Psssst!

Don't tell him I told you, but...

You can't work with Chuck for too long before you begin to notice something peculiar about his speech habits.  He has a penchant for speaking in over-used quotes.  His co-workers have affectionately labeled them "Chuckisms."  I now fear that these so-called "Chuckisms" are being woven into the very fabric of our children's education.

Now, check kiting is not an activity I advocate, condone or otherwise support.  Imagine, then, my shock and suprrise to get a call from one of our banks informing me that our money market account had a debit balance.

"What?"  I ask even though I heard her the first time.  "That can't be!  We rarely use that account."

"Yes, well, there have been 2 returned items bringing your account to a -$25 balance."  She states.  She's heard it all before.

To Chris, he was Maxi.

Max, our family cat, breathed his last this morning on the way to the vet. His death didn’t come as a surprise, he was 15 years old. What surprises me is that I am actually sad.

I’ll miss the way he would make his own little nest in my hair on the pillow at night and then knead the back of my neck with his paws; “making biscuits,” we called his little cat massage.

I’ll miss the sense of security he gave me when we were in the house alone at night and I’d hear an unfamiliar noise. I’d look at Max to see if he was alarmed and if not, I’d relax. Never mind that this skinny, short-haired, neutered, de-clawed house cat would be ineffectual against real danger.