Ouch!

It seems these trips back home for Benji (and the rest of us) are getting harder and harder. For one big reason: our animals. With their rapidly advancing age, each time is like the last goodbye. And it's just awful. We were talking at dinner about how I'd seen on the Internet or TV where animals could be put to sleep at home. I forgot to mention the part about the home visit vet who you hire to come do it and I said " that's what I'd like to do with Wiggles... I'd like to wrap him in a towel, all snugly, and just do it". Ohhhhh, Lordy.....chips and salsa spit flew everywhere as all three of them went at me like a pack of wild dogs. Brian was the first to sink his teeth in me (big surprise-- he is fast on the trigger) telling me "mom....you're gonna kill your old man dog....that's just wrong". Next was Benji looking at me like I'd been smoking crack and last, but equally as incredulous, was Bruce. Yabber, yabber, yabber. This went on and on until I realized they thought I was gonna off Wiggles, myself. And that's when the party started. Once I got it across to the snarling dog pack that a vet would do the evil deed, and I would just hold Wiggles, suddenly things re----lax----ed. They all agreed that doing it at home is sooo much better because the last car ride to the vet would just be way too awful--even if you are Ted Bundy. Wiggles is psychic--and he'd know. All animals are and I'm just not doing that to him. Muffin is a different story. He'd kill all four of us trying to escape the syringe of death. It's hard enough just giving him his asthma shot-- so he can just go to the vet, unless we did a two-fer. I know...cold but efficient.

Anyway, I watched as Benji made videos on his phone of all three animals--just in case--so he can watch them over and over. Wahhhhh....And Brian, old Mr. Motorcycle Crasher, is the biggest softie of all. He just won't talk about losing one of the animals after the first couple of seconds. Nupe. Just won't do it. He used to tell me, all drugged up on his pain meds, that he was afraid he was turning into an old softie. Really?? Ya think?? Duh.

Downloader beware

Well....I am sooo screwed. When I downloaded the picture of Miley Cyrus earlier today, I was just lucky enough to also get the virus from hell that not only included porn--and lots of it--but crashed my system all together. See, I knew Hannah Montana was bad news....I just underestimated her. So, while my computer is in ICU, I'll see if Fred will let me use his laptop if I promise not to use any Internet pic's. Frankly, that's pretty bush league but I gotta do what I gotta do.
Anyway, the Harris Hacienda is full--both boys are here watching TV in the den with the pups, post pig out. Benji is going to stay here with us tonight for a little more home time....who knew??
I figured he'd be enjoying his room at the Gaylord-Texan on Brittany's tab (the singer he's playing for) but he said he'd rather stay here tonight (he is sort of a homebody) so that works. He'll stay out at the G-T tomorrow night since his plane leaves around 10am. on Thursday. That's it from this end and I'll post when I can pry Fred's fingers off his laptop.

My competition

Well, today I got the hook. Big time. I got ditched like an old prom dress thrown to the back of the closet. Today Hudson's mom asked me if I knew who he was marrying, as he grinned at me. I guessed "ME" and was told "AC..you already have a ring." OK. "Hadley?" "Noooo...she's my sister". Oh. OK....I've got it. "Beyonce" since I knew he loved her and used to sing "Single Ladies"all the time. Nope- not even her. I've been kicked to the curb by Hannah Montana aka Miley Cyrus. Whyyyy? Because she's younger, has loads of money and sings wearing a horrible wig? Pretty much. As a man and a four year old, she rocks his world and all I bring to the table is Easter candy. Folks, that's sad. But at least my dad never had a mullet or danced like the Tin Man on Dancing with the Stars. Which brings me nicely to DWTS.
If you didn't see it last night you missed possibly the funniest show on TV. Personally, I'm not a Dancing fan probably because it's way too hard and too skewed and I know for a fact I would look like a total idiot but, hey, I'm not on the show and if you are, you're fair game. And last night was just hilarious. Buzz Aldrin and his wife's matching his and her's face lifts?? OMG.... his is awful but her's was just scary. Bulging eyeballs, flaring nostrils... no need for a mask this Halloween, honey. And his moon walk of a dance? Yikes. There were others that just killed, too, but I'm going to be nice today and not mention the rest--even if I will be snickering for the rest of the day about someone with eight children.

The one man tornado lands sometime later today so we'll be meeting Benji for dinner tonight. He's staying at the Gaylord Texan since that's where he's playing and without his car here, we're his transportation. At first the plan was to cook steaks here--now, I'm not so sure. With him, it's always a minute to minute type thing.....sound checks, meetings, set up, schedule changes-- so I'm thinking it will be Mexican food tonight, on the fly, and then a quick swing by home for puppy visiting and for the load of chocolate chip cookies I made for him yesterday. That's assuming there are many left by tonight...this morning I could tell someone who works downtown all day had been in them, again, while he watched TV. Yeah...him. Somethings never change and let's face it...who in the world can just look at freshly made cookies and not eat them?

Gotta get going

Well, I may have a random garden glitch this year. Yeah...another one. And I was hoping it was just that weird red valve. It's not. Here's the problem: it seems some of my seeds from last year spilled (I prefer to think they escaped) their envelope and are a bit co-mingled. Now, I can tell for sure which are the carrot seeds --just not which variety. Would that be the gourmet blend, the rainbow colored, or the mini's? I've decided I just really don't care....if they come up and actually grow into a carrot, that's gonna have to be enough. Plus, it will make harvesting just that much more interesting. Yes, I could go buy new seeds and know exactly what's going in but where's the adventure in that? I'm good on the green beans--I only have one variety and the seeds are big like a bean, duh-- and I remember what the plant actually looked like--before it d-i-e-d. I still have onions coming up from last year but since they were hot and strong, I'm just gonna let the stragglers stay and try to live. Last years mesculin mix of lettuces was adorable--it just didn't taste like much. Sort of like eating tender Kleenex....I'll pass.

I've decided to give my last years harvested basil seeds a go and for fun and some color, I'm throwing in some multi colored zinnia seeds I harvested last year also. I'm saving room and the sunniest spot for probably three tomato plants and maybe a baby spinach and a couple of squash varieties. I can get over squashed real fast so I'm gonna have to go easy there for sure. I'm saving an area for a pumpkin patch, again. Worst case? If they don't grow I can always go buy some at Tom Thumb and put them in my patch for Hudson and Hadley. I'd love to plant some new potatoes but I need more carbs like I need more weeds so that ones on the back burner for now. Now if I could just grow bread.....sourdough french, ciabatta, 4 cheese, 3 chili cheese.....omg. Yum. Or cheese....

And speaking of cheese....we went by the goat lady's place (down the road from us at the Farm) and all the goats were gone. Not a one on the place and I'm wondering if they went out of business or just got sick of goat maintenance. Either way, I was crushed. I had this big fantasy going that she (I made her a she because it's my story and I can) was not only a goat lady but an artisanal cheese maker. And in my fantasy, I was her assistant, learning the art of chevre making, a la goat's milk and we were like all the cool cheese people you read about in the magazines. Tres' arty and way cool. The toast of Sanger, Texas....and even nearby Denton. Ok....and Gainesville. Whatever.
Anyway, my fantasy ended abruptly Saturday when I found out "we" were out of business. Bummer. But I still have my memories.... The babies with their moms were hilarious and always climbing on top of something....hay bales, the white igloo half moon things, each other. Ditto the big ones. And the pregnant moms were just huge--like a big old parade float--since most of them twin, and some triplet, with every delivery. It's clear why God never made me a goat....twins or triplets every time?? Just shoot me. End of fantasy.

Weekend random stuff

I just called mom to tell her we are packing up to head to the Farm. Whoa.....while technically nice, her responses were all snippy, snippy, snippy. Translation: she's scared and sad. And the worst part is, there's not a single cotton picking thing I can do about it. By this time next week, she'll be all moved, all settled, and after a transition period, my $ says she's going to love the Plaza. But that transition may be a loo-loo. We ran by last night to take over a bed frame since her new stuff comes this week. Her new headboard comes Monday so I'll either get Brian or Bruce to help me attach it and have it all set up and ready--the adorable slipcover is already there as is the adapter kit. I figured I better get one of those--just in case.
Anyway, when we came in the front door, I immediately fell in love with the handsome, kind, older, funny, gay man at the desk, Frank. He's gonna charm the socks right off of mom and I cannot wait. He was just a wealth of information and is there Friday evenings. I toured Bruce around and showed him the dining room upstairs, the menu's, the calendar of events, and we both concluded, if mom doesn't like it, we're moving in. Case closed.

Wiggles is right here at my feet, moaning, since he already knows we are going to the Farm, and so is he. It only gets worse as we pack the car. They either attach themselves to the window or neither dog will come in the house--even for a last drink of water. Noooooo...they stake out right beside the car, and sometimes underneath it so you can't grab them, to make sure you don't leave without them. We always put their dog bed in last since that really throws them into a frenzy. Sis stands up on her hind legs to "help you" put her in the car. If she could jump that high, she would. Just to keep her in line, we always put the elderly gentleman in first and let him pick his spot before we hoist her--and I do mean hoist.
Happy weekend to all and no telling what I'll have to report on Monday.

It's almost time

How do you know it's Spring? When all you can think about is where your electric drill is and your auger bit--for planting-- then you know it's time. I just found my auger bit on the shelf in the garage and it was like seeing a old friend. My friend. The drill? Well, let's just say that's a loaner friend and comes with a whole lot of instructions from Fred. You'd think I'd never used the thing...don't do this....don't do that...yak, yak yak. So what if I like to rev the motor?? Big deal. Get over it.
Now, if you've never used a drill to plant caladium bulbs, honey, you have just hit the jackpot. I once paid a yardman and his bunch a small fortune to plant 150 of them in 15 minutes (I liketa died) until I saw their drill and auger bit. Hellooooo, Home Depot, and I never did that again.
If you're smart, you'll (Fred will) take a pitch fork and loosen up the ground first, otherwise you are gonna burn through your drill in a heartbeat. Take my word for it on that one, folks... it gets h-o-t and the smoke can be a tad smelly and tends to really piss off some people. Me? Not so much...I just let it cool down while I go fix a glass of tea. Some people aren't as easy going as I am and I even bring those people a glass, too. They still get pissy.....whadaya gonna do.... Just keep plantin'.
I grew up with a yard full of Candidum Jr. or regular, mounds of impatiens in clusters by color, ferns, and other summer bloomers all across our front yard and in the back yard, and then in pots--some hanging and some mounted on the fence by a wrought iron pot holder from Mexico. My dad loved nothing more than to get outside by the pool on a Saturday and Sunday, and plant his pots full of impatiens and water his pots (and drink the occasional beer). OK, not so occasional the beer but whatever. The yard looked beautiful front and back since that was Willie's domain, and dad was just the pots man. When dad got really hot and sweaty, he'd jump in the pool, cool off, and move on to something else. Not a bad way to garden.
Dad always ordered his bulbs from a Florida grower and luckily, as his daughter, I am not that proud. I will buy the bulbs anywhere as I am not that choicey. (Our old housekeeper, Louise White, used to say that and it makes me laugh every time I think about that word. It's just hilarious to me.)
Anywho, I'll be on the prowl for bulbs soon though I never put mine in until mid to late May. According to Dad, you have to use your bone meal at the bottom of the hole, like the Indians taught the Pilgrims with a dead fish, for corn. (Hey...just a little quick history.) The bulbs pointers have to be facing up or you've planted it wrong-- and it will grow down--not up. Just to be factual, Dad never said "pointers"--his word was a little more tacky (probably due to the beer) but you get the gist. No wonder I love doing that stuff. It reminds me of my dad.

P. S. I had a bunny sighting yesterday across the street but it looked like the smaller one. Not sure. But whichever one it was, he's good.

Stick a fork in me...I'm done

I'm in a quandary.....I've alluded to this before with Fred, and I'm not sure he thinks I'm really serious and oh, baby...I am. He keeps talking about the next dog we're getting, after Wiggles checks out. Never mind the disrespect to my Man Dog......what I keep trying to tell him is, there ain't gonna be another dog after Wigman. We'll be down to Sister, aka "The Boat Anchor", and after that, we are d-o-n-e. Game. Set. Match. And when Muffin checks out to Cat Town, we're done there, too. Now don't go all rescue on me...I'm just through taking care of people and animals. I don't want to hear whining, meowing or have someone walk across me or lie down on my back (Muffin) because his internal clock says its time for me to get up and feed him. (And I don't want my cell phone ringing because someone isn't happy about the food, the weather, their room, or whatever---wherever they are--but that's the people part and I can cut off my phone or use caller ID.) Whew. Animals? Not so much.

I'm figuring this is how it's gonna stack up: Wig will go first, and then it will be a race between Muffin and Sis--probably Muff. He's older but doesn't do much....but then Sis is always out an about, so get your bets in now. All it'll take is one car and her not listening, and she's history. Fred thinks he can control her by voice command. If you need a good laugh, come by sometime and let him show you how well that works. It only works when she decides--he hasn't quite gotten that part yet, even when he has to run after her, yelling. Oh, yeah...she's trained all right.

I'm ready for no dog beds, no dog food, no playing food Nazi trying to keep Sis from eating Wiggles food, and no whiffs of just opened cat food before I even have coffee. No litter box. And no dog gates. Yep, I'm ready. I'm done.

Conflict. Don't you hate it? It just scares me to death. And that's a very grown up awareness of mine. I used to think I liked it. Or that at the very least, I felt powerful with all my guns blazing. That's probably the part I liked. The guns blazing so I could feel powerful instead of afraid. Today? Quite the opposite. I've realized it's all the feelings that scare me. There are often too many at once and I need time to sort out what's real, what's not, what's mine, and what's someone else's and in the heat of an angry or hostile discourse, I just want to run. Period. The old ancestral fight or flight response. My own anger used to serve as a pressure valve--like on a pressure cooker. If you don't release the pressure off the valve before you try to take the top off, it will blow sky high--through the ceiling. I mean it. And leave a dent. A big one. And that was because I was a big "feeling stuffer". Hence all the pressure in my cooker.

I was raised in a family where nobody talked about how they really felt--whether you liked it or not, you just went along. If you tried to tell someone how you felt they either told you "that's not how you really feel" or slimed you for telling the truth-- and then shamed you. Can you relate? I know you can 'cause I can see a lot of your heads nodding....and some of you are sipping your coffee and saying "yep...exactly." I am a product of the people pleasin' '50's where no one was allowed to tell the truth because that wasn't nice. Girls and women were taught to "look pretty and be nice"--no matter what. No matter if it feels terrible and you are screaming inside, you gotta take one for the team. And if you are a guy, you got the "stiff upper lip and be in control always" message. And for goodness sake, be a man. Don't feel, don't share, be tough. And die early from heart disease or cancer because you stuffed everything.

I have one big ginormous question: who made up all these insane rules and why in this world did our parents pass all this nonsense on down to us? Answer: Because everyone was terrified to "rock the emotional boat" and that they might be shunned if they let the cat out of the bag. Which brings me to, shunned from what?? Shunned from what a bunch of other people have decided is "correct...right...good..." for themselves--- and everybody else. That's nothing more than control, folks. You know what I'm talking about.....the herd mentality. Think cows...walking the same path...right behind each other nose to tail, because they are too stupid to walk their own path. And they wear a path in the grass, doing this. Day after day. Because the alpha cow/bull said "this is the correct path".
I still don't enjoy conflict but today I understand a lot more about my reaction to it and that I can change my response to it by saying two little words: Time out. Then I can walk away, think clearly, and come back later and respond. Works lots better and there are a lot less dents in my ceiling.

Driving Miss Daisy

I was awake in the middle of the night worrying about my mother's hair. I'm serious. Her hair. Why?? Did I not just finish blogging yesterday about how my mother no longer had the power to twist me up like a pipe cleaner and I'm awake worrying about her hair?? Maybe I'm not quite as over my mom's "expectations" as I'd thought. Here's the problem in a nutshell: my mom wants to still go to the hairdresser about a block and a half from where she's moving, vs at The Plaza. Answer: Who cares? How she gets there is the problem. She wants to keep her current Hispanic housekeeper, Carmen, to drive her twice a week, a block and a half, to... the... hairdresser. OMG. This is what had me awake in the night, sweating. The Plaza has a driver that will take her anywhere, anytime she wants. Nope. Not good enough. She wants Carmen.

As my sister and I emailed back and forth yesterday, it was clear one of us was going to have to get parental on mom, and and it wasn't going to be my sister. Oh, noooooo. My stance is this: I'm going to set up regular appointments at the same time and day each week for mom, at both the hairdresser and with the Plaza driver guy. (Mom already has standing dates through May first--I'm just going to extend them on out--forever.) Then I'm going to give mom plenty of time to settle in to the Plaza routine and the driver. Further, I'm going to put all the damn appointments, myself, on all 50 of her calendars. Then we wait. If after several months, she just cannot adjust, we're gonna be doin' hair at the Plaza, with their lady, or at the Edgemere's salon.

What this is really all about is control. Mom knows she is losing it and is hanging on to the last bit of it by her well manicured acrylic nails. And it's also about mom's "hired friends"--the ones she's paid forever and is terrified of what might happen to them. As if they just won't be able to slog on without her. Not. They'll be fine.
The final straw last night was when my sister said mom also wanted to keep, Willie, our family's
yardman, for the last hundred years. Willie is the only yardman I know in HP who has a yardman. Juan Huerta mows and edges and blows the leaves at our soon to be sold former homestead. Willie? Well....he plants pansies, and polishes silver, diddles, and borrows money that he never pays back. He's almost as old as mom, and has already been hired by the buyers of mom's house to do what he's always done at our house--for them. My sister was amazingly clear that we weren't going to keep paying Willie. Well, duh. Carmen? I got Carmen duty. Anybody need a maid, that drives??

What I know today...

I had a revelation the other day listening to a song on the radio and it had to do with growing older. In specific, I was thinking about my relationship with my mom and how it's changed over the years as I've gotten older. Gone are the days when we used to really go at it, and she's lost the power to make me madder than a snake. We both used to have to win at any cost and we threw out the bodies as we went--mine or hers. Sometimes it was a draw--- but not very often. Somebody usually was the clear winner and somebody else got thrown to the lions. The other day I realized she's no longer this force field in my life that can twist me up like a pipe cleaner or punch my buttons from half a world away. She's just this little 5'2" person who gave birth to me 56 years ago and who has done, and continues to do, the very best she can.

Does her best or has her best sucked at times, especially way back in the past? Undoubtedly. Was it intentional? I don't think so. Did it hurt me? Absolutely. Has it taught me anything? You betcha. The other day listening to that song, I realized that something very real has changed in my life. I now enjoy a richness that wasn't previously there. It's as if I used to feel in black and white, and now I feel in Technicolor and HD. I feel more deeply and it's sweeter than I ever remember feeling before. Funny things are funnier and I laugh harder over them today. Babies smell better than ever before and colors are more beautiful because now I've slowed down long enough to actually notice them. There is a new softness to me that was not there before. It's as if I love harder now with a new strength and depth.
I don't spend time worrying about the little stuff anymore and creating crises because 1) little stuff is just that--little stuff 2) crises seem to happen without me helping them along or dumping gasoline on them and then striking a match. Whatever I'm pissed about, will I even remember it in 5-10 years? And if not, how important could it possibly be? Answer? It's not, so why sweat it. I'd rather do something else. Something fun. Something that makes me laugh. Hard.
If this is what it means to get older, bring it on. I don't mind the sags, the bags, or the cellulite, if this is the trade off. This beats the heck out of being 25 and clueless.

Basil--gotta have it

Oh, Lord love me.....you will not believe all the cr** I pulled out of that garden patch. And I still need to go back up, with a screwdriver, thank you very much, to remove her little criss cross grid thingy that is still there on one part of the plot. What does it do? I have no earthly idea.There's still some parsley and two leeks, and what appears to be something else in the onion family---maybe a few actual onions--not sure yet. But I'm gonna pull them up soon, just you wait and see. And then till in some lava sand, some compost, heck....I may even throw in some cow poop from the farm--ya never know. But I'm gonna microwave it first-- to kill any grass or weed seeds. Hey....this ain't my first rodeo. I've gardened for one whole year here.
I am, however, having issues with that red valve thing in the middle of the plot. That thing just leers at me so I'm gonna plant flowers or basil right around it so it gets covered. Ha. Take that, why dontcha.
I also pulled out lots of stakes of bamboo, wood, and...... wait for it........rebar. I kid you not. I bet I pulled out three big old stakes of it. All I can think of now is what in the world was she growing last year....my old patch was close by and I never noticed anything super weird. Well, now that's not totally true....she was the only one with a mailbox beside her plot. Seriously. A mailbox. Why? I just don't get that. A mailbox, rebar, and a criss cross grid thingy ---that lady needs help.
I've got my fingers crossed that maybe some of her basil from last year might have re-seeded itself. We'll see soon and if not, off to purchase some I go. We eat basil and tomato crostini all summer long and basil mayonnaise makes a regular old sandwich taste like heaven. Just throw some in a food processor with some Hellman's and a squeeze of lemon and get ready for lift off. Slather that on a fresh tomato, cheese, or good cibiatta freshly toasted, and commence making yourself humbly grateful for the little green plant, basil. And if you grow enough, make pesto. Now your talking....

She's b-a-c-k....

My car, that is. Finally. After way too long for me, she's resting quietly all snug in the garage, happy to be home. And she "rooks mahvelous"--if I do say so myself. And she drives better than ever. So smooth you're speeding before you even know it. Atta girl. That's the way it should be.
And did I mention smell?? That fresh car paint smell so you get that extra little "buzz" in the morning. In fact...I'm so glad she's back that I was afraid to drive yesterday in the snow. Me. Afraid to drive. That's never happened. E-v-e-r. And the snow was on the grass.
I did fine Saturday in the rain--on Central--coming home. It's just ice that has me somewhat freaked out. A lot freaked out. Luckily, with Spring and summer on the way, the only other ice should be in my tea from now on. If you need car body work done, ask Fred about the place we took mine. They were incredible and very nice.

I'm unpacking groceries now since I didn't want to go yesterday. Then the plan is to head up to the garden and start pulling up old dead stuff. That may take awhile. I have not had a little red fox sighting at the garden or a bunny one across the street--I'm hoping one didn't eat the other but after watching the Discovery channel last night on "Life", it may have happened. Miss "O" narrates it and it is worth seeing--for awhile. After that, I get natured o-u-t. I don't wanna see another thing kill and then eat something else. Gore, much?? Too much for me--I'd rather go read.

It's always somethin'...

Friday afternoon, the Harris's almost had a very sad state of affairs on their hands. Brian was here and Wiggles had just gotten up from a nap, ready to eat. Problem? His back right leg wasn't working. Now at 15, we've noticed that both of his back legs are not working like they used to but this was different. He was trying to walk-- and was walking like the letter C. And sort of dragging that right back leg on the hardwood floor. Brian went in to immediate meltdown mode a la Chicken Little-- the sky is falling. And when Brian lays it on thick, it's hard not to get sucked into the drama, I don't care how strong you are. He missed his calling as an actor. Anyway, I rubbed on Wigman's leg, moved it around, rubbed some more, all to no avail. Still the letter C. So, I called the vet and they had a 5 pm slot- in 40 minutes. I grabbed it and hung up. At this point, I'm starting to think the ultimate worst-- he's had a stroke, his backs gone out, this is it. We called Benji and left him a message since technicallyy Wig is his dog (10 th birthday) to let him know things might not be so good with the elderly gentleman. Then we waited.

I put down both dogs food and just started to watch him. All of the sudden I just collapsed on to the kitchen floor, hysterically laughing, and I think Brian thought I was crying. I realized that Wiggles's leg was asleep. Either he or Sis had been lying on it and once the blood flow returned, voila'--no more letter C leg. Try telling your 28 year old freaked out son this, as you are hyena laughing, struggling to speak, rolling on the floor. Once Brian finally got it, we were both on the floor, flat on our backs, laughing. And Saturday, Wigman did it again. Only this time it was his left leg. When Benji finally called from Austin (he was there playing at SXSW) he was relieved to know Wiggy was OK-- and luckily thought it was as funny as we did. I can't wait to do Wiggles walk for him next time he's home. I think I've got it down.

Yarrrrrrr...

I visited the small frys yesterday following their dad's "man" surgery....you know the one....the permanent one so there are no more small frys. Anyway, while I waited, I fed Avery, now almost 3 months and played with Hudson and Hadley. We talked about the garden, their jobs, and what they'd like to grow-- Hudson was ready to go plant immediately when he found out the currency he was to be paid in--candy and gum. Oh....his dentist is going to love me.

Then we branched out to playing upstairs and nothing would do but he wanted me to fish his pirate costume off the top shelf in his closet. And it was some costume. We are talking blousy black and white striped harem pants, the red sleeveless jacket, the yellow silky acetate tie belt, and the black tie thing for his neck. I needed a little style consulting on that one since I wasn't too sure where it went--no worries--he knew exactly. And last but not least, the black funky hat with the white feather, and the eye patch. Oh, Lord....the eye patch. Try as we might, we could not seem to keep it positioned over one eye, without the elastic band running right across into the other eye. We finally decided a blind pirate was just not the look we were going for and jettisoned the patch. Lastly, he donned the fake hand hook, grabbed the plastic knife, and was off to nab his first victim--Hadley. Luckily, his Hispanic housekeeper cut him off at the pass and grabbed the weapons before all hell broke loose. Hadley would not have gone down without one hell of a fight and truth be told, would probably have won. Crisis was averted and he went on to play for the rest of the afternoon, a la pirate. Word on the street is, a short pirate, all rigged out, was spotted in the HP village last night picking up dinner with his mom. Think it was Johnny Depp?

Uh oh...it's almost Easter

And we all know what that means. We'd just gotten past all the resentments from Christmas with family members, and now we've got to get together all over again. For Easter. Which only means one thing. More and/or brand new resentments. Let's see if I can hit all of the categories: there's the ones that drink too much, the mean ones, the ones who cannot be pleased no matter what, the ones who bore the entire table talking about themselves & their children ad nauseum-- their latest accomplishments, big $$ jobs, new cars, trips, etc. Hmmmm....who did I miss? Oh, yeah...the victims (the poor little Me's) and the old ones who want to talk about all their physical complaints, in detail, at lunch.

I, for one, am taking a powder on Easter this year for the above named reasons. The movers and my sister and I are going to move mom that weekend (Good Friday) so that by Easter Sunday, she's settled and having a lovely lunch at the Plaza, while I cook a luscious lunch and eat at home, outside in my backyard, weather permitting, probably in my pj's, with my puppies, Fred, and maybe Crashman, if he wants. Menu: roast leg of lamb, carrot souffle ('cause I just want to make it) , roasted rosemary new potatoes, maybe a spring mix salad, hot rolls, ice tea, and Lord only knows what for dessert. My menus are often subject to change. Attire? Freshly laundered and crisply starched cotton pj's, after a lovely hot shower and shampoo/ blow dry. Now that's Easter. Cozy, joyful, serene.

This might shock a few of you--if you've been reading for awhile, you're good. If I haven't shocked you out of not reading, this won't surprise you. There's no way to say this delicately so I'm just gonna toss it out there. I think old people with dementia should be micro-chipped--just like dogs. Wouldn't that be cool?? Both of my dogs are chipped so if they got lost somebody could scan them, like at Target, and call me, to reunite us. Sooooo, why not old people..... You micro chip your dog, so why not Low Jack mom or dad?? If they wander off, hello......just GPS 'em, and they're right back home. Hopefully, none the worse for wear.

What made me think of this was this morning. I went by mom's about 10:30 am and she was g-o-n-e. I couldn't find her anywhere. And, remember now, she doesn't drive and would positively not know how to do a bus, nor would she want to learn, so I knew that was out. (Ditto filling her own car with gas, but that's old news.) Anyway, I started calling my sibs to see who had her. No one did--- so it scared all of us half to death until I thought to go look on her calendar. She had Garden Club 9:30 am (with a friend) chicken scratched on it, for today. OMG. I liketa d-i-e-d. Slowly my pulse rate returned to normal. ( I cannot even remember the last time my mother was dressed and out the door by 9:30 am and I'm not saying she was today, either. She's always late and I bet her friend was ready to kill her but that's not new knews either.) I guess after a hundred years you just roll with it.
OK...back on subject. Now... see....wouldn't that Low Jack thing have worked great if she hadn't been at Garden Club? I could have found her in a jiffy. And I think they already have it for little kids. Whoa.... what about for teenagers?? Talk about crimpin' your lifestyle.....you can lie about where you were but it won't do you any good. Hell...your parents already know where you were....you might as well stay home and misbehave, from now on.
Low Jack. The next best thing to being there.

What to grow.....M&M's...gum??

I am thrilled to announce that my gardening prayers were answered and I got a new plot up at our community garden. It's spitting distance from our house and since most of my area that gets enough sun is covered by concrete, I dig around up there. I say "dig around" simply because I wouldn't exactly call what I did last year gardening--most stuff died. And not totally by my hand, either. I got some help. Between my plot's location (morning sun only due to an untrimmed tree) and the monsoons we endured last year, my plot looked like a rice paddy farmer's. Bruce did a commando tree hacking, but even that didn't improve things much, so until another plot opened up, I was going to container garden. Now I have one with sun--it just has some kind of weird red valve, right smack in the middle of it. Oh, well....I'm going to see this as this year's gardening challenge and plant right around it. It also has last year's gardeners junk she left behind so a clean out will be my first order of business--that, and yanking up old dead plants. She left behind what looks like a leek and a few other things so there's no telling what may come up later, that I don't know about. I may do a lot of flowers, too, since I love those and I like to use them at home.
I have also "hired" two assistant gardeners--Hudson (4) and Hadley (2)--as general waterers / hose players, Popsicle eaters, and diggers. They are also great tool "washers"--anything that involves a hose and water is right up their alley. I plan to pay them in either candy or gum--and if we actually grow something, they can eat that, too. Who am I kidding....they're not gonna eat that stuff. I tried a pumpkin patch for them last year and it was a total failure--no sun--so we'll give that a shot again mid summer. If I could just grow candy, I'd have it made.

Another one bites the dust

Move over, Tiger. It's Jesse's turn. To be a total sleaze and man ho'. I'm talking about Jesse James---Sandra Bullock's husband, who just got caught cheatin' on her with a tattoo model. A tattoo model? I didn't even know there was such a thing. And once again, I bought what he was sellin'. I thought he was a nice guy and that he really loved her and that as different as they might look, they were a perfect match. His tats, her sense of humor, and both of their coolness just made for a real happy ever after. And did I forget to mention his blue eyes? Those, too.

Jesse, way to humiliate a wonderful woman and slam her to the ground right after she's just received her first Academy Award, after thanking YOU for always having her back. Good job on taking all of the joy and recognition right out of that, so we can all focus on you---you cheatin' dog.
I'm pissed....really pissed. Grow up. And, Sandra, you should have hit him with that Oscar when you had the chance.

Dude....nice jacket

I have an rampant opinion that must be expressed and, yes, it's about Tiger's comeback at the Master's Tournament. I'd sure hate to be any other player playing in the Masters, because even if you play stark naked, nobody is gonna notice--all eyes are gonna be on The Cheetah. Unless you make a hole in one on every hole, your name is gonna barely be mentioned....and even then, they're gonna keep cuttin' back to "Mr. Couldn't Keep It Zipped".....ya know they will. And then there's the Elin factor...will she or won't she come? And what about the kids....will they or won't they come, if Elin does? Short answer? Who cares?
Face it.... the Masters should be re-named the Cheetah's Comeback and who ever wins should get a cheetah print jacket for being dumb enough to even participate. The old famous green jacket?? Nahhhh. Borrrrring.

For those that think I am hopelessly out of step, let me just say" well, yeah....OK, maybe" but I am rockin' a new white IPhone soooo, take that. And as predicted, Fred gave me the "awwww...Ethel" comment, right on cue, as if somehow he and the boys can all have one but I can't. OK, fine. Not.
I just opened the Apple Care Protection plan getting ready to load it and let me just say this: breaking in to the White House is a whole lot easier. I had to finally get a kitchen knife after the box to get it open. And then what??? A paper instruction booklet. Yep. I'm thinking a CD at the verrrrrry least-----oh, noooo. So, after several more cups of java, I'll be tackling that so you might want to keep your ears covered or your music up loud in case I get frustrated, as some serious cussing will commence.

All of my other "Iphonies" are all wanting to tell me about their games, their apps, their whatevers, and I'm still learning to nav, since I just got it and have been to busy too play. Too busy to play?? What????? Yeah, I did get some really weird looks with that revelation and then Crashman wanted to school his old mom for 1) getting one 2) not being immediately wired on how to do everything. Believe me, I fixed that....I told him to either be nice to me or there'd would be no brisket for him, and the minute I started slicing, his whole attitude changed. Guess he forgot who he was playin' with and brisket makes great leverage especially around 5:30 pm. Maybe we need to try brokering peace in Iraq and Afghanistan with some.

Little by slowly...

Since my brisket is in the oven snoozing at 325 degrees & the puppies are asleep, I decided to take a load off and blog for a second. To date, mom's move is scheduled, all of her paperwork that the Plaza needs is in (that we're in charge of) , and my sister and I just met for a debriefing this afternoon, after her meeting with the Plaza people and mine from a shop-a-thon for mom. We both were sitting in here in our little snugly home office laughing our heads off how one person (mom) can have sooo many people all working for her, while she does absolutely zilch. Folks, that's either world class manipulation or a family that doesn't seem to know how to say NO. Actually, both. We've both decided mom's reign of terror has just ended and we both laughed sooo hard we cried. Thank God she's (my sister--not mom) on Spring Break or we wouldn't be able to get half of this stuff done.

I must say, though, that spending someone else's money on stuff is really fun and I am good at it. I've gotten her a smaller bed for her new place, new appropriately sized sheets, mattress pad, and a shower curtain and liner. And did I mention a beautiful new matlesse Peacock Alley coverlet for her that she'll love? I found it for a song at Tuesday Morning so that's a double score. Delivery of the bed is set up, too, so I may just go eat some bon bons. We'll cut down her dust ruffle when the bed comes so we can be sure about the length. Details, details.
Ohhhh, man....I can just hear mom now....she is soooo gonna hate that there's a shower curtain and no shower door. Once she moves in, I'm thinking I'm not going to answer my phone for at least 6 weeks until she gets used to things over there. Until then, it can just rolllllll... tooooo.... voiceeeeee... mailllll..., thank you very much. Being mad about a shower curtain is not an emergency---- I don't care who it is or how mad they are. And with dementia, she'll have forgotten about it in a few minutes anyway, until the next shower. I think I'll tell her to just pretend like she's back at Camp Waldemar (childhood) and get over it.
OK...time to go slice my brisket and get dinner ready. Fred ought to be home shortly and one sniff and he'll be ready to eat. Well, yeah....it is brisket. And Crashman just arrived. There must be a brake for brisket sign in the yard.

Front yard recognizance

I am such a sick puppy....I am stalking our next door neighbors house since its open and they are trying to sell it. They just dropped the price a few days ago to see if they could generate any interest and so far, it's not lookin' real good. I have a dual purpose in my stalking--I am evaluating potential new neighbors and enjoying being outside in the sun, being worthless. Only three cars so far and both were in and out in a heartbeat. NOT a good sign. On a happier note, mom's house is under contract and the couple that are buying it are old grade school friends of mine and my sisters. My mom grew up with the guy's family on White Rock Lake and when they were kids, their families properties backed up to each other. They used to play touch football in one of their yards and during one game, mom hit the buyers dad, so hard, he cried (as a kid) , and she's never let him forget it to this day. They are still great friends even though she really put the hurt on him. Small world.
We close on her house in April and though they will be tearing down the old homestead probably some time in May, we knew somebody would, and are fine with it. Not even a pang of wah. We've traded emails this weekend with the buyers now that all the negotiating is done, and they are as excited as we are, which makes it even more fun.
Mom's move is set for Friday, April 2nd--yep, Good Friday--but it was the best time for my sister, and I sure as hell wasn't going to do this one alone. Noooooooooo. Since we just have to move two rooms of furniture right across the street and down a little ways, this one will be easy and we can let mom's other stuff stay right where it is in her condo, until we can get that part moved out. I call it Relo Phase 1 and Phase 2. Her condo lease is up at the end of May so we have some time. We hated to have to do double rents, but to get her settled, safe, and into the Plaza, it was just worth it. My sister's and my sanity was on the line here, folks.

Time for a big old Arnold Palmer(iced tea and lemonade, mixed) in my favorite ginormous plastic glass-- then I need my stack of new magazines that just came, my shades, and outside I go for some sun, reading, and house snooping, next door. Hilarious...my neighbor just drove by to check the "traffic" on her house....uh,... that would be nobody. Yikes.

Z-z-z-z-z.....can't sleep?

Jeez, Louise....I cannot seem to cut my brain off to sleep at night. Might just have a little somethin' to do with recent events but a good night's sleep would really be swell. I'm starting to have duffel bags under my eyes. Not a good look. Last night, in my non-sleeping time, I moved mom, in my head. I finally fell asleep only to hear women talking down the hall. At first I thought maybe it was our neighbors and their daughter, outside on their driveway, by our bedroom windows. Uh, no....closer than that......these voices sounded like they were in the house.......right down the hall. At this point I'm not scared--I'm pissed.........who the hell is that????

So, I cut off the alarm and marched down the hall, loaded for bear.....wanna know what I found?? Somehow Benji's old CD player/alarm/ radio had come on, and indeed, a woman was talking--on the air-- and I nearly killed her. Never mind she wasn't physically there.....if I'd had a gun, she'd be d-e-a-d. I finally dug around and cut it off and stalked back to bed. Now I really couldn't sleep....and Fred?? Totally clueless....slept through the entire thing.
I did, however, use my time wisely. I now have a list of 12 things to do prior to mom's move--and that's the short list. And tonight's daylight savings....and we lose an hour.....I cannot win.

YAHOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

They just called with my pathology report and it was indeed, a papilloma, like the radiologist thought. Thank you, GOD!!! Totally benign and removal is all that was required. Whew. Hallelujah. Man....I am grateful!

Don't knock it if it works

For some of you, this may be w-a-y too much personal information but if you are generally the curious type, you'll be fine. Nothing gross. Since I cannot shower, post op, I have been relegated to the bath tub. No problem. I just have to keep a 4x4 gauze dressing, covered in paper tape, dry, during this process. Since this ain't my first rodeo, I started cypherin' on this ahead of time. After all, I do love a challenge, and since we had previously "bagged" Brian's cast to shower him, I figured the same thing would work for a certain body part. Why the hell not? I'd just bag my boob.
Now for the bag part: at first, I mistakenly thought a zip lock sandwich bag would do the trick. I am proud to say it did not. So, I moved on up to the gallon size zip lock--not so I could fill it up--please--but so it would open wide enough to cover the dressing. Ahhh, success. That and the special stretchy plastic easy tear, water proof skin tape from the drug store, and it was time to fill up the tub, honey. I am still in the process of refining my technique--squeezing the air out of the zip lock is a huge help---for visibility---and it just looks a lot less weird, too.

There seems to be just one problem: Fred. He wants to "help". He assures me he will not get "distracted"--I know better. He wants to help "hold the bag"--I bet he does and he ain't gonna. Then he volunteered to help "tape"--uh,..... nooooo. Too much temptation and wandering hands. I know this guy. No matter what he says, he's lying if you are naked. Then he said he just wanted to watch. So, I flashed him. I feel like a porn show.
Thank goodness I only have to do this until Thursday and nooooooo, I'm NOT posting a picture, thank you very much.

Get realllllllll.....

For anyone who doesn't know me well, let me just say, I tend to lean a tad bit to the left--a tad--and I prefer to think of myself as open minded, so if that's a problem for you, quit reading this--now--or risk seeing something differently. Maybe. Otherwise, buckle up.
I just saw on the Internet, that a school prom in Mississippi has been canceled due to a female student's request to wear a tux, as she is a lesbian. She would be attending with her date, another female student, who would be wearing a dress-- I'm not sure. Even if the second student wanted to wear a tux, too, my question is, where's the problem? I don't care if guys wear dresses and gals wear tuxes, how important is it? No, this is not a drag prom and that's not what I heard requested. Could it turn into one? Maybe. And just as easily, maybe not. But have you been to a prom lately and seen what some of the kids wear? Boys and girls?? Holy cow. Two gals in tuxes might be a huge improvement from the hooker look of some gals. And nobody bats an eye at that stuff. I didn't hear a request to wear a clown suit--just a tux--which others will be wearing also.
Instead, a knee jerk reaction has canceled the prom, punishing all of the students, including the gay ones. Whyyyyyy? Can we not be a little bit tolerant of other peoples differences and let everyone have a great time? And, no, we don't need a "separate but equal prom" for those that don't quite fit inside society's narrow little box. We already know separate is NOT equal. Isn't it abut time we started practicing the Golden Rule instead of just saying we are? Saying and doing are two entirely different things.
And helllllooooo, boundaries?? Whose business is it, anyway, what someone else wears? It's NOT. If a female wears a tux, no one will die from it. And, if a guy wears a dress.....who really does that impact? Nobody. Again, see boundaries. Everyone is entitled to their feelings---but they are just that--feelings. They are not facts. Some people forget that. And just because I think it, doesn't make it so. Aren't the tux wearing gals feelings just as important as the other kids? You bet they are. And that's just how I see it.

(This is also what happens when I am on house arrest and can't drive. I have w-a-y too much time to play.)

The other woman

It seems my husband is in love with another woman. This does not surprise me--just wounds me to the core. She is young--she is beautiful--she is black. Essentially, she is everything I am not. And, she worships him. G-A-G. I have suspected this for quite a while....no lipstick on the color--just black hair everywhere. And, he has a love name for her--yep.... already..... Squirr-Grrr.
I must say, it IS a mutual love affair and very May-December, at that, but love is love. And it's real....until some other male walks in the door. Then she's alllll about him. And then it's back to Fred. She's also a bit of a 'ho but even that doesn't bother him. He knows she comin' back. I'm screwed here.

How do you compete with a four legged woman, with a tail, who likes to squirrel/dove/anything hunt and carry them dead, in her mouth, to the trash?? And another black mark against me? The other woman can't talk. She may be pushy as hell but she still can't talk......and she never gets mad at him, or blogs about him. And did I mention she's beeeee-u-ti-ful and usually smells like the perfect amount of dog, with paws that smell like a fresh bag of Frito's? No lie. And she's sooo black, she's almost blue. And soft.
She did, however, get pissed at him yesterday since while he was playing nurse to me, he left her outside, on the driveway side, and forgot about her, until three hours later. There she was at the back door, waiting. And thirsty. For a brief second, I thought I might have a chance...... nah.

Naturally, I will continue my l-o-n-g standing affair with The Wigman, Man Dog of the World. Well, of course. He is right here at my feet and follows me everywhere I go, except the shower. He hates to get wet. Back in the day, he would have put Sister to shame, in the looks department. He had it goin' on.....he really was allllll thatttttt. Slick, silky, milk chocolate brown fur and tan markings. Perfect ears, handsome face, the whole package..... think Reese's peanut butter cup. That's him. And just as delicious. Age is cruel, though...he now has white paws and a white muzzle. But so do I, so we are a matched set.
Well, here he is again....he took a brief moment to hit the doggie door and came right back. Well, hell, yeah. That's what love is all about. He may be old, but he's still got it.

Yahooo!

As anticipated, Fred was ...well...Fred.....nervous and jumpy as an old cat. They took me back to get me all ready and then let him come back to pre-op. Even with my friend Keely there, he was a train wreck. When they brought him back, he had that deer in the headlights look on his face and it made me, the patient, worry about him. But as soon as he got acclimated, he did fine--until the laughter started. Yep. Right on cue. First he wanted to know why my IV was running so slow---answer --it was a keep open meant to trickle--not flood me. They sped it up a little bit later. Then he wanted to squeeze my IV bag, (why???) and started telling me it was Ringers Lactate, and why. My eyes were beginning to roll at this point and I could feel the laughter bubbling up in my throat....suddenly he's Dr. McDreamy and knows everything--or thinks he does. Then he wants to put down my gurney bed rail--never mind he doesn't know how-- and then tells me "it's broken". I've had my other pre-op meds at this point-- but it appears not enough of them for this stuff. We are both starting to laugh our heads off, and now he wants to cruise around the pre-op holding area, since I'm the only one there. Why?? Just to snoop.
Luckily, my anesthesiologist appeared and said as soon as my surgeon came to see me, he was ready to slip me the good stuff and held up a big old syringe. I almost begged him to go ahead and do it now. My surgeon appeared right then, we chatted briefly, and Dr. Night-Night slipped me the goods--Versed. The last thing I remember was rolling out of the room about 20 seconds later. O-o-o-o la, la. Better living my chemistry.

My surgeon chatted with Bruce after surgery a little less than an hour later, while I'm in recovery, and the next thing I know I'm drinking a Sprite, eating crackers, yakking with the nurses, and about to get my clothes on. Back come Keely and Bruce. My nurse gave me a little extra pain meds via my IV before the Sprite and crackers, so I'm not uncomfortable at all and am watching my mini TV and gabbing. Since my surgeon was now in another surgery and couldn't break scrub to come talk to me, her assistant did, and off we went. All in all, not a bad deal and I was home by 10:20am. The pathology report won't be back for 2-3 days so I'm planning on not hearing anything until Monday. I will also be saying copious prayers until then that the pathology news is good. Hugs to all--it's time for lunch and a small snooze...OK...maybe a b-i-g one.
FYI: I am on Wiggles, Sister, and Muffin's sh** list for being up so early this morning and messing up their morning breakfast and walk schedule. Puuuulease. It's always something.

Let's getter dun'

I just hung up with my anesthesiologist for tomorrow and he sounds like a really nice guy. He made me laugh and that's always helpful. He told me I could pick my drugs and start my IV, if I wanted. Funny guy. Wonder if he wants me to monitor myself, too, while I'm under.
He told me he'll be giving me some pre-op meds, all of which I like. Especially the anti anxiety one. I just hope I don't leave the party too early (sedation) and miss all the fun. Knowing "Fred", maybe I can talk them in to slipping him something, too. He doesn't do hospitals well at all. And when it's me, he's even worse. I'm talkin' B-A-D. And then he starts laughing.....anxiety laughter. Like an laughing hyena. That's him. Wow....I'm starting to really look forward to that Xanax tomorrow. I wish I had one right now.
Since I am planning a full day of snoozing post op, I thought I'd go ahead and post here tonight. Lord only knows what I might say on here tomorrow, "under the influence". Quit laughing....even I know I'm a tad outrageous at times but sometimes it's just sooo fun, I can't help myself.

Ain't life great?

It seems my tail feathers are draggin' a little bit this morning. Really draggin'. I'm sure those of you with elderly parents can relate. This sounds awful to say but I'm going to say it anyway, out loud and right here: I hope and pray mom goes fast. For her sake, for ours, and in general. Unlike a lot of people, I don't want to live forever and neither does she. But there is GREAT news.

On a muuuuch brighter note, we got her in at The Plaza at Edgemere and I picked out her spot yesterday--in the rain, thank you verrrrry much. My DSW rain boots are coming in quite handy these days. My sister called from work yesterday morning and said they had 3 spots available and would I go look. Well, hell, YES, I'll go look, and I did. I stopped outside, in the rain and said my prayers for "whatever's right", and then I waited for the Plaza lady. Yep...the good ole waitin' thing again. Anyway, we went to a one bedroom on the first floor, overlooking the front of the building. It was the largest of the three -- we are dealing with a Princess here. I happened to glance at the room next door and realized I knew the lady who lived there. We opened the door to number 107 and I literally held...my...breath. IT WAS PERFECT. Done deal. I never even looked at the other two spots on the second floor. The Plaza lady and I just started howling...I was walking around placing mom's furniture, in my head. And I'm not even good at that.

Mom is right outside a little social gathering spot for TV watching with cookies and coffee and on the other side of the hall is their theater---and mom LOVES movies. Hallelujah and THANK YOU GOD. She has a little intake evaluation on Friday and I am in the process of getting her medical records that they need faxed over, in my spare time. Sorry. I couldn't resit a little sarcasm since mom has a staff of people taking care of her while she watches TV all day. Truth be told, she always has. Ahhh, the privileges of old age. Once she's all official, we'll set up the move and getter done.
Yes, she still has two months on her lease and, no, we probably can't worm out of it but that's OK. As my sister pointed out, it will give us time to sort through the furniture that she isn't taking and either absorb it, or sell it.
Just another miracle for this old broad. And I'm grateful.

Humpty Dumpty--Again

The cow is out of the barn once more. It seems mom went to church with two friends this morning and everything was great until they got to the friend's car and mom went over like Humpty Dumpty--AGAIN. We are back to the Avatar look. Again. The good news is she did not need stitches and went on to lunch at El Fenix while the goose egg grew on her forehead. Should she have iced it? Yes. Is it a tad bit late now...definitely.
My sister and I just had the "it's time to move to The Plaza at Edgemere conversation" with her (assisted living) so it's no longer on the down low. I even called my bother with the "all clear"that the deed was done and she'd been OK with it. Not thrilled but OK. Since we've already visited and put down a deposit, now we feel even more sure that this is the right decision. The sooner they can get her in, the better. I need to know she is being taken care of and is safe and I told her that. Her response was "yeah, I know....but it's sooo beautiful here and I LOVE it...can't I just stay here?" And I had to laugh. I told her "mom, I'm my own worst enemy...here we found this place and knew you'd love it because it is soooo nice... and this is gonna be a hard act to follow.... I have really just screwed myself over". My sister looked like she was about to cry and mom and I were laughing. We all do grief in different ways, at different times.
I told mom she had asked me to take care of her and make these decisions for her when she was no longer capable of doing it, and she got real quiet. I told her all three of us (siblings) were seeing a totally natural progression of her disease--nothing she could do anything about--and that it was time for her to do this. I don't think I will ever forget the look on her face.
She locked eyes with me, with a blank look in her eyes, nodded, and said "OK." That I know I will cry about in the shower later. There was no anger, no real resistance. She just isn't there anymore. And that hurts.
She did want to know how soon, and we told her we weren't sure yet but would give her plenty of notice and to just relax and just have fun. Let us do the heavy lifting. She LOVED that part. I told her when it was time to move her, we'd do it like we did last time. We'd have everything all done, moved in, and hung, and then bring her over to settle in. She was worried about her furniture and was assured we'd take care of everything, and I told her what we'd do and how.
So, the weekend curse continues. But at least we have the Oscars tonight! Woo hoo!!

Oh, fried chicken...

Are you a chicken fryer? I'm flat not. Too much hassle, too much grease, too much clean up--all for an inferior product. Oh, yeah....I've succumbed to the lure several times thinking this time is IT. Seems like anything that starts out in a hot cast iron skillet with oil can not be bad. And it's usually not--it's just not great. And if I'm going to be de-greasing my kitchen for a solid week after wards, it's got to be GREAT. I was just reading about how to make "the best fried chicken ever", on America's Test Kitchen tips email, and after about three sentences, I'm already hanging up my apron (mentally) and reaching for my keys. Hell...let Bubba's do all that and I'll just hit the drive through, thank you very much. No wonder all our ancestor's died early. If making the fried chicken didn't kill you, eating it sure did.
The saddest day of my life was the day I learned Brother's fried chicken, near down town, had closed. Again. Seems it had done it a few times but had always re-opened. It was not a dine in type place--Lord, no, unless you were packing a gun--and a big one, at that. Nope. But the drive through?? Stairway to heaven....and their fried okra?? You don't even want to know.

I think if I ever try frying chicken again, it's going to be in my "outdoor kitchen", like Paula Deen's. Hint: I do not have one--but someday I might. And that would rock. No muss, no fuss. Just hose it all down when your finished. But the smell.....that could be a problem. You know what the smell of fried chicken does to you. Uh, oh.

See....I knew it

Clearly I'm NOT the only person who is scared of clowns, and I'm still waiting to hear on the dwarf bunch. Scary stuff is just scary stuff--I don't care what it is--and it brings out the worst in some people. That would be the ones who aren't scared, and love to torture those that are.....like emailing me a picture of a dwarf clown yesterday and putting SECRET ADMIRER in the subject line. Let me just say this: those people are NOT smart despite what they may think. Payback is hell and they best sleep with one eye open--forever--since I have a very long memory. 'Nuf said, Mr. Smarty Pants.

Now for other random facts: I am on rent car #4--I swear--and it smells like gym socks or a locker room. I'm guessing it's a mildew issue so I just keep the windows open and keep going. It's clear I should have kept the red Soup can--the best of the lot--and since my car is now in the paint division, I'm just going to go with this car. The 3rd one developed a nasty habit of not starting so that's why it went back. I read on the Internet that rental car companies have dramatically dropped their inventories, and Enterprise is clear proof of that. The people are super nice--it's just the cars that suck. Really suck. And smell. Awful.
My surgery is scheduled for next Wednesday morning at 7am--I like to be the first one out of the shoot since waiting is not something I do very well--especially with no coffee--and I like everyone to be "fresh". It's Day Surgery and my old assistant is coming by to check on me which makes me laugh just thinking about it. She's not a nurse and doesn't even work there anymore but she'll act like she does. I was there for her surgery years back, with the same surgeon, so it'll be like old home week. She's the funniest woman who ever walked the planet, so I hope I'm not too drugged up to enjoy her. She'll have Bruce howling for sure. We made a pact that when working there stopped being fun, we were gone. Who else are ya gonna turkey bowl with? (One year we were sooo over the frozen turkey's they gave us every year for the holidays, that we "bowled" ours down the long tiled hall by the ER. Yes, one of the lame-o Security guys walked around the corner-- post turkey release--and he laughed his head off. Whew.) Try explaining getting fired for bowling with a turkey..........knowing Keely, she could have done it and made it sound great. She's like that.
I did see the bunny across the street yesterday so he's avoided being a dog's lunch so far. I love when he rears up on his hind legs. Tres' cool. Happy weekend to all. I'm off to fertilize my climbing roses in the back yard--the ones pictured above. With Fred at the office, he can't tell me not to--or how to do it--.
Ohhhhhh, life is good!!

Just now I have had the freak out of the day. As I click on MSNBC, right smack in the middle of the screen pops a picture of a theme park in China, featuring dwarfs. I hate outing myself here but I'm gonna big girl up and just admit it: I am terrified of dwarfs and clowns. No lie. I totally lose it and exit stage left. The boys and Fred know it and they love nothing more than calling me to the den on some other crisis, only to have Little People, Big World, on TV. I guess they think it's hilarious to watch this fat gal run, and I do. In nursing school when we did our rotation at Scottish Rite, wanna guess what my patient was??? Yep, and he was only a baby and I still tried to get another patient. When I told my instructor I wanted to swap him, she, of course, wanted to know why. The infernal "whyyyyyy"? I finally told her, and she made me keep him. That was the longest three days of my life. And did I mention he was in a halo (bolted from head to hip in a metal doo dad--like an ex-fix).........gee....that was a huge help. I had to pick him up and turn him by just holding the metal and that was even more weird...he was just like a chunk of kiddo. A few of my very closest friends in school knew what the deal was and would come give me a break and talk me down off the ceiling. One of them had a patient with no legs--nothing-- and I loved him. He was like a little black ball and rolled all over his crib--and laughed. Mine? Not so much.

Now for the clown part and I know I'm not alone here. My worst nightmare on earth would be to see a dwarf clown or be trapped near one, with no exit. I will chew my way out--I promise you. Just like a dog. And don't give me the "clowns and dwarfs are people , too" lecture--I get that. This is not a rational fear here--this is sheer terror, initially. I guess I need to head to a desensitizing program for people with phobias but I'm not doing it! Nooooo. Too freaky.

P. S. Just trying to load this picture has made me almost hurl. If there are typo's in this, you can bet I'm not coming back to fix them. Just can't do it.

Is it just me...?

Do those ED ads on TV just make you want to hurl? The actors are just sickening and the background commentary makes me feel like a 12 year old again. And not in a good way. And don't go throwing the nurse card at me. I never worked for a Urologist. And I never will... but those ads....omg. They are just nauseating...right up there with contemplating the fact that your parents actually did the deal. I mean...we all know they did, but who on the planet wants to think about it. EEEwwwwwww. Gross. Please. Nooo......that's just wrong. And the hemorrhoid ads? One of Benji's close pal's, mom, is an actress and who do you think is in the latest 'roid ad? Yep.....that'd be Jenny. And I've seen my fair share of 'roids..... and that ad still makes me twitch. And laugh hysterically. Back to twelve again.

"Fred" told me first thing this morning that there had been a huge fire on Greenville Avenue around 5 am this morning and that four restaurants had burned, including "Fertelli's". Good thing I was still in bed because I just started screaming laughing.....the restaurant is "Terelli's". See....I told ya he was hilarious.