May the pours be with you

I spent the last week doing what a lot of people around here have been enjoying lately – having an extended and unplanned out-of-body experience.

Nope, we aren’t new age freaks, we’re just in the epi-center of an epidemic of flu, strep throat, or a mutant form of viral cold, and any combination thereof.

I, thank the Dude, fell into the latter category so I could move around and stuff but I couldn’t feel myself doing it.

Except for the water boarding, which I’ll get to later.  I could feel that.

Ever-thankful I have so far escaped the flu (knock on all wood, forever), this thing I’ve had carries it’s own set of rituals.

First, sleep. So much sleep. For a few days, I was averaging about 14 hours of relative unconciousness.

Second, self-inflicted water boarding which is the antithesis of sleep, but necessary in exorcizing  the demons. Each day I would do this to myself by way of something you can legally purchase at a drug store called a Neti Pot.

I call it a snot genie, but whatever.

It flushes out anything within a 6-inch radius of your nose that may be harboring snot, but not before it takes you on an epic journey right up to the brink of death by self-drowning.

Seriously, you haven’t lived until you watched yourself do this in a bathroom mirror, my only survival technique was to pant like a dog. Again, this was the only time last week I was consciously in my body and it isn’t a pleasant memory.

Third, I poured. A lot.

I poured saline water into the snot genie, then into my face.

I poured cough medicine with codeine down my throat.

I poured a few cups of NyQuil and learned to love it.

I poured a shot of Crown. Maybe more, who was counting?

Each time I poured, I quickly toasted to the quick return of health to all the people with the flu and strep, and for those who have avoided it,  because I knew if I didn’t hurry I would soon be unconscious.

But if you do get this stuff, may the pours be with you.

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Anger expressed in haiku

I’ve missed you guys the past two weeks.

To be honest, I’ve missed myself and everything else I deal with when I am conscious.

It wasn’t bad enough that I had my first-ever bout with the flu, combined with my umpteenth time to have strep throat.

Oh, it was bad, but more havoc would be wreaked when something resembling a stomach virus entered stage left about day three of the original crisis.

It was the only time I cried. I was mostly a brave girl.

But my fingers hurt, and my eyes didn’t work and my legs shook like a newborn baby foal when I walked. It was pathetic for a couple days, and what I call “the trifecta of suckage.”

It was so bad, I have already booked my flu shot for next year.

Then, as a final blow, the universe gave me the proverbial finger Sunday with Daylight Savings Time (DST).

I have found precisely two Facebook friends who think it’s the most amazing thing since Nutella – or maybe it’s the other way around, I’m still sleepy. Other than that, most everyone agrees with me that stealing an hour of valuable sleep time should be a prosecutable offense.

That’s truly how I feel. And, for the first week after DST, I remind everyone who mentions it what the time would be if it were on Saturday, instead of after 2 a.m. on Sunday.

And, if you’re honest, you or someone around you as late as yesterday said a variation of “I am still messed up with this time change.”

I’ve heard it several times, a couple of them from someone other than me.

I feel so strongly about this that I wrote a poem Monday morning – I do this sometimes as a way to cope with my sleepy emotions – about my thoughts on DST and posted it on Facebook with a picture of my cup of coffee. I’m artsy like that.

The poem was:



And I meant it.

One of my longest time friends, Kent, pointed out to me that my poem was an odd haiku, with only three syllables instead of the customary 17.

I told him three syllables was all I had and  more would be forthcoming as soon as I located the stolen hour.*

Later that day, Kent wrote me a haiku that was amazing, and posted it on my Facebook wall.

It went like this:

Unsettled by the

Delayed dawn, Kari reached for

Coffee, which helped, some

After that, several of my friends joined in for a “Haiku slam” party about DST, and much finger snapping and laughter ensued.

These are the kinds of friends I have: smart, funny and great with words. So I leave you with their thoughts on Daylight Savings Time, because it’s time for my nap.

Coffee. Beverage?

Nay. In truth, a life force

Only fools abstain.

                                    -Alisa in California

Daylight savings time


Need I say more? No.

                                – also Alisa

Like a silent thief

My hour is stolen from me

Never to return

                               – Kelly in Texas

I take mine with,

Lots of creamer,

Makes me sweeter, never meaner

                               -Darla in Texas

Dawn creeps slowly, she

Feels lowly and bereft, ‘till

Coffee, coffee, more coffee

                            -Kent from Arkansas, again

And, although she later corrected herself to say she believed it was Shakespeare and not a haiku, Darla also offered this winner:

Til a hot flash comes a lurkin’,

Seems my own percolator is Perkin’.

Laughter, and friends, are the best medicine. And, haikus are pretty nice, too.

*The stolen hour has yet to be located.

Send me your best haiku about Daylight Savings Time, and I’ll update this post and give you credit……

**** NEW STUFF! March 16, 2017 2:13 p.m.

More haikus are being added daily until morale improves. Thank you to you guys for your beautiful and thoughtful support!

Clocks spring forward.
Means I rise earlier.
But Coffee comes sooner.                            

                       -Michael in Colorado

cat claw plucks
my scalp to be fed ~
lost time sucks

                    – Amy in Illinois

Took an hour away,
It will take months to recover,
Then the hour returns.

               – Carol

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It was a month before Christmas….

The past four days have been like an Advent calendar except when you open the little windows, crazy stuff pops out.


What my Advent Calendar would look like if I had one.

Day 1 – Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving day brought everything it always promises: amazing food, laughter and gathering with a family I don’t see often enough even if we do live in the same county.

This Thanksgiving brought more than 20 members of my family together despite the near-hot-roll-famine of 2016 (that story is coming to a post near you, soon) and we continued with our tradition of Saint Francis of Assisi holding another Saint Francis of Assisi’s head in his basket for picture time.

It’s not as weird as it sounds, really, because at the rear of my childhood backyard is kind of a pet cemetery. (Okay, it is weird, but just go with it) My mother is a fan of Saint Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals (as if patron saints can even have a fan club) and when one of her dogs passed several years ago, Mom buried her back there and placed on her grave a Saint Francis statue. Years went by, and more beloved pets died and were buried back there as well, making it an official pet cemetery and giving us reason to appreciate the fact my mother usually chooses small dogs as pets.

Sadly, a few years ago Saint Francis of Assisi literally lost his head. I don’t know how but it was a kind of clean break. Mom didn’t have the heart to remove the original Saint Francis, who has sat with her sweet dog Brandy, (who had the most tremendous overbite for a poodle, by the way) all these years. So she propped the head of Saint Francis the First back on its original resting place, and bought a Saint Francis the Second for the days when the First just can’t keep his head on straight. The dogs always have a patron saint looking over them, and we are glad of this.

So glad that we’ve made a Thanksgiving tradition of placing Saint Francis the First’s head in Saint Francis the Second’s basket for photo time. And by we, I mean I was completely alone for most of this. I think everyone else is afraid of retribution, while I am hoping Saint Francis the First and Second have a healthy sense of humor. That is the battle cry of my life.


Saint Francis of Assisi One and Two

After my yearly photo shoots with Saint Francis One and Two, I returned home and fell into a three and a half hour stuffing coma. It was awesome.

Day 2 – Black Friday

I don’t participate in Black Friday beyond accidentally hearing about it on the news and all of the websites I forgot to cancel email notifications from.


Some would say that makes Kari a very dull and unadventurous girl. Others, mostly myself, say it’s what keeps me digging humanity. My steadfast denial to recognize that there are people in this world willing to mow you down for a ballerina Barbie the day after a holiday designated for thanks is the only thing that keeps my hope for mankind intact.

So, I don’t venture out. And not in that afraid I’ll have a psychotic episode way (ok, maybe just a little), but more in that “Oh, hell no.” way. It’s about self-care, really, and conscious denial.

So I did something I’ve been practicing for all year long. I did whatever I wanted, which was not too damn much.

After a long day of rest, I finally got my college football Friday evening when Texas Texas took on Baylor. It was perfection, because Tech won the game in a rare move for 2016. Happiness was mine. Also, I heard what is now my current favorite line in a TV commercial – “Intention is not the name of a perfume” – but I have no idea what it was advertising. That’s what I call a wasted line, and it makes me sad that something that brilliant is lost on a commercial for a forgettable product.

But the best was yet to come, and I didn’t even know it. After The Raider game, I alternated between reading a really good book and watching the Arizona vs. Arizona State football game. It was my Friday pay dirt.

Fortunately for me, I was watching when Miss Arizona USA was tackled as she stood on the sideline under the gaze of her loyal and captive subjects. She was hit hard, and I know it hurt. I know it hurt because I’ve been tackled while photographing a high school football game and it knocked my shoes off.

Here’s the crazy thing: She was wearing her crown, and it was large and in charge. Her crown was also knocked off, so I have something vaguely in common with Miss Arizona USA 2016. Thankfully, due to the  alchemy of her hairspray and bobby pins and a very astute handler, the tiara was back on her lovely nugget in less than a minute.


And yet another thing I am thankful for is this YouTube video of Miss Arizona taking one for the team:


They interviewed her afterward and she credited her background in kinesiology for helping her land properly. She gave no credit to what hairspray she was using, so I’m betting on Aqua Net.

She is still gonna hurt tomorrow, was my official diagnosis after the interview.

(Note: if anyone knows where those kind of heavy-duty-yet-classy crowns come from, let me know. I’m accident prone and need one that is good in all situations.)

Saturday, the day after Black Friday

My husband woke up Saturday morning with the flu. (Note to self: call the family we were dining with Thursday) Nobody ever clued me in that this was an Advent calendar option, but here we are – me and him, separated by a wall of Lysol fumes.

I rarely cook anymore, because Bobby does all the cooking. But I did Saturday because I will admit it here – I am addicted to food. (This is always the first step with an addiction, now I need to remember who I have harmed because of my hunger).


With Bobby in the bed, I was responsible for hunting and gathering my own food and my body went into survival mode when I realized he wouldn’t be cooking supper. This made me hungry all day. I made stew and what might be remembered in history as the worst cornbread ever made from a package mix.


While I was slicing and dicing and making horrid cornbread, I also watched college football under the false pretense that it was beauty queen weekend across the United States. It was not in Ohio or Alabama, from what I could tell.
However, Ohio beat Michigan in double-overtime, and I learned some things about myself during that game. I found out when the camera trained in on Michigan’s head football coach Harbaugh after his team threw their third interception that I can read lips. All of them. I also learned that Harbaugh and I could hang. We know the same words.


Harbaugh, speaking my language

I ate stew and spit out cornbread during the Alabama-Auburn game. Although it is a big rivalry game (there should have been Miss Alabama USA there somewhere), there wasn’t much tension since Alabama kind of owns college football right now. So I did what I do best and noticed stuff like cheerleader bows, names and twirlers.

All I can report is that cheerleaders (all over the nation, not just Alabama) still wear huge candy box bows on top of their ponytails that remind me of show poodles. ‘Bama’s quarterback’s last name is “Hurts”, which I think is a great omen; and I noticed that Alabama’s twirling section outnumbers most Texas high school football teams. I didn’t even know twirling was still a thing.

My sister was a twirler in high school and at homecoming 40 years ago, she would twirl with fire. They would wrap the ends of their batons in some cloth, dip it in something flammable and light them on fire while the stadium lights were lowered and twirl to something spectacular being played by the Iowa Park High School Mean Green Marching Machine. It was magic.

I think if the Alabama twirling squad attempted that, hairspray fumes among the ranks would cause a blow-torch effect and then Miss Alabama USA wouldn’t be allowed to even come to the game because of safety concerns.

Sunday, the day before I go back to work to face the Christmas season

This morning I woke up to a dog barfing in her kennel, and a husband who still reminds me of someone who would finish his will if only he had the strength to hold a pen. The flu has hit hard, y’all.

After a pot of coffee and copius amounts of cleanup, I have braved the grocery store and forgotten for the third day in a row to do one thing to look presentable.

It is one o’clock and I’m back in my sweats with no bra in sight and plans for a four-hour power nap.

I hope your Thanksgiving, like mine, reminded you of the beautiful things you are thankful for; that if you did venture out on Black Friday you returned home uninjured physically and emotionally and with every item you wanted at 75% off; and that your weekend has been spent on radical self-care. December is truly just around the corner.

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