You know, Wilma Flintstone had a a lot going for her, and she made great use of what she had (including that dolt Fred). Her best friend lived next door, and all of her damn household appliances cooperated for the most part. Today I find myself trying to live in this Jetson fast-paced world just wishing it didn't all move in such hurry up fashion. Meanwhile in the back of my mind I am wondering why some things take so damn long. I am conflicted.
We are trying to refinance our mortgage. It will cost us $3500 to stay with the same bank, pay $100 less each month, and shorten the life of the loan by a year. I know how that supposedly makes sense on paper, but as a practical matter? No. The hoops we are jumping through and the phone calls we aren't getting from the people who are supposed to be making them? Enough already. I think there are times when matters require more than phone calls and emails. I think I need a human being to look me in the eye so I can confirm that they are actually listening and responding to the question at hand. I want to show them the numbers that seem wrong, instead of them explaining where they got a possibly different set of numbers.
That is all for the random, and fleeting, aggravation. Moving on...
I noticed a couple of blogs that I follow celebrated blogging anniversaries/birthday recently. That got me thinking that things felt a little bit older around here. (I think I need a little sprucing up. Again, think Wilma.) I missed this blog's special day by over a month! Not only do I not know if they make cards intended for such belated greetings, but I am not positive which route to go with. Part of me thinks wishing this blog a Happy Second Birthday sounds super swell, because birthdays mean cake! Then again, the traditional second anniversary gift is cotton, and the modern is china. I could work with that. Maybe the best bet is to eat cake and cotton candy off of my china. That is not to say that the occasion doesn't warrant something this fancy...This is what Fozzie does when we are home. I try not to imagine what goes one when we are out.
My grandmother locked herself out of her house yesterday. Not just the door from the garage to the house (which is an easy fix), but the other door from the garage to the great outdoors got locked when she walked next door to visit with the neighbor. My cousin recently made us all keys for that outside door in case we couldn't find the secret under the rock key. My grandmother called me because there was no key under the rock. I called my cousin to ask him where he put the key after having copies made, and he gave me a very descriptive definition of where, IN THE GARAGE it was located. Fantastic. The good news was that I was my grandmother's first call, so she wasn't worried about anyone else's whereabouts. By some stroke of luck I was able to quickly locate my copy of the key.
These little guys have been hanging out on our kitchen counter for a few months now. I got them for my daughter for Christmas because, even though she doesn't play with her Calico Critters very much any more, they cracked me up and I knew she would get a kick out of them as well. There is really no reason for them to still be on the counter. I thought maybe we left them there because they made us smile, but I am starting to think that they are just creepy enough for me to be afraid to move them.