The Junk Drawer

I love to mow the lawn. It’s good exercise. But there’s one problem. I suck at it.

While my husband Dave is recovering from shoulder surgery, I’ve taken on the chore of mowing every weekend. He feels bad he can’t do it, but that’s not the reason he should feel bad.

He should feel bad for the mower itself and everything it touches.

Herewith are the things I’ve done to the mower or with the mower in the last year:

1. I took out part of a tree he planted in the front yard. I don’t know how. All I know is when I motored past it, an entire branch broke off and got stuck in the hole that keeps the pull string attached to the mower. I threw the branch to the ground and mowed over it a bunch of times –the equivalent of hiding the body.

2. The first time I mowed alone, I got too close to a curb and the mower tipped over into the street. I heard a horrible propeller-type banging. That’d be the blade striking concrete at 3,600 RPM. I didn’t turn off the mower for a really long time because — all together now — I’m an idiot!

3. Dave likes to remove the metal rainspout extensions that run parallel to the ground before mowing. You know, so the grass is cut evenly. Why move perfectly placed rainspouts when you can run right over them? That’s mowing the efficient Kathy way.

4. Those big gashes at the base of the mailbox post? Sorry.

5. Remember, honey, how nice the front yard used to look when I would take the time to make nice diagonal lines through the yard? I know it looks like a child hopped up on Jujubees mowed it now, but really, can’t the grass just be short? We’re not going for design points, are we?

6. If the azalea bush doesn’t blossom next year, well, let’s just say I was getting tired and I had to take it out on something.

I love mowing! It’s so easy my way.

Dave, you’re not reading today’s post, are you?

WARNING: This post is not safe for reading while eating. Put your forks and spoons down and proceed with caution. Even if you’re not eating, you still might puke.

I’m about to show you what the Friday What’s That? item is. Lots of you were really close, guessing it was some kind of nest, pod or cocoon, that if poked, would ooze spiders, bugs or other crawly things.

The correct answer is much, much worse.

The object pictured was part of an owl pellet. According to Wikipedia, a pellet is the mass of undigested parts of a bird’s food that some bird species occasionally regurgitate. The contents of a bird’s pellet depend on its diet, but can include the exoskeletons of insects, indigestible plant matter, bones, fur, feathers, bills, claws, and teeth.

Teeth!

Still with me? OK. The woman who took the picture was alerted to its presence by the keen eye of her daughter, who recognized it from a lab she took in grade school. Apparently she sends her daughter to a school whose teachers don’t mind their students blowing their lunch having to dissect these.

Yummy!

You might ask yourself where you can get one of these find specimens to dissect yourself (or not). If you do, you can order a variety from Pellets, Inc. Now don’t rush the site all at once!

I’ve had my fair share of school lab grossouts. In high school, we dissected frogs and I was glad to not be part of the group who discovered that their frog was pregnant at time of death. I remember someone screaming. I don’t know if they continued on with their dissection, but I’m very sure no one ate the rest of the day.

Sorry no one guessed this edition of What’s That? But I promise next time I’ll go back to regular household items that don’t have teeth and hair in them. Promise!

By now you know that my What’s That Wednesday series isn’t always on Wednesday. I don’t know why I keep calling it that. If anyone has a better idea, raise your hand and make a suggestion.

Today we have something very unusual. This picture was taken by my colleague Heather. The only detail that I’ll give about it is that I think it looks like a face. That won’t help you guess what it is, since I’m not inclined to help you in any way. Ha!

How to play:

1. The photo shows a small portion of a larger object.

2. First person to guess the object it’s a part of wins a Junk Drawer magnet and a mystery prize.

Go!

I have a little tip for some of you. If you are irritated that people make guesses well ahead of you, consider following me on Facebook. My new posts automatically appear there when I publish, so if you’re on Facebook more than your blog reader, you’ll see them sooner.

UPDATE: OK, folks! Here’s a hint from Heather: "It is organic material.  It has not been processed by a human in any way.  And it is indeed gross."

So, OK. I’m going to the BlogHer conference in Chicago where I’ll get some good tips on blogging and blog marketing, meet up with bloggers I only know online and see the sights in a city I’ve never been to before.

I’m also going to see my girl JD of I Do Things puke up her lunch because she got accepted to read one of her very best posts in front of a million strangers. Please pray for her.

I knew the conference was Friday and Saturday, July 24th and 25th. I knew I bought a two-day pass that covers admission for both days. I knew I wanted to book a flight the day before the conference so I can get settled, meet up with JD and be well-rested before the start of the conference.

The day before the conference would be Thursday for those keeping count.

When did I book my flight? For Friday morning, of course. Well after the conference is underway.

How much did this mistake cost me? One hundred smackeroos. Frack it all! I booked my flight and hotel through Expedia and they do allow changes at no cost, but the airline charges its own fee for dumbasses like me.

The good news is that the Expedia rep first quoted me a fee of $100, but came back a few minutes later to say it was really $150. Since she misquoted the fee initially, she offered to give me a $50 credit on the extra hotel night I booked.

I believe that’s what you’d call pity for the dumbass.

Oh, and incidentally, JD won’t be the only one puking. This flight will be my first flight going it alone. I’m petrified. I plan on bringing my blankie and teddy bear and I don’t care what that’ll look like.

To recap, you are praying for JD to get through her reading on Friday, July 24th and you are praying for me to get on the plane on the 23rd. You should also get out the rosary beads on the 27th when I fly home. I leave out of O’Hare Airport, where I will get lost as soon as I step foot in the door.

If you don’t see a post from me soon after, it means I’m probably still at the airport, riding a luggage carousel, sucking my thumb and crying like a baby. I want my Mommy!

This isn’t a humor piece, but I’ve been bothered by an event that happened this morning and felt better writing about it.

I wanted to share it with you because it reminds me of the fragility of life as I know it and how one fraction of a second made the difference between me having a normal day and my husband getting a dreaded phone call.

Friday began like every other work day.

Cup of coffee, feed the cats, some blog stuff, shower and jump in my car. The most remarkable thing about my ride to work was that I got an early start. I would soon wish I hadn’t.

Somebody else was heading to work, too. Someone who should have had his eyes on the road instead of his head in the clouds.

I know people get distracted while driving and cause accidents.

I know that 40,000 people die on U.S. roads each year in car crashes.

I know lots of unlucky people before me have found themselves in the path of an errant driver and never lived to tell about it.

But it’s always other people.

Today I was almost one of them.

On a green light, I approached an intersection near work. As I pulled through and made a left turn, I saw a pickup truck to my left. Coming on fast. I’m not a sitting duck. I’m moving, thank God. I know I’m moving, but am I moving fast enough?

I hear his tires screeching. Might not be enough time. I see the grill of his truck. It’s close. Very close. Are we gonna hit? I start to think this is my unlucky day. God? You there? Help me out here.

In a moment that lasted an eternity, I could see the face of this distracted man, who is now no longer distracted.

He looks at me, and I at him. Our eyes are wide. Our mouths agape. I clear his front bumper by mere inches. I scream and lay on the horn. I glance back. I see he landed askew in the middle of the intersection. I quickly check to see if he still had a red light. Was it me who screwed up?

No. His light was redder than red. And he didn’t even see it.

I consider if I had entered the intersection one moment later. A single second later and someone would be calling my "in case of emergency" number.

I wanted to pull over, get out and scream at him. I wanted to let him know that someone almost had to peel me off his truck. I wanted to tell him to pay attention next time. Every time, dammit, because all it takes is one moment of inattentiveness to change someone’s life.

But I didn’t. I drove on. Slow and shaky. Nothing happened. No harm, no foul.

Except it could have so easily been different.

If not for ONE. SPLIT. SECOND.