Speaking of Thermoses...

Speaking of thermoses....

In my family, we have phrase that indicates the the conversation is about to take a sharp turn off track in a manner which might make no sense, but there's no way to logically segue into the next topic, so.... "Speaking of thermoses" is that phrase.

This can be traced back to my great-aunt L, who I have mentioned before. We were all sitting around the kitchen table in a great gathering (probably after a funeral) when she abruptly slapped her palm onto the table and announces "Well, SPEAKING of thermoses..."

which we weren't.

And she launched into some completely different discussion and the phrase took on a life of its own. Its kind of where my brain is today. Big shock, I know.


* * *

I have two new gerbil pups in the house... Indiana Scones finally passed on to that great toilet paper roll beyond, at the advanced gerbil age of 4 1/2. I now have a black and an argente (golden) pup and we have named them Raisincranz and Guldens (like the mustard)-stern. And given their colors, this horrid pun works on two levels. Bonus.


* * *

I got a worried call from my mom recently... my sisters and I jointly own my grandfather's property in New York. We've had our ups and downs with the property after my grandfather's death, notably the renter who trashed the place and turned the basement into a veritable abbatoir. (surely you don't think I'm kidding. )

He was, among other unsavory things, a very very busy poacher and he did his dirty work in the basement of my grandfather's house. Trust me, you do NOT want the photographic proof, although there are bloggers who can back me up on this one.

Anyway, the current renters are very nice people and knew my grandfather. However, they've approached my sisters a couple of times and mentioned that there appears to be some paranormal activity going on and its beginning to freak them right out. Supposedly, they emailed a list of the incidents to my sister, but she has yet to forward this on. I am not certain what to think of this but am dying to know what's got everyone worked up.

We've got quite the history in that house anyway. My great-great grandfather deeded the land to my grandfather when he married, and my grandfather dug the foundation and built the house himself, brick by brick. My grandfather actually died of an accident in the house on Halloween, a few years back. It was pretty grim. For many years, he'd told all of us that he wanted to be cremated and have his ashes scattered there on the farm. But when we had the funeral, the director of the OTHER funeral home called the one handling Grandpa's arrangements and said " I have MRS Lastname here!"

Uh... what?????

My grandmother had died nearly 10 winters prior and Grandpa had told us he'd scattered her ashes in her beloved garden. So uh... what the heck???Sure enough. Grandpa had apparently forgotten to ever pick up my grandmother's ashes and they'd sat in the basement of the other funeral home for like TEN YEARS. Oh man. You know when he got to the pearly gates, my grandmother had a few things to say to him.

So, we retrieved Grandma. And scattered her ashes over her prized rhubarb patch. Grandpa? well, Grandpa's in his blueberry bushes, a good distance from the rhubarb because you KNOW she wasn't speaking to him. My family is wondering if any activity might be Grandma, still pissed off at being forgotten in the basement.

* * *

We had to replace the washing machine recently. All I can say is... when you do laundry 24 hours prior, and you come back and it looks like the segment of Creepshow where the asteroid lands on Stephen King's backwoods farm and he touches it and starts growing green, fuzzy fungus???? Yeah. That is bad.

I actually spent two hours trying to eradicate the slimy crap that had taken over my washing machine, not because I thought I could restore what was an old and dying machine ANYWAY, but because I was too grossed out to even have this crud in my house. Like it was going to ooze out and get us all in our sleep or something. So we bit the bullet and got a front loader and it does a wonderful job... except, did I mention the 2nd floor laundry hookup? Right. The washer is now preparing us in case we ever move to California or something because everytime the spin cycle begins, everyone in the house thinks we're having an earthquake. In my mind, its a small price to pay to for mold-free laundry.

* * *

Irony I Have Known

Not so long ago, I witnessed a fairly bad rear-end collision on my way to work. The guy in the van pretty much obliterated the back of the little Nissan, which had inexplicably stopped dead in front of him.

He was on the phone, shrieking at someone and I saw the girl who'd been driving the Nissan staggering by the side of the road, nearly stepping into traffic. I went to assist and had her sit back down while I called emergency. She was 6 months pregnant and luckily, the fire station was literally just up the road. Emergency asked me to remain on the scene until they got there.

As a police officer hurried over to where we were waiting, the girl looked up at me and said shakily, "I really need my cigarettes." And my heart? it sank a little. (I'm not making judgements about smoking, i know exactly what a nightmare it is to quit... but while pregnant? Oh man.)

I look into the front seat and sure enough, there's a carton in there. Apparently, that's what caused the accident. She dropped her cigarette on the floor and without thinking, slammed on her brakes as she reached for it.

The brand?



Wait for it.





KOOL.



Some things have to be seen to be believed.