Looney Tunes and a new water heater

I got Sylvester last Christmas, and he watches over me while I work upstairs. He's sporting a God Bless America button and his right paw rests on my printer.


I could hear his voice coming from far away as I worked on a story in the upstairs foyer Tuesday morning. Since it was impossible to make out what my better half was saying, I didn’t pay much attention until the words got louder and much more understandable. The bearer of bad news was standing in the front hallway looking up at me.

I’ll not quote all of what was said here; suffice it to say, though, something serious was going on.

“Well,” he said, “that’s going to cost us about $200. Maybe $300 or more.”

I hadn’t heard any explosions or odd noises so I looked over the banister and waited for the rest of the news.

“Looks like we’ll need a new water heater.” Well, of course we did. The old one was almost two years past its six-year warranty. Golly, it should’ve gone bad much sooner.

After I was through thinking really bad thoughts, I got busy comparison shopping. That took about five minutes and soon the old tank was out and the shiny new one was on its way. That’s when I decided to take a break from worrying about the giant-sized drain hole in the budget and go watch some TV.

I’ve discovered that Looney Tunes is back in action at 11 a.m. every weekday. How cool is that? I can’t get upset when I’m watching Bugs Bunny and Yosemite Sam fight to win a mayoral election only to have it end up with both fine candidates losing. Tweety Pie and Sylvester followed that with a tale of the poor cat joining a 12-step program to help rid him of his addiction to birds. That didn’t go well either, and I could sympathize a little bit. I’d fail any program that tried to separate me from chocolate. Not going to happen.

Cartoons ended and that’s when we gathered for a brief lunch. One of the guys was studying for college finals, and the other had a water heater to install. And here’s what I find so funny about this type of thing: The new appliance arrives, and you think you have all the parts and fittings and what-not, but you don’t. That will take maybe three or four trips back to the store (and with the price of gas, you can tack on even more money to the cost), and Voila! Ten hours later we had hot water and everyone, especially the plumber, was tired but happy.

I did find out a few things. One, cold baths aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Two, most of us take ordinary things like hot water for granted. And three, while having a water heater poop out on us wasn’t a good thing, it wasn’t the end of the world either.

One very special note: Congratulations, son, on your graduation today. Your dad and I could not possibly be more proud of you.

Teaching our children a thing or two, or three

“I believe that words have power. They weigh a ton.” (House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, March 26, 2010)

Observations from the past week

It happened two days in a row. I was out of sorts over some personal problems, and one situation in particular was eating at me. Someone I love shared that a relative of hers had kicked a small dog. “The little guy lifted his leg and peed on his boot, and he got booted across the floor,” she told me.

I saw this happen in my mind’s eye and I could feel the anger toward this person I’d never met coursing through me. Questions swirled. If this monster of a man could kick a small dog (a Yorkie, as it turned out), what else was he capable of? Did he abuse his wife, his children? How many times had he kicked the dog? They had other dogs; did he hurt them too?

Maybe it’s a good thing this guy lived at least an hour away or I may have gone back to my old ways and tried to do something about this. I tend to get in way over my head when I try to come to the defense of victims, whether they’re animals, small children, the elderly. So I tried to put this out of my mind but I couldn’t.

The next day I was still bursting into tears at odd times as the mental image of the scene above replayed, along with the possibilities of what his children were experiencing and learning from their father’s behavior. On the way to Walmart to pick up a couple of things, I began crying again. “You’re going to have to go in,” I told hubby. He nodded, no questions asked. He knew how much I was hurting.

After he left the car, I leaned back and closed my eyes. In less than a minute I heard them. A young dad and mom and their child made their way to an older car. A brightly wrapped toy was perched behind the child in the cart. I’m not comfortable writing the exact conversation here, but trust me when I tell you that it was littered with F-bombs from both parents.

But that’s not all. Mom had to threaten her son with this: “If you don’t get your butt in the car seat, I’m throwin’ this toy right out the window!” I’m not sure why she couldn’t have said something like, “Remember, you need to buckle yourself up in the car seat so you’ll be safe, honey.” I guess she was in a hurry to continue her colorful conversation with the man in the family who was uncouth enough to gather up a wad of saliva and hurl it onto the parking lot.

After this all-American family left, another cart rumbled by. This time, a mom and daughter made their way to their car singing a song and laughing. There was no swearing, there were no threats, just fun and smiles and laughter. Wow, I thought, talk about contrasts.

The second time for this experience came at noon yesterday at our local Dairy Queen. A frazzled grandmother and her granddaughter and grandson were finishing lunch. Here’s the gist of the conversation, courtesy of Grandma:

“I can’t afford this. Mommy can’t afford it either.”

“What’dya put ice in your hot chocolate for? You just made it cold. I just won’t get you nothin’ here no more. Period.”

Grandma went on and on and on about how tight money was, how wasteful the kids were, and how hard mommy had to work, not to mention how tired she herself was. These were kids about five or six years old getting an economics lesson far before they needed to but the woman couldn’t seem to stop talking about how scarce money was.

Almost as soon as they left, a grandma and grandpa arrived with their granddaughters. Mommy joined them a bit later but before she got there, the first four talked about their morning, laughed, ordered lunch and planned their next weekend. There was no grown-up talk about wasting money, money shortages, that sort of thing. You couldn’t help but smile at the fun they were obviously having.

I worry about the kids whose parents show by their behavior that life is scary, hopeless and absent of laughter. I think about the little ones who hear coarse language more often than not, who watch the adults in their lives treat others with no respect. That goes for parents who hold grudges forever and a day, who wouldn’t know forgiveness if it bit them and who make people pay dearly for every mistake they ever made.

One more thing I observed recently has to do with our President. The quote at the top of this page came on the heels of an appearance by our country’s leader to expound on the passage of health care reform on his stop in Iowa. I watched a clip on various television newscasts that made me angry and sad at the same time and I’m sure most of you saw it too. The health care reform had already passed, and here was our leader mocking those in the opposing party who had been against the legislation. He laughed as he spoke about Armageddon, and the crowd laughed with him. It was a sign of immaturity in the one man I hoped would never show it.

With our First Lady championing the physical health of our children, I hope she caught what her husband said and I really hope she gave him a talking-to (away from their daughters). She should tell him that he did not set a good example when he made fun of his opponents. A healthy character is a very good thing.

And if Mrs. Obama somehow missed this teaching moment, maybe Ms. Pelosi could repeat what she said last Friday. For once, I agree with her.

Flappity flappity flap and other stuff

It’s been a little while now since I’ve written a column for our local newspaper. I had the Friday slot and in general, I had a great time sharing tidbits of life with a retired husband, our gigantic yellow Lab, family oddities and whatnot. But budget-cutting became the In Thing, so work hours were cut to the bone (and then some) which meant the column got kicked to the curb.

Yesterday as I was pulling out of a primo parking spot at the local Big Box store, I happened to catch a movement out of the corner of my eye. Where did those two women come from? I mistakenly thought that I’d almost run them over, but not so. Thank goodness.

I rolled down the car window and one of them leaned in asked if I was Margi. Yup, I was, and that was when she asked what had happened to my column. I explained things as tactfully as I could, she told me what she thought of that, then she asked me about our pooch, Sarah Jane.

In the last column published, I told how our saved-from-the-shelter dog was doing (her seizures seem to be subsiding, though no one knows why she has them or if they’ll ever go away.) Sarah’s on medication, and that’s the best we can do for her for now. Well, that, and love the stuffing out of her – she’s a beautiful dog with a beautiful, sweet soul.

Now, let’s get to what hubby’s been up to. First, I should explain that I have awful osteoarthritis in my knees. I get through the day with store-brand ibuprofen. Hubby has a knee that gives out on him now and then, but being A Guy he just pops that baby back in and goes on about his business.

Well, that didn’t happen a week ago when he was fixing the hot water leak in the bathtub/shower. Apparently he wrenched his knee a good one coming out of the bathtub and he doesn’t really feel like it’s gone back in yet.

See, just like so many of our fellow human beings we are going through a rather common phenomena: we’re strapped for cash. Instead of getting a professional to fix the seemingly never-ending leaky faucet, we’re doing it ourselves. There’s no money for that sort of thing, what with the dog and the husband being on a variety of medications for probably forever, along with the ever-rising cost-of-living expenses.

Once we realized that ordinary painkillers weren’t going to do the job for his knee, I was finally told to call the doctor. Ka-ching!

The doctor sent us to the hospital for an x-ray. Ka-ching!

The verdict: ordinary, old-fashioned, age-related degenerative knee problem that should be solved with ibuprofen and rest.

So, let’s sum up: Leaky faucet? Check. Doctor bill? Check. Bill for x-ray? Check. And finally: Cranky hubby? Check, and check!

And that husband got crankier than ever today because instead of following doctor’s orders, someone is out and about helping a family member with their yard work. That would be bad enough, but I had to call him back home.

I was working on an article (OK, so I was playing Spider Solitaire – but just for a couple of minutes) when I heard noises coming from the laundry room. It’s not uncommon for hubby to say he’s leaving, then come back inside a time or two or three because he forgot something. It happens far more often than not, so I just figured he was back there getting some tools.

I realized the dryer had stopped, so I moseyed on back to fold the clothes. I opened the dryer door, folded one pair of underwear and stopped cold. What was that? It sounded like, “flappity-flappity-flap!” I slowly turned toward the noise and that’s when I moved very very fast for a woman with arthritic knees.

I couldn’t believe a bird inside the house would have that effect on me. It’s not like it was a raven or a vulture or anything. It was actually kind of pretty but I wanted that sucker out of my house and now.

Seconds later I was talking to a husband who really knows how to sum up the matter in few words, but I won’t share what those were. He made it home, opened the back door and the bird flew out. Sarah Jane had a blast watching the whole thing.

Everything is almost back to normal now. Hubby went back to not resting, and I’m trying to stay away from my favorite computer game. There’s a fresh, red ripe tomato calling my name so maybe I’ll take a break to make tomato burgers.

Ahhh, lunch with hubby, the dog, and no birds flappity-flapping around.

It’s a good day.

It's a gas, gas, gas

(The U.N. might want to think twice before taxing this cow....)

Weird things happen all the time, and this past couple of weeks proved that point.

Hubby and I heard a lot about gas.

There was the outrageous report on, um, cow gas; the odd line item on our natural gas bill; and the daily climb for the price of gasoline at the pump.

Let’s do cow farts first.

I was watching Fox News one morning when a distinguished-looking gentleman appeared to discuss the proposed new taxes on cows and pigs. This man looked like a town banker, which made his four-time use of the phrase “cow farts” all the more hilarious. Naturally, I was fascinated. (I’m such a child.)

Turns out that the U.N. is accusing cows of producing 18 percent of the world’s greenhouse-gas emissions, and they claim that that’s more than planes, trains and cars combined.

While some believe that most of the methane is coming from the cow’s behind, others say the largest percentage comes from cow burps.

A suggested set of taxes on our cow buds went something like this: $125 per head for dairy cows; $85 per head for beef cows; and $20 per pig. These would be annual taxes.

Little alarm bells were going off in my head. If this tax went into effect, how long would it be before we couldn’t afford to consume dairy and meat products? What am I saying? As it is, I often window-shop at the steak counter of the grocery store before reality hits and I saunter to the cheapest ground beef and load up the cart. Looks like we’ll be replacing that protein with beans.

And there you go with another whole group of gas jokes.

Now, let’s take a gander at our latest utility bill. Seems as though AmerenIP is asking for yet another rate increase – this time, they say, it’s for delivering our energy to us. And, they point out with a wagging finger, they wouldn’t even have to ask us for more loot if they’d gotten every penny they asked for last time.

I’m one of those folks who actually reads more than the Total Amount Due on their bills. I want to know what we’re being charged for, and I sure found out.

Under “Total delivery services” (what it costs to deliver the gas to our home), the cost was $23.81. The amount of gas we used was $20.53. It cost more to deliver our gas than the product itself. As for the electricity portion, it cost $25.03 to deliver $33.32 worth of the product – a bit more balanced, but not by much. How much more will we all be charged to deliver a product none of us can do without?

That leaves the price at the gas pump. We’ve all heard that the prices have risen there for over 40 days in a row. Speculators, some say. Others opine that it’s summer blend, summer demand, low refinery output, and on and on. All I know is, we have less money to work with than before but we’re expected to pay more than ever.

I don’t have any easy answers. My job has been affected by the economy, so there’s less coming in, and with hubby on a fixed income that leaves wide open the almost-certain likelihood that one or both of us will have to take on a second, maybe a third job.

We both realize we’re in good company, that there are others worse off than we are, but sometimes that’s little comfort. As we try to sleep at night, our thoughts race and upset us to the point that we wake in the wee hours of the morning, our minds a-whirl with worst-case scenarios. For the umpteenth time, we huddle together over coffee at the kitchen table and scrape our budget to the bone, trying to find what else we can live without.

It’s enough to give one gas, if you know what I mean. And I think you do.