mother’s salon was successful enough to support their more upscale home. But my aunt still was not in school and happily spent her days with her cousins.

A box of Coty Face Powder, purchased at the cosmetics counter at O’Neill’s department store downtown, for one whole dollar, was quite an extravagant luxury. Advertisements claimed this substance to be the preferred choice of the world’s smartest woman. My grandmother certainly counted her older sister as a member of that posh sounding group. Aunt Mary worked full time and had no children of her own. She pampered her complexion with the porcelain finish provided by Coty’s silky product.

Upon discovering her daughter and niece’s prank, my grandmother was horrified. Whatever possessed these two little girls? They were always getting into trouble. She shook her head to hide her smile; “What one didn’t think of, the other did.”

Clothing was often provided to my grandmother’s children via the generosity of her sister’s thriving beauty shop. My mother and my aunt took their brand new snow pants and draped them over the bedroom lamp to make the room dark enough to play their hiding game. Suddenly the room filled with smoke and the snow pants were smoldering from the heat of the lamp. Much to their embarrassment, the two girls had to wear patched and repaired apparel that winter. Not a happy memory for my grandmother.

More fondly she remembered the time the two girls decided to sample the family dog’s milk! Their golden haired Collie named Lady was a wonderful and patient mother to her pups. She seemed ambivalent to the little girls cuddling in with her puppies and stealing a swig from her teats.

Mostly grandmother feared her sister’s wrath when she discovered the fancy face powder defiled by the girls. Fortunately the beautiful fluffy puff had escaped their ministrations. She carefully spread out the powder on a linen tea towel to dry. Next she sprayed the mixture with the Eau de Toilet from Mary’s dresser, hoping to mask any unpleasant lingering smell. When the powder was dry again, she carefully pressed the freshly scented talc through her flour sifter. Satisfied with the results she gingerly spooned the contents back into the fancy box decorated with powder puffs, replaced the fluffy applicator and closed the lid. Whispering a prayer, she placed the powder box back in its place of prominence on her sister’s dresser. Both of the girls knew without my grandmother threatening them, to keep silent about the incident.

My aunt reports that my grandmother’s efforts passed muster. Aunt Mary never knew about the new and improved ingredient added to her facial regime.

And the winner is…..

May 8, 2014Living on the Spectrumadvantages of disabilities, junk mail, mail contestskathygaillaughingatlife

“Who won the mail contest today?”…. this is a phone call from my Hubby, on his way home via the local transit bus, too anxious to wait to hear the news.

This is not about the big manila Reader’s Digest Sweepstakes envelopes that declare “You may have won $100,000!” Our contest has evolved from a simple task of our son’s; bringing in the mail each day.

Our middle son still lives at home, due to his visual and mental disabilities. He is very helpful around the house and loves to have jobs to do as a member of our family. Skills that he is able to perform are incorporated into his daily routine. These give him a sense of purpose and worth as a capable person, even if he is not able to live independently.

Our blind son is amazing at sorting the laundry! He can easily identify his own T-shirts, socks and underwear from that of his dad or his brother. He is occasionally undone by the colorful bandanas that I wear around my forehead to collect sweat during workouts. They are the same shape, size and weight of cotton as his white men’s handkerchiefs.

Other daily help includes loading or unloading the dish washer, taking out the trash from each room to the big wheeled cart that goes to the curb each Tuesday morning at 7:00am. He knows which day of the month includes the recycling too. His favorite part of this particular task is “reminding” his father to take the containers out to the curb. I love that part too… as it takes me out of the wifely role of “nagging” my Hubby to do this step!

Autism sometimes presents a challenge to the individual, kind of like an itch to be scratched or an impulse that just cannot be ignored. Such is the case with our son. He cannot abide a change in routine or schedule. He is not happy when someone else performs one of his assigned jobs. Even though the intention is to be helpful, he may become agitated and seemingly ungrateful. When we have visitors or family members that stay at our home we are careful to let them know which jobs our son considers to be his domain, so that harmony is maintained.

As an exercise in improving his mobility skills we taught him the route to and from our mail box which is located across the street and down a few houses. This is a daily task and involves locating the box, unlocking it with a key and bringing all the mail back home. My Hubby decided to make this more exciting by creating a contest scenario. Each day our son brings in the mail and Hubby reads off the address labels on each of the envelopes. Jointly addressed items to not count for the total to “win” the day’s final tally; only individually addressed labels count. Also excluded are labels bearing the title of “occupant” “homeowner at this address” or “resident”. The contest does include packages including those from Fed X or UPS, in addition to ones delivered by the US Post.

I truly believe that Hubby gets quite the kick out of his game too. It has evolved to the point that phone calls are executed when either he is out of town or our son is on the road traveling to a music gig. Some days Hubby is so eager to see “who won” that he will meet our son at the door or even in the driveway, not willing to wait until he enters the house to tally up the count of recipients.

Hubby makes such a big fuss when he doesn’t win that now our son roots for him to get the highest number of pieces each day. For some reason many of the utility bills are addressed to me alone. I am also the major recipient of catalogs and all of my business mail comes to our home address, so I am frequently the winner, much to the disappointment of the guys in the family.

Grandma visited a few times and observed that her son (my Hubby) was not winning the mail contest very often. She vowed to send him more letters when she returned home, to help his numbers in the final mail count! She may have even enlisted some of the other family members. Hubby was delighted by birthday greetings from some of the distant relatives who were suddenly anxious to communicate with their nephew or cousin after all these years.

I secretly think his agreements with many of the phone solicitations for the Red Cross, Heart Association and various other funding raising type outreach; are seen as a way to pad his daily mail count. We can never move from this house address! We have received enough “contribution gifts” of beautifully decorated address labels, in Hubby’s name of course, to last us for the rest of our lives.

Hubby has even subscribed to a few magazines recently! Who knew that men like to read the Ladies Home Journal? Hubby swears they have some great recipes. I think these new subscriptions are part of his “recipe “to ensure that he wins the mail contest as frequently as possible.

Control “P”… for Pissed!

April 29, 2014Living on the Spectrum, PMS (and it's not the medical one)Microsoft auto updates, printer problems, Stress free printingkathygaillaughingatlife

The usual “print operation command”, Control P has changed somehow on my computer. Maybe that last Microsoft update? Just printing out more than a page is turning this aspiring writer, normally a mild mannered and patient computer user, into a whiny one, who spent hours researching online complaints on printer websites with no results. Now when I press the control key in conjunction with the P key… the only result is that I get pissed!

Mondays usually feel so optimistic, but then the rest of the week happens! Today felt as thought I was off to a great start. I went to my weekly EPIC Group Writers. This is always an inspirational event for me. We do a timed writing exercise, based on a starter phrase to get our creative juices flowing.

After I left my writing group I felt inspired and focused; ready to begin a week full of great writing. I took a look at the memoir Monday e-mail which further inspired me to write. But shoot, I need to schedule an extra DART ride for Nick this week. Oh yes, I also need to print out a paper invoice copy from Quick Books for his gig this afternoon.

Doing anything with Quick Books is an exercise in frustration these days. Since the upgrade in 2013, the program has been more difficult to use than ever. A simple task like finding and printing an invoice for customer turns it into a 15 minute exercise of opening, closing and backtracking through sections of files in the program. Finally, I locate the correct invoice and push print.

Oh Crap! I still have issues with the printing program on this computer. It has been a while since I have had the occasion to hit the control button and the P key! I actually avoid, when at all possible, the act of printing out a paper and ink copy of any document. Trees are being saved… you understand, don’t you? Earth Day is just right around the corner. Emailing around the “PDFs” of a document is truly so much easier and certainly more economical too! Have you priced any printer ink cartridges lately? Wow, I should have bought stock in the company. They practically give away the printers, knowing that they will make back their money tenfold… on the ink!

Currently my computer system will only print one job time. After the first document group cycles through the system, I have choices to make before I can execute another print job.

If I look at the icon in my system tray, it tells me the printer is busy… printing out the job I just executed. Problem is that nothing is actually happening. Why is my computer telling me this giant lie? Clearly there are no pages showing up in the plastic tray beneath the printer. I have been told that computers use pure logic when processing information, so in theory a computer should not be able to tell a falsehood. Maybe I have discovered a new breed of processor! Tempting as it may be to announce this discovery to the World Wide Web… I must first print that invoice.

I pull up Task Manager, and find a line, called Job Status Windows Interface, which is process that I need to cancel. If I do this step the printer will spring to life and spit out the pages of the job that’s been hanging in the La La Land of the print queue. Sometimes after searching through the Task Manager, looking for the particular process to cancel and not spotting it quickly, I run out of patience! It’s easier just to restart the dang computer.

At these times, I really regret my recent purchase of a case of extra large ink cartridges. They are little, over packaged plastic units and cost almost as much as the printer did. I now have a box full of used and ready to recycle; black ink and individual colors of red, green and blue too. Every so often a pop-up window intrudes into my line of vision on the computer’s screen. It implores me to visit on the company’s website where I could of course purchase more ink cartridges, to return and recycle.

I originally purchased this unit because it was a “high volume ink printer” and more ecologically friendly than the other brands I’d been researching. This printer has turned into a “high volume” stress inducing piece of equipment! Any savings on printer ink costs have been eclipsed by the increase in my wine purchases for consumption after each printing project is completed!

The manufacturer’s Customer Service has been no help at all. In fact at one point they stated the problem exists because of a Microsoft update. They suggested that the wrong print driver had been part of that upload last month. But it came from Microsoft and not from the manufacturer of the printer, so not their problem! They had no a solution for how to remove this errant line of code which creates a logjam of printing tasks, waiting to be printed each time I turn on my computer.

When those ink cartridges are all used up… I will gleefully take this useless contraption to RE PC. This facility is handy for recycling old computers and other obsolete electronic equipment. I hope I can keep my sanity until I use up all of that ink! It seems these cartridges will only fit this one printer! How wasteful to indulge in trashing the printer before I can recoup the investment in black ink. Maybe it is time to print a first draft of the 300 page novel.

Patience does not run in my family. My youngest son recently visited and needed to print out copies of some forms he needed for a job application. I was not here to observe his process but he seemed to figure out turning on and off the computer was a way to get his documents to print. When I later looked at the printer icon, I started to laugh. There were several documents waiting to be printed in the queue. Apparently he did remember what I told him regarding the task manager step.

After struggling with this issue again today, I decided… it would be more satisfying to simply drive to the landfill and heave this printer into the abyss. After I use up all of those black ink cartridges or maybe find my COSTCO receipt… they will take back almost anything!

Stunning Surprise!

April 6, 2014Living on the Spectrum, PMS (and it's not the medical one)Maids.com, Men doing housework, Surprise Partieskathygaillaughingatlife

“Surprise” This chorus of cries came from folks who’d been crouching in the darkness, awaiting my arrival, for quite some time apparently.

I almost dropped the two bags of groceries on the floor, so great the shock of seeing many of my family members and friends jump out from behind the island in our kitchen. It was three days before my actual birthday, so this was the last thing I expected when I opened the door that led from my garage into our home.

“Wow!” was all I could utter, as I fumbled with the cloth bags and tried to take stock of what I was seeing. I had not noticed that the shades were all closed on our front windows. Nor had I noticed any additional cars on the street. Hubby had asked them to park around the corner.

“Oh you guys! This is truly amazing! How long have you been here?”

I’d just returned from a long series of errands that evening and I was running late. Fifteen minutes earlier, I’d phoned Hubby to ask what he’d like for dinner, given that I was coming home much later than I’d anticipated I was too tired to cook.

He assured me there was no need to stop. “We have plenty of leftovers that I can prepare. How soon will you be home? I will start warming up food, right now”.

I’d just returned from a three week trip to Brussels and was craving Mexican Food in a big way. I suggested “Fish tacos! There is still a lot of that Red snapper from last night. I will stop and get some of the hard shells on my way home, Okay?”

“Oh no, no need to stop at all, I bought some tortillas last week when I made dinner for our son. Just come right on home and food will be ready when you get here. You must be starved.”

He sounded so sweet. I should have known something was up.Hubby hates leftovers! Especially if it is is a repeat from the day before! How could I not have known?

Earlier that afternoon I missed another clue! Hubby swept and mopped the floors… without my even suggesting! My 60th birthday was coming up the middle of the next week. I’d mentioned splurging on The Maids ™ to come to do a bit of “deep cleaning” before the party I was planning for myself. I was pleasantly surprised when he hopped up and said he wanted to try out our new Dyson sweeper on the upstairs rooms.

Usually it is we women who clean and tidy up before the maids arrive. Men are like… “Cool! Bring it on!” They suffer no embarrassment what so ever at having total strangers see their dirt and clutter!

I was feeling a bit of jet lag and had flopped on the bed to cuddle with our dogs. I savored a few horizontal minutes before heading out to drive our son to two different music gigs that afternoon. I had shopping for some essentials planned at stores close to both of his gig locations. My efficiency truly exhausted rather than exhilarated me. Saturday afternoon traffic in Seattle was amazingly smooth and a gift I gladly accepted in my efforts to get back home and horizontal once again.

Back to my shocking surprise; I kept marveling at how smoothly my hubby hid all of this from me. I truly had no clue!

When our son chuckled “Enjoy your little party” as he left the car at our last stop, I supposed he’d meant the party I was planning for the actual day of my 60th. He’d known I was shopping for food to be used for that event. He’d been sworn to secrecy by my hubby…but his Aspergers syndrome got the better of him. He just could not resist blurting out this secret. Hubby had mentioned several times during the previous weeks, that this was a “Surprise for Mom!” We are not going to tell her about this party, OK?” Luckily I was still in a funk from flying across the pond and it didn’t penetrate the deep fog of my consciousness.

My hubby was so stealthy that he’d even made a trip to the local Good Will and purchased some inexpensive storage containers. He feared that I’d get suspicious if I noticed that some of my Tupperware® was missing in action. Yes, I am just a bit OCD about my plastic bowls, I admit it. I’ve been known to hound my kids to get back those pale blue square containers I’ve packed with surplus from a family meal. They swear I have cards on file, like the library, to track them down.

A window of time while I was at the club the evening before the party was utilized by Hubby to prepare most of the party fare. He even stored all this food in the spaciously empty fridge at our youngest son’s nearby home. The youngest was also in charge of the cake. He picked a wonderfully decadent chocolate number from the Stone Cold Creamery which was stored in the freezer at his place.

As soon as my car backed out of the drive, they all swung into action. Some of my girl friends were part of the plot! Hubby has my old Droid phone. He had their phone numbers and three whole weeks while I was out of the country, to get all the plans in place.

He was a bit worried initially when he received my email note on the “Day at Home” birthday party I was planning for my 60th. I knew I’d be spent from my travels. In addition I was facing another out of town gig the following weekend, with our musical performer son. The Southern tradition of having an “at home” day truly appealed for this big birthday celebration!

Distraction with plans for my own event aided Hubby’s execution of his stealthy soiree. He pulled off a “surprise” party that rivaled some of my best efforts!

In fact, for his mother’s 60th I had sent her an invitation to come to our home for an Art Party. All of her girlfriends were in on the deception. We’d even managed to keep this off my father in law’s radar screen. The look of shock on her face when greeted with shouts of ” Happy Birthday” at our front door was absolutely priceless! “I do not know what to say to you!” was all she could muster as she stood staring into our home. I was delighted that I’d managed to pull off this party.

Looking at the big grin on his face, I am sure my hubby felt a similar thrill as I swooned at the gathering in our kitchen.

¿Donde Esta El Bano?

March 25, 2014Living on the SpectrumDyson hand dryers, Pay toilets, public bathrooms in Europekathygaillaughingatlife

A recent phenomenon I discovered on my travels in Europe is the improved equipment in the lavatories. Europe is well advanced of the United States in handling the waste created in the public restrooms at places like the “aeroporte”. Relax folks…. I am speaking about the paper products and management of electricity and water, not the actual human products deposited there in!

We have seen the Dyson hand drying units in some of the forward thinking, progressive restrooms in the US. Let me assure you, the units across the pond have taken this concept to a whole new level.

Walking up to a sink in the women’s restroom of the Brussels airport, I found what looked like the joy stick on a plane! Not only could one elicit water flow from this appendage, but the dryer unit was part of this same device… right there in the basin. No more dripping across the counter and floor, to reach the paper towel dispenser, which is usually far,far away from the sink you have just used to wash your hands.

Of course there are no paper products in use in these uber-modern facilities. Don’t panic ladies, they do not have Dyson dryers in the actual toilets… not yet anyway. There are still the paper dispensers that remind me of my grammar school days. The very small squares of paper will do the job, if one is patient enough to pull them out, ever so gently, one at a time, a serviceable amount can be collected.

The last innovation is somewhat of a surprise, literally! Because if one dawdles a bit too long, the automatic flush will turn the ordinary looking toilet into a bidet! This could be the newest Dyson test model that would eliminate the paper products in this area as well…who knew?

Such ingenuity some with a price tag of course! Most public restrooms, even those in the gas stations in Europe, require coins to be dispersed before entry is allowed. This requires some planning as the coin slots are only sized to accept a certain coin. So if the sign says; “, 20 Euros”, one must have a single, 20 Euro coin. The door will not open, no matter how desperate one may be… if you were to insert 2 of the “,10 Euro” coins into the slot!

Finding someone to resolve the issue is not likely either. Most of these lonely outpost potties are remarkably clean and hygienic, given the absence of any helpers aside from the guy at the counter in the snack shop.

He may refund your coins, if you are able to speak his language!

kathy gail laughing at life

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