Lie Detector Test

There are lots of people I know who have undergone a lie detector test as a condition of employment. Most of them work for the Feds in some capacity that requires them to be above board and honest.

Me... I used to work for a gold refinery called Johnson Matthey Refinery, Inc. I had to submit to the polygraph test so they could ensure that I wouldn't sneak out with an ingot stuffed into my shoes or smuggled into my bra.

Anyone who knows me knows that second scenario would never work, but I digress.

So, Beth and I were talking about random stuff after covering the more weighty issues of the day which involved painful lessons and tears. The topic shifted around to lie detector tests. We are truly random people.

"Have you ever stolen a ham from a grocery store?" I about fell out of my chair laughing. 'A HAM?!?!?! A HAM?!?!?!" But Beth swears this was a question she was asked and I believe her simply because it's just too freaky and odd to be made up. It proves that the test administrator either had (a) a sense of humor or (b) a guilty party already in mind whom he was determined would not be missed in the questioning. I'm betting on answer B on this one, kids.

And Beth says she never stole a ham. I also believe that because anyone who knows her at all knows she would steal Dove chocolate WAAAAAAY before dipping into the meat aisle. A woman has to have her priorities in order.

As part of the questions I was asked prior to getting my job as an assayer for JMRI, the questioner posed this toughie: "Have you ever stolen anything?"

I know they were angling for something like grand theft or a jewelry heist, but the truth is the only thing I ever stole was a couple of Tootsie Rolls from the Elmore's Five and Ten Cent dime store. I was promptly busted for my offense and precious piggy bank money was extracted to pay for the candy. The store manager, with full approval of my mother, raked me over the coals. Stealing hasn't ever been tempting since.

Another gem the polygraph expert asked was: "Have you ever lied to your parents?"

Realizing this was no time for levity, I simply answered yes, then was asked to detail the circumstances on which I would lie. The fact is, then and now, I wanted to say "Am I over 1 year old? HELL YES!!! I've not only lied to my parents, but I derived a benefit from having done so ... I avoided getting my butt whipped!"

Of course, reasonable minds know that for kids in their teens, it sometimes comes down to the axiom that Judge Judy (I LOVE her show) trots out frequently: "If their lips were moving, they're lying!"

Kids don't lie all of the time, neither do adults. But when something seems like it would be in our personal best interest to shield us from whatever circumstance or consequence we'd like to put off dealing with... we LIE. There is a song called "White Lies" that played today on the radio while I was out running an errand with Beth. It was sort of the 'closing hymn' for the conversation.

We do what we feel will keep us out of the cross hairs. But now, lying has gone from kids protecting their assets against adult wrath to a national pastime on the Beltway in D.C. It's like "Hey, I got elected! Now I have a FREE PASS to lie 24/7!"

I don't believe they would make the eggregious statements they do if our politicians were all compelled to go on the record with a polygraph machine hooked up to them like a veracity life support machine.

It could also provide a useful service in finding out who among our tax paid leaders is not just a member of the liar's club but a pathological liar. Then we'd know where to aim when we shoot.

Just remember kids, the most important thing to glean from this conversation is to cut way back on the lying because it can prevent you from being employed. And also, try not to steal a ham. They do monitor that sort of evildoing...

A Death in the Family

It happened just before Christmas and it isn't belated grief that has made this posting come so late. Rather, it was the complete feeling of freedom from lugging around the sheer weight and inconvenience of dealing with the recently deceased. Or maybe I'm just in denial...

My vacuum cleaner gave up the ghost and didn't bother to tell us it had done so.

The only reason I found out about it at all was the fact that I had loaned it to my sister prior to Christmas for her to tidy up before the family descended like locusts upon her home for the annual Christmas feasting and conversation.

She called to ask me somewhat concerned "Does your vacuum always make this much noise?" I assured her that "Yes, it does, but it works just fine."

She called me back a few minutes later to assure me that the vacuum did NOT work just fine and, in point of fact, had indeed passed on... slipping away from us to that great vacuum cleaner heaven in the sky.

I was appalled!! I used this SAME vacuum cleaner to clean the floors of my home all the time and now I was left to ponder just what level of filth I have become accustomed to accepting as "clean"?

Imagine my horror.

Even when I pronounced my home clean, neat and tidy after dragging the ten-ton behemoth through the home to suck up dirt, pet hair, cobwebs, dander and debris... the sad truth is that my beloved elderly vacuum was simply rearranging it to a neater dump.

Why on earth do I ever invite people over???

I'm quite certain that thought always crosses THEIR minds as they see the tragedy unfolding before them and are helpless to do anything until the time comes for them to make a speedy getaway to somewhere less cluttered and filthy.

OH MY GOSH!!! I just realized... I had BRAGGED about how well this cursed vacuum cleaner worked only days before I loaned it to my sister! Now, she either thinks I am the president pro tem of the local "Liars Club" or a certifiable lunatic. Either way, it doesn't bode well.

So, while on the phone today with my gal pal Billi Jo, we were discussing the relative merits of whatever new machine I shall consider to replace the "not so dearly departed", we talked about vacuuming over the same spot repeatedly only to see the little dust cup fill over and over with wads of pet hair. It kind of makes me wonder why our pets aren't all walking around butt naked since they seem to lose so much every stinking day!! Why on earth don't they all look like a Mexican Hairless by now??? But I digress...

The reality of it is that I want to have a vacuum that is truly lightweight but has the suction power of a jet engine on steroids. I want people to think that my house never accumulates dirt, dust, dander or pet hair. I want it to clean the room at ten paces while I'm sitting in a chair holding the hose out at ten paces! In short, I want Better Homes and Gardens to make my home the poster child of the month for beauty and cleanliness!!

I think I need to lie down now as I have worked myself up into a lather just thinking about it.

All I know for sure is that I should never be trusted to loan out household appliances ever again. What I assume is "normal functioning" is actually the death throes of a machine whose prime has come and gone without me ever taking notice of its demise. It's a cautionary tale.

In my defense, mechanical and electrical things are not my forte anyway. They don't speak my language and likewise I am a wanderer in a strange land when it comes to understanding theirs. And Lord knows there are not any "Your Vacuum Cleaner For Dummies" books out there. I know, because I looked. So there.

Now, I am left with the odious task of searching for a suitable replacement. But how can I be trusted with so momentous a decision?? After all, I let its predecessor pass away on my watch without so much as a by your leave. Is there some sort of legal penalty for this? Have I doomed myself in some way?

As Billi Jo says "Oh, the vacuum tragedy!" She kindly offered to let me use hers if only we had beaming technology. I'm sure Scotty wouldn't be amused at the return trip of a corpse instead of a vacuum cleaner. Even the replicators of the future can't reanimate the dead.

So I am determined to do one of two things: (#1) either find a vacuum cleaner that does what it says and perhaps has some sort of early warning system that tells me in plain language that I am in the process of killing it OR (#2) simply hoping that dainty little cleaning fairies will do the job for me.

I'm thinking that option #2 isn't going to happen. Sad, I know.

Is there a maid service that simply shows up to vacuum? Do they have reasonable prices? And, more importantly, will I be held liable for killing THEIR vacuum should the pet hair and general crud around my home overtake it?

These are questions I am determined to answer in one form or fashion.

But not right now.

Now, it is time to mourn the passing of the vacuum. Even if we are a bit late in doing so. I'm sure wherever it's soul is (do they even HAVE souls?), it will appreciate the gesture.

Farewell Dirt Devil! We hardly knew ye...

What in the holy Hannah is going on in here???

I'll admit that my approach to housework is extremely casual. I do not believe in being a slave to the house. If the health department has not been called in to quarantine the place and condemn the house entirely, then I'm good.

The floor IS mopped, the counters are reasonably free of clutter, or at least as free as they can expect with a college student, a genealogy freak and a part time culinary 'expert' making the counter a wasteland for various projects.

But this morning, sometime between the breakfast and saying goodbye to Jared for the bus, our resident canine tried something new.

She was rinsing her feet in her water bowl.

DO WHAT???

Just what in the holy Hannah is going on in here, dog?!?!?!

There was water all over the floor in front of her bowls and her feet were wet up to the hocks, ankles, wrists... whatever the heck it is you call that part of the dog's leg.

She didn't appear to be too unhappy that I discovered her 'fancy footwork'... until I got out the mop.

She hates the mop. It removes her 'artwork'.

Gypsy views her muddy paw prints, soggy dribblings and fur as a 'shared blessing'.

I believe, if given the choice, Gypsy would carpet every room in the house with 'tumblefurs'... you know, those little wads of dog fur that get under every piece of furniture and which, without "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!", would overtake the entire house.

It goes without saying that in her vision of household perfection, she would have a dedicated area to toss her dry food around. She has this habit of trying to 'bury' her food and as a result, despite endless hours of trying to correct her behavior, I sweep up bits and kibble from the area around her bowl. Too cheap to toss it out, I pick out the bits of fur and other detrious that is in the dustpan and redeposit the food in her bowl for later eating, which actually DOES occur.

But today, I must admit, the foot rinsing caught me off guard. It's not like she never gets bathed. She does. We have a lovely set of mismatched towels just for her.

Apparently, running the fenceline barking violently at the neighbor dog and showing him just how 'tough' she is made her tootsies a little hot. So she rinsed them.

In the absence of any other plausible reason for why her feet were all comfortably drenched in the cool and previously fresh water in her bowl wasn't forthcoming. Those of you who have dogs know what I am saying... they just aren't real newsy when it isn't in their best interest. And despite all of my training and Rick's training and Thomas' training to this little girl, she knows when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em in the communications department.

I'm sure that we will make up later on. Right now Gypsy is sulking. I had the nerve to clean up her 'art work'.

Get over it, little girl!

When the National Gallery calls for an exhibition, then we'll talk about it.

But in the meantime, I'm left to wonder why, on a day when the temperatures hover in the 30degree range, it seemed like such a good idea to rinse her feet in the water bowl.

Some questions may just never get answered in this life.

Maybe I should apply for a government grant to study the phenomena... they did give a multi-million dollar wad-o-cash to someone to study cow flatulence...

FAFSA and College

The random nature of my email generally doesn't catch a lot of my attention since I seldom need the half-price offerings of the camping store or a bargain basement sale on hip waders at the hunting store's website.

But when the flagged message from the kindly folks who hold my son's educational future in their hands wends its way into my inbox, attention must be paid.

FAFSA - Free Application for Federal Student Aid. Also known as "this is the only way you are going to school unless we discover DNA proof that we are Gettys". While scholarships helped tremendously in the process of the first year, and we anticipate receiving other scholarships, let it be said in today's financial climate that scholarships don't cover the real cost of an education unless you are extremely gifted and have a few connections, too.

Most students are on the work-study plan, which means their parents work while they study.

Naturally, summers are spent at "the Pig" (or some equally regular job) sacking up groceries for delightful old ladies who roll their stockings down to just below the knee. The money made isn't enough to do a whole lot, but it insures you can pay for your insurance and gasoline during most of the school year without too many parental gas money subsidies.

FAFSA applications are meticulous and take into account all of the residents of the household that are human. Sadly, canid relatives need not apply even if graduation from obedience school with an eye on a master's in tail wagging was planned. Only human relations count in the numbers game.

They care enough to spend the very best.

Tuition, books, fees - in some cases but not in all - they are the first assault in the money hit. IF there is money left over, and that is a HUGE IF these days, a check for basic expenses is cut to you. Generally, there IS NO MONEY LEFT. But at least the financial realities of classes and books has been paid.

When parents struggle through their tax forms to make sure Junior and/or Juniette have the proper numbers for FAFSA completion, then the real fun begins of trying to keep them on the straight and narrow long enough to walk down the aisle in a few years and get a degree in SOMETHING that will enable them to do oh so much more than spending the rest of their life saying either "checkatawlferya" or "y'antfrieswitdat?".

Naturally, we understand that either of those phrases may occur as part of getting an education along with a host of others that don't sound very erudite or sophisticated, but which are necessary to get on toward degree completion.

And it is almighty true that everyone wasn't built to be a rocket scientist or a brain surgeon. But I take comfort in the fact that our world has some of all of the above categories just in case I'm either out in space and need fries or have a sudden month-long migraine that sends me to bed.

I guess I don't remember the frustration of my own parents when it came time for college money. I do know that Momma worked at a quick stop late at night to help pay for school, a fact which they carefully hid from us while we were away at a college out west. It was the only way they could keep up with the needs of the two kids at home and the two in college at the same time.

Now that I have my one kid in college, I do understand at least a little bit. And I have to say I am thankful that there are opportunities for scholarships and grants and loans out there to help ease the sting of the semester bills that come due hard and heavy.

Without the help, we couldn't expect to have our son get through college in any swift fashion. It just wouldn't be to eacy to come by at all.

Of course, the idea for colleges and universities is to get you in, get your money and then change the catalogue frequently enough that you are in school for an eternity before you graduate thus bringing in some pretty nice loot.

The idea for parents and families is to get into school and get out with a reasonable GPA and an accompanying reasonable understanding of the major you claim as your own without going completely bankrupt and bald in the process.

Somehow, for most people, it all eventually works out and your offspring crosses a dias somewhere in the world of academia to lay hands on a diploma as much yours as theirs.

Pray for us as we fill out the next FAFSA. It certainly keeps the school credits floating along. And pray for our student/son Thomas. He wants to do well and become a credit to himself and to his eventual profession as an engineer.