My fingers are frozen into little claws and my eyes are blurry. I’m exhausted. But the good kind of exhausted – the kind involving emotional second winds and naturally occurring endorphins. I’ve been making up for lost time.
Have you noticed how things we never knew we needed become absolutely necessary once we have them?
The DSL took a temporary powder yesterday. Two years ago I could take or leave the internet and the beauty of e-mail. One day, (what a nice way to describe about four months of transition and tension) my employer changed computer systems and installed DSL.
After we got this great system, I developed some car problems and ended up carpooling. I discovered the fun of staying after my shift and playing around.
I found a writing contest.
I’d written before, enjoyed it, and had even won a contest. So I began digging around to see what else was available. I entered three contests and didn’t even come close in any of them. But I found a group of like-minded people, and then opportunities to write, and sometimes even get paid for it.
Over the past two years I’ve put in an extra hour or two a day coming early, leaving late, or doing writing related things over lunch. I’ve even adjusted my flexible hours by shaving off time with each raise or change in tax status.
The DSL choosing to go MIA did not make me happy.
I use my e-mail program for works-in-progress and up-to-date storage because I can access it from home, work, and the coffee shop. But I couldn’t access it without the Internet.
I couldn’t post on Blogger, because I had no Internet.
Even productive writing didn’t work for me. I had a few ideas brewing for “spec” articles, but needed to do some research. Once again…..Internet.
I’d started a whole new way of thinking about the book I’m working on, and sent myself an e-mail with all the ideas I had before the whole DSL drama.
My brain cooperated like our moody Internet provider, it wouldn’t give up the information I needed either.
I’ve taken Google for granted. Google is my friend. And it is now officially a verb if you haven’t heard.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - On the Job Dangers
My daughter’s a nanny.
I used to take care of little children a long time ago.
It’s exhausting.
I referred to my most overwhelming day of the week, a handful of five-year-old boys and a two-year-old girl, as Black Thursday.
All day long, everyday, she has three under the age of two-and-a-half.
The youngest, a seven-month-old boy is now crawling several miles a day, usually he’s chasing her. He’s begun growling. She’s not sure why.
Phone calls are always interesting. Sometimes Elmo sings in the background. The A-B-C song is a reoccurring classic. Other times the pitter-patter of little feet and chitter-chatter of sweet little voices fills the earpiece like Muzak in an elevator.
Silence means its nap-time.
One day I had to lay the phone down, and when I picked it up, she didn’t know I’d come back.
She was in the middle of a serious conversation with the youngest, then five-months-old. “Listen, the girls and I took a vote. It’s unanimous. You need to get a new hobby. If not, we’re voting you off the island.”
Apparently, before he could crawl and cling, he was very vocal about not being held constantly.
I just received an e-mail from her. She closed it “the little bald tribal leader’s banging on a toy and chanting! So I should go!"
She probably should have voted him off the island before he learned to growl.
I used to take care of little children a long time ago.
It’s exhausting.
I referred to my most overwhelming day of the week, a handful of five-year-old boys and a two-year-old girl, as Black Thursday.
All day long, everyday, she has three under the age of two-and-a-half.
The youngest, a seven-month-old boy is now crawling several miles a day, usually he’s chasing her. He’s begun growling. She’s not sure why.
Phone calls are always interesting. Sometimes Elmo sings in the background. The A-B-C song is a reoccurring classic. Other times the pitter-patter of little feet and chitter-chatter of sweet little voices fills the earpiece like Muzak in an elevator.
Silence means its nap-time.
One day I had to lay the phone down, and when I picked it up, she didn’t know I’d come back.
She was in the middle of a serious conversation with the youngest, then five-months-old. “Listen, the girls and I took a vote. It’s unanimous. You need to get a new hobby. If not, we’re voting you off the island.”
Apparently, before he could crawl and cling, he was very vocal about not being held constantly.
I just received an e-mail from her. She closed it “the little bald tribal leader’s banging on a toy and chanting! So I should go!"
She probably should have voted him off the island before he learned to growl.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Celebrity Match-Ups
Have you ever wanted to look like a celebrity?
Even vegetables do. You know - the photo of the potato resembling Richard Nixon that makes the front page of the newspaper on really slow news days.
Here's a link to the next best thing.
You don't have to have massive quantities of plastic surgery. You don't need a personal trainer. You, too, can look like a famous person. Uh, no guarantees on which famous people you might dig up.
http://www.myheritage.com/FP/Company/face-recognition-samples.php
I presented two pictures. These are the celebrities I resemble, with the percentage noted. Laugh with me.
Click on the really long links if you want the whole visual experience.
Picture one:http://www.myheritage.com/FP/Company/face-recognition-results.php?temp=7ad26c44mzclqv06&server=Server1&database=1&startYear=1800&endYear=2005
Liza Minelli - 68%
Marcia Cross - 67%
Elle Macpherson - 67% (This one resulted in the expulsion of hot coffee, through my nose, onto my keyboard.)
Patrick Swayze - 66% (I'm not sure what to say. Should I be flattered, should he?)
Victoria Principal - 64%
Jamie Lynn Spears - 63% (Maybe that's why people tell me I look young.)
Charlotte Church - 62% (Hey, I have her pipes, too. Ha.)
And a three way tie for 61%, Heike Drechsler, Roseanne Barr and Oprah Winfrey. (Maybe I'm destined to have a talk show - in Germany.)
Picture two:
http://www.myheritage.com/FP/Company/face-recognition-results.php?temp=87d26c449mzgpi06&server=Server9&database=1&startYear=1800&endYear=2005
Jacques Villeneuve - 71% (He's a cute, French, young man. But if you've read my post about my experience with the French language - you know this is not a good fit. If you haven't - here's the link to the story...it's about three paragraphs into the post http://kellyklepfer.blogspot.com/2006_04_20_kellyklepfer_archive.html
I do like to go fast though. Sometimes.)
Jamie Lynn Spears - 63% (again....hmmm...)
Mischa Barton - 62% (there's a theme here. Young. Yay! And this is the more momish of the pictures.)
Helen Clark - 61% (okay - definitely looks momish - I spoke too soon)
Carl Lewis - 59%
Shania Twain and Tom Cruise tie at - 58% (well, I don't take psych meds - so Tom and I have that in common.)
Liza Minelli comes in at 57%
Monica Lewinsky - 54% (What can I possibly say that hasn't already been said?)
Konrad Adenauer - 53% (okay - this is digging pretty deep. The guy was born in the late 1800's.)
So who do you look like?
Even vegetables do. You know - the photo of the potato resembling Richard Nixon that makes the front page of the newspaper on really slow news days.
Here's a link to the next best thing.
You don't have to have massive quantities of plastic surgery. You don't need a personal trainer. You, too, can look like a famous person. Uh, no guarantees on which famous people you might dig up.
http://www.myheritage.com/FP/Company/face-recognition-samples.php
I presented two pictures. These are the celebrities I resemble, with the percentage noted. Laugh with me.
Click on the really long links if you want the whole visual experience.
Picture one:http://www.myheritage.com/FP/Company/face-recognition-results.php?temp=7ad26c44mzclqv06&server=Server1&database=1&startYear=1800&endYear=2005
Liza Minelli - 68%
Marcia Cross - 67%
Elle Macpherson - 67% (This one resulted in the expulsion of hot coffee, through my nose, onto my keyboard.)
Patrick Swayze - 66% (I'm not sure what to say. Should I be flattered, should he?)
Victoria Principal - 64%
Jamie Lynn Spears - 63% (Maybe that's why people tell me I look young.)
Charlotte Church - 62% (Hey, I have her pipes, too. Ha.)
And a three way tie for 61%, Heike Drechsler, Roseanne Barr and Oprah Winfrey. (Maybe I'm destined to have a talk show - in Germany.)
Picture two:
http://www.myheritage.com/FP/Company/face-recognition-results.php?temp=87d26c449mzgpi06&server=Server9&database=1&startYear=1800&endYear=2005
Jacques Villeneuve - 71% (He's a cute, French, young man. But if you've read my post about my experience with the French language - you know this is not a good fit. If you haven't - here's the link to the story...it's about three paragraphs into the post http://kellyklepfer.blogspot.com/2006_04_20_kellyklepfer_archive.html
I do like to go fast though. Sometimes.)
Jamie Lynn Spears - 63% (again....hmmm...)
Mischa Barton - 62% (there's a theme here. Young. Yay! And this is the more momish of the pictures.)
Helen Clark - 61% (okay - definitely looks momish - I spoke too soon)
Carl Lewis - 59%
Shania Twain and Tom Cruise tie at - 58% (well, I don't take psych meds - so Tom and I have that in common.)
Liza Minelli comes in at 57%
Monica Lewinsky - 54% (What can I possibly say that hasn't already been said?)
Konrad Adenauer - 53% (okay - this is digging pretty deep. The guy was born in the late 1800's.)
So who do you look like?
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles – Pat’s Practical Joke Part Two
I fumed while I walked to my bus-stop. He’d scared at least seven years off my life. Had to have. What kind of creep puts a monster picture on a mirror?
I shuddered in the cool November morning, and not because of the chill in the air. The photograph had been an 8 x 10 glossy with a light gray background and it blended right in with the shower wall – especially since my senses were not exactly honed so early in the morning.
The hideous monster wore globby, oozy flesh colored makeup. An eye protruded and draped over a scarred cheek. A partially severed hand dangled toward an unseen victim.
A genius in the art of practical joking had placed that picture. My dad probably hunkered down to about my height and placed the monster slightly off-center so it appeared like the nasty thing stood right behind me. Very bad dad!
How could I possibly come up with something to equal, let alone best, this sinister act?
I climbed onto the bus, mulling over inadequate and anemic possibilities.
The school day flew. I mentioned the rotten trick to a few friends. My dad gained cool points in their estimation so I stopped sharing. Other than setting his sock drawer on fire, or squirting syrup on his side of the bed, I got no input on possible retaliation. All day I rejected my own lame thoughts of revenge, too.
I stepped back onto the bus ready to surrender to the master as soon as I arrived home.
Mom met me at the door after I trudged dejectedly up the hill from the bus stop.
“Did you have a good day?” She asked.
“Not really. Did you see what Dad did?”
Mom laughed. Not a sympathy type of laugh either, it was outright rude. It should be enough to declare defeat with becoming the butt of the joke. I headed toward the stairs, so I could have a good pout in my room.
Mom laid her hand on my arm. “Wait. I’m not laughing at you. Dad got up and took his shower a little while after you left the house. And I heard a shriek from the bathroom. You left the picture on the mirror. He ended up scaring himself, too. It was perfect.”
Ah, the irony of life. Gotta love it.
I shuddered in the cool November morning, and not because of the chill in the air. The photograph had been an 8 x 10 glossy with a light gray background and it blended right in with the shower wall – especially since my senses were not exactly honed so early in the morning.
The hideous monster wore globby, oozy flesh colored makeup. An eye protruded and draped over a scarred cheek. A partially severed hand dangled toward an unseen victim.
A genius in the art of practical joking had placed that picture. My dad probably hunkered down to about my height and placed the monster slightly off-center so it appeared like the nasty thing stood right behind me. Very bad dad!
How could I possibly come up with something to equal, let alone best, this sinister act?
I climbed onto the bus, mulling over inadequate and anemic possibilities.
The school day flew. I mentioned the rotten trick to a few friends. My dad gained cool points in their estimation so I stopped sharing. Other than setting his sock drawer on fire, or squirting syrup on his side of the bed, I got no input on possible retaliation. All day I rejected my own lame thoughts of revenge, too.
I stepped back onto the bus ready to surrender to the master as soon as I arrived home.
Mom met me at the door after I trudged dejectedly up the hill from the bus stop.
“Did you have a good day?” She asked.
“Not really. Did you see what Dad did?”
Mom laughed. Not a sympathy type of laugh either, it was outright rude. It should be enough to declare defeat with becoming the butt of the joke. I headed toward the stairs, so I could have a good pout in my room.
Mom laid her hand on my arm. “Wait. I’m not laughing at you. Dad got up and took his shower a little while after you left the house. And I heard a shriek from the bathroom. You left the picture on the mirror. He ended up scaring himself, too. It was perfect.”
Ah, the irony of life. Gotta love it.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Pat's Practical Joke
I suppose I should save this for Halloween since it factors heavily into this favorite-of-mine Pat moment. But today just feels like a great day for a spooky story.
You might want to avoid reading this after dark, and for heaven’s sake, scatter the children.
Just don’t suggest hiding under the bed, you know what’s under the bed don’t you? In my house it’s horrifying. In Iowa we grow huge dust bunnies with razor sharp teeth and they eat stray socks.
My dad, Pat, is a pharmacist. And pharmacists work in drugstores. (Not to be confused with the folk who sell drugs in the alley behind the high school.)
Drugstores sometimes have great benefits. Once, when dad owned his own drugstore he brought home some sample furniture that was perfect for Barbie and company. Well, actually it was perfect for Skipper. Barbie and Ken didn’t quite fit at the beautiful wood veneer dining room table. And Skipper had those stupid knees that wouldn’t bend. But, being Pollyanna even way back then, I made them work.
But that’s not what this story is about.
When I was a teenager, I was always the first one up in the morning. Being a teen girl in the late 70’s – early 80’s required quite a bit of bathroom time. The blue eyeshadow alone took several minutes per eye.
When I entered the bathroom each morning let’s just say I was pretty much out of it. I believe, but no one has ever confirmed this since they all slept the morning away, I continued my REM cycle in the shower. I remember the alarm, in a vague and hazy dreamlike sense. I remember sliding down the hallway or at least the bruises from smacking into the woodwork. The sound of water is there, in the recesses of my mind. My first conscience thoughts struggled to the surface and broke free as I stood under the cooling water.
One post-Halloween morning, after finally shaking off the sleep, I threw open the shower curtain and nearly died of fright.
A monster stared me in the eye. I panicked which means I stood there dripping and making fish faces. No sounds came out of my throat. Somehow, the monster was behind me, because I could see myself and the monster in the reflection.
Then it dawned on me that some rotten person had simply taped a photo of a dangly-eyed, fanged creature on the mirror.
I believed I knew exactly who that person was.
Since my heart had calmed down to its normal rhythm I pondered my response. My father slept soundly just a few steps down the hall. Hmmm. Whatever should I do? I brushed my teeth and considered a range of punishments starting with ice cold water. But then I recalled that revenge is better served cold.
To be continued…..
And a word from the sponsor of the day:
If you are interested in becoming a pharmacist as well, learn more ;here.
You might want to avoid reading this after dark, and for heaven’s sake, scatter the children.
Just don’t suggest hiding under the bed, you know what’s under the bed don’t you? In my house it’s horrifying. In Iowa we grow huge dust bunnies with razor sharp teeth and they eat stray socks.
My dad, Pat, is a pharmacist. And pharmacists work in drugstores. (Not to be confused with the folk who sell drugs in the alley behind the high school.)
Drugstores sometimes have great benefits. Once, when dad owned his own drugstore he brought home some sample furniture that was perfect for Barbie and company. Well, actually it was perfect for Skipper. Barbie and Ken didn’t quite fit at the beautiful wood veneer dining room table. And Skipper had those stupid knees that wouldn’t bend. But, being Pollyanna even way back then, I made them work.
But that’s not what this story is about.
When I was a teenager, I was always the first one up in the morning. Being a teen girl in the late 70’s – early 80’s required quite a bit of bathroom time. The blue eyeshadow alone took several minutes per eye.
When I entered the bathroom each morning let’s just say I was pretty much out of it. I believe, but no one has ever confirmed this since they all slept the morning away, I continued my REM cycle in the shower. I remember the alarm, in a vague and hazy dreamlike sense. I remember sliding down the hallway or at least the bruises from smacking into the woodwork. The sound of water is there, in the recesses of my mind. My first conscience thoughts struggled to the surface and broke free as I stood under the cooling water.
One post-Halloween morning, after finally shaking off the sleep, I threw open the shower curtain and nearly died of fright.
A monster stared me in the eye. I panicked which means I stood there dripping and making fish faces. No sounds came out of my throat. Somehow, the monster was behind me, because I could see myself and the monster in the reflection.
Then it dawned on me that some rotten person had simply taped a photo of a dangly-eyed, fanged creature on the mirror.
I believed I knew exactly who that person was.
Since my heart had calmed down to its normal rhythm I pondered my response. My father slept soundly just a few steps down the hall. Hmmm. Whatever should I do? I brushed my teeth and considered a range of punishments starting with ice cold water. But then I recalled that revenge is better served cold.
To be continued…..
And a word from the sponsor of the day:
If you are interested in becoming a pharmacist as well, learn more ;here.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - New Peeps....
http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/736/2127/1600/z30443428.jpg
I joined this blogging chicks thing.
Their goal mentioned something about taking over the world.
I feel like I have ENOUGH to deal with, but hey, I've always harbored the niggling desire to rule the world. So, I'll ride on some coat-tails and see what that gets me. Maybe a court jester spot.
I'm okay with that.
Happy Monday.
My Monday's lacking French Press coffee with real cream. I got up real early thinking I could trick myself with manufactured coffee run through auto-drip. Didn't work.
I joined this blogging chicks thing.
Their goal mentioned something about taking over the world.
I feel like I have ENOUGH to deal with, but hey, I've always harbored the niggling desire to rule the world. So, I'll ride on some coat-tails and see what that gets me. Maybe a court jester spot.
I'm okay with that.
Happy Monday.
My Monday's lacking French Press coffee with real cream. I got up real early thinking I could trick myself with manufactured coffee run through auto-drip. Didn't work.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Coffee Crisis
My Minnesota buddy, Michelle, has forever ruined my first morning cup of Joe/Java.
She claims she was attempting to open my eyes to the reality of coffee as it should be. Instead she has set me to coveting and grousing.
Never again will I breathe in the aroma of the first morning Folgers and sigh with contentment.
Michelle’s java Pandora’s Box?
French Press coffee. With REAL cream I might add.
But French Press is only done properly with freshly-roasted, just-ground beans.
(I hope I don’t get electrocuted as I drool into the keyboard. )
The time involved, the cost involved. I’ll need to get up an hour earlier each morning.
I currently have a search window open to all the possibilities of French Press coffee makers. Hmmm, for anywhere from $9.99 to $69.95 I could purchase my own.
But then where will I find the coffee? Do I need to grow my own coffee tree, cultivate, pick and roast my own beans? Which variety of tree will I get? Hazelnut, my husband’s favorite flavored coffee, or maybe the always popular egg nog or snickerdoodle for Christmas coffee celebrations.
Sigh.
I’d ask Michelle, but she’s currently away from technology and roughing it in the Minnesota wilds.
Ha!
Without electricity she can’t grind her beans. No French Press for her, either.
I feel better.
She claims she was attempting to open my eyes to the reality of coffee as it should be. Instead she has set me to coveting and grousing.
Never again will I breathe in the aroma of the first morning Folgers and sigh with contentment.
Michelle’s java Pandora’s Box?
French Press coffee. With REAL cream I might add.
But French Press is only done properly with freshly-roasted, just-ground beans.
(I hope I don’t get electrocuted as I drool into the keyboard. )
The time involved, the cost involved. I’ll need to get up an hour earlier each morning.
I currently have a search window open to all the possibilities of French Press coffee makers. Hmmm, for anywhere from $9.99 to $69.95 I could purchase my own.
But then where will I find the coffee? Do I need to grow my own coffee tree, cultivate, pick and roast my own beans? Which variety of tree will I get? Hazelnut, my husband’s favorite flavored coffee, or maybe the always popular egg nog or snickerdoodle for Christmas coffee celebrations.
Sigh.
I’d ask Michelle, but she’s currently away from technology and roughing it in the Minnesota wilds.
Ha!
Without electricity she can’t grind her beans. No French Press for her, either.
I feel better.
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