Today is the first day of fall, my favorite time of year. Chills in the air greet me in the morning as I get ready to begin the day. It’s time to dig out my coats, scarves and more importantly, boots.

But it’s also a dangerous time of year due to summer clearance sales at department stores. I’m successful in bypassing the cute tanks and summer dresses. But when it comes to shoes, my head spins a la Linda Blair in The Exorcist. And before I know it, I’m forking over my debit card and walking away with another pair of shoes in hand.

My shoe dependency is further compounded by not having to share closet space with anyone. And now I have to admit I’m getting out of control. If I don’t stop now I’ll be thisclose to being featured on the TV show Hoarders. Only I’ll be buried in mounds of shoes, wearing a flat and a mismatched high heel.

Yesterday, the solution to my growing problem appeared in a church bulletin.

The Lighthouse Mission is holding their annual Sole Drive. The mission is accepting all shoes, new and old. They can be dropped off at 407 L. Casillas Boulevard. The mission can also be contacted at 769-7775.

I’ve been quiet on the blog front and staying preoccupied at home with the massive project I’ve dubbed ‘de-cluttering my house.’
Tops on my project was my lawn. I’m pretty lucky that my dad has a bunch of garden tools and usually helps me out (okay, does it all) with my yard. But a lawn is something I need to figure out how to tackle on my own.
So that’s how I found myself looking at new lawn mowers this past weekend. I sized them up and picked out a shiny new one. To her dismay, the sales lady informed me they were probably out of the one I wanted. I was secretly glad. But of course, she managed to find the only one left for me.
The warehouse guys stuffed it in my car for me and I took it home, unloaded it and proudly put together my non-assembly required lawn mower.
I finished up by adding the oil and gas and pulled the cord. Nothing. Over and over again and nothing.
A Facebook post later I had advice from a former military spouse: ‘use a shoe string to tie the lever and pull with both hands,’ a friend texting and offering to come and help and another telling me to call it quits since it was probably going to rain.
So, embarrassment, frustration and rain clouds forced me to put it away for another day.
And the rain finally subsided and the ground dried.
So there I stood, hands on my hips, glaring at my lawn mower a few days later. I mentally prepped myself for ‘the pull.’ Equally annoyed, my dog Max stood next to me barking at the mower for it to start and I pulled.
It finally started. My elation couldn’t be measured.

I’m not supposed to enjoy these mandatory furloughs implemented by Freedom Communications, since I’m missing out on pay that I could really use. But on the upside, the furloughs haven’t been a completely bad deal. It’s an extra day I have to take off of work and stay away from anything work-related. No email, no taking calls and certainly no stopping by the office. I’ve spent my furloughs catching up on books, movies and errands. My past furlough day was spent at the vet’s office getting my dog caught up on his vaccines and overall health check.

While I was sitting in the waiting office I glanced up at a poster comparing dog years to human years. Max, my dog, is 36 in human years or just over 5-years-old.

I looked down at him barking and struggling to get out of my arms and I got suddenly emotional. My chest tightened and tears pooled in my eyes. Where did all the time go?

Sure he’s bad (I consider him a pint-sized Marley), but in my eyes he’s the world to me.

Through all of my ups and downs he’s been a constant in my life.

For an English class I took awhile back, we were asked to write memoirs. Some of the students wrote about hard issues such as deaths and alcoholism. I wrote about my dog. My instructor liked it though and asked me to read it aloud to the class. I cried. Not a graceful tear sliding down my cheek, but tears and snot streaming down my face. I love him that much and get that emotional about his presence in my life.

For a Valentine’s present that I never wanted, I’ll consider myself blessed to have Max for a season of my lifetime.

I hail from the cheeseburger capital of the world - otherwise known as Friona, Texas.
It’s one of the many, tiny towns that dots the route from Clovis to Amarillo.
The declaration isn’t for a specific cheeseburger, but for a cheeseburger festival held annually in the summer.
The town’s population is 3,854, according to Wikipedia.
Wikipedia also says the town’s motto is: “The best thing to come out of Friona was my car.”
I’m pretty sure that’s not true.

Glenda Price’s column last Friday over childhood toys got me feeling all nostalgic over my own toys growing up. Fortunately, I never had to resort to playing with pocket knives. I can recall fondly two of my favorites:
First off my little white Casio keyboard. It looked something like this:

I spilled Kool-Aid or some other sugary drink on it and it met its demise.
So for Christmas it was replaced with an even bigger and better one like this:

During meetings or school lectures I find myself constantly drawing circles. I couldn’t figure out why until it dawned on me how much I used to love my Spirograph, my second favorite toy:

And the toy I always wanted:

I still think rock earrings would be kind of cool.

Oh, and to some of my readers: Barbara, Mike, Leslie, Lukas and Aunt Rosie, who all called me out for not updating in awhile -my apologies.

The red thing under my desk isn’t a cooler. It’s the newest addition to my workspace - a nice, comfy ottoman.

It was actually a gift from my co-worker (Kevin Wilson) who sits in front of me and listened to me complain everyday about having to use a trashcan to prop up my feet.

I spend the majority of my time in that chair so I figure that it makes sense that I might as well be comfortable. But, am I too comfortable at work now?

What do you do to spruce up your workspace? Comment me and let me know! Send me a photo: dianna_hernandez@link.freedom.com

Next up, I’m thinking I want one of those nice, padded computer chairs. I think I’m on my own for that one though.

Me: So, you want some?

Lili: Yeah, I’ll take some. Like how much and when will they be ready?l

Me: Not sure how much. I can pick them up Saturday.

Off in the corner our boss is laughing and exclaiming “Wow, sounds like you’re making a drug deal.”

I hardly consider tamales a drug. But it is always wise to purchase tamales from a known tamale dealer. In my family tamales are a holiday item and I usually pass on restaurant tamales. So if I want them any other time of the year then they are only purchased from a good friend of mine. I know her and trust that she’ll come through with my goods. And I know that she doesn’t use any mystery meat, which as my Dad warned, is a common occurence.

Gonna hop off now, I’m getting tamale grease all over my keyboard

On TV or in a movie you’ll always see a guy or a girl in dire need of a makeover holding one of these up. It’s an eyelash curler. You insert your eyelashes in the middle, open and clamp down to get a nice curl. While it may look like a torture device (it’s not) it is the culprit behind my latest beauty blunder.

I was home for the holidays getting ready to go over to my grammy’s. I picked up my sister’s eyelash curler (you should never do this for hygiene reasons) and proceeded to use it. I clamped down -hard. Stupid thing wasn’t working. Or that’s what I thought until I looked down and was stunned to see my long lashes all over the curler and on my hand. Somehow my lashes got cut off. I still don’t understand how. All I see is that I’m now missing a big chunk of eyelashes.

“Moooooooooooooooooooooom! Eyelashes grow back right?”

I’ve been assured that they will and that my loss isn’t really that noticeable.

It happens randomly. Like earlier this week when I was in the produce section at the grocery store. All of a sudden the song Carribean Queen just pops into my head and I find myself humming it throughout the rest of the night. I can easily be conisdered a fan on the 80’s and the music it brought us.

I’m lucky enough to sit across from a co-worker who shares my love for cheesy 80’s hits. Last night the tune to sing was George Harrison’s “Got My Mind Set On You.” Most nights it’s (vintage) Madonna, Rick Astley, Michael Jackson, Starship,  just to name a few.

Housework just isn’t the same unless I’ve got power ballads by Bon Jovi or Whitesnake blaring in the background.

And some of my favorite love songs? Peter Cetera, Eric Carmen and Journey.

Double disc set that I’m not ashamed to admit that I own? George Michael.

I’ve done the Black Friday thing ever since I’ve bought in my own income it seems. I’ve been the gal who’s stood in lines for over an hour waiting for the doors to open. I’ve learned a few things along the way. (Avoid the shopping carts if you can -they’ll only slow you down, make a list of what you want before you go, enlist the help of another person if at all possible, etc.) I had this all down -or so I thought.

This year, my sister joined me for her first Black Friday shopping experience. I fear I’ve scarred her for life, because she says she’ll never do it again. I’m used to crowds, lines and a couple of unpleasant people. It’s all part of the deal. But this year was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I stayed here in Clovis and went to a major retailer. I was one of the lucky few (hah) who managed to actually park within the parking lot.

We stuck to the outer perimeter of the store with one of us having to guard our stash while the other actually ventured into the aisles to get what we wanted. We stood in line for about 40 minutes waiting to pay for our purchases.

Maybe it was the grandmother/mother duo with their stash of toys who cut in line in front of all of us civilized, patient adults who stuck it out waiting. And then shot us all a look of smug defiance as if to say -”Say something -we dare you.” Maybe it was listening to the store employees talk about the woman whose purse was stolen while she was waiting in electronics or the guys who were fighting over a TV and blood possibly being drawn. Or maybe it was reading about the guy at a Wal-Mart who was trampled to death or the shooting at “Toys R Us” in Palm Desert. Or it could have been Friday’s editorial in the CNJ that was weighing on my mind.

Either way what money I saved by getting up at 4:30 this morning just wasn’t worth the disgusting behavior that I saw and heard about today. I’m done with Black Friday. Or maybe just with the whole door buster deals part.