There's no reason I shouldn't be making money off of the ridiculous things the Karma Fairy does to me on a regular basis. I know strange and often hilarious things happen to other people, too, but, it just seems to happen to me more frequently than the rest of mankind, and I'm thinking I should be compensated for it. That's only fair, right?

My latest adventure involves one of my constant enemies - technology. Namely, the automatic garage door opener that has decided to join the other appliances in my life and work only IF and WHEN it wants to work.

Whether it's the fancy schmancy door opener on my car's rearview mirror or the wall mounted unit located outside the garage, the actual opening of the garage door has been hit or miss for some time now. (Note: Since I have next to NO patience for this kind of thing, Roger has been forewarned to expect the huge hole in the garage door when I finally lose my temper and just plow THROUGH it. That's the thing - I WILL win, even if it costs me a lot of money in home repairs.)

Today started off with the possibility of peril. Since a winter storm warning had been issued last night, I was determined to get the dogs walked before any ice and freezing temperatures decided to make an appearance.

Roger told me not to, my Dad told me not to and my common sense told me not to, but who listens to THEM, anyway? Off the dogs and I went and it was a really uneventful walk, with a lot of sniffing and marking (them) and a lot of griping and whining (me).

With our walk over, we sashay up to the garage door, I key our code into the wall mounted opener and....nothing. I enter it again...nothing. This goes on and on until I begin to resemble the not so bright lab rats that keep repeating the desired behavior but with NO REWARD to show for it.

With a little sob I realize that: 1) the door IS NOT going to open, no matter how hard I mash the buttons; 2) Kicking it doesn't help; 3) I am locked out of the house and the temperature is dropping; 4) I'm going to have to climb the fence; and 5) I AM 48 YEARS OLD and haven't climbed a fence in over 40 years and I wasn't particularly good at it THEN, either.

I turn around and face the mountain - our 6 foot privacy fence. Now, you're probably wondering why I didn't just open the gate and WALK into our backyard, like any normal person would. First of all, my life is anything BUT normal, which, if you read this blog regularly, you already know; and Second our gate is locked with a padlock to keep out any would be thieves, dog nappers and idiots whose garage door openers quit working.

The dogs are looking at me like, "It's cold out here and it's misting..why aren't we in the house, getting our after walk treats? Hurry up, would you? There's a warm couch with my name on it!"

I take a deep breath (possibly my last) and heave myself up the fence (Hey, that weightlifting is really paying off!) I throw first one, then the other leg, over the top of the fence and, before you know it, I'm sitting on the top, looking at the long, long way down to the ground on the other side.

Do you ever have those moments when it becomes clear to you that what you're doing is NOT a good idea? That maybe you've made a HUGE mistake..one that might actually take a horrible turn and end up being the main item in an accident report? Or a story that starts out, "And then it all went terribly wrong"?

I hope when and if your "moment" comes, you're not straddling a 6 foot fence that has begun to sway dangerously back and forth, all alone except for two big dogs with worried looks on their faces.

The worried dogs and the swaying fence convinced me I had to take action, like it or not, so I closed my eyes real tight and wished for a ladder to magically appear on the other side of the fence. When I opened my eyes, I realized two things - wishes don't work and my pants were caught on a nail in the fence.

I took a deep breath, knowing it WOULD probably be my last, and jumped. The ripping sound I heard let me know that my pants were not as committed to this endeavor as I was - they were staying with the fence. When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the other side of the fence, in the only muddy spot in the entire yard (OF COURSE!), with my head resting in the dead spider lily plant. (FYI: If you think there might be an occasion where you have to climb your fence, I highly recommend planting soft, comfy plants to cushion your fall. Howard Garrett might not tell you, but I will.)

You're probably thinking I've got it made, now. I'm over the fence with no broken bones (thank you calcium pills!) and only a pair of torn sweats to show for it. But, I've still got to get IN the house, remember?

After raising my fist and giving a heartfelt but definitely wimpy, "Whoo-Hoo" victory yell, I stand up and stagger to the back door. I'll have to crawl through the dog door on my belly, but, hey, dignity has left this building a long time ago, ya know what I'm saying?

The dogs have started to whine and, while I'd like to think it's out of concern for my well being, I'm pretty sure it's because they realize if I fatally injure myself, their daily Sonic trip may just be cancelled or at the very least a tad bit late.

I get through the dog door with no further mishap, except that the ripped pants are now also soaked due to me having to crouch down on the sopping wet door mat in front of the doggie door.

I squish my way through the house and into the garage where I spot it..the Beast I have beaten. I slap the door opener and, amazingly enough, the door opens! (ooo, don't even go there - too little, too late, my friend - you are DONE!) I stand there for what seems like just a minute to throw some choice words at the offending mechanical device and go out to retrieve my poor, worried, clueless dogs, who are now so scared and confused they don't know what to do.

I've already told Roger I wanted a new garage door opener AND I WANT IT RIGHT NOW! He agreed with me, and I'm not sure, but I think he was laughing when he said it.

I don't care. I met my enemy on the battlefield and I defeated it. Excuse me, I've got pants to sew and I think Dudley needs another Prozac.

Wherever my Mother is, I can tell you she's ticked off. Being a stay at home mom, my mother's life was sometimes not her own. Her days were filled with caring for her family and running a household. Her time was not hers, EXCEPT for two definite occasions, and smart people learned that valuable lesson very early. Her weekly beauty shop appointment and her daily soap operas were holy rituals that were never to be missed.

Somewhere, up in Heaven, my mother is sitting in a comfy chair, with her coffee in a beautiful china cup, and a fresh box of chocolates by her side. She is also fighting mad at what has become of her beloved "programmies".

I understand television is trying to attract younger viewers. They're trying to appeal to the college crowd, and that's understandable. Young viewers are the target audience because of their disposable income. It's not that they have MORE of it, it's just that they tend to DISPOSE of it more often than the older generation does. We realize the importance of putting that extra income aside to use for the really fun things in life...hip replacements, angioplasties, biopsies, and don't forget the extra meds you'll be needing. Yeah, we oldsters know how to plan a party, don't we?

While I don't really watch soap operas, I do keep the television tuned to the same channel my mother watched for years. (What? The dogs like the noise..really!) Since I have the soaps tuned in, I can't help but overhear some of the plot and let me tell you, Toto, we are NOT in Kansas, anymore.

Oh, there's still the always popular "amnesia" plot, the kidnapping plot, the evil witch who's breaking up everyone's marriage plot, and the cheating husband plot. But, today's soaps also include eye poppers like graphic sex scenes between both straight AND gay characters.

There's nothing wrong with these latest storylines. In a lot of ways they do reflect real life and for the most part, I'm okay with them, up to a POINT. A line was definitely crossed the other day on one of the oldest soap operas on television. I'm talking about that Grande Dame of Soap Operadom..The Guiding Light.

Reva Shayne, a character who became notorious in her youth as the Town Tramp of Springfield (you know there's ALWAYS one), has aged and her character has survived adventures too numerous to mention. I realize her character is vital to the soap opera, but is it too much to ask for her to age gracefully? In a believeable fashion, while she embraces her age and enjoys the wonderfulness that middle age has to offer?

Apparently it IS too much to ask, since it was announced recently that Reva is pregnant! Quite a trick for someone who, not too long ago, shared her adventures in menopause with her sympathetic viewers who were experiencing the same thing.

Seriously, this woman is older than ME and, some genius decided it would be a good idea to have her experience the joys of labor, delivery and motherhood all over again, at OUR age? I can honestly tell you, that when the doctor delivered the news, my own uterus sat straight up and said, "Oh No, She Didn't!"

That did it for me. I'll be turning the television off before Guiding Light comes on, although it would be fun to see if Reva manages to find a walker with a support strap for her pregnant belly.

Remember before we met? You were a 36 year old, divorced father, caring for a young daughter and I was an almost 22 year old young woman in the process of divorcing my first mistake (I mean husband), after what had to be one of the shortest marriages in history. I might make mistakes quickly, but I fix them even quicker.

Who knew we'd ever meet or have a first date? The fortune teller who told you that you would soon meet someone important to you and she'd be considerably younger with a name that began with an "S". (My married name at the time was Smith); She knew.

Remember when you came to the Chamber of Commerce where I worked? You were there to give a speech and spent a whole lot of time looking at me. I knew you were going to ask me out and, in a rare show of shyness, I hid in the Women's bathroom until you'd left.

Who knew we'd eventually go on that date and hit it off so well? You must have had a pretty good idea, since you persevered, overcame my shyness and asked me out; You knew.

Remember the night we were married? A typical Texas Blue Norther blew in and the wind almost tore the church steeple off while we were reciting our vows. Who knew you'd be the best husband and father that God ever made? My mother, before the ceremony, told me you were the best man she'd ever met in her life and that if I hurt you, she'd never forgive me; She knew.

Remember when I became pregnant with our first child? There were complications and the first doctor I saw told me not to even tell anyone I was pregnant, because I was going to lose the baby.

Who knew that baby would thrive, be born and grow up to be a strong, handsome, caring, loving and successful 22 year old college graduate? When I came home from that first doctor's appointment, you held me tight and told me not to worry, that everything would be alright; You knew.

Remember when my parents were the people I counted on to comfort me; to advise me; to counsel me and to guide me? Their opinions were the ones that mattered to me.

Who knew that one day you would take their place; that you would be my base, my guide, my counselor, my advisor, my confidant and the most important person in my life? When our youngest was severely ill, my mother and I were walking out of the hospital after having his chest x-rays taken. You walked in just then and when I saw you, all the stress and fear ran out of me. I could breathe again and I knew everything was going to be alright; I knew.

Remember when we started this life together, over 24 years ago? Who knew we'd stay together, building a wonderful life, becoming closer, better, and more in love every day, until we can't even imagine a life without each other? I think we BOTH knew.

I love you Roger.

Sunday afternoon, my son's car was broken into in our very own driveway...in the middle of the day, in broad daylight, with me, Roger and our two very big, but obviously very deaf, dogs watching the football playoffs.

Believe me when I tell you that this, combined with our stolen mail episode, has me seriously considering going Rambo and taking some matters into my own hands. Really, who among us hasn't wanted to go all "Sharon Osbourne" on someone every now and then? And, while maybe it's not the most civilized reaction we could have, it might just be the most effective and I'm willing to BET it would be the most SATISFYING.

Who knows why the thieves broke out Alex's car window, ripped out his CD player, and rifled through his trunk, looking for treasure? All during the hours of 1:00 - 2:00 p.m. on a sunny Sunday afternoon? Why did they choose Alex's car when there were at least 5 other cars within 50 feet of his? Cars that were much newer and nicer than Alex's car?

The answer is that Alex had an above average CD player in his car. One that apparently caught the eye of someone who was too lazy to work for it but wanted it, anyway. A little smash and grab - a little breaking and entering and voila, the CD player was theirs for the taking.

Why did they think they could get away with it during prime time on a busy weekend day? Because they could, and they DID.

Maybe it's because they knew that when the police received my 911 call at 2:00 p.m. it would take them until 5:00 p.m. to show up at our house. I have no idea how to break into a car and rip a CD player out of the dashboard, but I'll bet even I could do it if you gave me three hours to get it done.

This isn't our first experience with crime in our neighborhood. Several years ago our area was targeted for a series of petty thefts and vandalism. We responded by organizing a Crime Watch and holding several informative meetings, which were well attended by neighbors and even community leaders.

The police department gave us tips on crime prevention and assured us they were on the case. The Superintendent of our School District (who has since retired) reminded us this was to be expected, since we lived in the wealthiest neighborhood in the city. Keep in mind this is a city whose motto could be: "Mesquite...we put the Middle in middle-class".

Ironically enough, in that case, police arrested several youths responsible for the crime spree; Kids that live in a nearby small town. A much more affluent town, by the way. Kind of shoots down the whole "the have NOTS will steal from the HAVES" doesn't it?

I have no idea what the reason is behind the latest crimes plaguing our area, and honestly, I don't care WHAT the reason might be.

All I know is, if I catch someone vandalizing and/or stealing from us again, they'd better HOPE the police have improved their response time. The criminals don't want us to have to wait three hours for the police to arrive. It's three hours they WON'T enjoy...I WILL, but they WON'T.

Our Dudley is a most unique individual. He's his own man, a Renaissance Man, if you will. One of the many things that make Dudley unique is his love of clothing. Nothing makes him happier than wearing something snazzy and fashionable in the world of apparel.



Here he is, sporting his brand new Hawaiian style bandana. Put him on a beach, slap a tropical drink in his paw and you've got yourself a killer vacation ad.

We had a good holiday season here at the Proza household.

Joseph, was home from Texas A&M for a whole two days before he became sick as a dog with an evil stomach virus (truthfully, my dogs have NEVER been THAT sick, thank God).

He woke us up early on a Sunday morning, loudly calling for "Ralph", if you know what I mean. One funny thing about it (and believe me, I cleaned up the mess, so I KNOW there wasn't much in the way of funny), was Joseph's determination to make it to our regular Sunday brunch. After each stomach upheaval, he'd tell himself, "I'm okay, I'm okay - I'll just have the fruit plate, fruit will be okay." Bless his heart, the kid's a trooper, isn't he?

One thing Roger and I learned is that although Joseph is a brilliant kid, and has survived dorm room living for a whole semester, he still has some basic survival skills to learn. Primarily the art of throwing up.

Maybe it's because Joseph was lucky enough to be amazingly healthy all of his life, or maybe it's because he's just not overly burdened with a whole lot of common sense. Whatever the reason, it has never occurred to Joseph that, when you need to vomit, it's a good idea to get yourself as CLOSE to the target (read: toilet bowl) as you possibly can. Kneeling down is a requirement - grabbing the sides of the bowl and praying for death are optional.

No, throwing up, Joseph style, requires the merest movement of simply bowing your head a fraction of an inch, and letting 'er rip, all from a height of approximately 6'2". Accuracy is not necessary and isn't even encouraged. This procedure can be repeated, as needed, with even LESS accuracy from the doorway of the bathroom. Kind of a new take on the phrase "You don't even have to be PRESENT to win!"

Roger and I tried to educate Joseph on how to improve his form by telling him there was a reason being sick is often referred to as "driving the porcelain bus", and that he needed to get up close and personal with the toilet to avoid any mishaps someone (read: ME) would have to clean up.

Joseph was horrified, to say the least, and asked us WHY in the WORLD would anybody want to get that close to something that disgusting? Uh huh, spoken like someone who DOESN'T have to clean up the disgust.

The nausea was followed by a couple of days of high fever and some patient/caregiver battles. I'm the first to admit that I make a lousy nurse. If you are unlucky enough to become sick on my watch I seriously advise you to drag yourself to the nearest Discount Tire or Kwicky Lube...you'll get better care there, I promise.

I'm the type to open the door, throw in medicine, look at my watch and tell you that you have 15 minutes to get well or die, and I don't care which - just PICK ONE!

Joseph wouldn't eat anything (understandable), slept constantly (okay, he needs his rest to recover), repeatedly asked for a cold washcloth for his head (now he's pushing it), and wouldn't drink anything (what, does he WANT to dehydrate and spend his Christmas in the HOSPITAL?? He's doing this on purpose, isn't he?)

I'm happy to report that Joseph DID, in fact, recover, about 5 minutes before I tried to smother him with his pillow and went on to enjoy a very relaxed vacation of sleeping, watching television and laying around in his pajamas.

Pretty much what he did when he was sick with one big improvement. We're not quite as worried about his aim.