Of Packed Schedules and Sleep-Inducing Pills by Konnie Enos

 Going back to school to get my bachelor’s degree is proving to be something of a challenge.

Every other time I’ve enrolled in higher education, I took 12 credits, maybe 13, per semester. This semester I have 14 credits. This equates to 14 hours of classes per week. So, a part-time job.

Only it’s not 14 hours because you’ll have to compute the amount of time that you’ll need to get all the homework done. The general rule is 3 to 4 hours a week per credit, 14 times three is 42. Increase that to four and it’s 56 hours a week. Which means I’m spending seven to nine hours a day, six days a week on schoolwork.

Is it any wonder I’m having difficulty keeping up with my other responsibilities? Like writing my post regularly. Worse still, about half my weekly assignments are due on Wednesday. (Please note which day my post goes up.) Then the rest are due on Saturday.

Yes, I work ahead as much as possible, but I still end up with plenty due on both days.

What brought on all this introspection about the number of hours I’m putting in?

I realized that the minimum number of credits I had left to do to complete my degree is 15. Only that last credit is an internship, one in which I’ll have to have a job or internship of at least 15 hours a week. Fifteen plus 42 is 57 while 56 plus 15 is 71, 10-to-12-hour days, six days a week. I wonder how much I’d be able to get done then.

With that in mind, I investigated extending my college experience at least one more semester. Changing my last semester to the Summer semester sounded the easiest but there was one hitch. Of the six classes I have left, only one of them is offered over the Summer semester. Fortunately, that’s the internship.

Okay, so take another 14-credit semester then finish off with my internship over the short summer semester. I took the time to investigate what exactly I had to do to set up the internship class.

I’ll have to find at least a part-time job to use for my internship. So instead of putting it off until I graduate, I need to find a job now.

Fun.

Not.

So now I’m adding locating jobs and submitting applications to them into my already busy schedule.

What else could possibly make things more stressful for me?

Apparently, I already asked that.

How do I know?

Saturday night I noticed my left lower lid was sore to the touch and swelling. The last time I had issues with swelling in my eyelid it affected my vision. When it got so bad I couldn’t even read the street signs, I went for help. I cleared up the swelling, but not my vision. Turned out I needed cataract surgery. With it swelling again I thought of all the possible causes, pink eye being the first one on my mind.

I had Jerry take me to a Quick Care Monday morning, only to discover that yet one more medical provider in this whole valley has no clue how to deal with my primary insurance. For me, getting medical care is being more and more difficult because there aren’t many places around here that even know what ChampVA is, and they either don’t take it, or they stop taking it for whatever reason. The only quick cares around here I haven’t tried don’t take my secondary insurance.

My only other option for urgent care is the ER.

Fortunately, there is a stand-alone ER nearby that isn’t generally swamped.

A couple of hours later they’re offering me several medications for my first dose and prescriptions to take home and continue treatment. One of those medicines was to help decrease the swelling. A side effect of said medicine is sleep.

It’s Monday.

I have a bunch of reading to do to complete all my assignments due on Wednesday. Every time I attempted to read my textbook (boring enough in its own right) I zonked out. By the end of the day, I’d managed maybe half of the reading I needed to do.

The first thing to do was not plan on taking that medicine in the morning.

The second thing, let my teachers know I may have issues getting done with my homework this week.

Okay, now I’ve got things back under control.

Right up until about a half-hour after I took my medicine last night. You know about the time I started dozing off and realized I still had this post to write. So, if it’s disjointed or rambling, blame it on the pills.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

My Funny Bone by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

My nephew called me the other day and he asked me to tell him a funny story from something I’d written. My response was to say, “Kid, you’re better off asking your mom.”

He simply kept asking me to tell him a funny story from what I’ve written. Giving up, I tried to relay to him my “easy as pie” scene.

This scene is in the middle of one of my finished novels but the setup is this: a group of girls including the heroine, her two young cousins, two sisters of the hero, his nephew, and one of his cousins. The heroine, the older of the two sisters, and cousin are working on sewing and chatting, while her cousin’s and the little sister were playing, the baby nephew was napping. Also, this room is on the third floor.

    Anyway, while they are in there, a man who was trying to usurp power, tried to kick out everyone in that room. (I might point out the mother of the nephew was not in the room.)

Well, the heroine and her friends moved a huge piece of furniture against the door to keep this guy out, but then the hero’s cousin climbed out the window to get help.

That’s the setup.

Once the guy is dealt with and hauled away, the hero and his entire extended family show up to calm down the little ones and just be together as a family, and they asked about the cousin climbing out the window.

She said, “Well there’s a ledge there, and I was able to get to the balcony, easy as pie.”

At this, the hero looks out the window, studies the barely-there ledge then faces the roomful saying, “I take it pie isn’t easy.”

Okay, that’s the extent of my being funny.

Konnie (the mom of said nephew) can write funny scenes, and she does it all the time. And clearly said nephew can because he is the son Konnie wrote about a while back because she’d learned he made up these hilarious tales about a fictional hero and the people around him, which he had claimed was a show he was watching.

But see, the one thing I didn’t get is the family funny bone. While Konnie on the other hand did get it. This would be one way we are different.

Another way we are different is that Konnie has trouble writing from a male POV. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to tell her she has her male characters all wrong.

I promise if she didn’t have me helping her with her male POVs she’d never be able to finish a believable story.

The converse of that is that I have problems with shy or scaredy-cat female characters. Konnie has had occasion to correct me on that.

Strong female characters I’m great at.

Let’s just say I don’t do shy and retiring.

Maybe this difference is that as a kid, my best friend for many years was a male cousin of ours. I played with the boys more than the girls until around the time I hit puberty.

Konnie on the other hand always played with the girls, and for that matter, she used to be very shy. That was never me.

I was the one protecting her.

Though I can remember one time when it was the big brothers of my friend who protected us.

This would have been in like first grade.

We were on the playground, and I noticed Konnie and her friend (the one time her friend was the boy) were surrounded by fifth and sixth graders.

I ran in to protect my sister, my friend run in to protect me, and well, two of her older brothers were also on the playground but another two were on the football field at the junior high next door and all four of these boys came running to defend their baby sister.

Needless to say, the bullies scattered at this point.

I might also point out this was one of the few times I made friends with a girl, not a boy, but in this case, she was a bit of a tomboy since she only had brothers.

I can’t remember anymore, but as far as I recall, she was the youngest and only girl, of five or six kids. And no, they were not redheads!

But like I said, I usually played with the boys back then.

Actually, that year was an anomaly for both of us, since she was the one with a male playmate that year, and I was the one with a female playmate.

Anyway, now I need to get back to work on my sci-fi.

So, happy writing everyone!

The Washing Machine Saga by Konnie Enos

 

One to two years ago I started noticing that my clothes were starting to look old, even taking on a grey tinge. It was some months after I noted this that my daughter insisted we change from a powder detergent to a liquid one.

Why?

Because those family members with a lot of dark clothes were noticing a visible amount of soap residue on their supposedly clean clothes. Liquid detergent couldn’t be leaving that residue.

Ah! That might explain the grey tinge.

It was a few months later that I noticed my clothes were starting to retain some stains, making them look even older with the still present grey tinge. Then my kids started complaining that the agitator wasn’t working. Though, every time I checked it, it worked.

Then Royce started complaining that his clothes and bedding still stank after washing them. (More like Melinda complained.) I put that up to his sweat issues and the fact he didn’t do his laundry often enough.

Then one day I went to put on a supposedly clean nightgown and it smelled and felt like I’d lived in it for a week. None of my pajamas smelled clean.  That’s about when the kids said the agitator had stopped altogether.

Okay, there is a problem.

Solution. New machine.

New problem, well old problem. No money.

Okay, Jerry has a Home Depot card. I checked it for an available balance.

Okay, real problem.

In the process of making sure we had a working toilet in our main bathroom, we’d maxed out his card. I mean I pay on it regularly but there seems to always be something else that needs repairs. That and the money Jerry invests every year to try to raise a garden. (Try being the operative word.)

So I looked at what money I did have.

We are in luck. I’d saved a substantial sum to cover a once-a-year bill and it ended up being less than I’d anticipated. I planned for that to be a “rainy day fund”.

Well, it’s a rainy day. So I investigated getting a new machine.

I went to Home Depot and looked at some models. I even asked an employee to help me find one that would meet our needs. Our biggest one is a large capacity, mostly because the men in our household tend to just dump all their clothes in at once without sorting. (Mostly unnecessary when most everything you own is jeans or dark-colored t-shirts.)

With the employee’s help, Royce and I debated the merits of models with and without the agitator. We finally settled on one, which was on sale, without an agitator. Due to our inability, lacking a truck, to transport a washing machine, I placed an order, with free delivery and set up, plus hauling away the old machine. This was near Christmas so due to the holiday we had a wait a week or so for delivery.

Now here’s the thing about this machine. It is the most expensive appliance I’ve bought ever bought, (our fridge wasn’t quite this much). This thing is full of technology. We don’t even have to select the water level (size of the load) we need because it senses how much is in the tub and fills accordingly.

Now my kids took right to it and figured out how to use it the very first day. Royce even figured out how to connect it to his phone or something. (He can control it from his phone.) Me, it took a bit. The first couple of times I had to have Melinda set it for me. I understand it’s harder to learn new things as you get older, and this grandma isn’t getting any younger.

Of course, one of the first things we noticed was our clothes were smelling clean again.

I don’t know about anybody else, but recently I noticed the stains on my clothes were much less noticeable. So our old machine hadn’t been cleaning anything for quite some time.

The other day, while I was folding my last batch of clean laundry, I realized that the grey tinge was even fading. I contemplated that fact for a few minutes then figured out this rough outline of just how long our old machine had needed to be replaced.

Hopefully, we won’t have another major repair or expense anytime soon because my “rainy day fund” is gone now. Story of my life. I think that’s the only time I ever had such a fund.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Cats vs Teenagers by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

I read somewhere recently that having a dog is like having a toddler and having a cat is like having a teenager. And I question that.

For starters, teenagers don’t normally wake you up in the middle of the night demanding attention, but cats, like babies, are quite good at doing that.

And when was the last time a teenager ever curled up in bed with their parents? I can’t roll over in bed most of the time without Patches screeching at me because he was already there.

Now I can see comparing dogs to toddlers, they can make messes and are loud, unlike cats, but let's face it, cats can make messes too. Sometimes navigating my place is hazardous, not just because Patches is underfoot but because of his toys that he leaves all over the place (sound familiar?)

This person was comparing cats to teenagers because they ignore you and do whatever they want, well guess what, whatever they want is leaving their toys all over the place and purposefully knocking your stuff onto the floor. That sounds more like a toddler to me.

When I was a teenager, I didn’t crawl into my parents’ bed in the middle of the night, and I at least knew how to pick up after myself. Cats do curl up in bed with their “parent” and they don’t know how to pick up after themselves, let alone won’t.

Now I know there are teenagers who won’t pick up after themselves, but they should know how to do it, and if they don’t it's their parents’ fault for not teaching them. Try teaching a cat to pick up for themselves. They are incapable of learning that skill.

And yes, dogs are loud, like a toddler, especially when someone shows up at the door, but you can’t tell me cats don’t know when someone is coming. I know better.

Like dogs, they do have a keen sense of hearing and smell. They know when someone is coming.

I’ve had a lot of cats over the years, and I can’t remember a time when a cat of mine didn’t suddenly leave the room moments before someone knocked on my door. Patches certainly hears them coming and I know by his actions he hears them.

I’ve watched him. He’ll suddenly aim for the bedroom but stop in the middle of the living room focused on the front door for a few seconds. If he settles down and relaxes in his place, whoever it was will walk past my kitchen window aiming for the neighbor’s apartment within seconds. If he changes direction and heads out his cat window, he knows and likes whoever is coming, he went out to greet them. If he runs to hide under the bed, someone he doesn’t know is about to knock on my door.

Dogs are noisier about alerting that people are coming, but cats also alert that people are coming, you just need to pay attention to what they are doing.

And another thing, when was the last time a teenager demanded attention when the parent was busy with something important? Patches seems to think me opening my laptop is time for him to jump onto my desk and curl up on my hand if he is in the room at the time. And when was the last time a teenager ever followed their parent all over the house?

If Patches is home, he’s in the room I’m in unless a stranger has arrived, then he’s under my bed. And if I close the bathroom door, he’s somewhere with a view of that door when I come out, promise. And sometimes he stays right at the door, sticking his paw under it and meowing at me. (If that sounds like a teenager to you, you have problems.)

And when I say he’s underfoot, I mean he is underfoot, because he always wants to be right with me. Usually right where I can’t see him down there. At least toddlers are taller than cats.

Personally, the only toddler-like attribute a dog has and a cat doesn’t is being loud. And I’m glad of that because I get enough of loud dogs every time I talk to Konnie on the phone.

There is one other advantage of having a cat over a dog.

Cats don’t need to be walked.

At any rate, that person comparing cats to teenagers, either doesn’t know cats very well or doesn’t know any, because there is no way a cat is like them. I’ve had too many sleep interruptions from Patches to consider him a teen.

But he is enough of a character I really should put him in one of my stories someday.

 Anyway, happy writing everyone!