I was wrong.

The command center that our power company does not have.

When our power went out yesterday around noon, I wasn’t too concerned. Our occasional power outages rarely last long. When we called and the automated response estimated our power would be back on by 4 p.m., I still wasn’t concerned because they almost always pad those estimates by an hour or two.

When 4 p.m. came and went and we still had no power, I was a little annoyed. I had read the Sunday newspaper, finished a novel and cleaned 2 bathrooms in the dark. The house was getting warmer and I was experiencing uncomfortable cable and internet withdrawal symptoms.

I called the power company again and this time spoke to a live human being. She said they were now estimating that our power would be back on by 8 p.m. I asked her what the problem was. She replied, “A primary line failed and they’re trying to find it.”

Trying to find it? Seriously? There’s no blinking red line on the screen at the command center that indicates where it is? This information did not make me happy.

Still, I was hopeful when the big truck from the power company pulled into our driveway just a short time later. I went out on the porch and inanely asked the power guy, “Are you here to turn my power back on?” He said, “We’re trying!”  I thought I’d suck up by bringing out a couple of bottles of water, despite the fact that all we had were warm bottles of water since the fridge had been without power all afternoon, but before I even made it into the kitchen, the truck was driving away and we were still powerless. That’s their idea of trying?

Perhaps I judged them too quickly though, because 2 more trucks then arrived. This time I was quick with the water bottles, giving me an excuse to find out what was going on. The guy said that an underground line had failed and the only way to locate it was to physically trace through the entire grid, but he assured me that he’d restore power to our house momentarily, and he did. I thanked him and watched as the trucks proceeded up the street to restore power one house at a time.

The command center our power company actually uses.

To all those power guys who spent their entire Sunday, Father’s Day, no less, restoring power throughout our neighborhood, your efforts are greatly appreciated. To the power company, which obviously does not have the command center that I had imagined, is that really the best you can do?

It’s those accessories that stand between me and an otherwise perfectly decorated home (well, aside from some major renovations, furniture I don’t hate and a fresh paint job).  I suppose the easy solution is the traditional approach — you know, candles, vases, pottery, stacks of books, photos, pieces of art. On the other hand, you could go with a theme, like a beach theme with starfish, seashells and sand dollars. Or, perhaps you’re inspired by the whimsical, featuring things like brightly painted plaster replicas of deer head and moose antlers.

Ho hum. I am not inspired by any of that and let’s face it, by the time millions of HGTV viewers have latched on to the latest accessory trend and emulated it in their living rooms, it’s already passé.

At long last, however, I have stumbled upon something unique, something I am sure you do not have adorning your mantle or coffee table, something you have not seen displayed on the bookshelves of your neighbors. Thanks to the kind folks at Restoration Hardware, who, several times a year, send me a collection of catalogs bigger than a New York City phone book, even though the only things I’ve ever purchased from them were a set of bath towels and two light fixtures for my front porch, I have discovered an accessory guaranteed to make your home memorable. Behold, the Noses (Set of 7):

photo from http://www.restorationhardware.com

“Skillfully reproduced from turn-of-the-century German carnival molds, these theatrical noses are playful expressions of character and are mounted on wood-and-metal museum stands for conversation-starting display.”

Yes, and the full set of Noses can be yours for just $295.

I know what you’re thinking – “man, I’d love to have that set of creepy sort of phallic nose molds in my home, but the price is pretty steep.”

True, but you can still use them as inspiration. For instance, create your very own cheap set of noses by digging those old animal nose masks out of the box of Halloween costumes (come on, you know you have a pig snout and that bunny nose with the whiskers SOMEWHERE), hot gluing each mask to a popsicle stick and placing each popsicle stick upright in a blob of clay.

Not a crafter? Have your heart set on the real thing?  Well, consider how useful the Noses could be.  Not only are they a lovely home accessory, you can also place them in key locations around the house, as needed, as subtle reminders of odiferous issues that need to be addressed, e.g., “Johnny, those gym clothes are 6 noses strong – it’s time to do your laundry!” or “Honey, the litter box has hit 5 noses – would you please clean it out already?”

Finally, if you’ve been searching for the perfect gift for that cosmetic surgeon who botched your rhinoplasty, this is it and it’s worth every penny.

This is NOT my family. We’re not blonde and we’re not that happy.

Rumor has it that there are those of you who eagerly anticipate the summer months, that idyllic time of year when you can pile the kids into the car and set off on the open road.

I am not among you.  I like the comforts of home, sleeping in my own bed, controlling my own thermostat, generously squirting my shampoo out of a full size bottle.

I do not enjoy being confined in the car for long periods of time. Perhaps this is because my childhood road trips always involved a large bottle of prescription strength Dramamine and the infamous red bowl that my mother STILL likes to remind me about. Perhaps it’s because on especially long trips (you know, anything longer than an hour and a half), my older sister had the privilege of stretching out across the back seat, while I was relegated to stretching out across the floor of the backseat – back in the ‘60’s, the floor of the back seat had a large hump in the middle, a hump for which no stack of pillows could adequately compensate.

My husband would likely tell you that I hate road trips because I am a very, very bad passenger. I stomp on my imaginary brakes, clutch the door handle with a death grip, and brace myself against the dash for impending collisions even when the nearest vehicle is no bigger than a pencil point a mile up ahead.

My best strategy for road trips, aside from total avoidance, is to do the driving myself, thus minimizing any potential motion sickness and eliminating my heart attack-inducing bad passenger behavior, which brings me to our recent road trip up north to visit family. It’s about a ten hour trek (and yes, I drove it all), from North Carolina through Virginia, Maryland, West Virginia, Pennsylvania and finally, into New Jersey, a journey that you road trip veterans probably breeze through, never even stopping to pee.

Well, we did stop to pee. We stopped often and I’m cool with that. In fact, based on our stops, I wholeheartedly recommend the rest stops along I-81 in Virginia. They were spotlessly clean.  On the other hand, the one New Jersey rest stop we pulled into didn’t even have any bathrooms! Come on, Chris Christie, a rest stop without bathrooms?

Anyway, I wanted to share some highlights of our trip, so here you go:

Most Awkward Moment: It was at one of the lovely Virginia rest stops that my daughter and I entered the restroom, along with an older woman. We were the only 3 people in there and we each entered a stall and went about our business. In mid-stream, the older woman decided to strike up a conversation. “So, where are you headed? Where are you coming from? We’re coming up from Florida, it’s day 2 and we have 600 miles to go…” I didn’t want to be rude, but I didn’t want to encourage further conversation while we were all, uh, occupied.  Awkward.

Stinkiest State: Congratulations, Pennsylvania! Thanks to your miles and miles of farm land, upon which tens of thousands of farms animals graze and poop, you were by far the stinkiest state on our trip.

Most Roadkill: Congratulations again, Pennsylvania! There must’ve been 30 or so dead deer along the highways of Pennsylvania. Yikes!  Bambi should seriously consider relocating.

So Close Yet So Far: After 10 long hours in the car, we were so close. We had made it to New Jersey and were only a few miles from our destination. Only it was rush hour. In New Jersey. Bumper to bumper, we crawled past the last few exits, so close yet so far. I don’t know how people navigate that vehicular nightmare every single day, if not twice a day. I suppose people would flee the state, if only they weren’t stuck in gridlock.

Welcome to the Garden State.

The good news is that we traveled safely, with only intermittent traveler crankiness and no major meltdowns.  We basked in familial love for a couple of days and left before the warm glow could morph into an inferno of tiny irritations. All in all, a good trip.

When the dust cleared and my head (and my blogging stats) shrank back down to size, I found that among my new followers were some extraordinary bloggers, including the renowned Peg-o-Leg. Among her most notable work is the quintessential post, Walmart, the Musical, a personal favorite of mine.

You can imagine how verklempt (it’s Yiddish, look it up) I was when Peg bestowed upon me the honor of being Freshly Pegged!  Please, head on over and join me at Peg’s place today. Read, mingle, laugh a little – I’ll bring muffins.

To you, Peg, I extend my deepest gratitude and a freshly baked croissant for this honor. You rock.

Man, it’s tough to get a date …

This bird, let’s call him Phil, no doubt sees his reflection and believes he is valiantly fighting another male cardinal for the affections of a female cardinal. He imagines the girl birds will swoon over his strength and bravery and he vows not to give up the fight until that other male bird backs down.

The female cardinals, on the other hand, are probably perched on a branch across the yard, laughing at what a fool Phil is making of himself, wetting their feathers at the spectacle of Phil’s futile fight against his own reflection.

Poor Phil. He needs some sort of intervention, perhaps a pharmaceutical intervention, a padded beak protector, or a girlfriend. In the meantime, I have no choice but to continue with my new spring ritual, whereby I jump out of my chair every time Phil lands on the windowsill, bang on the window and yell, “YO, PHIL, KNOCK IT OFF!”

45 years later… you learn the troubled 10 year old, with low self-esteem and other issues, has blossomed into a most amazing, caring, giving person who is made Chief of Police, all because someone cared 45 years ago.

Subject: THANK YOU

Hello Mrs. A., I owe you a debt that I can never repay. You were my teacher from [school name omitted].  Prior to this I had been shunted through various “special education classes” where very little real effort was made to educate. The program seemed designed to remove problem children from the “normal” students. I spent years in that emotionally and intellectually toxic atmosphere. Many of my classmates were profoundly challenged. You can imagine what effect this had on a young child’s self-esteem.

Everyone had given up on me. Most importantly I had given up on myself. There was no hope, until a bright, lovely and enthusiastic young teacher entered my life. You recognized potential seen by no one else. With indefinite patience you pushed and prodded me. Within a year I was back on track.

Today I have a Master’s Degree and I’m considering a Doctoral program. This Thursday, March 28, I will be promoted to Chief of the Police Department. The ceremony will be held at [omitted]. Refreshments, sandwiches, etc., will be served immediately following the ceremony. I would be honored if you could attend. 

I shudder to think of what my life would have been if not for you. Words fail to convey my sense of gratitude but words are all I have. THANK YOU!

________________________________________________

This powerful letter was received by Marsha A., who has been a friend of our family since before I was born.  She graciously gave me permission to share it here to illustrate the profound difference that one person can make in the life of a child. You don’t need to be a teacher or parent to reach out and show a child that he or she matters. We’ve all got a little Marsha in us!

A little bit of colorful inspiration for those of you thinking of renovating anything…

HGTV, I love you. You inspire me to dream big, watching people undertake heroic renovations of butt-ugly houses, search for perfect second homes in exotic locations, and transform sad tired yards into horticultural treasures.

HGTV, I hate you. You make me feel guilty that my spring yard isn’t bursting with glorious flowering perennials, ashamed of the circa-1985 fixtures that we have yet to replace, and lazy for choosing not to start smashing our cracked ceramic tile floors with a sledgehammer.

So, in a remarkably sedentary effort, I have channeled that envy and guilt into another venture, HG-WordPress, where I have just completed my first renovation – welcome to the new and improved Big Sheep Blog. That’s right, I’ve changed the look of the place: new theme; new colors; newly rearranged sidebar information and even some new information on the About page.

It cost me nothing but a little bit of time. I made zero trips to the local home improvement store. I did not sustain any DIY injuries. So, yeah, my home and yard still need some attention (okay, lots of attention), but doesn’t my blog look nice?

This morning I was driving along, listening to a talk radio program. I was enduring the usual commercials for Lasik surgery, bariatric surgery, a local plumbing company and a cosmetic surgeon who has not only “enhanced” some really famous, but unnamed, reality TV stars, but who also offers the latest and greatest advance in breast implants. These miracle implants are far more natural in touch and appearance than the typical implants, says the spokeswoman. They are, she says, “Gummy Bear Implants.”

Gummy bears call an emergency meeting to discuss the latest outrage.

That’s where the auditory double-take occurred, though I managed not to veer off the road despite the vivid and disturbing double-D image that the term “Gummy Bear Implants” evoked in my head.  I try not to judge, at least not out loud, but I was already troubled by a culture that finds it desirable to surgically shove silicone filled balloons into women’s breasts. And now? To corrupt the innocent gummy bear with such a barbaric fate is simply more than I can handle, not to mention the difficulty those women are going to have finding bras that fit.

I’m seriously thinking about switching radio stations. Then again, I wouldn’t want to miss out on future llamas on leashes, you know?

Yes, it’s every bit as uncomfortable as it looks.

My technology needs and wants are pretty basic. I care nothing about having the latest gadgets and I don’t wish to be internet connected every minute of my life.  My computer is indispensable, of course, and I have a cellphone so my kids can contact me when they need to, but I don’t have a smart phone, a Kindle, an iPad or even an iPod, and that’s cool with me.

My little cellphone has served me well for more than 5 years. Sure, the fact that it lacks a keyboard is annoying, though I burn lots of extra calories texting with only the standard numeric keypad, but the hassle of selecting and learning a new cellphone has been enough of a disincentive that I haven’t taken the plunge.

Now, the phone has begun freezing up when I try to text a message, a clear sign that the time has come to upgrade. When my husband learned this last night, his first reaction was to offer to tell me how to fix the phone I have. I declined, saying it really was time for me to have a phone with a keyboard. He then suggested I call AT&T and find out if I can get a free upgrade. I assured him that I would attempt to get a free phone, but if not, I would get the most economical option available. He was apparently concerned that I would come home with a diamond encrusted smart phone of some sort, along with a data plan that would require a second mortgage on our home.

It’s perplexing that my husband sometimes forgets just how low maintenance I am. You’d think it would be fresh in his mind because when he recently asked me what I wanted for Valentine’s Day, I said I wanted the burned out light bulbs in the lamp post by the driveway replaced so I don’t have to retrieve the newspaper in total darkness each morning. (Yes, he granted that wish.)

I’m not the kind of person who has a closet full of expensive shoes and designer handbags. I don’t run out to buy a few rolls of toilet paper, and accidently return home with a new Lexus. In reminding my husband of my low maintenance nature last night, I said, “I have underwear older than our children (who, by the way, are teens not toddlers).”  To which my husband and daughter replied, in unison, “EEWWWW!”

Point made.

Bullshitia is not for everyone. Patients who are pregnant, nursing, may become pregnant or who are the product of a pregnancy, should not use Bullshitia. Do not take Bullshitia if you have experienced an allergic reaction to Bullshitia in the past or if you are averse to adverse side effects. Call your doctor to find out if Bullshitia is right for you.

Bullshitia is safe and effective when taken as directed. Side effects have been reported and may include upset stomach, dizziness, flatulence, drowsiness, insomnia, rashes, unwanted hair, weight gain, sexual dysfunction, sensitivity to sunlight and total darkness, confusion, nervous tics, numbness of the extremities, heavy sweating, and hallucinations especially hallucinations involving a green butterfly fluttering around you as you sleep. These side effects are mild to moderate and may or may not decrease over time. If you experience any of these side effects, tough it out, you sissy. Do not stop taking Bullshitia unless directed to by your doctor because stopping Bullshitia may cause a precipitous drop in Pharmaceutico’s profit margins.

Serious side effects are rare because Bullshitia is safe and because when serious side effects are reported to Pharmaceutico, we take them seriously but pretend they were caused by something else. Rarely, if ever, do we report such side effects to the FDA, which rarely, if ever, takes any action even if we do. Stop taking Bullshitia immediately and call your doctor if you experience a sudden loss of consciousness or the cessation of all vital signs.

If you cannot afford Bullshitia, Pharmaceutico may be able to help. This generosity is made possible by the kindness of Pharmaceutico’s cold, soulless, corporate heart, and by charging obscenely inflated prices for Bullshitia to everyone else who takes it. We do this because we believe nobody, and we mean nobody, should have to go without Bullshitia.

Bullshitia should be taken with food and as many other Pharmaceutico medications as we can convince your doctor to prescribe for you. Do not operate a motor vehicle or heavy machinery or perform surgery until you know how Bullshitia affects you. Bullshitia is not known to be addictive, but severe withdrawal symptoms are likely if you dare to ever stop taking Bullshitia.

If you experience a worsening of the symptoms of Hypochondragullability while taking Bullshitia, contact your doctor as you may need a stronger dose of Bullshitia or may require additional Pharmaceutico medications.