Goodbye 4th of July

Posted on July 4, 2016 by Sheila Moss
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“More dogs run away on the Fourth of July than any other day!”

Dear Humans,

I want to let you know that I am very upset with you. I do not think it is nice to laugh when I am afraid of the fireworks on the 4th of July. After all, it is an extremely loud noise and I’m not used to having a war going on in the front yard. For all I know, it could be terrorists trying to blow up my doghouse.

I suppose you think I should bark instead of being afraid? Frankly, I think you are expecting too much from a little dog like me. I am a Shih Tzu, not a Pit Bull. I’m a pet, not a freedom fighter.

It has been a really rough week. People started with the firecrackers a week ahead of time, as soon as fireworks were on sale. They could not seem to wait for the official holiday to start petrifying all the animals in the neighborhood. And it won’t stop after the 4th until they use up their entire arsenal.

I do appreciate it when my human holds me on his lap to calm my nerves. I am always shaking so hard my teeth are rattling. This holiday stuff is dreadful, and I don’t know why people think it is entertaining. Sometimes I don’t understand humans at all.

Even the evil cats are afraid. You probably won’t notice, but they hide under the bed until it is over. Of course, I wish they would run away and never come back. Just my luck, they merely retreate and leave me to face the terror campaign alone. Then after things calm down, they groom themselves and catnap as if nothing happened. Stupid cats!

I sure hope there are no other holidays that have fireworks. Those rockets sound like thunder to me. I thought thunderstorms were bad, but at least they are few and far between. Ever since I was a little pup, the lightning has been trying to strike me. Remember that time I walked to the window to look at the rain and a flash of lightning cracked right in front of me? That is why I am so afraid.

I remember one night when it was thundering, you humans were asleep and would not wake up. I wanted to get in your bed so badly that I jumped about four feet straight up and landed on the mattress. I don’t know how I did it, but somehow fear gave me super jumping skills. I’ve never been afraid enough to jump that high before or since, and I hope I never am.

As long as I sleep in the bed with my humans, the lightning can’t strike me. Of course, I have to bark and run the wicked cats away. They attract electricity, you know. I am certain that if I can keep them out of the bed the lightning will wallop them one of these days and I will be rid of them.

I hope you get the point. I am tired of trembling and shaking every time I hear a loud noise. I will be glad when winter gets here and I don’t have to worry about thunder, fireworks, or fanatics. The devil cats are about all I can deal with.

So let this be a warning, if you make me afraid again, I am going run away from home to some place that doesn’t have storms and firecrackers. More dogs run away on the 4th of July than any other day, you know.

Do you mind if I wait until that dark thundercloud blows over, though?

Yours truly,
Dixie The Dog

©1999 Sheila Moss
Posted in Creatures, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

A Living Symbol – The American Flag

Posted on July 3, 2016 by Sheila Moss

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The other day I was down at the discount mart and noticed a display of American flags. The red, white, and blue caught my eye and I stopped to check them out.

“Oh,” I thought, “I don’t really need a flag.”

I used to have a flag that I displayed on patriotic holidays. Through the years the flag wore out and was never replaced. I sort of miss that feeling of patriotic pride that comes from displaying the flag.

I decided that I needed a flag after all, so I bought one. It is a beautiful flag with the stars embroidered instead of printed and the stripes sewn together in different colors.

I took it home and opened it up to look at it. Then I folded it up to return it to the plastic package.

“Grandma, you folded it wrong!” exclaimed my 8-year-old grandson.

You know, he was right. There is a special way to fold the flag in a triangular shape with the only the blue field visible.

This made me think more about the flag and what it symbolizes.

The flag is a symbol of a living nation. As such, we are to treat the flag as if it is a living thing, according to flag etiquette. Thinking of it in this way makes it much easier for me to understand how to regard the flag.

At one time the flag was flown only from dawn to dusk and not at night. Now, however, it is considered correct to fly it at night as long it is illuminated. I hope it isn’t lonely out there all by itself. I hope it is brave like the 15 star flag that flew at night and inspired Francis Scott Key to write the Star Spangled Banner.

There is no official meaning for the colors of red, white and blue or reason given as to why they were chosen. Generally, it is thought that white is for purity and innocence, red for valor, and blue for vigilance, perseverance, and justice. These seem almost like human qualities, don’t they?

We have heard the legend of how Betsy Ross made the first flag at the request of George Washington, and that it was she who suggested the five-pointed star. This story is challenged by scholars, however, who believe it is unlikely.

The flag has one star for each state, and one stripe for each of the 13 original colonies. The blue area of the flag is known as the “union.” I think the flag probably enjoys its nickname of “Old Glory.”

Way back in 1942 a “Flag Code” was established by Congress, which is periodically updated and gives the rules about how to properly display the flag of our country. I found out it must be folded in the triangular shape only if it is to be displayed while folded. I think I’ll fold it in the triangular shape anyhow.

If you don’t mind waiting, you can have a flag that has flown over the Capitol Building for a very reasonable charge. You only have to contact your Congressman or Senator or visit their website. I suppose these flags feel very special since they have represented their county in Washington.

The flag can be flown on any day, but there are certain days that seem more appropriate to me: Flag Day, Memorial Day, Independence Day, and Veterans’ Day come to mind. However, I am so excited about the new flag that I can’t wait.

The flag is flying at my home now, waving freely and proudly, as it should. The feeling that comes from displaying the flag is the same as I remembered. We don’t have to wait for a holiday or a time of national disaster. We can be proud of our country any time we like.

So, show your colors. Keep our country’s symbol alive. Fly the American Flag!

©2007 Sheila Moss
Posted in Holidays | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Fourth of July

Posted on July 2, 2016 by Sheila Moss

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Every year about this time the fireworks tents begin to sprout out by the county line, and I know its almost here again – the 4th of July. As usual, I’m sitting around trying to decide the best way to spend the holiday.

This year things seem to boil down pretty much to three choices: a big public gathering, a gathering of friends at the park for a picnic, or a small family-type celebration.

The large public gatherings must be the best. They sure seem to attract plenty of people. The fireworks displays are large and loud. They usually have fantastic food – fantastically overpriced; beer – fantastically over consumed; and traffic jams – fantastically frustrating.

If I didn’t mind rubbing elbows with sweaty crowds and had plenty of money to waste, large gatherings might be a fun way to celebrate. Who knows, I might even be lucky enough to find a place to park without walking several miles from a parking lot.

Celebrating with friends seems like pleasant alternative. A quite day at the park with picnic food, lawn chairs, children, laughing, playing… becoming overly tired… obnoxious, whining children… fighting… arguing – flies buzzing around my delicious potato salad that has been sitting out for hours and is probably full of food poisoning. Serve those flies right if they get botulism.

Of course, there will be all sorts of fun things to do – softball, volleyball… in the hot, oppressive July weather. If the sunburn isn’t too bad, we might even get away in time to see the local fireworks. If traffic is the usual, we will watch them from the Interstate again this year.

Last but not least, there is the thought of simply staying at home and celebrating with family. My family is always happy to come by where there is free food. Let’s see, I will only need to start cooking a day or two ahead to get ready. Maybe we can barbecue, that’s easy. Of course, the grill will have to be cleaned.

Gee, wonder if I need to check the propane on that gas grill… hate to run out. The lawn needs to be mowed, and the lawn furniture hasn’t been cleaned this year. Boy, it sure is great to have a holiday so I can rest.

Of course, the family will probably come late, eat and run. They have to hurry to make it to fireworks. I can stay home and protect the roof from the bottle rockets the neighborhood kids are shooting and calm down the dog, who is terrified by the firecrackers.

What fun! Gee, I love a holiday! Sure hope it doesn’t rain.

©1998

How do you plan to spend the holiday?

Posted in Entertainment, Family, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Hurry Up and Wait

Posted on July 1, 2016 by Sheila Moss

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Why are we in such a hurry?  Would the world really end if we got where we are going 10 minutes later?  If it would, couldn’t we just leave 10 minutes sooner?  I had occasion to travel by plane and watch people – people in a great hurry.  They arrive at the airport and are immediately greeted by a line to check in luggage.

Because people are so impatient, there is also a kiosk to check in easier and, of course, faster.  People really in hurry have already printed their boarding pass so they can use express check in. They don’t want to stop at the ticket counter and stand in one of those time gobbling lines.

After finally getting rid of the luggage, it’s off to the concourse to find the departing gate.  Some people are so impatient, they don’t even check baggage at all, but drag it behind them on wheels.  “Saves time,” they say.  “Don’t have to wait to get your baggage when you get off.” Also, don’t have to worry about the airlines losing it, a really, big, super-duper time consumer.

So there they go, dragging suitcases on wheels, up ramps, down ramps, over moving sidewalks, up escalators, and down escalators, really saving a great deal of time.  If we could collect all the time saved at airports, we could probably extend the end of the world by billions of years.

Next comes that horrible time consuming obstacle, the scanner or metal detector.  Valuable seconds are lost emptying pockets, removing shoes, and poking purses and luggage through the conveyor belt.  If spare change or a belt buckle sets off an alarm, forget it! The hurried passenger becomes a hostage of the airport security guards for five or more minutes, at least, before they can be fleeced enough to satisfy the security guards that no madman with a firearm is boarding, intent on hijacking the plane.

Passing inspection, passengers are free to proceed, and proceed, and proceed.  Seems like they will never get there.  Why do airports always make the gates for impatient people the last gate at the end of the concourse?  It is almost as if they know who is impatient and planed it as a cruel joke.

At last, the correct gate is found, and another wait begins.  People fidget, they read, they use cell phones, laptop computers or watch TV, if there is one.  Why doesn’t the plane get here?  Don’t airlines know people are in a hurry?  Why do they think people fly?

At last the attendants come out.  Before they can announce the flight, the suitcase people, who were in too big a hurry to check in at the ticket counter, begin to line up.  After all, people in a hurry need to be first.

Finally, boarding begins and chaos evokes.  Never mind that seats are assigned.  People cannot wait; they stand by eagerly waiting for their row to be called so they can rush on the plane.  Some don’t wait, but cut ahead of others before their row is even called.  On the plane the early boarders who, of course, have wheeled luggage and are trying to put it in overhead compartments, block all the aisles.

The other people, who are also in a hurry, are very annoyed by not being able to get to their own seat and put their own wheeled luggage overhead.  Should the flight be delayed in taking off for a few minutes, people begin to fidget, murmur, and look at watches, sure they will never make their connection on time.

At the end of the flight, people are out of their seat belts and in the aisles before the plane can stop taxing. Bags are jerked from overhead compartments and impatience evokes until the door is finally opened and the hurry-up people run from the plane pulling their wheels behind them.

Yes, it really is too bad there is no way to collect up all the time saved at airports.  We could dole it out to the impatient passengers along with airline tickets and give them all sorts of time to board.  Guess it wouldn’t work, though.  They would want to save it in a plan for frequent fliers and get preferred seating – ahead of everyone else, naturally.

©1999 S Moss
Posted in Humor, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Parenting Payback

Posted on June 30, 2016 by Sheila Moss

Graduation

Some parents seem to suffer under the delusion that the affliction of parenthood will be ended if they ever get ‘em raised.  Yes, get ‘em out of diapers, get ‘em potty trained, socialize ‘em and teach them manners. Educate them and send them off into the world to live happily ever after.  Then sit back, hands folded, and smile about a job well done.

Wrong, wrong, wrong!  This is a fallacy  It never will happen.  They are always children, they never grow up, they always have problems, and they always come to parents for solutions.  “Once a parent, always a parent” is an old but true adage.  It never ends.  What happens is not that the small problems magically go away; instead they multiply and become large problems

The hardest chore facing a parent has nothing to do with snotty noses, scraped knees, or dirty diapers.  The really difficult challenge that all parents face is:  “How in the world to get rid of the brats.”  Every time we think the nest is finally empty, we turn around and one of the chicks is back in it.

They have graduated college and have no place to live.  They are having their fleabag apartment exterminated, so they come to stay with us.  They are out of a job and the landlord doesn’t understand financial crisis.  They are emotionally devastated and going through a breakup.  They are moving and need a temporary respite between landings.  They have a slob for a roommate – or they are the slob and the roommate has kicked them out.   The list is endless.

What can a parent do – barricade the door and have the phone disconnected?  Remember these are the same kids for whom we have changed diapers, gone to endless little league games, gone to PTA and Scout meetings, nursed through measles and flu, taken to music and swimming lessons, tutored through math, hauled to the orthodontist, taken to the emergency room for broken bones, given birthday parties, bandaged scraped knees and wounded egos, driven in car pools, and cried for with pride and relief when they finally graduated high school. How can a parent who is any sort of caring person turn down his or her own flesh and blood?  Yes, parents are a soft touch – we are stuck with the brats.

Even when we think that they are settled, have a job and are secure, we are still not rid of them.  They are irresponsible and don’t get life insurance. They fail to take care of dental needs and get the toothache.  Do we just let them suffer?  The dilapidated car breaks down or is wrecked and there is no transportation.  They become irresponsible with drugs, sex, alcohol, or get in legal trouble and need help. They spend more money than they earn and get into financial difficulty.  This is when it gets really tough.  Are they still kids when they begin to have adult problems?  In other words, the small problems that once were so important fade into insignificance.

The really strange thing is that everyone thinks his or her kids are immune.  “Not my kid,” they think.  Right!  Every parent thinks that if they raise their children “right,” they will grow up to be mature, responsible, self-sufficient adults.  So, show me one honest parent with grown children that has never had a problem of some kind with their adult offspring.  Our kids are human and have shortcomings just like the rest of us.  They fall down, and who is there to help them back to their feet?  Well, good old mom and dad, who else.

When do we draw the line, cut the apron strings with vigor, and force responsibility and independence, and when do we follow our heart and step in with assistance?  We grow weary of being used and have a right to have a life of our own.  How much help is too much help and at what point do parents turn their back and say “NO”?  If only the worse thing a parent had to worry about was muddy shoes and uneaten broccoli.

When the children finally become adults and are forced or alienated into some degree of self-sufficiency and maturity, parents are finally able to think of themselves and their own needs for the first time in a long while.  Then the grandchildren begin to come along.  Who better for a new parent to ask for advice than the person who raised them?  Suddenly, as a grandparent, the same person who knew nothing, as a parent is now smarter than the wisest guru.  There are discipline problems, sicknesses, babysitting needs.

And so, those of us who have chosen to procreate ourselves have made a permanent decision.  There is no escape.  Where do you go to divorce your children?  We are doomed to be parents for the rest of our lives.  We accept our curse because only with the punishment do we receive the rewards. We count our blessings not our troubles.

But somewhere deep inside, we secretly smile, not with happiness but with the sure knowledge that has come to us in our living of life.  With the new generation comes a new wisdom – ITS PAYDAY!  At last our ungrateful child will understand what it is really like to be a parent.  And the payback is innocently rocking in the cradle right now. As we look at the grandchild, we see our own child again, our genes reincarnated, ourselves.

The cycle is renewed. We feel the pending heartbreak before it even happens.

©1999 Sheila Moss
Posted in Family, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

The Waiting Game

Posted on June 29, 2016 by Sheila Moss

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It occurred to me that half of my life is spent waiting.  I was waiting for an elevator at the time of this astute revelation.  Elevators are so slow.  They seem to never be there when I am.  Somehow I get the feeling that they might be hiding in the basement, snickering like children and just waiting until I get halfway up the stairs to speed up to my floor, ding the bell, and pop open when it is too late.

I also spend a great deal of time waiting in traffic.  I commute to work from the suburbs and the “daily drive” is nearly always the “daily wait.”  I’m really not an impatient person.  No… really!  Some delay in life is unavoidable.  As I wait in traffic, or in a line, my life keeps slipping by without me.  I sometime feel that I might leave home in the morning a normal (more or less) middle-aged woman and arrive at work years later, a wrinkled and gray old codger.  When they ask me what happened, I will say, “The traffic was murder today.  Worst commute I ever had.”

I’ve read helpful time management hints, which suggest taking thing with you to do while waiting.  Then when unexpectedly delayed, there is something productive to do with the time.  Great idea, but I usually forget to take anything.  I did try balancing my checkbook while waiting in the doctor’s office once.  The man waiting next to me kept looking out of the corner of his eye see what my balance was and grinning.  Also, I really hated having the whole waiting room see me nearly cry when I couldn’t get things to balance.

For a while, I carried a paper back book in my purse which I could whip out and read.  I picked up that helpful suggestion in a time management class also.  It really doesn’t work too well.  Just as I get to the juicy part, I am at the front of the line, breathing hard, and then can’t remember what I wanted because I’m still thinking about the book.  Anyhow, the line at the post office is usually just long enough to be inconvenient, not long enough to actually get much reading done.

My newest aggravation with waiting is at the pharmacy.  Not too many of us seem to be able to get a few years past prime without having a pill of some sort or another that is necessary to keep us ticking.  There is always a line at the pickup window, and the person at the front of it always has a question about their medicine, a problem with their insurance, or wants to stand and chat with the pharmacist assistant about their ailment.  Good grief, lady, can’t you see there are 8 people in line?  Who cares about your gall bladder?

Lines and waits seem to be a part of the inevitable future on our over-crowded planet.  No matter want we want to do, if it is worth doing, it must be worth waiting in line.  I thought I had learned patience long ago.  It was a part of my higher education.  They taught us patience in college by having us stand in long waiting lines to register – psychology students called it behavior modification.

I wonder if the necessity of unavoidable waits is a large part of our affair with the cell phone.  It is something to do while waiting.  We can always use the time to text home and say, “I’ll be late.”

Well, I might as well get used to it.  “Time lost is gone forever,” as they say in the book of familiar quotations.  Maybe I’ll just be like the little old ladies who carry their knitting wherever they go.  I could probably knit sweaters for all the homeless in the city during the commute to work in the mornings.  Of course, I’ll have to learn to knit first.  Wonder if the homeless could use some cross-stitched items instead?

It all seems so hopeless.  If you have any suggestions, be sure to let me know. I’ll be waiting….

©1999 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor, Rants | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

The Rocking Chair

Posted on June 28, 2016 by Sheila Moss

Front Porch

How long since you saw anybody rocking on a real rocking chair?  I’m not talking about the kind that sits still and only the top part of the chair rocks.  I’m talking about REAL rocking chairs, the kind with curved rockers on the bottom – the kind that makes the cats scream, grab their tails, and run with fear.

Rocking chairs are said to be a part of the American character. Back in Early American times, we were a people always on the move. We came here seeking a new beginning, a new life in a new place. We were pioneers, always moving, crossing the country, pushing the frontier, couldn’t be satisfied.  Seems we could not be still, even when sitting… so we put rockers on our chairs.  Today we are on the go more than ever. We have become too busy even for our rocking chairs.

Now, I had a great rocking chair at one time. It was the old-fashioned kind, dozens of layers of paint on it. My mother rocked me on it when I was a baby; then when I was too old to be rocked, it went to the front porch where the grownups sat after supper to enjoy the coolness of evening and watch the kids chase lightning bugs. When I became a mom, I confiscated it and took it home.  I rocked my babies on it once upon a time. But they too grew up, as babies will. The rocking chair fell into disuse and became clutter and an eyesore.

The old rocking chair had a second life for a while. I had the layers of paint removed, the chair was refinished, and a new rush seat replaced the old one.  The chair moved to my living room for a season where it squeaked and creaked if anyone used it, joints loosened by age and absence of the paint that was probably helping to hold it together. But my house now, like so many newer and smaller homes, has few nooks and crannies and no place for a big old space-gobbling chair with rockers trailing out behind and knobs bumping into things.

It’s in the attic now. Nowadays, rockers are not seen as a necessity. Baby swings are electric. Babies are rocked automatically without human intervention. But, you know, something is lost by putting our rocking chairs in the attic or relegated them to an unused front porch while we stay inside in the air-conditioned comfort. There is something very basic to about the rocking rhythm of these chairs, like being in a mother’s womb – rocking in rhythm with ourselves and with the world.

I’ve been doing a lot of walking lately for the exercise and for the joy.  I like to walk late in the afternoon about twilight, when the fireflies come out and the day is coming to an end. Funny, I had not noticed all the empty rocking chairs sitting on porches before. Guess its a southern thing; I don’t remember any rocking chairs on porches at all when I lived in the North. In the South, we remember our heritage, rocking and being rocked, but we don’t rock anymore.  Rocking chairs have become a decorative item, a memory of a distant past when things were simpler. They have lost their function, to rock, to soothe, to remind us of where we came from.

I think maybe I’d better find that old chair and make a place for it somehow. Maybe I need to make time to rock, to rock my grandchild like I rocked his mother and like my mother rocked me, to make rhythmic memories while there is still time.

©1999 Sheila Moss
Photo Sheila Moss
Posted in Home, Humor, Southern Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Who Burned the Popcorn?

Posted on June 27, 2016 by Sheila Moss

popcorn

With the advent of modern technology, a new convenience has come to the office along with computers, printers, copiers, and fax machines.  This new convenience is the office microwave.  Most offices have one hidden someplace where employees can sneak in to warm their frozen dinners or a cup of hot water for tea.  Ours happens to be in an empty cubicle right next to me.

What we are going to talk about today is the popularity of the microwave for making popcorn.  While it is convenient to have a fresh snack during work breaks, not everyone remembers to watch the popcorn while popping it.  They simply throw it in the microwave, turn the knob, and take off to do something else while it pops.  This brings up the obvious problem of burnt popcorn.  Every so often, someone burns popcorn and the whole office smells, to the dismay of the other employees who must work in the stench.

Now, I must admit that I too like microwave popcorn.  However, I am always very careful to watch the microwave and to stand closely by while the popcorn pops so I can listen for the tell-tale slow down in popping sounds that signals when it is time to take it out.  Also, I stay tuned for the smallest whiff of smoke and snatch the popcorn instantly from the microwave oven if something goes awry, long before it burns badly enough to fill the office with a burned popcorn smell.

Last week I decided that lunch did not quite satisfy me, and some popcorn would be delicious. I put my bag of corn in the microwave as usual, and set the time as usual, but was then distracted from my cooking duties by a ringing phone.  I was not worried as I could hear the popcorn popping furiously.  Then suddenly, it happened.  There was the unmistakable smell of something burning to a crisp even though the popcorn was still popping like crazy.

I ran to snatch it out.  Too late!  The bag didn’t look burned, but the smoke smell was awful.  I could not believe it, but I was guilty.  What do you do with burned popcorn?  I dared not open it as the smell would get out and become even worse.  No place to throw it away where it would not continue smoking and no way to get outside except down eight floors on an elevator.  I was afraid that the fire sprinklers would activate.

Who burned the popcorn?”  Exclaimed a fellow worker.

I considered playing innocent, but figured they would sniff me out sooner or later.  “It was me,” I admitted.

Soon others were coming around to see: “Who burned the popcorn?”

“I did,” I confessed.  The aroma was all over the office by now.

Every time someone else came by, it was the same question, “Who burned the popcorn?”

I sank lower and lower into my chair, as I was forced to admit over and over that I was the one stupid enough to burn up my popcorn in the office microwave.  I stole the deodorizer spray out of the restroom and sprayed, but it didn’t help much.  Even worse, after the terrible odor finally subsided, it seemed to be reactivated every time someone else used the microwave to warm anything, even water.

“What is that smell?” they kept asking.

“Er… I guess it is from my popcorn,” was my humiliated reply, as I endured looks that were like bullets of ice. Finally someone decided to check out the problem.  Looking all the way in the back of the microwave, they pulled out a lump of charcoal that appeared to have been a dinner roll in another life.  Apparently, the roll was left in the microwave and forgotten until I came along with my popcorn and incinerated it.  No telling how long it had been in there before I made it hot enough to burn up.

Wait a minute!  You mean it was not my popcorn after all that caused the problem, but somebody else’s forgotten roll?  I’ve been admitting to something that I’m not guilty of all this time?  I can’t believe it.  I’m innocent!  INNOCENT!  It was NOT my popcorn burning!

My joy was short lived.  Somehow it no longer seems to matter to anyone what burned.  I’d been labeled as one who burns popcorn, and my stigma as a villain seems destined to stay.

“What’s that smell?  Is someone popping corn?”

©1999 Sheila Moss
Posted in Food, Humor, Work Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 6 Comments

Things I’ve Learned from Fireflies

Posted on June 26, 2016 by Sheila Moss

Let your light shine – no matter how small.

Don’t be afraid of flying in the dark.

Keep a few secrets – let ‘em wonder.

Believe in magic and life will be more fun.

Even an ugly bug can be beautiful.

Don’t wait until the Fourth of July for fireworks.

Life is short, so shine while you can.

Take a little time for dancing in the dark.

It’s okay to be a glitter bug.

Nothing can ever outshine nature.

Delight in simple things.

Bugs need love too.

Even a worm can glow.

If you don’t want to be caught, fly fast…

Things don’t have to be understood to be enjoyed.

Ask why…but don’t expect an easy answer.

Hold things you love loosely and learn to let them go.

If people don’t understand you, it doesn’t really matter.

Take time to celebrate life.

If your light goes out, wait a minute.

The best things in life are still free.

©1999 Sheila Moss
Posted in Creatures, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

Defeated by a Scanner

Posted on June 24, 2016 by Sheila Moss

desktoppc

When do you say enough is enough?

I have just about been “done in” by technology.  Attempting to add a scanner to my PC, I had high hopes and bright ideas of all the wonderful things I would be able to do.  The software installation seemed to go well. All the “next, next, next” buttons flew by and finally the “finish.”  I even passed the “test.”

But when I attempted to run the program, I began to receive a series of “illegal operation” errors.  The computer was having a nervous break down, and I was not far behind.  Why, why, oh, why did I put that stupid scanner software on my computer?  My whole system had gone berserk.

I put in an emergency distress call to my computer manufacturer’s support line and got some even worse news.  My error message showed the system had software with a corrupt file (no kidding).  Solution: Take off all the software and reload it until I found the program causing the problem.  “Well, thanks for the information and I’ll think about it.”  A bit drastic, even though my computer was having a tantrum and sending up skyrockets by now.

I decided to call the manufacturer of the funky scanner and get help.  But two frustrating hours later and even the manufacturer’s tech support technician called it quits, saying it was a conflict with my anti-virus software and that the program could not be loaded.

Now, I remember the day I put that anti-virus software on the machine.   It was being eaten alive by a bug, barely running even in safe mode. That software killed the virus dead.  Let’s not bad mouth the anti-virus folks.  Let’s send ’em love notes.

I decided to try to uninstall the new scanner program.  Voile!  It worked!  No more “illegal operation” messages.  Everything functioned again like magic. I now had a better idea than removing my anti-virus program.  I packed up the scanner and hotfooted it back to the computer store to return it before the 10 days return policy ran out.

Sometimes you just must know when to say when.

One of these days when my hair quits being frizzed and my teeth quit chattering, I’m gonna take the anti-virus software off, buy a scanner, load it, hope it works, reload my anti-virus software and see if it all works together.  For now, though, I am once again “scanner less” – but the good news is I’m no worse off than I was to start with.

I would like to have an old computer and a mallet.  Every time I feel frustrated I would pick up the mallet and smash the computer, sort of like Gallagher smashing watermelons.  Maybe that could preserve my sanity.

©1998 Sheila Moss
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