Tonight I washed Robby's two litter boxes outside...by the light of the silvery light bulb. I was supposed to wash them in the afternoon with real live daylight. But it worked out just fine at 9:45 PM, and the air was a lot cooler, too.

Watched the movie The Talk of the Town. Tons of fun. I have to watch it again because it took me two weeks to watch it just once and I want to get my money's worth before mailing it back to Netflix. Really entertaining movie starring Cary Grant, Jean Arthur (my fav) and Ronald Colman. I didn't watch a little bit of the movie every day for two weeks. It sat in it's little Netflix envelope for two weeks, is what I mean. I'll bet you knew that.

I'm going to have a campfire and burn all my sports bras. (Hope no men read this blog besides Mike.) Down with sports bras forever!!! When I was at exercise class Monday night, my dumb new sports bra was TOO TIGHT. It shifted all my bones and muscles to the wrong spots. The next morning I woke up in agony because the pain went straight through from my upper left back to my heart. My heart is still out of kilter.

And not only that, but one day I wore one of two new sports bras that I bought that are the long style that covers your stomach. I had one on under my t-shirt all day. Then I wondered why my back was tight as a drum and tied up in knots. I ripped that straight jacket off and instantly felt tingles, like life flowing back into the...back.

This, my girlfriends, is why I am having a bra burning session. Sports bras, that is. Three strikes, since we're talking sports. Well, I'll see if DTD wants them, she did take the yellow one from exercise class already. Said it was pretty. She was funny, when she was stealing my rolls of paper towels, she came out of the laundry room, which is my "garage," and said, Are you throwing this away? She held up a black Champion sports bra that I had thrown in the good-bye pile because it was old and the elastic in the bottom band was all loose and ripply. Know what I mean? DTD didn't care, she stuffed it down the tube of the paper towels and off she went.

WHY? Why do I try anything at all besides eating and sleeping? And playing with R and J? Anything new and different, like Stretch and Strengthen, turns out very badly. So, this exercise class is no longer one of my pickles.

Yep, I read in the AAA Magazine that the best way to learn to manage your time is to think of a jar of pickles. The author said there were 415 million or so results when she Googled Time Management. Have you ever? So forget everything you ever read and go pickles.

Big fat pickles are your main and most important objectives for the day. You can have 3 or 4 at the most. Well, rocks. Next, you throw some pebbles in the jar and shake them down around the big dills. Pebbles are other but lesser things you would like to accomplish that day, at least a couple of them, like email and blog, heh, heh. Then you add sand which is your chores and other daily stuff. Then you pour in water and that represents family and you time.

The lady promises if you think pickles, you will learn effective time management.

I'm going for it because it sounds too easy.

You know the other day when I read about small houses and decluttering? One lady said that we own 50% more stuff than we need. Honest to goodness, I've said that many times myself. It was fun to see if verified in print by an organizing expert. I enjoy that kind of validation for my loopy ideas.

My good friend BJH commented on yesterday's blog. If you go back and read her comment, she tells you how to...comment. CAE, I want you to try this and see if you can comment. I will be looking for your comment. Good luck with trying to comment. Hey, I'm starting to sound like Bernard P. Fife. But JEO told me she left a comment last week and it never came through, because I never saw it...the comment, that is.

Looking forward to my Sunday afternoon nap,
KEM

Hello there.

A cat's tongue can cover some ground. 3 feet in one second.

Also, your blood travels 4 million miles a day.

The first fact is factual. I read in the newspaper today how a cat drinks, which is very elegantly.

And the second one, I believe that is what my exercise lady from church read from a book while we were resting on the floor after strenuous exercise. It sounds a little far fetched, doesn't it? 4 million miles? But with God in charge, that would be nothing to Him. Still, don't quote me because my brain may have been strained after exercising. But that's what she said, I know it.

Robby does not like to play with his muskrat on the fishing pole much these days. He had the new muskrat and ate the long tale off in short order. I wasn't too happy. He also plucked the dragonfly off the carpet scratcher in no time flat. And I can't find either one of these severed items. Robby has a new game. He sits on the bed and I toss the sheet over him and it billows down slowly all around him. He loves that.

Animals sure have a lot of down time, don't they?

This is short tonight because I had stomach problems today, which started yesterday. You can see how stomach problems and a short blog would go hand in hand, can't you?

Is everyone ready for the holiday season to begin? I'm not especially doing the holidays this year. It's such a relief to know I have no expectations this year. Then, anything I do accomplish will be pure bonus :)

I have some friends saying they left a comment, but the comments didn't show up. And another friend doesn't know how to leave a comment, apparently it isn't obvious how to do it, or she would be doing it. She said I would be able to tell her how, but that is essentially untrue. It's a good thing I don't blog for a living.

KEM, the blogging flake

Hi.

Old age is ruining me.

The lovely German girl who is coming to watch our pets, she is one of those who finds organizing to be therapeutic. She is OCD, did I say that right? Today I emailed her and said I hoped she didn't mind a little clutter and dust. She wrote back that she didn't mind at all and that I should leave her an organizing project to do, because that would be therapy for her, not work. This wonderful person needs to move in next door. I really need someone like her in my life.

She also promised I didn't need to worry about my frying pan walking off. She would guard the gates and supervise any coming and going activity and be sure my possessions did not escape under the radar. I'm not worried in the least, with her in charge. She's under 30 years of age and 1,000% capable and nice. And all she wants for all this is some German cheese and sausage.

Anyway, I feel better that maybe my house doesn't have to be perfect for her. I don't know, I'm so sick and tired of my slovenly little self. And I'll bet you are, too. Maybe I won't talk about it anymore. It's a disease.

Yesterday when I got my hair colored, I asked Celia if my hair was long enough for an updo. She busted up laughing. In short, my hair is not long enough for a do of any kind. But we might try a faux do. The owner of the salon (she used to do my hair, kind of embarrassing!) said I needed to come in and let them do my make up and hair (fake French twist or something) and then go get a picture taken. Well, she is right, and I hope they do the do.

I forgot what I was going to blog on tonight. So this is why you are getting mishmash. I did read about living in itty bitty houses and decluttering today. Oh, and what else is new?

Why can't I write about Quik Chik and 8 Layer Cake? 'Cause I'm too tired, that's why. Women over 50, PLEASE tell me there is HOPE!!!

KEM of the Konsumption P.S. My avocado was perfect tonight. Remember my blog on how I can't spell avacodo? That must have been a year ago, at least!

S & S blog tonight (Short and Sweet).

If you haven't seen the Youtube of the singing of the Hallelujah Chorus in Macy's, this is what you might like to do. Go to Youtube.com and where it says SEARCH, type in Hallelujah Chorus at Macy's. What it is, is a 650 voice choir (composed of many choirs in Philadelphia). But it just looks like Macy's is having a good turn out of shoppers that day. The organ (the largest in the world, 28,000 pipes, for Corn's sake) is playing a nice piece and then, without warning, you hear the familiar strains of the Hallelujah Chorus introduction. I immediately got the chills when the voices came in. Really and truly, to me the Hallelujah Chorus is THE most magnificent song on the planet. How can all souls not help but rise up and worship the living Christ when this music sounds forth?

This "performance" was part of a program called Random Acts of Culture. Isn't that super cool? And good for Macy's for participating. I'm all for innovative ways of stirring some passion for classical music. But this was so special because it exalted the Lord. I was thinking, Wonder how long before the ACLU sues Macy's. Then I read a bunch of the comments on Youtube and someone else expressed the same sentiment. Well, praise God, I felt this idea was very hopeful and inspiring.

And, when the music started, guess who came trotting up, meowing, and jumped on the computer desk? Not only that, I played the video a second time and guess who came trotting up, meowing, a second time? I should figure out which instrument to start Robby on.

Then DTD appeared. Then she disappeared into the downstairs hallway and then into the laundry room. She reappeared with her hands full of rolls of paper towels and TP. Glad to oblige.

DTD is insulted that we fly to Germany on her birthday. Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking having a baby in mid-December. December 13th. It's hard to pull off Thanksgiving, DTD'S birthday and Christmas, all in your basic one fell swoop. Last year for her birthday I got her an ornament tree called The 12 Days of Christmas. My sister said she and DTD had seen it in a Crate and Barrel catalog and DTD seemed smitten with it. I thought, Perfect! Because there are exactly 12 days from her birthday to Christmas.

She took it back.

I'm supposed to get my 15 minutes of sun between noon and 3 PM. Mike's nutritionist said so. Rats. At least there is sun on the back deck at that time. You are supposed to expose as much skin as you can, too. Just sayin'.

Worried about cleaning the house because our German friend is going to stay with the pets while we are in Germany, and Germans are famous for being CLEAN FREAKS!!! I am in deep trouble.

In DEEP,
KEM

Now. You know I am trying to get my 15 minutes of Florida sunshine these days, to boost my Vitamin D absorption. This is easier said than done...as is everything with KEM. Back in the pleasant days, before I knew of the D Deficiency, my sister said, Anyone living in Florida cannot help but get enough sun. Meet KEM. I live in my house, which happens to be in Florida. I am a hermit. When my sister said that, I assumed the amount of sun filtering into the house or car was going to do it for me. But of course it did not. Here I am, a resident of a state and city that are peninsulas, sunshine galore for the taking, and I never even get to the beach except the week after Christmas when my sister visits. And I get there once, just to be sociable. Let's face it, I do not DESERVE to live in Florida.

Now. Today I read that 8 out of 10 Americans have low Vitamin D levels. This means, dear blogee, you very well may be one of them. Then I read on Debra Lynn Dadd's site (she is the green lady, expert in all things chemical-free) an interesting discussion on...our favorite buddy Vitamin D. The best kinds of Vit D, the best tests to see where you're at (throwing in some good English here) and what to tell your doctor. HA! I don't have the nerve to tell my doctor anything, unless he asks. Oh, Doctor, did you know I need this other blood test for my levels and not the standard one? Fortunately, I have a wonderful doctor who is a gentleman and might just tolerate such insubordination. But I guess docs don't know everything. My grandfather held the opinion that if a doctor told me my head was on backwards and needed to be chopped off and turned around, I'd say, Why, sure, go right ahead.

Which is to say, I guess if your intuition is telling you to challenge, or at least suggest, to your doctor that you are worried about overdosing the dear good vitamins, then go ahead and spit it out (throwing in a little elegance here).

So, all that to get to the punch line. As many of you know, I am nocturnal. Which means by the time I roll out of bed and do my little afternoon routine and it's finally time to bask in the sun for 15 minutes, the sun is about to go sleepy-bye, especially since the time change, the time change doesn't suit me AT ALL. In the late afternoon I have found a 2 x 2 square of sunshine right by my front door, but today I was so late, even that speck had been swallowed up in shadows.

So, being resourceful (and desperate), I dragged my moldy white plastic chair (which I'm leaving by the curb in hopes someone will swipe it), Jazzi on a leash, Robby dangling from my arm and my cell phone in my hand (so I can register the 15 minutes and call my sister) to the neighbor's driveway, which had that elusive patch of sunshine. After getting situated, which took some doing -- getting the best angle for the sun, getting Jazzi's leash pinned under the chair leg, squeezing a squirming cat and concentrating on not dropping the cell phone (my specialty), I finally plopped down in the Moldy White Plastic Chair (not as appealing sounding as the great children's book, Lily's Purple Plastic Purse).

And what to my wondering eyes should appear, when I glanced down at the grass at my feet?

Either a VERY LARGE mouse or a rather smallish rat. A mouse/rat that had seen better days. A non-living mouse/rat. A mouse/rat that has become a feast for flies. A mouse/rat basking in the waning sun, but hardly able to enjoy it. I wonder if he was short of Vitamin D and had the same idea I did, but was too late and merely collapsed in valiant effort, too exhausted from the sunshine search, his last drop of vitamin D used up, forevermore (getting a little absurd here).

Now. It took a while but Robby finally looked down and spotted it (I think Robby is too intrigued by the outdoors in general to be rat-specific at this time). He did a little start. I have to say, that Robby is a doll. You know he wants to jump down and run in the worst way; he sits and stares out the French windows ev-e-ry day (I should fashion that into a poem). And even with a smokin' hot stinkin' dead rat, he was obedient and stayed put in mommy's arms. Mostly.

I'm just saying. This was a KEM ONLY. ONLY KEM could pick the last spot of sunshine in the sunshine city (St. Petersburg's official nickname) and about sit on top of a dead rat, all the while juggling the aforementioned items and people. Getting my Vitamin D is a dangerous risky enterprise. Who would have thunk?

On to lighter fare. Tonight I was practicing, and Robby just loves to stare behind the music rack and watch the hammers move, I've told you this. I wish my former piano pupils had been so rapt. Well, he was curled up in the corner, on the treble keys, and had his little face peering through the music rack. It was way too adorable, and I was forced to pull a "miracle." I grabbed my cell phone and SOMEHOW took a picture. I've never taken a cell phone picture before. Only by accident.

But desperation is truly the mother of resourcefulness (see above), because I quickly started pressing buttons, any old buttons, until I was told I could take and save a picture. Robby, hang on, don't move! I took two, because, I'm telling you, I'm sending it into the newspaper where every Wednesday they print these adorable pet pictures, with captions. The newspaper asks for submissions, If your pet is being cute... Oh boy, Robby Cute Mader is going to have his 15 minutes of fame if his mommy has anything to say about it. What could my caption be? Robby...an American Rachmaninoff. Cat bears resemblance to Chopin...check out the profile.

Umm...maybe you all should help me out here. Clever captions, anyone?

Sharing the last slice of sunshine with a smouldering ratty mouse,
KEM P.S. Mike and I don't agree on the use of cloth placemats. He says they are for spilling on. I say they are for trying NOT to spill on.

Mike was going to comment that we didn't see the bomb coming because our eyes were locked over dinner. Well nice try, Mike. Robby landed practically in the middle of the table, and I'm glad he narrowly avoided landing on the dinner plate. He landed in a full sitting position. Very strange and shocking, I'm telling you.

Robby's new favorite place is our walk-in closet, on the ladder we leave set up in there. He climbs to the fifth step and then steps up to the paint can shelf, which extends out beyond the steps. This shelf has a circle area where you set your can of paint. He sets the main part of his body in this round area. Pants are draped over the top of the ladder and hang down by this paint shelf, making it all too cozy to resist. It just slays me. Robby takes naps up there all the time, it's always twilightish in that closet, just-right darkness. I think he likes the feeling of superiority that comes with height. And control. He is King of the Land up there. Plus, we leave the closet door open and this gives him the perfect view to see anyone entering the bedroom. The cats have it.

I'm still reeling from Zenyatta's near miss. Like I said, I have no business watching sports.

In the interest of going to bed early tonight, this is all she wrote, folks!

KEM