Exit 95 on The Yellowbrick Road...

Major life changes

2011-04-26T20:07:00.003-05:00

Sadly, I must put the blog on hold right now. The reason is that I have so many commitments that I no longer have time for it. I see a psychiatrist, a therapist one day a week, a mobile therapist one day a week, and a case manager once a week. And not to mention seeing a regular medical doctor every so often. That doesn't leave me much time. So after awhile, I just had to face the fact that there's only so many hours in a day. I might get one or two days free in my schedule. And my therapist assigns me "homework" which takes a time, too. But it's been a blast, and I don't intend for this to be permanent. The last time I took a sabbatical, I came back after awhile. So this won't be permanent. I just need to take time for myself. (That's another thing I have to "take care of"--Blaine........) Please know I care about all of you. And I'll miss you. And hopefully it won't be too long of an absence. Take care---I love you all......

Technology Smecknology.....

2011-04-08T11:07:00.019-05:00

See the two phones up there? Obviously the one to the left is my landline and the other is my new cell phone. Previously, I had thought I was all "modern" because my landline phone had a little pedestal which enables the phone to be elevated up into the air--- and so you can see it and get your bearings if you are ever lost in a cornfield.

But I'd been wanting a new cell phone for awhile and so Blaine helped me buy one. I picked one out of the hundreds of Sprint Phones he "approved" of on the internet, gave him the money, and told him to pick it up on his way home. And thus, he came home with something he called a "Smart Phone". But it looked normal enough for me so I wasn't too worried.

That was my first mistake.

Then I emailed my sister and told her I'd gotten a new phone. She asked: "Is it a Smart Phone? Mine is and I couldn't live without it."

Smart Phone? Why, I asked her? Are there Dumb Phones? Are there Genius Phones? Are there phones for people who surpass even the term "genius"? And she replied that I would "love" the phone because you can play Scrabble on it and also use your email account. I told her I hadn't a clue how to operate the damn thing.

(I secretly thought I must need the "Dumb Phone".)

Then I made my second mistake. I asked Blaine why they are called "Smart Phones"......

And he began the longest soliloquy I've ever heard extolling the virtues of the various things you could do with "data", Kindle, spreadsheets, serials and conference calls on the phone.

Finally, as my eyes were beginning to glaze over, I simply asked:

"Okay, how do you answer it if it rings?"

And The Food Was Crap, Too.....

2011-04-04T06:52:00.027-05:00

The above picture is what happens when you're gone to the hospital for three days----you come home to find that your cats have no discipline and feel that they can jump onto the table to stick their head in Blaine's dinner. And when I caught her doing that, she nonchalantly moved and pretended to be looking at the lottery tickets. (Yeah right---like Little Baby is going to play the lottery....or can read, for that matter....)

Anyway, Thursday I woke up and was very dizzy, lurching around like a drunk (I know...no jokes please) with an unbalanced gait and slurred speech. I called my therapist and he immediately flipped out and started hollering about how he thought it might be lithium toxicity since that is the most recent drug they've stuck me on. He consulted my Case Manager who was adamant that I had a choice: either get Blaine to immediately take me to the hospital or he would call 911. Ridiculous. But my Case Manager doesn't play around--when he thinks something should be done, he's going to get it done his way come hell or high water.

As it turned out, Blaine was able to get off work immediately to be able to come take me to the hospital. And even though my lithium level came back normal, the ER doctor still decided to admit me to the hospital as an inpatient to figure out if I'd had a stroke or something. And thus began my 3-day odyssey into the land of incompetence---and it was a circus from start to finish. And later in the first day I was in the hospital my Case Manager came to see what they were going to do to me and then sat for one hour in my room talking to me. I was surrounded by people making decisions for me.

I didn't mind most things because I knew they had to do their tests. I didn't mind the Speech Therapy consult, nor the Occupational Therapy consult, or Physical Therapy consult. I didn't mind the head CT nor the head MRI. I didn't even mind the fact that there are apparently only two nurses in the entire hospital that can get an IV into me without sticking me 18 times. But when I found out that the neurologist and the psychiatrist who had been consulted were going to delay their exams until Monday, I hit the roof and I'll tell you why.

I am a nurse.

And thus, I well know doctors' shenanigans. I know every one of their tricks. I know how they love to skip-to-my-lou right out the hospital door on Friday afternoons, leaving their wretched patients to languish for the weekend. And I was having none of it. Listen, I put up with doctors' and their crap for 22 years as an RN. And I was good to them. I tried always to make their jobs easier. And now, here I am, 22 years later, on the other side of the fence. And I didn't like being a victim of the system one little bit. I know America tries to lay claim to the best health care in the world, but let me tell you---IT'S CRAP. Next time, send me to Canada!

Saturday morning, after finding out that the neurologist and psychiatrist were going to wait till Monday to come deal with me, I quickly decided that there was no way in hell I was going to be stuck in that damn bed, hooked up to an IV which made it impossible to even crochet or knit to pass the time, for the whole weekend. You can't get any sleep in the hospital because every hour or so somebody wakes you up to take your blood pressure or something. And when you have an IV, you have to call someone to help you go to the bathroom. (It's their rule---even though I felt perfectly capable for unplugging the IV plug and pushing the IV pole into the bathroom.) Soon, you're so sleep deprived that you become homicidal. And you start hallucinating that the staff all look like giant green grasshoppers.

So that morning, when I ventilated my complaints to my day nurse, threatening to leave the hospital AMA ("Against Medical Advice") he persuaded me not to do that and promised he'd try to help. He said he'd try to get my main doctor to hurry up and come. And he told me that when she got there to insist she discharge me at once and allow me to simply make office appointments for the delinquent neurologist and psychiatrist.

And that's exactly what I did. (Bless that nurse's heart.)

And by the way---when I was admitted, they immediately took me off ALL my meds. Yes, ALL OF THEM!!! And it didn't matter that I explained that I was a patient of the such-and-such psychiatric center and that I can't do without my meds more than a day or two before I begin to show cracks in my sanity. And also that two of my meds are anti-seizure meds. They are used for psychiatric reasons, but if taken away "cold turkey" one's body interprets it as "there is now no barrier to having a seizure."

So when I asked WHY my meds had been discontinued cold turkey, while explaining that it had taken 2 years for my psychiatrist to come up with the cocktail of drugs that calms the toxic drumbeats of my bipolar, OCD, PTSD, and anxiety/depression condition, they answered that they took me off all of them to see if there was a possible "drug interaction" that caused Thursday's condition, symptoms of which were no longer present--- and the doctors who would best be able to look at things intelligently, the neurologist and the psychiatrist, were NOWHERE TO BE SEEN.

Thus, my immediately reaction was: "WELL THEN, WHY IS THE PSYCHIATRIST WAITING TILL MONDAY TO GET HERE? AND THE NEUROLOGIST TO BOOT?"

There were lots of other things which happened that showed substandard care. My head CT came back with a description of somebody else's abdominal CT. Lovely!!!!

Oh, so that's what was wrong with me! I had a pancreas, gall bladder and common bile duct in my head!

So by Saturday morning I was in tears. Just when I was at the peak of my bawling, my helpful day nurse came in and exclaimed: "Good God, Bo! Don't cry! Then they REALLY won't discharge you--they will INSIST you wait for the psychiatrist to come on Monday!" I could see the wisdom in his advice so I tried to get straight, using about 100 Kleenexes until I look composed.

Finally, my doctor got there and I told her to immediately discharge me out of that hellhole. "But what about that neurologist and psychiatrist?" she asked. I replied: "I'm not about to sit in this stupid bed all weekend while they play golf and let their patients sit in the hospital an extra two days in order to pay for their next divorce and Mercedes.

(In case any doctors read this, please know that I helped doctors for 22 years as an RN and I was in a near insane mindset by this time.)

So my doctor (seeing in my demeanor that I meant business) wrote out my discharge instructions, which included instructions to make office appointments with their psychiatrist and neurologist---which I have no intention of doing. Those two yay-hoos can whistle Dixie before I go see either of them.

As for the diagnosis----do you know what I think was really going on Thursday morning? After I had a chance to think about it, I realized that it was most likely a really bad flare up of my Meniere's Disease, which I haven't had an attack for several years and forgot all about, which the damn neurologist would have known had he shown his ugly head. It sure as hell wasn't Lithium toxity because that level was normal. And it was not drug toxicity because I've been on those meds forever. Okay, I'll grant them the fact that the symptoms in my body of the fairly new regimen of Lithium are not entirely known yet, and they instructed me to take half of my usual dosage which I am willing to do until I can hook up with my own psychiatrist. They also advised me to take OTC dizziness medicine, which the first pill took away any lingering symptoms, furthering my suspicion was a flare up of my Meniere's Disease.

So Blaine took me home from the hospital and was very nice to me for the rest of the weekend. He had my trust check cashed for me, he'd cleaned the whole house, done all of the laundry, and he had his brand new gas grill going so to make whatever I wanted for dinner. (I wanted chicken), and he'd bought me a new pair of jeans.

And so ended my very unpleasant safari into the jungle of the world of the damn hospital system. What makes it all worse is that this particular hospital is supposed to be one of the most luxurious, high quality hospitals in the area. Hell, I would have been in better hands with a witch doctor.

Oh, by the way....I just took the below picture last night to show you the hail storm.

2011-04-02T18:44:00.003-05:00

Sorry for my absence. I had a physical issue and had to go to the hospital. One word of advice---if you're ever sick, make the hospital the LAST FRIGGING PLACE you go. (Let me get situated and I'll explain.)

Ali Baba and the Forty Beers?

2011-03-25T07:00:00.000-05:00

The lights go out and I can't be saved,

Tides that I tried to swim against,

Have brought me down upon my knees,

Oh I beg, I beg and plead singing....

("Clocks", Coldplay)

I wish I was as relaxed and unconcerned as Little Baby evidently is above.

Sigh... I'm not going to lie to you. I totally screwed up. And I admit it. You don't need to chastise me because believe me---I've already done it for you.

It happened recently during a couple of days that Blaine and I had had an argument about something stupid. Blaine and I don't fight often but when we do it can get pretty intense. But the problem is that when the fight is over, Blaine goes back to normal as if nothing happened. But I'm not like that. After a fight is over, I get melancholy and sad, a condition which can last for days.

During those times that I'm sad, Blaine tries to cajole me out of it, buying me presents and being extra nice. But I feel traumatized and it takes me a few days to snap out of it. And this particular argument led me to do something quite unhelpful.

Here's how it went down:

The other night, after we had finished with the argument, Blaine had to participate in a conference call for his company. And the call went on for so long that he didn't have time to drink 2 beers he had brought home to drink after work. So he simply left them in the refrigerator and went to bed. Blaine doesn't normally leave beers in the refrigerator but this time he did....

The next day I was still very melancholy and moping around the house feeling sorry for myself. It was Thursday, my long day at the psych center. I was so totally out of sorts that I called in sick. Then I moped around the house some more, knitting here and crocheting there, watching TV but not really listening to it, and continuing to pout as if I were some sort of martyr. Finally, I got hungry and went to the refrigerator to get a couple of Laughing Cow cheese wedges and some grapes for a snack.

And then I saw them...... the two beers.....

A million thoughts went through my brain. And none of them good. I am supposed to be a recovering alcoholic and I should have done what my therapist, Jack, has told me to do a bazillion times when faced with trouble (and alcoholic temptation is DEFINITELY considered "trouble"). I should have put in a request for a "coaching call". Jack or one of my other therapists always return requests for coaching calls to see if they can help you either feel better or avoid negative behaviors---like drinking alcohol.

But did I call for Jack? No I didn't. I could have called the mobile therapist or my case manager. But I didn't call them either. The three of my therapists are always nagging us patients to call them when we get into trouble but instead I just forged ahead in my self-pity and martyrdom.

I didn't call any of them.

I didn't call any of them because I was busy thinking thoughts I shouldn't have been thinking. "Nobody will know", I thought to myself. Because it was the one Friday that my case manager wasn't coming. Nobody was coming. And I didn't have to go anywhere.....

One thought kept sneaking into my head: "You're supposed to be a a recovering alcoholic---clean and sober..." but I ignored it.

And then another thought sneaked into my head. "Blaine was mean to me in that fight we had...."

I'm sure you know what happened next.

I grabbed those two beers and put them by the couch. And I began drinking them while I sat there watching TV. I was hoping the beers would relax me and get me over my melancholy mood.

So I sat there, bundled up in an afghan, sipping the beers. I wasn't getting drunk. My tolerance for alcohol is so high that it would take an entire keg to get me drunk. But I drank them anyway. And I was feeling some sort of vindication about the fight with Blaine. I felt that I "deserved" to drink the beers.

Because, you see, that's why they call the disease of alcoholism "cunning, baffling and powerful". It will get you as soon as you let your guard down. And I had definitely allowed my melancholy mood to let my guard down.

But I didn't feel that way while I was drinking the 2 beers. I was sniffling about the fight and blaming it all on Blaine in my head. Pouting. And pouting is another one of those emotions which can cause an alcoholic to let their guard down. And I'm champion pouter. If pouting were an Olympic sport I would always get the Gold Medal.

And then it happened.

Someone knocked on the door loudly.

What the hell? I thought to myself. And then I went and asked through the door "Who is it?" And to my utter mortification I heard a familiar voice answer me saying: "It's your case manager."

Oh. My. God. A thousand F-words were swirling around in my brain....

Stupidly, I said to the voice on the other side of the door: "Are you sure?" And the same voice answered back "It's not a mistake. It's your case manager, Bo. I was wondering why you called in sick today. Let me in."

I answered: "Dammit, you're not supposed to be here today!"

But he answered back "And yet here I stand, right Bo?"

And you know, for just a moment I thought of running and hiding the beers but who was I kidding? He'd know the minute he walked in from the smell of beer. So, I screwed up some courage.....and I let him in.

He walked in, holding his ever present clipboard, surveyed the situation, gazed at the 2 beers on the floor by the couch---and then turned and looked at me standing there looking like a fool with a baleful look on my face.

"What is going on, Bo?" he asked, eyeballing the two beers on the floor by the couch.

"Um.....I drank two beers," I answered. And then, feeling like "in for a penny, in for a pound", I told him the whole stupid story.

He didn't get mad. But he did sit with me a long time to discuss things I could have done instead of drinking the two stupid beers. The most frightening thing he said was: "You know, Bo, you're lucky you didn't get the inclination to drive down to the corner liquor store to get a big bottle of vodka, which was always your booze of choice."

"It never even occurred to me," I said. And it was true, thank goodness.

Anyway, it ended up that all three of my therapists continued to talk with me about this event in following appointments during the next week and now the incident is in the past and we've moved on. But one thing for sure is that I know that I need to be very wary of my negative moods. They can do damage. And I don't want there to be another alcohol incident.

* * * * * * * * * *

At group that week, Jack asked me what I had learned. And I replied: "It's kind of like what happened in the stories of Aladdin's magic lamp--- I found that if I rubbed a bottle of booze my case manager will magically appear on my doorstep".......

The Dream.....

2011-03-22T20:04:00.007-05:00

I'm thinking about, when Blaine comes home one day, to be in my sloppiest sweatpants, a stained sweatshirt, hair that looked like I'd been through a hurricane, no makeup, the house a complete mess, the cats meowing loudly for food, 3 cat puke areas (on carpet), the dishes dirty, the kitchen floor un-mopped and the living & dining room un-vacuumed, and his newspapers and Popular Science magazines lying around all over the place.

As his jaw dropped, I would say: "Thought I'd show you what I do all day by not doing it."

Priceless.

A Knitting Conundrum Day....

2011-03-14T09:36:00.009-05:00

Woke up to this new snow today. And it seems so odd because we just had about a week of beautiful, spring-ish weather. But for now, this alien snow has cancelled my planned trip to Walmart because I never can de-snow the truck like Blaine does.

But I'm not without things to do on a day when I'm snowed in. For instance, I can look at the back of my uncle's sweater and think "Good-- I got that part down." But now the conundrum is what to do with the front of the pullover. I want to put a decorative, masculine, yet easy, panel up the front. But I've looked at all my cabling books and can't choose what I want. So I just sit here looking at the danged sweater, hoping that something in the knitted cables book choices will speak to me.

One thing about snow days is that I appreciate the fire more. We have an "adjustable" fire in that when the room gets cold, the fire clicks on. And if the room gets warm, the fire clicks off. And today it's pretty much on all day. But that's fine with me because between the weather and the fire, my brain concentrates on my knitting projects more....

Um....except I just took up a crochet project that I told myself I could work on for short breaks when I get tired of knitting the sweater. (But the truth is that I simply wanted to design something out of granny squares.)

Okay, the below granny squares are made from Malabrigo bulky in the colorway called "Brilliante". And I'm going to design a cardigan with them. It will be a spring sweater because of the large holes between the blocks of double crochet. And I'm going to design it with knitted areas as well as crocheted areas. I'll put the progress of both garments on the blog as I go.

Wish me luck!

Anyhoo, I guess I better get started as the hours are rolling by. But first I'm going to make myself some hot tea that Blaine bought for me. It's one of my favorites (next to Constant Comment), Twinings Earl Grey.

It May Not Be The Most Effective Grocery Shopping Method, But We're Used To It...

2011-03-08T08:29:00.030-06:00

It's a rainy day.....and here I sit in my knitting chair, knitting. And I'm also pondering something else...

Blaine.

Now there's an interesting creature if I've ever seen one. There's a lot of eccentric qualities he has, but I'm only going to talk about the one that drives me the most bonkers.

And that is the fact that he is a champion grocery shopper. If there's ever made an Olympic sport for grocery shopping, he will win the Gold Medal hands down. (And I swear that the next paragraphs are the God's honest truth about how the two of us go about getting most of our groceries--it's Blaine's preferred method, not mine.)

Here's a typical day:

Blaine calls after work, from his cell phone---he's calling from the grocery store: "Bo, do we need anything?"

Me, from my knitting chair: "Let me look...." at which time I search the refrigerator and cabinet. Then I come back: "Yes, we need crackers, onions, 2 bottles of Vlasic Zesty dill pickles, lemons, a bag of frozen shrimp, and a red bell pepper."

We hang up. Of course, he doesn't write down the list.

Next, the phone rings again. It's Blaine. He says something like: " I'm on the pickle aisle. Do you HAVE to have these stupid Vlasic Zesty dill pickles? They are so expensive you wouldn't believe it, especially since you want not one but TWO jars. But there is a huge jar of pickles in another brand than Vlasic, and it is very inexpensive."

Me: "Yuk, I hate those other stupid dill pickles. They're crap. I love my Vlasic Zesty pickles and I go through one jar very quickly. That's why I want two jars of them."

I can hear him sighing into the phone. We hang up.

Sure enough, he calls back a little later. Blaine: "DAMMIT. I was so busy getting some interesting looking salad dressing and some ketchup that I went on for a few more aisles--- and I realized I had forgotten the pickles! Now I have to go all the way back to that aisle to get your damn pickles!" And he hangs up on me.

A little while later, he calls again, from the coffee aisle: "Hey, how low on coffee are we?"

Me: "Low. And the way we go through coffee you'd best get some more."

Blaine: "What do you think about Costa Rican coffee this time?"

Me: "I don't care what kind of coffee we have. Whatever you pick is always good." We hang up.

Then Blaine calls YET AGAIN.

Blaine issues an edict: "I'm taking a stand. Stop making me go back & forth in here!!! From now on, organize the grocery list so that it follows the flow of the grocery store's aisles. For example, put all the produce first, because I go through that section first. Then tell me anything needed on the ketchup, salad dressings, chow chow, and pickles aisle. Then comes the canned goods aisle, like for soups, beans, etc. Then comes the rice/pasta/dried beans aisle. Then I cruise the meat section. Next comes the dairy section and then comes the bread aisle. If, per chance, you want frozen goods they are right after the rice aisle. So-- tell me---you ARE going to do that way of organizing the groceries list in the future, right?"

Me: "You have got to be kidding me." This time I hang up. But he calls back.

Blaine: "No, I'm not kidding! Because while I was in the dairy section you told me about needing lemons!!! Goddang, Bo! Now I have to go all the way back to the damn produce section to get your damn lemons!"

Me: (Not having a good comeback so trying to think up a rather weak one.) "Hey, why can't you write the list down when I first tell you what stuff we need instead of calling me on every aisle? And by the way, you complained about the cost of my Vlasic Zest dill pickles. And yet I know you've probably spent about $14.00 on less than a pound of imported coffee. "

And then we get into a war of who wants the most expensive grocery items. I'm always curious about the thoughts of other shoppers who are hearing him bark into his cell phone things like: "Your stupid red bell pepper is way more expensive than the green ones! And how much have you spent on yarn this month young lady?"

But a little later (after we both tire of the "you spend more than me" game) he redeems himself. I always tell him to hit the magazine aisle to tell me which new knitting magazines are there. (And the magazine aisle is the other side of the pickle aisle so he doesn't mind stopping there.) One time, after he told me of a particular magazine, I said: "OH, I want it!" And then he actually had a second thought and said: "Wait---go look at your magazines---I think I bought this one for you already."

I ran to check---and sure enough, he was telling the truth! He HAD bought me that particular knitting magazine. The fact that he remembers little things like which knitting magazine he bought me causes me to realize that he is surely my knight in shining armor. How can I complain about the little things when he is such a sweetheart? (I call him Sugar Bear, which he puts up with, which is another one of his good qualities.....)

And the rain goes on......and I know that around 3:30 pm he'll call me from the grocery store.....and I need a couple things.....

The Sock Parade

2011-02-28T10:43:00.016-06:00

See the above house socks? They are going to be mailed to Blaine's mother, Mary. And why, you ask, would I be doing this? It is because I finally gave up. She wore me down and I finally caved. (The above socks are my "Mardi Gras Socks" and my Opal tiger socks--and you can enlarge all the pictures by clicking on them.)

Anyhoo, it all has to do with my stupidity of knitting Mary a pair of house socks about a year and a half ago. I try to make one family member a knitted present every year. But giving Mary a pair of my socks created a monster. She began bugging me to knit her some more socks. But whenever she would bug me to knit her some more, I told her that I have a lot more family members (on both sides of the family) that I haven't knitted anything for and they were my priority for awhile. And furthermore, I told her I am currently working on my uncle's sweater right now and that it could be a long time till I finish it.

But none of this stopped her. She kept asking for more socks. Day in and day out. Every Christmas she asked---and every Thanksgiving, every Fourth of July, her birthday, St. Patrick's Day, President's Day, Cinco de Mayo and every family occasion at one of Blaine's family members' house. What was really maddening was that she also asked every time she called on the phone with myself or Blaine every weekend....

I was starting to go nutsy cuckoo.....

And then I had an epiphany.

Remember all those house socks I knitted last year? I only knitted them to see if I could play with color and stitch types. But I never wore them because they can get snagged on a nail on the metal joins between the dining room and the kitchen, and also the join between the hall and the downstairs bathroom. (This house is eons old.) So I just let the socks sit, fallow, in the knitting room.

And my epiphany was that I could give THOSE socks to Mary (she wants house socks instead of street socks.) The socks were knit for my size---and Mary has my size. So I told her on the phone that I would give them to her if she didn't mind that I never knit matching socks or sleeves. I told her that none of the socks were exactly like their mate. She said she didn't care. So Blaine told me he'll pick up a box to mail them when he's on his way home from work.

Below is a pair of "circus socks" and some camouflage socks I'm going to give her.

Then above is some "Leopardies" socks and some aran socks, each aran sock made with a different pattern. And then, of course, the Mardi Gras socks and some Opal tiger socks at the top of this post.

And ya know what I'm going to do? The box I mail the socks in will contain a nice note with a P.S. And the P.S. shall read:

"That's 6 pairs of socks, Mary. Now you're good for six years...."

Prayers Needed

2011-02-22T17:39:00.005-06:00

I am praying very hard for New Zealand, due to the earthquake.

And yes, I know there is heartache, hardships, and even war (civil and otherwise) in other countries right now--- and my heart goes out to the innocents there, too. Each night as I watch the news about it I get tears in my eyes--and I pray for those victims too.

Heck, I think I'll pray for the whole world---and I'm not trying to be funny here. I really mean it. Having lived overseas until I came back to America for college, I have developed a deep love for all of those in other countries and their cultures.

Please God, help us all.....

If I'd Had The Nerve, I'd Have Drawn a Clowny-Face on Blaine With Lipstick Or Something....

2011-02-20T09:38:00.013-06:00

First of all, don't think that just because they look totally innocent while sleeping that they actually ARE innocent. Don't believe it for a minute.

And secondly, as you can see how Leonard sleeps diagonally on the floral print pillow, which is mine, I end up getting pushed out of bed. It happens every time I get up in the middle of the night to get a drink of water or something---everybody adjusts and there's no room for poor Bo. Worse yet, sometimes Blaine absconds to his side of the bed with an iron grip on my snuggle pillow....

And thirdly, at the top right of the picture you can see my poor tattered snuggle pillow---you can barely see some of the stuffer pillow sticking out at the top of it. And it's lost all it's corner tassles but one.

I knitted this snuggle pillow in 2001 and I've gotten so attached to it that I've repaired it umpteen damn times. I can't sleep without it.

And with regular repairs, hopefully I'll keep using it till I'm 92 and old enough to wear purple and a red hat....

Those idgits never even woke up when I took that stupid picture. Blaine would probably murder me if he knew I'd put it on the blog. But he never reads my blog, thank God.

Heh Heh Heh.....

A Down Period....

2011-02-18T11:26:00.004-06:00

Hello, I know I've been awful quiet lately but I've had some issues I've had to deal with. But I won't be gone long---I'm trying to dig out now. (Oh, I used that expression about the heavy snows: "to dig out", heh.) So perhaps you could call what I'm digging out of as "emotional snow".

Anyway, as The Terminator said: "I'll be back."

Men......sigh....

2011-02-11T17:17:00.013-06:00

The above is what happens when your husband doesn't check the legs of his sweatpants for stray socks when he does the laundry---especially wool socks that I had knitted for him.....

The question I planned on asking him was: WHY DON'T YOU CHECK FOR LOST SOCKS IN SWEATPANTS WHEN YOU'RE DOING THE DANG LAUNDRY?????

Okay, I know and appreciate the fact that I have a gem of a husband because he does all the laundry. But what happened was that I was picking up clothes off the floor by his side of the bed. And I noticed there was only one of his favorite house socks---the ones I knitted for him to wear with his house slippers in the mornings when he gets out of bed---a pair of socks which he had asked for. He loved them. And when I called downstairs to ask where the lost sock was, there was a long pause.....and then he sheepishly said: "I.... uh.... accidentally washed it. It was in one of the legs of my sweatpants."

When I took a deep breath in order to have enough breath to say WHAT!? YOU PUT A WOOL SOCK IN THE WASHING MACHINE???? AFTER I TOLD YOU TO NEVER, I MEAN NEVER, TO PUT ANYTHING I KNIT FOR YOU INTO THE WASHING MACHINE?!!!!....he beat me to the punch and pitifully said: "I know, I know....you have always told me to NEVER put anything you knit for me in the washing machine. (Is 'pitifully' a word?)

And his statement kind of burst my balloon of my planned flip out. So I simply told him in a normal voice echoing the same thing: "Blaine, I repeat---NEVER put anything I knit for you in the washer."

Blaine: "I won't."

After he went to work this morning my curiosity got the best of me and I went down into the basement. I found the sock and to my utter mortification I saw that he had been trying to stretch the sock out! He had stuck a beer can and also a tube meant to make oil and vinegar salad dressing inside the sock. But it hadn't worked. Most of the sock was felted. And it had shrunk to to the size that would fit an 8 year old.

Sigh......

(A tube to make oil and vinegar salad dressing??? REALLY? Lord have mercy.....)

Okay, I'm Getting Sick Of This Damn Snow...

2011-02-09T09:13:00.011-06:00

Yep, we had another damn snowfall. And, as usual, the damn snow plow hasn't come to our street.

And what's at issue at the moment is that the mobile therapist is coming today. But she likes me to drive my truck on our outings because "that will get me used to doing things outside of the house".

Whatever.

But I know that Blaine wouldn't allow me to drive on these road conditions--- so she can just whistle Dixie if she expects me to drive.

The main roads are plowed but the neighborhood streets and town side streets are largely unplowed. And we live on the downslope of a hill.

So I'm just going to ask the mobile therapist to drive. If she doesn't want to, we can just sit in the living room and either have a therapy session or twiddle our thumbs. (And I'm wondering if she can get through this unplowed street to our house herself.)

Superbowl Sunday

2011-02-06T13:24:00.011-06:00

Slowly, our neighborhood digs out from what the authorities here are calling "The Blizzard of 2011". And I totally agree with them--it definitely was a gigantic blizzard. Now all you can see is the pyramids of snow from the shoveling of driveways and sidewalks. I think they look strange.

But today is a consolation prize for football fans---it's Superbowl Sunday and Green Bay is playing against Pittsburgh. I'm rooting for Green Bay because I have never liked to remember my years in the city of Pittsburgh since graduating from nursing school there.

Nursing school practically killed me and so I don't really like to harbor those dark memories. If you want to know what happened to me and my 2 intrepid classmates in Pittsburg, read the "Who ya gonna call?" series of blogposts. There's "Part One" through Part Five". (Part One starts out slow because the whole blogpost came out of me griping about Blaine watching ghost hunting TV shows, which I think are fake---and my saying that I could tell a real ghost story of something which happened to me in nursing school. And then the whole story of my nursing school experience came tumbling out.....)

Where was I?

Oh yeah, Superbowl Sunday.

The above is a picture of Leonard, moving into position on the top of the couch, ready for the standard Superbowl Sunday couch ride. Notice his tongue sticking out in an act of defiance. Leonard doesn't like getting his picture taken.

Below is when Blaine joined Leonard and they both got into their main "Superbowl Watching Position". Looks like Leonard is already asleep. Never mind that it's not time for the Superbowl game yet---they just wanted to claim the couch before I could, dammit.

I guess the enjoyment I'll get out of the game is my knitting and watching the Superbowl's TV commercials. The Superbowl's special TV commercials are something that people wait for all year. (Remember those frog commercials from a Superbowl a zillion years ago?)

Dig Out Day....And There's Chili!

2011-02-02T13:19:00.008-06:00

Well the blizzard finally stopped......and this is what it left--- plus drifts due to the high winds during the snow storm. The snow dropped upon us was around 12"-14" deep, depending on where you were in the Kansas City area.

My beef is that because of the damn idiots who parked their vehicles on our neighborhood's street and the 2 cul-de-sacs, the plows haven't come. But fortunately, all the neighborhood's SUV's have bravely struggled around the cul-de-sac and then up the hill, "flattening" the street snow to the level that might possibly allow those of us without 4-wheel drive to get out. (Except for that part at the point where your shoveling effort ends and the street begins---where there's a bump of snow.)

Blaine shoveled the whole driveway---ours and the landlord's--- as you can see above, which is good because that pays back a favor to for our landlord, who shoveled both driveways after the last snow episode.

Anyhoo, now Blaine's in the kitchen making a pot of his famous chili, yay!!!

Blaine says he's not going to allow me to go to therapy for my "long day" at the psych center tomorrow. He doesn't want me to drive on poor road conditions---he doesn't trust that the city will plow well enough, salt well enough, or whatever. That's fine. He took tomorrow off and so I'd rather stay home anyway, to be with him.

After all.....I've got to make that chili pie with the chili leftovers!!

The Blizzard Shows No Signs of Stopping...

2011-02-01T14:57:00.004-06:00

The shovel shows where Blaine had shoveled a pathway for his car to get into the garage. Now, that place where he shoveled is gone, buried under the snow. He said a cussword when I told him about it.

The problem with these pictures are that you can't see the blowing of the snow. But trust me, it's blowing hard and has just increased. The weather man said that this is the worst snow storm he's seen in all the years he's been in Kansas. And now, due to the blowing snow, visibility is so bad that they don't even know if the plow trucks will be able to get out on the roads.

See those idiots parked on the street down there? That's why our neighborhood's snow plow trucks get mad. You are SUPPOSED to keep your damn car OFF the damn street so that the plows can do their damn jobs!

They Weren't Foolin' When They Said It'd Be A Blizzard!

2011-02-01T12:17:00.009-06:00

I'm beginning to wonder if Blaine's going to be able to drive home in this mess.

They haven't plowed our street yet. Which is okay because all the snow that's going to drop hasn't happened yet. But I'm worried about Blaine because there's a layer of ice underneath the snow....

Update, 12:30pm :

Blaine just left work and says he'll make it in this snow. He said he's even going to try and stop at the grocery store in this mess. Let's all cross our fingers that he makes it home safely!

Update #2:

Blaine made it home but is now trying to get up the driveway and into the garage. No such luck. He's out there slipping and sliding. (As is another neighbor down the steet). Finally, he had to go get the shovel and is shoveling snow out of the way so he can make it into the drive.

And The Snow Goes On And On......

2011-02-01T11:29:00.001-06:00

Blaine is at work. I'm wondering how he'll get home.

The Snow Is Not Stopping....

2011-02-01T10:09:00.005-06:00

The camera doesn't show it but the worsening snow is being blown sideways by strong winds.

The Blizzard is Coming!! The Blizzard is Coming!!

2011-02-01T08:31:00.006-06:00

The Blizzard hath cometh.......

It was a lighter when we woke up--a faint amount of flurrying. So Blaine went on in to work. And then I took a nap on the couch since I still sleepy and didn't have anything to do.

When I woke up, it was a heavier snow fall---like these two pictures. I just hope Blaine gets to come home when he wants!

I'll keep you guys posted!

Blaine's Method for How to Hunker Down for a Blizzard...And There Will Be Chili!!

2011-01-30T17:57:00.019-06:00

Well golly gee, the weatherman instructed all of us to prepare for a coming snow episode. Well, we thought we were prepared---you can see our snow tools up above, which we figured would be satisfactory.

But now we're not thinking they'll be of any help. Because the weatherman said it would be so bad starting tomorrow that we should put "ice melt" on our driveways and sidewalks TONIGHT. He said there would be light snow showers and freezing rain beginning on Monday morning. Then he said that Tuesday there would be a damn blizzard which would likely dump 10" to 13" of snow on the ground! And then on Wednesday there might be some more snow showers.

TEN to THIRTEEN INCHES? That's a lot for us. And there's still some snow on the ground from the last snow episode!

So Blaine went down to the hardware store and got the ice-melt and loaded it into his "spreader". The spreader is the tool where you load your salt or ice melt and then hand crank it out to spray it on the areas you want.

Lock and load....

He started with our driveway and spreaded it on both our side and our landlord's side.

(Is "spreaded" a word?)

Then he reloaded and gave everything another layer.

(And this was the day he had gone out and got the truck cleaned---including removing the salt layers from the last snow storm....)

Poor Blaine. He spreaded a lot of layers, hoping he could prevent major problems in the next few days.

But personally, the weather forecast is so bad that I doubt this ice melt layer will do diddly squat.

I'll take pics of the progress of the storm and put it on another blogpost. Oh yes, and Blaine went to the grocery store (with my long list) to prepare for not being able to go to the grocery store for a couple days. He got everything he thought we'd need to hunker down for the blizzard. And guess what? He got the ingredients to make his famous chili---which he'll probably make on Tuesday, the blizzard day---yippee!

Cleaning Day

2011-01-24T11:41:00.005-06:00

(Wondering if the following statement will fly when Blaine gets home:)

"Hey, it's not my fault I didn't clean. Little Baby blocked the vacuum cleaner and Leonard knocked over my mopping bucket."

Little Baby Fashion Show

2011-01-18T10:44:00.006-06:00

Trying to stay awake in case the Tuna Fairy comes.....

Dreaming of tuna, no doubt....

I have no idea how she can curl up into a ball like that....

Pretending she's posing for a nekkid cat magazine.....January's pin-up cat....

Again, waiting for the Tuna Fairy, guarding both bowls (and the cream saucer)...

Oh....found a ray of sunshine to sleep in....(and I don't need to tell you who she's dreaming about)...

Another nekkid cat magazine pose....

Public Service Announcement..... Or How to Turn In Your Citizenship Card For "Namby Pamby Land"...

2011-01-11T09:15:00.023-06:00

One day little girl,

The sadness will leave your face,

As soon as you've won,

Your fight to get justice done......

("True Grit", Glenn Campbell)

You know, a new scam pops up every day. Especially those types that prey on the elderly. And we, as guardians of our aging parents, need to be sharp---and frequently question them when it comes to their utilities and other large expenditures. Even if they sass you back in a Southern Accent. You've got to be on your toes.

It all started with my beloved Mumsy emailing me the following: "Rats. Satellite dish out and I can't reach the company--and me here with no good book."

I got the name of her satellite company and told her I'd try to get a work request put in for her since she's not good with those type of technical things. She said: "Oh, and the guy says don't call the regular Direc TV number---he said to call this one here."

Ok, it's difficult for my mother to manage technical things like satellite TV dishes, cell phones, and ATM machines. (But she can use powerful saws to cut her mosaic tiles and is a whiz bang with an electric hand mixer.) But she has a hard time explaining things on the phone to slick talking phone operators.

But not me. I'm a bulldozer of a consumer---and I don't, per the popular GEICO "mean psychiatrist" TV commercial, "need to go to Namby Pamby Land to pick up some courage".

Noooooooo, I am a savvy consumer and I suffer no fools. And the reason I don't need to go to Namby Pamby Land to get courage is that I already have it. The shit that I've had to crawl through (literally and figuratively) in my lifetime has painfully burned plenty of courage into my skin, whether I wanted it or not.

But my mother is a Southern Lady and sometimes gets flustered. And she would never think of being "rude" to another person. So she needs my help with some matters, even if I am across the country and out of my natural habitat of The South.

Anyhoo, here's the scam:

Last year she went to buy a TV and got to talking to the shop owner. She made a slight, chatty complaint about how Direc TV wanted her to renew her contract by buying a new box. Immediately she is referred to a "guy" in the shop who makes her what she didn't realize was a devil's deal:

If she'd allow their company to handle her Direc TV account from now on, she'd get an "individual Direct TV account", with the same Direc TV deal she had before, only without having to buy the box. And also that she wouldn't have to go through Direc TV's regular telephone voice menu hoopla for repair calls---she'd deal one-on-one with Direct TV's repair department to get better and faster Direc TV service.

The only catch is that she had to change the name on her account to her middle name....

Great. So she falls for the deal the nice young men offered her, never knowing it's a common scam, sometimes called the "back door" scam. She falls for it and signs on the dotted line, which said "American Wireless".

So. To make a long story short, guess what I found out when I took her information and began investigating why we couldn't get a simple repair call put in to Direc TV?

BECAUSE IT WAS ALL A LIE.

1. She is not a customer of Direc TV and they never heard of American Wireless.

2. She has Direc TV equipment. She thought that meant she was still a Direc TV customer. Nope again.

3. She gets a monthly bill statement on a paper bill which has realistic looking Direc TV letterhead. I had her look closely. And (as she would say) Oh my word. The bill statement showed an incorrect address for her, and there was another lady's name & address on there for some weird reason--- and the payment money was going to a suspicious address in Arkansas. Also, they convinced her that she HAD to let them take the payments automatically out of her credit card, which might explain why the addresses on the paper bill didn't have to make sense.

4. She can't get ahold of anybody at American Wireless for a repair call. Whatever happened to her getting better customer service if she switched to their repair guys? I called their damn number till it rang for about a zillion times and the cows actually came home, which was all for naught because I never got an answer.

(This may be the one time in my life when I actually wanted a voice recording to answer, if only to immortalize myself claiming that I would "wipe the floor of I-35 with you yella-belly, egg-sucking, mother-cheatin', dog-ruinin', card-cheatin', couldn't-hit-the-broad-side-of-a-barn-with-a-cap-pistol, assholes whenever I finally got ahold of them".....)

Today, my mother is still having a hard time believing she was fooled. She doesn't understand it. She is not like me---she doesn't frisk people at the door, ask for identification, ask 250 pertinent questions, or do background checks. Just kidding, I don't do that---but I can smell a scam a mile away. They would never have even TRIED to screw with me because, although I might look like a small person from Geico's "Namby Pamby Land", I'm actually from Maddie and Rooster Cogburn's "True Grit Land", and am usually loaded for bear when it comes to people cheating me or my mother.

(Or is that Sarah Palin Land???? Let's not go there...)

Okay, there are several morals of this story:

1. If you have a beautiful Southern Lady mother, watch her closely.

2. If your mother is cheated, do not spare the cheaters. If you have to, go get some courage from Namby Pamby Land. But whatever you do, go for the gusto---get those damn cheaters and make sure they cringe the next time they hear your name.

3. Tell them you know the county's Asst. District Attorney.

(But don't tell them it's because the Asst. District Attorney and his brother once saved your ass from a drunk driving conviction by plea-bargaining it down to a lesser charge, behind Judge's Chambers, with the Asst. District Attorney lecturing you in a stern Texas accent: "Now Bo! Don't yew never drink no more booze ever agin', you heah me? And Ah mean it this time, dammit!"

(It goes like that in small Texan towns, sometimes.....but ya gotta come from "True Grit Land".....)

Epilogue: I was able to negotiate a fabulous "Come Back to Us" package from the REAL Direc TV--and admonished my Mumsy to consult me on big decisions--and dammit if she didn't sass me again.

Um....The New Year Starts Out on a Sour Note...

2011-01-07T09:09:00.031-06:00

Sigh.

I feel guilty and like a dumb-bunny at the same time. And a complete idgit.

At Christmas, my uncle, my niece (his daughter) and some other people joined my mother's Christmas celebration. And she always decorates the house beautifully. It's like a wondrous fairy land. She and her maid work magic in the kitchen and put out smacking good h'ors doeuves and a bountiful turkey dinner with all the trimmings.

Well....they had the great big turkey dinner.....and then it came time to open presents.

Now first let me tell you that last Christmas I knitted an aran sweater for my uncle's roommate, who had hinted all Thanksgiving that he wanted one. After all that hinting, I simply HAD to make the sweater.

(My uncle's roommate is the brother of my uncle's late wife, a woman in her 40's who had had a sudden and deadly heart attack on the kitchen floor---and the ambulance couldn't find the house for an hour since my uncle's house is deep in the swamp right on the river in the underwater cypress groves--and neither my uncle nor his roomate knew CPR, although I don't blame them for that since nobody gives CPR classes anywhere near where they are).

Where was I?

Oh yeah---they were just about to open presents in my Mumsy's living room. (God, that fabulous room is so sacred and holy that I don't believe she'd even allow Billy Graham himself to sit in there---yet she let our "swamp people" and other visitors sit in there to open presents. Huh. Whodathunkit.

Anyhoo, as I said before, the Christmas before this last one, I had made an aran sweater for my uncle's roommate. He loved it so much that he wore it two days straight. (It actually does get really cold in the swamp during winter.) And when my uncle expressed jealousy, I made him a promise, saying to to him: "Don't worry uncle, I'll knit you a sweater, too."

Fast forward to this past Christmas.

I bought a jillion presents for my family. I used up two whole trust checks for my gift-buying. But after all my shopping, I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten my uncle!!! So I hurriedly sent him a Hickory Farms basket. My sister sent their house a gourmet basket also (from a different company). (And note....I hadn't knitted my uncle a sweater....)

Finally it came time for my uncle to open his present from me.... and my mother called me 15 minutes later (from a back bedroom's phone) to heartily berate me for the dratted Hickory Farms basket. It seemed that while my uncle was opening the gift from me he said, with a gleam in his eye: "I know what this is!"

And when he saw that it was a stupid Hickory Farms basket, his whole face FELL in disappointment!!! And he said to my mother: "I thought this was that sweater Bo was going to knit for me!"

Oh my God, when Mumsy told me that I told her to go hand the phone to my uncle. And I humbly and earnestly swore to him that I would immediately start his sweater.

So......see the Malabrigo Worsted sweater for me in "Snow Bird" below? Well get it out of your mind, because it won't reappear for awhile. (You can click on the picture to make it bigger.)

(I keep thinking it would have been different if I'd sent my uncle a really cool gift like a new holder for his huntin' gun which he mainly uses to shoot alligators when he sees them sunning themselves on the side of the river.....or else something akin to his sport as a man who raises and fights fightin' cocks---(let's not go there, ok?)---like a chicken statue similar to the ones he collects......but noooooooo! Idiot me sent him a stupid dainty Hickory Farms basket! To a man who uses his pocket knife to cut his steaks! Aaarghh! I don't blame him for being disappointed.)

(And remember, I told you that I have a knack for buying the exact wrong gift for somebody at Christmas---and regretting it for the rest of my life as in the example here....)

So...the Snowbird sweater. Now you see it, now you don't.

And now I am working on a sweater for my uncle. It is in Cascade 220 Superwash and I cannot sing the praises of this soft DK yarn enough. I'm using a dark mocha for the ribbing and will use the lighter mocha for the body. Don't even ask me how the body of the sweater will be because I have no idea. If I can get through the ribbing I'll try and think something up.

I did talk to my niece on the phone(my uncle's daughter, not my sister's daughter) and we giggled and laughed over our exploits when younger. (During the couple of times I got to see her when my parents came to America for a month's "home leave" from the Diplomatic career of living in foreign countries.) Now she's all grown up and is something like a doula, whatever they do--but I know it's something that has to do with birthing babies. She is apprenticing with a lady who is somewhat higher in the hierarchy, whatever THAT is.

One artistic thing my niece does is to make molds of pregnant women's stomachs---and then she bronzes them to make the "singing bowls". She showed me one time when we were all in the swamp for my grandmother, Mamo's, being on her deathbed. Anyway, my niece had one in the trunk of her car. It was formed from some family member of ours. The she turned the bronzed mold upside down like a big bowl, and then she did something to make her hand and finger go round and round on the bowl to make it "sing" a nice bell-ring kind of sound. Cool. Another artist in the family.

Anyhoo, we're going to see each other this year some time when Blaine and I go down south. And then we can laugh about things that happened when we were young and I was in America. We're especially going to laugh about the time when our delinquent cousin Dana waited till my grandfather was gone and then cranked up his riding lawn mower. (Which was going totally against my grandfather's totally serious instructions of how children were NOT to touch his precious lawn mower, because that was absolutely the greatest kid-sin in our family and nobody but stupid Dana would ever rebelliously dare to do it.) Then she climbed onto the behemoth and started driving---but she couldn't control it and promptly accidentally mowed down my great-grandmother, Granny's, petunias--and then her Jack-in-the-Pulpits--and then her geraniums. And she almost mowed down Granny's hapless little dog, Abraham. But that's a hilarious story for another time......

The Plants Are All Dead---And I Don't Feel So Good Myself...

2010-12-31T11:07:00.034-06:00

A lot of people have emailed me over the last 2 years, asking me what particular mental illness I have that would require so much therapy as I take, which is 3 days a week. And I've always been too embarassed about it to say. But I guess I should go ahead and own up to the dadgum specifics.

But it's kind of hard to explain. They've given me so many diagnoses. I don't really care what they have defined me as, even though the particular diagnoses affect me horribly. It's why I'm on quite a lot of medications. But even with the medication, it's as if 3 or 4 invisible demons are haunting me.

And you guys know me---I usually put song lyrics on certain blog posts. Those are the best weathervanes for my emotions. I have just never have had the nerve to put my mental problems on my blog before. I thought I would be called "whiny", "melodramatic", and self-pitying. Feel free to think those definitions of me--but I went through those stages long ago and now I have finally accepted my....my "self"... and I don't ask an angry "why?" to the Lord anymore. I just finaly accepted the luck of the draw. In the card deck of the Lord's creations, my soul drew the "Joker" card.

The best thing I can do is my usual----express myself in song lyrics depending on my mood---but this time I'll put the truth under each set of lyrics. Sharing the truth just about scares me to death. (Don't worry, I won't put the whole dang song in here---just some pertinent lyrics.)

("Viva la Vida", Coldplay)

I used to rule the world,

Seas would rise when I gave the word,

I knew something was "wrong" with me in Kindergarten. I didn't know what it was but I knew it was bad. As I began growing up, I was always a driven person---in part to distract me from my mental problems because I felt I had to hide them. My family didn't believe in "mental illness". They just believed in success. Thus, I always made excellent grades in school, and when I was given an IQ test the school authorities skipped me 2 grades in school. But emotionally I was a wreck (although nobody knew) and I begged them to let me skip only one grade. As I grew up further into young adulthood, I always got the job I wanted and was considered the best at whatever I did in whatever hospital I worked at. But panic attacks were my norm and I struggled to keep them private.

I made a hell of a lot of money as an ER RN and an ICU RN and I was certified in just about every specialty of trauma, critical acute care, pediatric critical care, and cardiac care there is. I was always considered extremely good at my job. But on the inside, as it had been all my life, I was full of anxiety and fear--and sometimes irrationality. But I had no idea what I was afraid of. There were times I didn't even feel "real" (what they call dissociaton.) During those times, I worked on autopilot and was terrified that I wouldn't return to "reality". I was always afraid somebody would find out that I was nuts. My moods would swing back & forth seemingly for no good reason. So I worked in my typical driven fashion. I made few friends. People thought me eccentric but yet one of the best nurses in the lot. And it certainly never occurred to me that I had mental illness. I thought I was just crazy as a bedbug and had to hide it from everybody.

One minute I held the key,

Next, the walls were closed on me,

And I discovered that my castles stand upon

Pillars of salt and pillars of sand,

I thought I could hold it together and hide my craziness for my lifetime but I began drinking to calm the panic and anxiety---and shortly became a full-fledged alcoholic. I would go to work and work my ass off and then I'd come home and drink away the panic-- and then I'd go to sleep and have nightmares all night. (I still have nightmares almost every night. Some of them make me wake up in a cold sweat, calling out nonsense sentences.) During the drinking years, I'd get sober for a time, go to alcoholic rehab centers, and then fall victim to my disease of alcoholism yet again and again, over and over.

And I swear, I went to AA for years and did every single thing they told me to do. But I never got relief from the anxiety and nameless fears---or the worsening panic attacks and other symptoms of my mental illnesses. It was a horrible roller-coaster.

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing,

Roman Cavalry choirs are singing,

Be my mirror, my sword and shield

My missionaries in a foreign field,

My nightmares have mostly always been about situations that happened while I was growing up in foreign countries since my parents were in the Diplomatic Corps and were being constantly transferred to different countries. Many of the countries we went to were in political turmoil and there were many situations which were dangerous to us Americans. We were rudely introduced to anti-American behaviors and attitudes from the beginning of that diplomatic life. Or the scary events were just political events that had nothing to do with Americans. Here's one horrifying thing that happened overseas: here. Then there was an event where my mother and I were almost killed when there was a mob rush on the American Embassy in Damascus, Syria---in 1998-- if interested you can read the Dept. of State's Consular Fact Sheet about Syria, which mentions the riot and rush on the American Embassy in 1998 down about the 7th or 8th paragraph in the section called "Safety & Security" here.

I can't tell you that story yet. It's too awful and frightening for me to delve into that memory---but let me say that when an Embassy's detachment of Marine Guards call for anybody who can use a gun and then hands you one so that you can help shoot it out when the Embassy Compound is breached by the mobs, it does something to you that never leaves your inner horrors. (And that was after the Marine Guards had lobbed 127 tear gas cannisters over the Compound walls to hold the mob off--with the tear gas affecting us as well as the mobs....) I'll tell you the story some day. It lives forever in my dreams...

It was the wicked and wild wind,

Blew down the doors to let me in,

Shattered windows and the sounds of drums,

People couldn't believe what I'd become,

And there you have it. About two and a half years ago, after a 22 year career as an RN, I finally broke completely down psychologically and couldn't work or function. I drank even more to temporarily kill the inner monsters, the panic attacks, and the awful mood swings---and that became a time when my family was disgusted with me. They thought it was just alcoholism. They didn't know I had multiple diagnoses of mental illnesses trying to beat me down into complete insanity. And so I returned to Blaine. He had always been my rock and wanted me to come back to him. (I had divorced him a few years before but we had remained friends.) Blaine had always known I had problems but he didn't care.

And so I stopped drinking and began the therapy I'm in now. And for the record, my diagnoses are: Rapid Cycling Bipolar disease, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Paranoia, and some disorder that my therapist won't tell me as he thinks it would make me flip out-- but he always gently hints about it as he tells me that some of the things that I feel, hear, or believe are "a bit of psychosis caused by stress".

"A bit of psychosis"??? I'm not stupid. I know that I experience psychotic symptoms every now and then when I've been through some extra stress. To be honest, I have experienced a few auditory hallucinations (I heard whispering voices that aren't real) and I have also felt sensory, tactile hallucinations (something touched or pushed me and I turned around and nobody was there.) I also occasionally get paranoid about something I needn't because what's going on is not really what's going on. (A delusion or paranoia.) And I tell these things to my therapist and ask him if the things I experience could be that our house is haunted (heh!) and he again uses that gentle voice and says something like: "Bo, you know you have psychotic symptoms every now and then when you're stressed, right?" Oh yadee yadee yahdah.

My therapist told me that my particular Bipolar Disorder is the "rapid cycling" variety and is the most difficult diagnosis to treat in all of psychiatric-dom. My moods swing from elation to severe depression, and I never know which way the pendulum will swing-- or when. My therapist told me that it's easier to treat a schizophrenic than to treat what I have. Lovely.

These days I do the best I can. If it weren't for my sense of humor I don't know what I'd do. So I lean on it. Blaine understands--bless his heart. Heck, I'm lucid, I've learned to get through my severe mood swings, and so I'm able to function on a certain level. I can do my therapy assignments. I am dragged out of the house once a week on Wednesdays by the mobile therapist since I hate leaving the house. And my case manager comes on Friday. And then I have my 1:1 hour therapy session with my therapist and then a 2-hour DBT group on Thursdays at the psych center. Some days I get so sick of therapy that I can't stand it. But I diligently press on and do as I am asked.

For some reason I can't understand,

I know St. Peter won't call my name,

Never an honest word,

But that was when I ruled the world.....

A Christmas Story of.... Popcorn

2010-12-28T09:15:00.009-06:00

Okay, I griped enough about the family choosing to do that "White Elephant" Christmas gift game on Christmas Day that I'm sure that Heaven's Angels above heard me. Well, wait till you hear what happened!

We all met at Blaine's sister's house for Christmas dinner and ate and made merry. And then it came time for "the game". The rules of the game were this: You picked a number out of a hat and that was your turn to pick a gift from the pile of anonymous gifts.

(Now note: the gifts that Blaine and I had contributed were a reversible fleece throw from Macy's and an air popcorn machine.)

Then, when it came time for you to pick a gift, you could choose to pick a gift from the pile or you could instead "steal" somebody else's gift.

So we began the game. (I was number 6). When it came my turn to pick a a gift it turned out to be an air popcorn maker with cute popcorn cups that are like the popcorn cups you get at the movies---and Blaine's sister-in-law admitted it was the gift she had contributed. Ahah, I thought---there are 2 popcorn makers in the lot!

Up to now, nobody had stolen anybody's gift. Most of us adults were just too polite to do it..... until it came Blaine's sister's turn. Blaine's sister is notoriously self-centered and greedy. And she had the unmitigated gall to choose NOT to pick a gift and steal my popcorn maker instead!

And she failed to notice the slight Mona Lisa smile on my face as she grabbed my popcorn maker box. Because there are 5 people in her family and 4 of them still hadn't picked.

The game went on. And since Blaine's sister had stolen my gift, I had to pick another gift from the pile, which turned out to be a totally cool indoor nerf ball basketball game---with an iTunes card taped to it! Yay! I was so thrilled! I couldn't have cared less about the nerf ball doohicky--but I was thrilled over the iTunes card. I have been wanting new music for my iPod forever!

The game went on. The gifts were good and, like I said before, people were just too polite to steal each others' gifts. And then it came down to the last three people's turns---which, per the luck of the draw, turned out to be two of Blaine's sister's three children and Blaine's brother. And it was very difficult to keep my Mona Lisa smile from evolving into an out and out grin. Finally it was the last person's turn, Blaine's 16-year-old niece. She had the choice of either stealing a gift from somebody or else choosing the last gift on the pile.

She hemmed and hawed for a few minutes. She kept muttering to her mother that she actually wanted my gift--the nerf ball game and the iTunes card---and Blaine's sister actually urged her to steal it! She actually told her daughter to steal my gift YET AGAIN. But the girl seemed too self-conscious to steal my gift. And I held my breath while this was going on because I knew what the last gift on the pile was---Blaine's popcorn maker. Finally, her 16-year old curiosity won out and she chose the last gift on the pile......and opened it.....

And was she ever surprised to see that it was a duplicate of the gift her mother had stolen from me---an air popcorn maker! HEH! HEH! HEH!

I swear, I laughed so hard my sides split. Because now Blaine's sister's family had TWO of the exact same air popcorn makers, HEE HEE HEE!!!!! I consider it POETIC JUSTICE, since Blaine's sister had been the one and only person to steal somebody's gift and she had urged her daughter to steal my 2nd gift!!

Karma, you know?

Christmas Eve Eve

2010-12-20T09:23:00.016-06:00

T'was 2 nights before Christmas,

when all through the house,

Not a creature was stirring,

Not even an idiot cat...

(That huge box was delivered yesterday, from my Mother, hee hee!)

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas

would soon be there....

(Oh...I guess we forgot to hang stockings this year....oh well...)

Me and Blaine were nestled all snug in our beds,

While visions of sugarplums danced in our heads....

(Okay, I don't remember wrapping any sugarplums. But there's the wrapping station---and the two presents there are the ones we're contributing to the "gift pot" for the ridiculously stupid "White Elephant" game with presents that the family has decided to do on Christmas day after dinner. I bought a reversible Sherpa throw from Macy's and Blaine bought an air popcorn maker from Bed Bath and Beyond...)

And yadee yadee yadah,

I was up getting a drink of water and,

to my utter mortification,

Santa Clause came down the chimney

and hid Blaine's present

behind the clutter at my "knitting station"!

(The blue box with silver bow in the back).

And then I thought, what the hell is he doing here the night before Christmas Eve? Maybe he needs two nights to deliver all the presents these days....

(I put a tote bag over Blaine's present so he can't see it....)

And yadee yadee yadah,

but there's the yarn I bought

with my gift certificate from my mother.

It's Malabrigo Worsted, colorway "Snow Bird". (I'm making myself a sweater out of this luscious yarn.)

Where Was I?

Oh yes, 2 nights before Christmas and Santa Claus is in my living room....

Anyhoo, all of sudden

Santa flew back up the chimney

(and I hope his butt

wasn't burned by the fire there....)

And I could hear him

up on the roof getting ready to take off.

And then I heard him yell:

"Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! On, Cupid! On Donner and Blitzen!

Yadee yadee yadah, I can't wait till Christmas!

Now, I need to inform you of a matter of importance. It's that of you being entitled to one wish on the Christmas Tree. All you have to do is wait till Christmas Eve and then you wish on your Christmas Tree. Most of mine have always come true. So don't forget!

OK, So It's The Thought---Not the Christmas Gift.....

2010-12-19T08:25:00.020-06:00

One the First Day of Christmas,

My True Love Gave to Me.....

("The Twelve Days of Christmas")

It seemed like a good idea at the time, ya know?

Have you ever thought of a really great idea and then it.....well....it turned out to be the stupidest thing you've ever done?

Well that happened to me one Christmas, years before I met Blaine. I was dating another guy, a financial analyst for Price Waterhouse I think. Anyway, he was a nice guy. And he invited me to spend Christmas with his family in California since my parents were out of the country.

Now understand, I had been racking my brains for weeks trying to figure out what to get him for Christmas. I thought and thought but couldn't think of what to get him. So I mentally went through the list of his interests. He liked Elvis Costello music, he liked a particular restaurant because of their excellent nachos and salsa, he liked playing darts, but he REALLY loved football. That boy was constantly watching football games---any football game. He was totally addicted to watching football.

Anyhoo, one day, as I was thumbing through a magazine, I saw an ad for a telephone shaped like a football---and I thought EUREKA!!!!!

I would get him the telephone shaped like a football!! So I ordered it and received it. I was gleeful! My problem was solved---and he would love it! So I wrapped it prettily in a box with ribbons and bows.

So we went to California to spend Christmas with his folks. He had two brothers near his age. And his mother, a wonderful woman from India, was a City Planner. His father was a lawyer, a District Attorney for their city. And my boyfriend's mother's mother couldn't speak English very well but she was a truly sweet woman. She was delighted when I was able to say a few things to her in Hindi which I learned while I was in boarding school in India.

Anyway, on Christmas Day there were literally a couple hundred presents under the Christmas tree, what with their large family and a bunch of their friends also attending. And I was grinning like a Cheshire Cat in delightful anticipation of when my boyfriend would open his present from me.

One by one the presents were opened. And then they handed my boyfriend's present to me. I opened it---and it was a very expensive watch....and then it hit me...

Oh. My. God.

Because suddenly a light bulb went off above my head and I realized my gift to him was absolutely ridiculous. A telephone shaped like a football? Hells bells but it was one of the stupidest things I had ever done. I was utterly mortified. And I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole to save me from sitting there with a fake smile on my face while dreading the time when my boyfriend would open my gift. Oh the humanity of it all!! My gift would look like a turd next to the golden watch he had given me!

Sure enough, the time came when he was handed my gift. I held my breath as he smiled while opening it. And then.... when he saw what it was.... a totally confused (and slightly shocked) look came over his face that said it all. He hated it.

"Um....", I offered shakily. "It... uh... it even has the stickers of all the teams so that you can...uh....you can put the sticker of your favorite team on it if you want..."

Whispers of Ghosts of Christmas Past.....

2010-12-13T14:47:00.022-06:00

Don't look back,

Keep your head held high,

Don't ask them why,

Because life is short

And before you know

You're feeling old

And your heart is breaking

Don't hold on to the past

Well that's too much to ask...

("This Used To Be My Playground", Madonna)

I don't work now. But not a day goes by that I remember a large part of my former nursing career....both the good and the bad...

I was an RN. And I was a certified "critical care" RN, which means you specialized in the care of patients in ICU's or else the Emergency Rooms, the "ER's". I worked the ER's. I was a certified trama nurse, a certified neurology nurse, a certified Code Blue nurse for both adults and babies, and also a wound vaccuum nurse.

And at Christmas time the remembrance of one particular Christmas in the ER always sneaks into my mind to haunt me. And I always choose to shut it out of my mind.....but sometimes that doesn't work and I have an entire flashback of the whole shift. And the the memories break my heart again. It happens every Christmas.....and the pain and feelings of helplessness return with a vengeance, flooding into my mind as if a damn broke.

In my 22 years of nursing it was the zillionth time I was working the ER on Christmas. I had come to know, during my career, that I would most likely work most Christmases, either because I was scheduled to or else I did it to allow a co-worker nurse with children to have it off so she could be with her family on Christmas.

Thus, most Christmases I worked with other sad nurses who couldn't have Christmas off, and we were usually a motley crew of those who worked simply to make a fortune in the double overtime pay rate for Christmas, single nurses with no family, or other nurses who worked for some other reasons like mine.

There is no way around it---ER work is brutal. We used to call it "dog work". By the time you got off work, you'd slogged your way through so much vomit, blood, pus, urine, and feces that it was all over your uniform. And so when you went home, you stepped into the back door and stripped nekkid, throwing the uniform into the washer before you stepped foot in any other area of your home.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yes.....one particular Christmas in the ER which haunts me.

It was a very bad night that Christmas Eve in the ER. I was running my ass off to keep up with the never-ending flow of patients, both from the endless parade of paramedic trucks who kept bringing patients with the most horrible of wounds or acute illnesses, and also from the triage area in the waiting room which kept trying to fit patients around the flow of the paramedic patients.

I was so tired and hungry about 6 hours into my 12-hour shift that I just had to eat. But there was no way I could take a break. Nobody was getting a break that night. So I grabbed a half of a sandwich and worked while eating the sandwich. One of my patients was an ectopic pregnancy and she was very nauseated. In fact, she suddenly vomited into a trash can. I patted her on the back and said (through my chewing of the sandwich) "Just get it all out, honey, just get it all out."

During that, I looked up and saw one of my co-workers at the nurse desk. She was staring at me with emotionless eyes. And I noticed that she was eating Campbell's Bean & Bacon Soup right out of the can with a spoon. No water, no heating it up. Just eating it cold right out of the can.

I knew then that she was going just as crazy and insane as I was.

As the night wore on, each way you looked patients were dying or in the throes of death. And there were the patients who were so sick that you were begging the ICU or "the floors" for beds. But there were no available beds and so some patients were simply put on stretchers in the halls. We hooked them up to heavy portable cardiac monitors and IV pumps for their medicines. Carrying the heavy monitors and IV pumps were backbreakers. But we had to keep them alive.

I knew I was in a bad mental place. I knew I was so worn out that I was not feeling any caring towards any of the patients. And then it hit me---I was close to clinical burn-out. And I didn't want to be one of the burn-outs.

A burn-out lost their empathy for nursing in general and worked on autopilot. Their eyes were dead and they rarely spoke except to exchange patient information with the lab, doctor, or other nurses.

I knew I had to change my attitude this night or I'd sink into a burn-out state and would never feel anything for any of my patients again. I didn't want that to happen to me. I knew I would have to do something to change my attitude. But what? What could I do? How could I see through all that blood and vomit? The patients were all starting to look alike to me. I was becoming less and less able to comfort them....

I didn't know what to do but I kept on working. I was starting umpteen IV's an hour. And I was so good at it that my patients didn't feel a thing. Hell, I was so good at IV's that I could slide an IV into somebody's arm in the dark with one hand tied behind my back. And, thankfully, I could still charm the little children that needed IV's so that they wouldn't be frightened too much and wouldn't need strapping down for the scary task.

I was stemming the blood flow on countless patients. I was bandaging wounds, giving suffocating patients oxygen, applying casts, helping the doctors stitch up people with deep, bloody injuries that I'd rinsed out with a cleansing fluid, and I was drawing blood on literally every patient I got.

The lab was pissing me off. They'd call me up and say: "Your blood draws on so-and-so hemolyzed---draw us some more." And then I'd have to waste valuable time to go draw blood again on the patient. And then after a few more times of this, it hit me---the lab was lying to me. I thought maybe they wanted to take breaks against the constant flow of tubes of blood. Actually I don't really know why they did this. But I knew it was for an unacceptable reason.

Upon this realization, do you know what I did? On every patient that I drew blood on, I'd draw a second set of tubes of blood---from the same stick. And so when the stupid lab called me up to ask me to draw another set, I'd send that second set I held in reserve--and the lab was just fine with it. Hah. I had fooled the lab and saved myself valuable time.

Then I heard the radio crackle with a paramedic calling us. I answered it and he said: "Bo, it's Miss Emily again....and we're bringing her in."

I swore in anger.

And I was that much closer to admitting defeat of my attempt at a better mood. I was approaching the dark abyss....

Miss Emily was one of the most aggravating patients in the world of our ER. She was a widow woman, and she never really had anything wrong with her. And so she wasted a lot of our time. She always chose the most busiest times to call the paramedics---and, as usual, the doctors never found anything wrong with her. But I knew that all she really wanted was some attention, as she was all alone in her life, and she wanted a validation that she actually had something wrong with her. I also knew the doctor would be irritated that she was coming in, too.

And at that moment, it struck me!

Miss Emily would be my Christmas project for regenerating my horrible attitude into something positive! I would save myself from my dark depression and mean thoughts by using Miss Emily! So--- I decided right then that I wouldn't be irritable with her like I usually was. In fact, I decided to be as nice as I could. So nice that she would get the attention and validation that she was so desperate for.

So when the paramedics radioed that they were pulling up at the Ambulance Bay doors, I was there......and I had open arms and a big smile on my face! "Oh there you are, Miss Emily!" I said. "I've been waiting for you! I want to make you feel better!"

And, as they pulled her out of the paramedic truck on the stretcher and she saw and heard me, she started crying and said: "Oh, Bo! Thank God for you!" And I hugged her. I told the astonished 'medics to roll her in a certain room and I hung onto her stretcher as they trundled her on the stretcher, patting her hand all the way to the room.

"Now don't you worry, Miss Emily," I told her. "We'll fix it. I want my favorite patient to feel better!"

Miss Emily kept crying tears of gratitude, and I saw a peace come over her face. That look was worth everything to me.

And I treated her like a queen for her whole stay. I quietly told the doctor that all she wanted was a pain shot for her arthritis and some attention---and so the doctor did just that. (ER doctors love it when a nurse tells them how to treat a patient to make their job easier.) The doc was one of my buddies and trusted me for whatever advice I gave him. We made Miss Emily's Christmas Eve a good, wondrous experience. And when she was loaded into the paramedic truck which was going to take her home, I stood in the Ambulance Bay and waved goodby to her.

And you know what?

Miss Emily did save me. She had saved me from becoming a dead-eyed "burn-out", a nurse devoid of empathy for patients that happens to so many ER nurses. I once again had enthusiasm for my job. And I knew, as I waved Miss Emily goodbye, that I would be able to make it through the nightmarish shift that Christmas night with a new heart and re-newed courage.

No matter how bad it got......

Somewhere close to the end of my shift, and I was feeling hope that the clock would show quitting time, there came a 40 year-old girl who said she was having chest pain. Nobody paid much attention to her since ER's don't respect chest pain under the age of 50. But I had a feeling. So I hooked her up to the portable cardiac monitor with the help of my charge nurse, Gregory. As soon as we hooked her up, we noticed that she was in a godawful heart rhythm. It was so bad that we literally had to struggle to keep our faces straight so she wouldn't know that we were panicking inside.

I said: "I'll go get the doctor"..... but then it happened all of a sudden.....

"Bo!" Gregory shouted. "She's gone into V-Fib!"

I turned around and saw that the patient had turned the "death color", a deep purple. The "won't be able to be brought back" color every ER nurse knew and dreaded. Gregory had hit the "Code Blue" button to alert the hospital and he was already following the V-Fib protocol of shocking her with the defibrillator her by the time the helper co-workers began streaming into the room.

"CLEAR!!" he'd yell and we'd all step away from the bed. And then he did it a couple more times.

But the patient was not responding so Gregory opened the drug drawer of the Crash Cart and threw some reviving drugs over the bed to me. I caught them and opened them quickly, and then I screwed the huge, two-piece syringes together---and then I hurriedly pushed the drugs into her IV. Finally the doctor ran into the room and started giving orders. But still, nothing was working. She was still that deep purple. She was dead on the table. All of us knew it but kept following the reviving protocols as a last ditch effort. (Actually, all Code Blues are the last ditch effort.)

Her husband, who was at her side, started praying loudly to The Lord.

We nurses knew that purple color meant she was dead. Dead as a doornail. She wasn't coming back. In all my experience I'd never seen somebody that death color revived by a Code Blue. Code Blues are not like they are presented on television where the patients are always brought back. In real life 75% of people do not survive a Code Blue. Only 25% make it. And this girl most definitely wasn't going to survive. And yet her husband kept loudly praying to the Lord. We just worked around him.

And then doctor suddenly had an idea.

"Hey Bo," he said. "Let's try that new drug protocol for Code Blues's---Let's try the drug Amiodarone! Go get an IV of that going after a starting bolus." (A bolus is a large loading dose, done before the IV starts.)

I turned to go get the Amiodarone IV bag........and then I heard something which made the hair stand up on my arms and the back of my neck.....

The patient suddenly "pinked up", looked up at us, and said, clear as a bell: "I'm back!"

All of us nurses (and the doctor) were so in shock that all we could do was stare at each other. If I hadn't seen it myself I wouldn't have believed it. Because we knew. We all knew that patients who have been coded and "wake up" don't even know they've been gone---much less that they CAME BACK!

"Praise the Lord!" her husband hollered.

Came back from where? I wondered....

They ended up calling the helicopter to fly her to a cardiac hospital after we stabilized her. I got her ready and then when the flight crew arrived, I helped them roll her stretcher up the elevator to the helicopter landing platform. It was scary up there because there were no side rails. I swallowed hard because we had to follow a narrow pathway to the actual landing platform which was at least 200 feet above the ground outside. And then I helped the flight crew get her into the helicopter with all her IV's, portable cardiac monitor and IV tubings intact---and all while giving "report" to the flight doctor and nurses on just what happened to her, what drugs we'd given her, and how we coded her----and then how she'd woke up saying "I'm back". They were just as shocked as we were.

While I was there, on the landing platform, I looked with envy at the flight crew's pins. Every ER nurse attaches pins onto their employee badge from various certifications they've earned. Bit the helicopter crews' pins were especially coveted but it was a rare nurse who had one. The flight crews only gave it to the people they considered exceptional. I gazed wistfully at the flight captain's pin.

As I stepped back to allow them to take off, the captain of the helicopter stepped towards me. He slowly took his helicopter crew pin off his own badge and handed it to me. I got tears in my eyes and said "Thank you so much....." He sid: "You're good, Bo. Don't ever change."

I cried when he said that. But he understood. And he gave me a big smile---and then they all got into the helicopter and flew away towards the cardiac hospital.

A day or two later I talked to the doctor about her. I asked him about why she said "I'm back" after being dead.

The doctor said: "She told the helicopter crew that she had gone to a really nice place where all her dead relatives were. And she loved that place so much that when they told her she had to return to being alive, she said she didn't want to leave. But her relatives told her she had to come back to earth to raise her children".

I got goose bumps and tears in my eyes when he told me. And I believed it--I believed it because I'd seen her DEAD on the table. And yet she came back and knew she was back instead of being confused or in a coma like most patients who've been coded.

When it had happened, and the patient was successfully coded, the nurses had all congratulated each other and the doctor on a successful Code Blue. Greg looked at me and said "Whew..... that was a close one." But I don't think it was our measly drugs and defibrillator shocks that brought her back. I knew it was her husband, who had invoked The Lord.

That night, when my shift was over and I was allowed to go home, I stopped by the ER's Christmas Tree. Because every person is granted a wish on the Christmas Tree on Christmas Eve. (So be sure and get yours.)

And I won't tell you what I wished for---but I felt renewed and and motivated for my work with patients after that......

And I went home with a lighter heart...

The Great Christmas Shopping Trip of 2010....

2010-12-12T07:50:00.018-06:00

If there is love in your heart and your mind

You will feel like Christmas all the time...

("Where are you Christmas?", Faith Hill)

Okay, I started off early in the morning for my Christmas shopping trip in the truck. The picture above shows my truck in the snow. But I have to be honest---it wasn't snowing the other day when I went Christmas shopping. It snowed last night and so I took the picture of the neighborhood under snow this morning because it's a prettier picture.

Anyway, first stop.....the Mall of course!!! Because I wanted to get the roughest shopping done first. And you know what shopping early in the morning gets you? A parking place close to the buildings. Later in the day and closer to Christmas you will find out that close parking places become like unicorns......mythical, unseen things. And when it's the last 2 days before Christmas, any parking place at all will be all the way out to the Outback Restaurant or 95th Street. (And me trying to park that damn long bed truck is similar to what I think parking a Boeing 747 would be like.)

Below is the inside of the mall. See how it goes on to infinity? I hid under the escalators while I plotted a strategy of getting to the places I needed to go without crossing the path of those lotion kiosk idiots who assaulted me that time.

(Remember? One of the sales girls actually grabbed my hand as I walked by, jerked me back to her, and squirted lotion on my hand and started rubbing it in before I even realized what was happening! But I jerked myself back from her and ran like hell.)

Lookie Lookie below!!!! The fabled mall Merry-Go-Round! Isn't it a wondrous sight? And see the intensely beautiful blue Mer-Horse? I wanted to ride that stupid Mer-Horse so bad I could taste it. But instead I just stood there, staring at it wistfully. (If you click on the picture it will enlarge so that you can see the glorious Mer-Horse up close.)

Next stop, Costco below. I went inside to buy Blaine a regular, $50.00 membership but I let the lady talk me into buying him the more expensive, $100.00 "Executive Membership". I'm hoping so bad that he'll like this present because he never gets to go shopping at Costco unless his brother-in-law, who has a membership card, goes. Now, with Blaine having his own card, he will never have to wait on his brother-in-law again---he'll be able to go whenever he wants to.

Blaine loves Costco because there's great deals on groceries. Also, they have great deals on Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and sweaters/pullovers for me.

Next, on to Kohl's, below, where I bought Blaine a $150.00 gift card. He likes buying clothes at that store because they have nice stuff. He likes the store so much that he has a Kohl's charge card. And he gets their sale coupons in the mail which he always uses, and so I figured he'd appreciate a gift card from there.

Oh! What is it that I see below???? Could it be.......A YARN SHOP??!!!

My mother sent me a gift card for this particular yarn shop and she emailed me that I had better NOT use the card till after Christmas Day. Of course I told her "Sure, sure, Mumsy" and then promptly went down to the yarn store and spent it.

But I had good reason to do so, I swear!!! I had to use it now!! (God, I hope my mother doesn't read this.)

But it's true---I definitely had to use the gift card now because at Christmas time the yarn I want flies out of that store as soon as they get it, which is the same thing a knitter friend told me. She said that if I waited till Christmas to use the gift card, the high quality yarns in the shop would be picked over or else out-of-stock altogether. She suggested buying the yarn I want now and then putting the bag under the tree. So, I did as my friend suggested.

So I bought ten hanks of Malabrigo Worsted in the "Snow Bird" colorway (vivid red, greens, and yellows---softly luscious and GORGEOUS!)

So don't worry Mumsy (if you're reading this)---I put the bag of yarn under the Christmas tree and won't use it till after Christmas.

Next stop---Hobby Lobby, where I bought that stupid little potholder loom so I could make potholders for my sister.

One might ask what's with my sister asking me to make her those particular potholders which we made when we were young children? After all, she's a millionaire now, after having married the millionaire guy that she did, and so she could buy any dadgum potholder she wants! And I bought their family lots of lovely presents, which are going out in the mail tomorrow. But she said she also wants me to make her those dadgum little loom POTHOLDERS!

And so here I sit with a bag of loops, weaving those idgity little potholders on a childsize plastic loom like an idiot.

Sigh...

(I have two finished....)

At the last minute, I realized I forgot to buy gift tags. AAAAARRRRGGHH! So I made one more stop at the below CVS, which is close to my house, to buy the damn tags. Then, as I was dying of hunger, I went through the Taco Bell drive-thru and bought lunch to take home with me.

I love Taco Bell.

Well, that's it. The Great Christmas Shopping Trip of 2010.

(I just gotta say it one more time: I would give anything if I could ride the lovely Mer-Horse on that Merry-Go-Round....)

Let's Go Christmas Shopping!

2010-12-09T15:39:00.002-06:00

Tomorrow I'm going Christmas shopping again----and I'll tuck the camera into my purse because I'm going to take you with me!

Um...I Think It's Tilted.....

2010-12-03T13:03:00.012-06:00

I'll have a blue Christmas without you

I'll be so blue thinkin' about you

Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree

Won't mean a thing if you're not here with me

("Blue Christmas", Beach Boys)

Yes, I know it's the straggliest Christmas tree that anybody has ever seen. But it's the only one we ever put up that the cats don't have a field day tearing down. Even Charlie Brown's tree looked better....

But it's the spirit of Christmas that is sought rather than beauty sometimes. I'm going to try and get Blaine to set up the fireplace for use. And then get those long burning logs that are easy to clean up, rather than "real" wood.

I remember that when I was with Brian over 12 years ago, before our divorce, we'd put up a big tree and order a cord of wood be delivered. Well, the cord of wood looked cool on the porch and the tree looked good----but the eventual clean-up was a hassle.

And besides, when we divorced, Blaine gave me all the boxes of Christmas decorations---which are currently lodged in my mother's garage in Texas.

I've been blue a lot lately. But I've decided to try and set the blues aside and be thankful for the friends I have in real life and the friends I have online---and seek out the spirit of Christmas.....

I Guess PETA Has Pretty Much Left Louisiana Alone....

2010-12-01T06:37:00.018-06:00

Giggin' frogs till the early mornin', smokin' dried cross vine,

Take me back down where the Red River rolls,

Send me back to Lou'sianne

Take me back down where the white water flows,

To the Cajun promised land....

("Red River", Alabama)

A lot of my readers have asked me about a term I use. It is: "his (or her) eyes bugged out like that of a gigged frog".

Okay, I'm going to explain the term, but I want to caution you---it's rather grizzly. It's a Cajun, Louisiana swamp activity. And even though I'm half Cajun by having a Southern mother from the swamp lands of Louisiana (which is the capital of gigging frogs), I personally have never gone frog gigging. I think it is too cruel.

Nevertheless, frog gigging is a huge sport in the swamps of Louisiana. After a good "giggin'", I've seen frog giggers proudly hold up strings of frogs to brag about how many frogs they've gigged (and the size of the frogs), sort of like how proud fishermen hold up strings of their fish they've caught.

Here's how it goes:

You see that trident thingy above the song lyrics? It is a standard frog gigging tool, comprised of 3 spears, each with prongs. And this instrument is attached to a pole of about 6 feet to 12 feet.

Then you take it out in the middle of the night when the hapless frogs are all sitting on shore or lily pads. The boats are usually so small that only 2-3 men can fit in it. And the boat glides gently and silently in the water through the swamp.

What the guys are looking for is toads and frogs---especially the big ones.

Here's what I always wanted to know. Why do they calling it "gigging"? Everything else in the swamp is "hunted"---like alligator hunting. But I have to admit that it would sound kind of stupid to call it "frog hunting". Hunting implies some personal danger---but there's no danger to one who is looking for frogs, ergo the less sinister sounding "gigging frogs" versus "hunting frogs"....

Anyhoo, the next thing you need (besides a boat and a trident with 3 spears of prongs) is a well-fitting hat with a head lamp on it. That way, you can search for the frogs in the dark of night.

And, of course, I guess by now you've figured out what the frog giggers want---which is the frog legs. Frog legs is a favored delicacy in the swamp. They're easy to get, taste good, and there's a never-ending supply of them. Frog legs are usually rolled in a batter and then deep fried. But some people like them sauteed in butter.

Anyway, this all brings me to the Southern expression of "his/her eyes bugged out like a giggled frog". It is because when a frog gigger thrusts his spear and penetrates a frog, the poor thing's eyes bug out.

So there you have it. And don't worry---I think it's a cruel sport and so I've never gone frog gigging. (Plus I don't like the taste of frog legs.)

However, although I think it's cruel to gig frogs, I do eat animals, like cow beef, chicken, fish, and crabs. Go figure.

Anyway, it's a true sport in Louisiana, with skilled giggers competing in their frog gigging exploits, and I've seen frog giggers coming home with a gallon container of frogs. And I've even seen men taking their small sons on frog gigging trips in order to teach their kids the art of frog gigging from a young age.

Poor little gigged frogs......

Kachina Footwear....Bo Style....

2010-11-27T14:23:00.009-06:00

Ok, I finished one of the pair of Kachina Slipper Socks with leather soles for Blaine's brother-in-law. Yay, I thought, triumphantly!!! I'm on the downslope now!

Not......

And then reality hit me hard....

Turns out, knitting the sock was the easy part. The hardest part was attaching the damn leather sole. You can see a little bit of the sole at the toe. (And you can click on the pictures to enlarge them.)

The sewing holes on the soles were so tiny that I had to use regular sewing needles (and just TRY threading those damn things with sock yarn, which I used to attach the soles to the sock.) And then the depth of the soles had to be sewn correctly or it totally distorted the sock and changed its size. And then, after I'd sewn everything, I had to crochet a decorative border around the sole/sock seam line in an attempt to make a neater edge while hiding the sewing.

And I used Blaine as a fitting model so many times that it started to get on his nerves. I don't know how many times I had to exclaim: "But these are for your DAMN BROTHER-IN-LAW, Blaine!!!!!" to get his cooperation.

Anyway, I finished one, as you can see by the pictures. And the other sock is finished and so right now I'm in the process of pinning it to the sole. Sheesh, why did I ever think this would be an easy project??? Why, I ask you!? Why?

Then one of the damn pinning needles broke and a piece of it got lodged into my hand. I think I got it out with the tweezers but I'm still not sure.

And I still haven't even STARTED the Kachina Slipper Socks I'm supposed to be knitting for my sister's husband---who has even bigger feet!!!! Oh help me Lord, for sure......

What was it that little train said? I think I can, I know I can, I think I can, I know I can......

P.S. The reason the pictures of the finished Kachina Sock Slippers are pictured NOT on a human foot is because when I asked Blaine to try them on for the 100th time the idgit mutinied on me. That's okay, because I did get him to try them on earlier and they fit appropriately but were a little bit too big-- which is what I wanted because Blaine's brother-in-law has a larger sized foot, which means they'll fit, God willing and the creek don't rise.....

Gobble Gobble Gobble!!!!

2010-11-25T09:46:00.004-06:00

Happy Thanksgiving One and All!!!!!!

We're going over to Blaine's brother's house for Thanksgiving Dinner at 1:00 pm, and I've already made my greenbean cassserole as my contribution. All we have to do now is pick up the pies at the grocery store. Blaine also made some homemade bread.

And with the help of all three of my therapists, I think I have the bravery and a positive attitude about going out of the house to attend a family dinner. (Except I haven't looked yet for anything decent to wear...)

Also, I completed Blaine's brother-in-law's Christmas present, my Kachina Socks, the ones which will be attached to leather soles. Lord, designing that pattern to fit him and also the leather soles was quite a job. (You can click on the pic to enlarge it.)

(Now I have to knit a pair for Sasquatch....oops, I mean my own brother-in-law.....)

Anyhoo, I hope everybody has a wonderful Thanksgiving! Don't forget to watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade (what's left of it, heh).

And don't forget to get the wishbone out of the turkey and make a wish---and I hope your wish comes true!

(I know what I'm wishing for---I want one of those Pandora charm bracelets!)

What The Lord God Has Made....

2010-11-17T15:53:00.005-06:00

I just HAD to share this picture with you. Our neighbor's tree has lit up the neighborhood with its splendor....

It reminds me of the story in the Bible where Moses sees the Burning Bush....

Anyway, I think it is a thing of beauty and I had to capture it in a picture. But in person it is even more spectacular and beautiful.... even my mobile therapist went a picked a leaf off of it to try and dry it in that stage of its color. And then the UPS man who was delivering something to us also stood in awe of it, saying "Have you seen your neighbors' tree?" and to which I replied yes, and that I'd taken a picture of it.....

Only The Lord God could make something so breathtakingly, splendorously, beautiful...

I'M KNITTING AS FAST AS I CAN.......

2010-11-15T13:41:00.011-06:00

Ok, the above Kachina socks are destined to be those kind of slipper socks that have a leather bottom. They are going to be a Christmas present for Blaine's Brother-In-Law. There's only one problem.....

It's the middle of November and I'm knitting on only one project (and it's not even finished) out of all the things I want to knit for Christmas presents.

Here's the list of my difficulties:

1. The first project isn't finished. And what's worse, the slipper leather soles I ordered for them are not here yet....

2. After this project I have to knit a pair of the same as above, leather soled Kachina socks, for Sasquatch.

Okay, he's not Sasquatch. He's my sister's new husband---and please don't tell her I called her man Sasquatch. But hey, if you read the link, the other popular name for Sasquatch IS Bigfoot. And I definitely think that taking on the knitting of size 15 socks is a challenge. Especially since he's not here to try them on every so often. I'm trying the current ones (for his BIL's size 10 1/2) on Blaine but he only has size 9 feet. What the hell am I going to do for the size 15? I may be reduced to searching the neighborhood.

(Can you see me at someone's door, holding up a Kachina sock, saying plaintively "Uh....does anybody in your household have size 15 feet---and would they mind trying this on?")

3. After I finish the above two pairs of slipper socks with leather soles, I want to try that felted clog pattern everybody loves. They would be for my sister. She wears "slide-in" bedroom slippers so I thought I'd try these felted clogs and see if she likes them. But I have no idea how to felt so it could potentially be a knitting disaster second only to the "Ugly Bugly" Socks Incident ---but let's not go there. So I'm going to try felting for the first time---with Christmas breathing down on my neck.

4. And after all that above, I was going to knit YET ANOTHER pair of the leather soled Kachina socks for my sister's daughter, my niece.

5. I hate knitting the same thing twice....much less four times!!

I guess all I really have to say about my dilemma is this:

WAAAAAHHHHH!!!!

Kachina Socks...

2010-11-09T13:29:00.012-06:00

The whole thing started out as me wanting to knit some of those slipper socks with the suede soles that you attach to the bottom of the socks. And I wanted to knit with colors and patternings that remind me of Native American dancers, especially the Kachina. One of my great-grandmothers was a full blood Cherokee and so I really appreciate those things of the Indian cultures. My Mamo, who just passed away recently, had many authentic Indian articles in her household.

So I got the leather soles and knitted up a mock-up Kachina sock with an extremely high leg/cuff (to symbolize the tall nature of the Indian dancers' moccasins). I knitted it in colors and designs I've seen and admired in Native American clothing. All was going well until I finished the first sock, attached it to the leather sole---and tried it on Blaine. And I realized I had made a big mistake in the mock-up. (Which is why I guess it's a smart thing to make a mock-up...) The gauge was totally too loose and when it was on Blaine his foot kept slip-sliding all over the leather sole and its edges.

Not acceptable.

It wasn't acceptable because I plan on knitting a pair for both Blaine's BIL (since I knit his sister a pair of socks a couple years ago and now it's his turn) and also for my sister's new husband, whose foot is so big that no bought house slippers fit him. And I want them to be nice, fitting well.

So I dis-attached the Kachina sock from the leather sole----and guess what happens? Blaine wanted to try the sock on again without the leather sole. And hell must have frozen over because Macho Man Blaine, who heretofore has always refused to wear anything other than plain solid grey, black or brown, actually WANTED this colorful Kachina Sock! Go figure! And whodathunkit? (You can click on the pic to enlarge it and then you'll be able to see the light grey as well as the dark grey---the light grey shows up better in person.)

So what could I do but make the other one? I just now finished it and so he'll have the whole pair tonight---he wants them as house slipper socks because the yarn is soft and warm, and the sock goes high up on his leg. (And I know they don't look the same---but you know how I never knit two socks or sleeves the same--thus the fraternal twin nature of them.....) And also I know that they're not exact copies of Indian moccasin dancing boots but I used those colors and patterns which inspired me and added my own twist on them. Call them Bo's Version of Kachina Socks....

Meanwhile, I now have to start the other two guys' Kachina Socks. I'm going to go down a bunch of sizes of needles to get a more stiff gauge. Hope that works. I'm thinking of adding fringe around the top or down the back seam to make them look more authentic as the Native American dancing moccasins I got my inspiration from.

See the pony below? I covet it. It's the one called "Kachina" from the collection of pony statues from The Trail of Painted Ponies that I collect. I wish I had this one. I love those ponies. And I like to think of my ancestors riding as fast as the wind on beautiful ponies such as this one.....

The Story of Bonnie....

2010-11-06T12:58:00.010-05:00

"Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was;

and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it...

Ecclesiastes xii 7.

It's been years since I talked to Bonnie.

Bonnie was my college roommate for four years. We lived at Tropicana Village, an upper class, off-campus student residence for students in California Polytechnic State University in San Luis Obispo, California. "Tropicana", as it was called by us students, was a lah-tee-dah student residence for the privileged, located about one mile from the campus of the University.

Tropicana had a bus which left on the hour for campus, to both take and bring back students from campus so that we didn't have to walk or drive. They even had a 2-story bus like they have in London, England. Many snobby students in Tropicana looked down their noses at those who had to live in the on-campus residences. The on-campus dorms were no-frills, 2-bed cinderblock rooms. Whenever I made bad grades in my course work my father used to threaten to transfer me to the on-campus dorms. That was usually enough to make me work a lot harder at my studies....

We at Tropicana enjoyed many luxuries including living in 3 bedroom, 2-story apartments which looked out over the three sparkling swimming pools and whirlpool sauna baths. We were allowed free scuba diving lessons in the pools. And we also enjoyed free tennis lessons on the residence's numerous tennis courts.

Bonnie and I lived in one of the 3 bedroom apartments with another girl. Our apartment had mirrored walls and even one wall with decorative wooden shingles. The carpet was sumptuous. And our cafeteria looked out over our section's swimming pools.

Anyway, Bonnie and I were best friends. I guess nowadays it would be called being BFF. We went on double-dates with boys. And although I was a cheerleader, I hung out with Bonnie instead of my cheerleader buddies. We went to the favorite local bar called "The Graduate" with our friends after football games. We helped each other with homework. We were inseparable.

After we graduated, Bonnie and I moved into our first apartment together in the area and tried out our fledgling selves in the job market. I went to work for a local airline and Bonnie went to work in restaurants, since she had majored in dietary science.

And then, as do many friend-sets in college, we lost touch after awhile since I ended up moving to the east coast and she stayed on the west coast. We'd call each other every couple of years to catch up, but the gap of time between those calls got longer and longer.

Bonnie had always had a troubled life. She had always had a hard time finding satisfying relationships with men and so she'd take up with anybody she could get--- usually worthless assholes who didn't treat her with much respect. Part of that maybe have been because Bonnie was drawn to bars. She loved to go to bars and drink --- and meet men.

Anyway, as time went by, I became an RN and began my career a couple years after I had graduated from college. I went to nursing school in the east, in Pittsburgh, PA. (See the stories called "Who Ya Gonna Call", beginning with Part One here.)

And, 20 years later, my hard core alcoholism began to take me down. And I was trying desperately to hide my mental problems as best as I could by being the most absolutely perfect RN I could be. During this time period, the last time I talked to Bonnie was in 1997, just before I went to Damascus, Syria, to live with my mother who was stationed there in the Diplomatic corps (and we were both almost killed in an anti-American event.)

After returning to America, my life was filled with functional periods alternated with attempts at getting my alcoholism under control by going to alcoholic treatment centers, over and over, with doctors scratching their heads over why I couldn't get better by following the AA 12-Step system. It wasn't until I moved up here with Blaine, and got hooked up with the very personal, aggressive psychiatric professionals who are seeing me now, that my mental problems were finally diagnosed correctly. And, with my family's help, I then began my current therapies for all the many debilitating mental conditions which had heretofore enslaved me (and which contributed greatly to my alcoholism, since I drank to numb the symptoms).

And so it went today, a nice leisurely Saturday, that I thought of Bonnie---and thought I would surprise her by calling her after all these long years. I didn't know where Bonnie was but I knew where her parents were and found their phone number.

Her mother answered the phone and I explained who I was and that I was hunting Bonnie down to regale each other with stories of our salad days.

Her mother said slowly: "Honey, Bonnie is dead." And she told me the whole sad tale.

But...long story short......Bonnie had died very young of complications related to alcohol abuse.

Why, Lord? Why didn't I call her sooner? Perhaps I could have helped.....

Like Forest Gump said..... "And that's all I have to say about that".....

OK, He Asked For It.....

2010-11-04T09:23:00.008-05:00

My therapists are very nosy about what I knit or what I do with jewelry making. And I have no earthly idea why.

Why would they care??? Are they just nosy----or do they have some mental health reason?

So, finally, it's a cold enough day that I need long sleeves with a cardigan. And so I decided to finally wear something I made down to the psychiatric center. It's the pattern for Molley Weasly's cardigan from the Harry Potter movie (I think it was the "Chamber of Secrets" one or something like that.) (You can click on the picture to enlarge it.)

I got the pattern out of the book "Charmed Knits", but I didn't knit or crochet it the way the pattern went.

I added cables, a crocheted edging, and the sleeves are completely out of my imagination once I did the shoulder ruffle.

(You know that I never could follow somebody else's pattern to a T---I just had to tweak it somewhat.)

Anyhoo, I'm going to wear it. I know it's wild, but the other patients at the psych center probably won't even blink. Many of them have purple, blue or pink hair, one or two of them walk around with ukelele's or banjos (while playing them), and then there's the Hula Hoop Girl.....

What Jack (my therapist) specifically asked to see was the Little Red Riding Hoodie, but I don't think it's cold enough yet. And besides, I haven't attached the frog closures yet. Maybe I'll oblige next week when the temperature is expected to drop.

Anyhoo, I'll see what happens. When I talk he sometimes scribbles something on his pad. (Just like Fred used to do, remember?) And I want to see if he scribbles something when I first wear that thing in front of him...

(Hee hee....)

Maybe I Should Have Picked A Small Drugstore For My First "Alone" Shopping Trip...

2010-11-02T06:54:00.012-05:00

Okay, so I finally I screwed up my courage and did what my therapists have been asking me to do for the last 2 years.....

I voluntarily went shopping at the mall--- by myself.

Yep, I did it. And it would actually kill 2 birds with one stone. One, that I would finally do what my dang therapists have been preaching to me for the last 2 years; and two, I have been drooling over the above Coach handbag (on the internet) for months---but I would need to actually see it in person to find out if it had all the characteristics I wanted. But going outside in public, especially to a mall, was a daunting task for which I could barely find a tiny bit of what my therapists call "doing the opposite of what you feel" and also "willingness".

Willingness schmillingness.

And so I went. And I found out something disturbing---I can barely hold a meaningful conversation with strangers in public. For some reason I couldn't hear what the salesgirls were saying. Maybe that was because my blood was rushing through my ears out of nervousness. And so, I kept having to ask them (multiple times) to repeat themselves. And I was stuttering so bad that I wasn't making any sense in my sentences. I know they thought I was retarded or something.

And in addition, it makes me hideously uncomfortable for a sales person to come try to help me. I just want to skulk around, checking things, finding my size, etc.---and I absolutely abhor sales people who come up and nearly assault me in their quest to find things for me. I just don't like anybody in public paying attention to me when I want to stay quietly in the background, looking for whatever it is that I want.

I wanted to raise up a cross and a string of garlic bulbs whenever those damn pushy sales people approached me.

For example, I walked by this one kiosk where the girls there were selling hand lotion and fingernail products. And let me tell you, they were the most aggressive sales girls that I've ever experienced in my life. I clearly said "no thank you" when one of them approached me----but then she ignored that declaration and grabbed my hand---and put lotion on it! Then she asked if I always keep my fingernails "natural" with no polish. I made the giant mistake of saying "um...yes, I guess"----and then she produced a nail buffer the size of a bar of Zest soap and started vigorously buffing my fingernails on that hand which she had in a vice grip.

She buffed and buffed, and I kept tugging on my hand to make my escape, repeatedly telling her that "I've got to go"--- but she kept on buffing!!! What the hell? Finally she let go of my hand and said "look!" So I looked and, sure enough, my dull "natural" fingernails were shiny and pretty---without polish or anything.

But I didn't want a fingernail buffer and so I forcefully extricated myself from her and kept on walking. But then...when I was finished shopping and had to turn around to head towards the mall exit---I was mortified to realize I had to pass that kiosk all over again! And sure enough, I was ten feet away from it when that same sales girl began hollering out her spiel to me. This time I knew better and tore ass away from her as fast as I could, heading towards the mall exit--- and away from her and other aggressive sales people who don't take no for an answer.

I haven't been to a mall in so long that I was overwhelmed with all the stimulation of so many stores and all the music coming from the inside of each store. And I was amazed to see a full sized merry-go-round in front of Dillards. It was huge and the ponies were brightly colored and just begging to be ridden. But since it was fairly early in the morning there were no kids riding the merry-go-round--- and so it was going round and round with no riders on the sad ponies.

I did so want to ride one of those ponies....

This mall trip was a huge step for me--- to go out in public to shop. And to a mall, no less. I had been putting it off for weeks. So I imagine my mobile therapist will be happy as a lark about it. But it was such an unpleasant experience that I doubt I'll repeat it again any time soon. I did get the things I wanted but I felt like it was guerrilla warfare between me and the sales people who descended on me every time I turned around---and I felt excruciatingly shameful that I couldn't talk coherently whenever I wanted to make myself understood to one of them.

I really didn't feel any triumph at all over this first foray into the outside environment by myself...

Sigh....

Recipe for My Famous Chuck Roast

2010-10-26T09:08:00.010-05:00

I have had so many requests for this recipe (I had remarked about it on "Twitter" last weekend) that I decided to put it here. It's my recipe for chuck roast in a crockpot---and start early in the day:

Ingredients:

A two-to-four lb chuck roast (and it can be a fatty one)

flour to cover both sides of roast before browning

One package of Lipton Soup Mix, "Mushroom Onion" flavor

beef bouillon cubes, 4 or 5

salt & pepper

potatoes, peeled and cut into chunks

carrots, peeled, cut into chunks

a large onion cut into large pieces

Method:

First (after you flour both sides of the roast), brown & sizzle your roast in oil until both sides are a deep brown and it smells delicious. Put it in the crockpot. Dump in all of the above ingredients into the crockpot around the sides of the roast. Then pour in water until the water rises to about 2/3 high (or higher if you want more gravy) on your roast. Then simmer it all day. I have a crockpot which gives me low-med-high. So I start out with an hour on low, 3-4 hours on med, then 4 hours on high. It just depends on what your crockpot has. But you want it simmered for practically all day until the roast is so fork-tender that it falls off your fork when you check it for doneness.

Gravy: Then, finally, thicken the juice with either flour or corn starch.

Hope you like it.

Once Upon a Time, in a Suburb Far, Far Away, There Lived a Dragonslayer...

2010-10-17T12:12:00.035-05:00

Listen children to a story,

That was written long ago,

'Bout a kingdom on a mountain,

And the valley folk below...

("One Tin Soldier", Coven")

A Suburban Fairie Tale:

A long time ago, in a suburb far, far away....

* * *

Once upon a time, there I was, sitting innocently on the couch, minding my own business while watching TV and knitting--- crutches nearby. It was really all I could do since severely injuring my stupid right foot earlier in the week.

Blaine had just returned from grocery shopping and was now in the kitchen making some of his famous banana bread.

I had finished one pair of "normal" Tiger Socks earlier in the week and now I was working on my "weird pair" of Tiger Socks.

And Little Baby was, as usual, sleeping among wiring. She usually sleeps near electrical cords but this day she was sleeping with the computer's USB cable wrapped around her idgity little head. (Maybe she had hacked into my iTunes, who knows?)

Then Blaine realized he had forgotten one sack of groceries in the car, so he ran out the front door to get it from the back of the car, leaving the front door wide open.

I hate it when he leaves the door open because the stupid cats are always trying to escape out the front door, not realizing that Blaine and I have deemed them "House Cats".

(There's House Cats and there's Outside Cats---and never the twain shall meet.)

Then all of sudden, to my utter mortification, a giant hornet flew into the house through the open front door.

And, as a lot of females I know do, I began screaming in terror. I screamed so loud I'm sure the whole cul-de-sac heard---but I knew they would be sympathetic since I was screaming things like:

"BLAINE! THERE'S A HORNET IN THE LIVING ROOM!

HELP!

YOU GOTTA GET HIM!

KILL HIM!"

And Blaine walked back into the living room, somewhat cautiously, and surveyed the ceiling. Sure enough, a giant hornet (okay it was "giant" to me, ok?) was hovering to and fro on the ceiling.

"GET HIM!" I screamed again. "GET HIM BEFORE HE GETS INTO OUR BEDROOM AND I CAN'T SLEEP ALL NIGHT WORRYING THAT HE'LL GET ME IN MY SLEEP!"

"How am I supposed to get him?" Blaine asked plaintively.

"You're asking me?" I replied incredulously. "What do you mean "how"? First of all, I can't do it myself because I'm stuck on this damn couch with my damn foot in a damn immobilizer. Secondly, don't all men know how to kill bugs that frighten us females?"

"Um...." he murmured.

And then, the truth gradually dawned inside my pea brain.... and I realized Blaine's secret shame.

He's a man who doesn't like to kill bugs!

I never knew such creatures existed but I had no time to ponder on it because the situation was gradually worsening. And I was getting desperate since the stupid giant hornet who, heretofore, had been well out of reach up on the highest level of our ceiling-- was now headed downwards towards us! But he was coming down to a level I knew would be within Blaine's reach.

So, since Blaine was still standing there mute, his baby blue eyes bugged out like those of a gigged frog, I began yelling out instructions....

"Hurry up before he goes too high again! Get a broom!" I yelled, thinking that this would nudge Blaine towards the time honored method for eliminating giant hornets and other flying marauders, the so-called "Broom Attack Method".

Obediently, Blaine turned and ran to the kitchen to get a broom.

And soon he returned with ..... a Swiffer.

Yes, friends, it grieves me to say that Blaine really did come back with a damn Swiffer--- which had been standing next to the bristles type broom I had requested.

"Oh my God, I see him behind the living room blinds!" I screamed, my voice getting hoarse from all the screaming.

"Well then I can't reach him behind those, can I?!" Blaine replied stubbornly.

I knew I couldn't get off the couch without a great deal of pain in my injured foot so I continued talking Blaine through every step.

"Raise the blinds and, when you see him, secure the blinds and then you stab that Swiffer in his general direction, over and over and over until the horrible thing is dead!" I yelled.

But Blaine wasn't about to raise the blinds.

"I don't want to make it angry!" Blaine exclaimed.

And then I realized.....my family's safety was on the line here, with a giant hornet threatening all of us, both human and feline. And I simply could not allow it to fly free in our house because I just knew it would fly up into our bedroom and I'd be so nervous I'd never sleep until it was dead. Dead I tell you.....

Damn dead.

Stunningly dead.

(Is that a word? Stunningly?)

And so, summoning all my bravery (and gritting my teeth for the foot pain which would follow), I got down off the couch and hobbled over to the blinds behind the TV.

"I'm going to raise the blinds slowly..." I said to Blaine, who was still standing there holding the stupid Swiffer.

"Don't you do it!" Blaine yelled. "Don't you get it mad! Bo, you don't know these things. If we make it mad then he'll come after us in an attack!"

"I don't give a SHIT IN AN OUTHOUSE if I make the damn thing mad!" I replied, securing the blinds at the level I had spied the intruder...

He was flying up at the top of the window.

And so, with Blaine's piteous bleatings echoing in my ears, I grabbed the Swiffer out of his grasp and took to slamming that Swiffer with all my might on the giant hornet.

And I was gratified to see the hornet, wounded, fall down to the floor.....but when he hit the floor I saw him raise up his wings.

He wasn't dead!

So I began raining Swiffer blows down on the hideous monster with all my might, yelling maniacally "KILL! KILL! KILL! until I was sure that I had rendered him into virtual hornet powder and I knew for certain that he was deader'n a doornail. Damn dead. Stunningly dead....

And then I turned to Blaine and said something my late Mamo used to say to us youngsters whenever she had just swatted the hell out of a fly....

"Fixed his little red wagon," I declared triumphantly, laying aside my weapon---I mean, the Swiffer.

And as time went by and the story of Blaine's cowardice was regaled throughout the suburb, and as even more eons passed until the story of Bo's bravery had practically become a legend....and mothers would tell their children bedtime fairie tales--- I'm sure they always ended the story of Bo vs. the Giant Hornet by lowering their voices to say in a secret whisper:

"Boys and girls, listen closely. Everybody always thought it was Bo who slew the Giant Hornet. But that is not quite the truth.....

T'was Swiffer killed the Beast..."

Epilogue:

It was the end of that fabled day of the battle of Bo and Blaine versus the Giant Hornet. And Bo said sarcastically to Blaine: "I can't believe you can't kill a damn hornet. Do you know how difficult it is to jump off a couch and kill a hornet with a Swiffer-- with my bad back AND bad foot?"

Blaine: "Excuse me, but you have a bad back, a bad foot.... AND a bad brain."

Entering The Football-Widow Season....

2010-10-10T14:01:00.008-05:00

Blaine? Blaine...uh...hello?

Alas, it's Football Season. I could walk through the living room stark nekkid and do a pole dance but Blaine wouldn't even notice me. He's busy cursing our team's failed attempt at a first down.

Little Baby is unconcerned. Isn't she worried about electromagnetic fields (EMF)????

I was bored so I took the opportunity to knit. I finished some Tiger Socks. Unfortunately, they came out too small for my mother, who I was knitting them for. Which is totally negligent of me because I can usually get my socks to custom-fit the person they're for---but these came out my size for some reason. (No, I didn't do it on purpose.)

Little Baby? Hey....Little Baby? Can you hear me? I want to show you my Tiger Socks!

(Idgity cat will sleep anywhere.)

I guess I bothered her so much that she got up and went to sleep behind the philodendrom, thinking the long branch with leaves would keep me away from her...

I do love the Tiger Socks. I love them so much I'm going to cast on for another pair, only using some black yarn instead of the orange---and maybe a lace pattern....don't know yet....

Good Lord, this cat is a sleep champion!

And then, to my amazement, she automatically woke up at Tuna-Time and came to wait by her saucers....

An Ill Wind Blows Through Kansas....

2010-10-06T10:40:00.011-05:00

Things are not good for me right now.

First of all, the heater is broken and I'm cold. The landlord is out of the country, on a Reserves mission in which he is a pilot, and so he's not in a very good position to help us right now. (His roommate texted him about our plight so we'll see what happens.)

I finally found my camouflage house socks, knitted with thick worsted yarn for warmth. They're a little tattered but still usable.

And, as you know, I'm in a complete donnybrook with my mother about Blaine's and my visit with her prior to my sister's wedding parties in Dallas. Basically, I told her that I didn't appreciate her breaking out the blender and having a marguerita party with Blaine while we were there....which I told her totally "triggered" a desire for alcohol in me that was ultimately in play when I relapsed and drank alcohol in Dallas during the two wedding party days. I had asked her not to do that prior to Blaine's arrival. I told her that I didn't mind them drinking their usual evening drinks but that a marguerita party with hard liquor flowing would sorely test my sobriety. (Yes, I know it's my own responsibility to stay sober---and I know that the whole world doesn't have to stop drinking because I can't drink. But I did make the mistake of thinking that my own mother would help me out in the matter by not serving tequila and triple sec in my face. ) But my request to her went in one ear and out the other---because the minute Blaine arrived, she began serving marguerita after marguerita to him, even going so far as to yell out: "Do you want salt on your glass, hon?" while making them.

So, after the whole weekend was over and Blaine and I came home, I emailed her of my confusion and frustration with what she had done. But my mother is incapable of accepting any blame. It's a trait she's had since birth. She also defiantly refuses to apologize for anything she's ever done. NO MATTER WHAT......my mother is incapable of seeing something she might have done wrong and subsequently apologizing for it.

So basically we're not speaking. I did send her emails asking "where the women went" who was so supportive of me not drinking. I reminded her of all the heartbreaking things she went through over the years when I was drinking my most heavily---and how she helped me through every step and was my biggest supporter in getting and staying sober. And that's the operative phrase....."had been my biggest supporter".....

But she saw nothing wrong with throwing Blaine a marguarita bash, blender whirring and all, when he came down for the couple of days prior to he and I traveling to Dallas---which I thought was especially heinous considering that I'd told my mother umpteen times that I dreaded going to the wedding event because of all the liquor that I knew would be consumed there.

She arrogantly emailed me back that (1) I am just trying to "control people"; and (2) that she can do as she pleases in her house; and (3) that she would not "bow down" to my "controlling" behavior.

Okay....

Better is it that thou shouldest not vow, than that thou shouldest vow and not pay...(Ecclesiastes 5.5)

2010-09-29T09:18:00.042-05:00

This used to be my playground,

This used to be my childhood dream,

This used to be the place I ran to,

Whenever I was in need...

("This Used To Be My Playground", Madonna)

And so it came to pass that it was time to go down to Texas for my sister's wedding weekend in Dallas.

But I went down to Texas early, before Blaine, because I wanted to spend a couple weeks with my mother before the wedding weekend in Dallas--- especially since my mother had chosen not to attend the wedding (long story.... let's not go there.....)

So it was back onto the Amtrak train for me. The picture below is the leg of the trip Amtrak calls "The Missouri River Runner" which, true to its name, runs by the Missouri River for almost the whole length of the trip. I love it how the landscape changes as the train leaves Kansas and heads down to the south.

But I am going to tell you a secret... which is that for the entire train trip I was wringing my hands, worried and full of angst. If truth be told, I did not want to go on this trip. And not because of my usual phobia of not wanting to leave my home...

No, there was another reason......

It had to do with my wretched alcoholism...

(There's not a whole lot of civilization between Kansas and St. Louis, Missouri. The below is a charming country bridge I love to photograph.)

Anyway, no-- I didn't want to go on the trip because I knew I would be around a lot of alcohol. Weddings and wedding parties are the mother lode of alcohol. And, as most of you know, I am a recovering alcoholic. However, my recovery is still very fragile. I have not yet reached that point where seeing and being in close proximity to alcohol does not trigger a desire to drink.

Seeing people drinking and making merry causes a battle in my heart that makes resisting the temptation and urge to drink a complete contest of wills in my deepest soul---which causes me much anxiety and desperation. It is why I don't like restaurants, vacations, or celebrations of any kind---because many of those activities carry a heavy alcohol supply with them. And I knew that my sister's wedding weekend at the hotel would be full of events where everybody would be drinking.

And I wasn't entirely sure that I could handle it----and I also wasn't sure of how in the world I would be able to devise ways to avoid being smack dab in the middle of it all.

Anyway, I got down to Texas and spent a couple of weeks with Mumsy. We had much fun in her studios, trying out different techniques of making jewelry with clay. (My favorite little piece is the angel with gold wings at the top of this post. I'm trying to figure out how to make it into a necklace.) Anyway, my mother is in the habit of leisurely drinking a whiskey or two in the evenings but this does not bother me at all.

And then Blaine arrived...

Believe it or not, I had asked my mother ahead of time to refrain from offering Blaine mixed drinks---and to just let him continue in his usual habit of having just a beer or two, which would not bother me----but she completely ignored that request and had the blender out and churning tequila and triple sec-filled Margueritas as he was pulling into the driveway.

The next three days were hell for me. She and Blaine started their drinking about 3pm in the afternoon and continued till bedtime. When I finally got up the nerve to mention to my mother that watching people drink and have fun creates a powerful craving in me for alcohol, she snapped back: "Oh take your meds! I thought you said that your meds helped you not drink."

This is only partially true. My meds have relieved me of the constant anxiety I experienced internally for my entire life--- a hopeless mishmash of fears which caused me to run to an alcoholic refuge in order to quell them. But when one of my current psychiatrists began aggressively medicating me for my mental disorders, much of that anxiety was dulled and brought under control---which helped me calm down and stop drinking altogether.

But, as the days wore on of watching my mother and Blaine happily drink their Margueritas, the desire for booze began to rear its ugly head. It was as if somebody had breathed upon some dying coals, causing them to flare back up into an earnest fire. Watching my mother and Blaine drink to drunkenness while laughing at their secret jokes caused my buried, dreaded alcohol cravings to flame up into a fiery desire so strong that alcohol was all I could think about.

I began to sneak a few drinks here and there....

And then it was time for me and Blaine to drive to Dallas for the wedding weekend.

I was aggravated to see that he was again using the GPS doo-hicky. I absolutely HATE that stupid thing telling us what to do! It acts like HAL in "2001 Space Odyssey". If you so much as get off the road to get a Dr. Pepper at a gas station it starts nagging:

GPS: "Recalculating......Please turn your vehicle back around and turn right on the highway to resume course..."

Me: "We know we're not on the highway, dimwit. But I want to get a Dr. Pepper!"

GPS: "I can't let you do that, Bo...."

Finally we got to Dallas and found the Marriot Hotel at "The Shops at Legacy". My sister and her man met us in the lobby to give us our room keys---they had already performed the check-in procedure for the entire wedding party.

It was a huge hotel, very luxurious. Our room was delightfully comfortable.

And I hadn't been in there for 10 minutes before I was thumbing through the room service menu, searching for the alcohol selections....

A little background on my sister's new husband: He is a self-made millionaire. He treats my sister very well so I approve of their relationship whole heartedly. He owns a huge company in Dallas and works 7 days a week. In fact, he worked right up until the wedding.

The below is the view from our room's window.

The first night was the Family Dinner, held in the banquet room of a nearby restaurant. It was a wonderful, sumptuous meal. My favorite appetizers were the pumpkin ravioli with nougat sauce. I've never had anything like it and it was delicious.

And, as I had predicted from the beginning, the amount of drinking there was amazing. Literally everybody was drinking---and if they weren't drinking they were talking about drinking. I was aghast when the wedding planner (who for some reason had been invited to the Family Dinner) ordered a large bottle of wine just for herself.....TWICE! Yes, she actually drank two bottles of wine---plus glassfuls of the other wine the waiters kept on pouring! Even I, in my worst drinking years, had never done anything so blatant as that.

That night, when Blaine and I returned to the hotel, I ordered a small bottle of wine to be delivered from room service for myself. Blaine was not happy but he refrained from saying things which he knew would cause a big fight.

Previous to the weekend, I had texted my sister and asked her to not encourage Blaine to do a lot of drinking and she gave a noncommital answer. But then, on Saturday afternoon, the day after the Family Dinner, Blaine went downstairs to go outside for a cigarette. And he didn't come back for a long time.

I called my sister to see what was going on and she said she'd sent Blaine to the sports bar with the other men in order to watch a football game.....and drink.

When I admonished her about that, she took up for Blaine---and acted as if I wanted to take away all Blaine's fun....

But what about my feelings I wondered?....

And then, finally, after the wedding, there was the formal reception in the ballroom of the hotel. And, of course, there was tons of drinking going on there--- even more than usual because the bar was free. All alcoholic drinks for the night were absolutely free for the taking. Needless to say, there was a line at the bar for the entire reception.

Earlier in the day I had complained about all the drinking to my sister and she had snapped: "Well just order 'virgin' everything!"

But that wasn't my point. I didn't care what people thought I was drinking---and so I don't know why she even said that. But it was clear that neither she nor anybody else knew or cared how much I was suffering. It was then that I began to truly understand that I really shouldn't have ever said anything to anybody in my family about my problem because they don't give a shit....and why should they?

Because the truth of the matter is that just because I have had to stop drinking doesn't mean they or the rest of the world has to....

So, during the reception, I got up to go to the bar and said to Blaine: "I'm going to get a virgin screwdriver...."

And he replied sarcastically: "Why don't you get a real one?"

And I replied, in all seriousness, "You know what? I think I will."

And I did. I drank three "real" screwdrivers within about 45 minutes. My niece, who was sitting next to me, asked: "What is that you're drinking?"

Me: "Orange juice...."

Her: "Is there alcohol in there?"

Me: "A little bit.....and please, I'm begging you....don't tell my sister? And don't worry--I won't do like Sandra Bullock did at her sister's wedding in the movie '28 Days', okay?"

Her: "Okay."

But I knew she'd tell my sister the first opportunity she got. But by then I didn't care a fig. I mean, I really didn't give a rat's ass at that point. I was so tired....so very tired of resisting the forbidden fruit....

Anyway, as I quietly sipped my drinks, the reception went on. Neither Blaine nor I dance so we just sat in our seats at the Family Table and watched the festivities. I snapped the below pic of my beautiful sister's and her new husband's first dance together. (Sniff....sniff...)

There was, of course, a professional photographer taking pictures, but nobody will get any of those for several weeks. But this snapshot of the happy couple was beautiful, I thought.

My sister is extremelly beautiful, successful, charming--- and she lights up any room she enters.....

And all during that first dance I watched wistfully, tears rolling down my face, wishing hopelessly that I could have turned out like her instead of the fucking mess that I am.....

....but that was not to be....

My adult life has consisted of 22 long, hard years of slogging through pools of blood, pus, pee, shit, and vomit as an ER or ICU nurse.

And now that I'm not working, I am simply a nothing. Although I have an ungodly high IQ, it is for naught as I am an overly dramatic straight shooter who has always had mental problems combined with hardcore alcoholism---and I have never had one ounce of my sister's charm or glamour.

(Yes, again I am feeling sorry for myself. Such an unattractive emotion, isn't it?)

Meanwhile, during the entire reception, Blaine kept bitching about how I had instructed him to dress for the semi-formal evening. He griped: "I thought you told me I had to wear a dress shirt with sleeves to this event? And a tie! So how come your sister's husband gets to wear short sleeves with no tie at his wedding reception?"

Well, I really didn't know the answer to that question so I just shrugged. I do know my sister's husband has frequently said he's always hot---so maybe that was the reason. And he is a rather rough character. So I simply told Blaine that it wasn't going to kill him to wear a dress shirt for once in his life.

One interesting thing about the wedding was that my sister's boss and his boss, the third wealthiest man in Texas, gave the toasts for the new couple. (And they were wearing dress shirts with ties, heh.)

That night I secretly ordered another bottle of wine from room service. Both times I ordered the bottles of wine I asked the front desk to allow me to pay cash for the orders because I didn't want them to appear on the room's bill which my sister and her husband would see---even though I knew they would probably know by then that I had drank alcohol at the reception.

Alcoholics always fool themselves into thinking they can keep their drinking a secret....

While Blaine and I were driving back to Kansas, I felt a mixture of anger, sadness, and frustration. I knew there was no way I could have avoided going to the event. And I felt a nagging worry for the future...

How am I going to handle it the next time I am with my family and they are all drinking like fish?

But when I saw the first sweeping plains and the cornfields of Kansas, with its billowing fluffy clouds above, I knew I would be alright. I was almost home....

It was only a matter of days before I began seeing all my therapists again....and could once again take refuge in the safety and sanctuary of their constant supervision....

Saying life's begun to cheat you,

Friends are out to beat you,

Grab on to what you can scramble for...

("Hide In Your Shell, Supertramp)

The Ultimate Insult.....

2010-09-28T14:10:00.009-05:00

I don't know much about cat etiquette but I'm pretty sure that it is definitely deemed extremely rude and insensitive to sit one's behind on another cat's food dish.

Um...especially when the part of the offender's butt on the plate is...shall we say.... the "you-know-what" hole?

In this case, the offender is Little Baby and the victim's dish is Leonard's. I have no idea what caused Little Baby to sit in such a non-hygienic fashion on the hapless Leonard's dish--- especially since she knows full well that the OTHER dish is her dish--- but I'm sure it was done completely out of pure-D spite.

Yes, I shooed her away and gave her a good scolding, which I'm sure went in one ear and out the other. Then I washed poor Leonard's dish...

Sigh....the trials and tribulations of cat owners...

Just Got Home!

2010-09-26T19:43:00.003-05:00

We're back from Dallas! And I am so tired I could fall over! Forget unpacking---I don't have the energy. And I have tons of email to answer, yikes! (By the way, I have an anonymous blog stalker! She's threatening to "out" my blog, and she made the remark that I "wouldn't believe who she knows in Dallas". This cracked me up!)

Hey, Anonymous? Do you know anybody at Control Risks?

Anyhoo, everybody, when I unpack and come to my senses I will put some pics on here with a post about all the fun we had in Dallas, yeee-hah!

Mumsy and Me....

2010-09-18T13:05:00.009-05:00

The above picture is an oil painting of my Mumsy. It was done about 4 years ago. And I just can't help it---I've got to say it---but isn't she beautiful? She is a beautiful southern lady and I just think she's the greatest mother in the world.
(You can click on the picture to make it larger---as well as the other pictures in this post.)

Anyhoo, she and I are doing marathons of jewelry and button making in one of her studios. We sit in there with our coffee or coke, with the stereo playing country & western music, and we have been "experimenting" with different techniques, colors, and effects on all the things we're making.

I also took some pictures of her religious nook, where there are icons or icon boxes she has made---or else are antiques she bought. Some of them are quite valuable. The below is one of the pieces.

The below is another one, in the same nook.

And the below is my favorite one---an icon box with a Jesus statue. I've got a story about that particular Jesus statue. Here's the story:

I was visiting my mother in Damascus, Syria. (Where we all almost lost our lives in an anti-American demonstration where thousands stormed the Embassy---but that's another story...)

Anyway, one day while my mother was at work, the maid came to me in tears, holding that Jesus statue. She had dropped it and Jesus' head had come off his body. She was crying and saying that "Jesus will be angry with me!---and your mother will kill me!"

But I calmed her down and told her I could fix it.

So I searched the house and found some glue. And I glued Jesus' head back on. But the plaster was chipped all around his neck where the join was--showing white plaster. So then I searched the house for brown paint. But there was none to be found.

And then I had an epiphany.....my mother's shoe room!

You see, my mother had an entire bedroom devoted to her approximately 350 pairs of shoes in their boxes. (Don't even ask.....)

So me and the maid ran to that room and sure enough---there was shoe polish of every color in there. And there was the perfect color brown for Jesus' broken head.

So I painted the plaster chipped areas around Jesus' head---and then we put the Jesus statue back where He belonged in His icon box---and the maid finally stopped crying.

I'm not even going to tell you the story of how I broke a large antique clock--it's probably still in the attic of that home where I hid it.....

I love the below piece she made. It looks Aztecish to me. (Is "Aztecish" a word?...)

Below is a terrible picture of an angel pendant I'm working on---it definitely looks better in person.

The below are some of the buttons my mother is making. I love the pumpkin colored clay.

The below is some of the buttons I'm making. I don't think mine are as good as hers.

The below is a lot of finished or half-finished stuff. Like I said, we are totally experimenting with techniques and effects.

Anyhoo, Blaine will be down here on Tuesday. And then the following Friday he and I will go to the "Adventure in Dallas", to my sister's wedding event. I'll take pictures....

My Place of Dreams....

2010-09-09T20:05:00.008-05:00

Okay, after my ride on the infamously dysfunctional Amtrak train, I have come back... back to my mother's home, back to East Texas where the best of two worlds collide.....where the American South blends into the wild, untamed country of Eastern Texas.

It is the land of horses, cattle, and chicken farms. It is a place of indescribable beauty---that of thousands of ares of verdant cattle land, the long, neat bungalows of chicken farms, beautiful white-steepled churches, and spectacular red sunsets. It's people are polite, genteel---landed gentry who practice daily the habit of adhering to being raised in the most strictest of "good manners", using polite, cultivated Texan accents to speak their truths while never failing to call their elders "Ma'am" or "Sir". Nowhere in the American South or East Texas are the people more polite to each other.

It is also the land of chivalry. A damsel in distress is never in trouble for very long until a tall, lanky man comes to her aid. It is a world where a "lady" is always treated as such and the handsome, sun-bronzed mens' charms are always irresistable--- especially since they always remember to take their hats off in the presence of a lady--- or even while stealing a kiss with a disarming grin. It is also a place of uncommon honor. After my father died, his best friend picked up the flag of my Daddy's duty and never failed to follow my pursuits in order to offer his services if I were ever in need.

My father was a Texan gentleman. And he was a giant of a man, 6'4" and ruled by the code of honor instilled in all Texan gentlemen of his era. And my mother is a beautiful Southern Belle, raised in the mysterious, fascinating bayou of northern Louisiana.

My parents taught me the code of the South well, and also made sure they instilled in me the pride of being "half Texan". And whenever I am away from their land very long, a deep longing to return builds in my heart. I never feel truly at home anywhere but with my family in Texas or Louisiana.

For I was raised by the most beautiful and exciting of both cultures, the rough, cowboy badlands of Texas and the lace-curtain parlors of southern Louisiana. It is is a land which holds my deepest roots--- said roots which are always calling me in my subconscious..... calling for me to return.

Mumsy......I am back....

Friday's Getting Closer---And it's the Amtrak Train for Me....

2010-09-06T13:21:00.007-05:00

Okay, so I have shopped for clothes for the trip--- and I've started packing. (And I hope you don't think the pink stuff is hideous....or the leopard cardigan... but I couldn't resist matching up an outfit with that wonderful pink scarf and I have NEVER been able to resist leopard motif.

While I have been packing, I've been working in the studio to see if I could make some pendants for the clothing I bought. I mean, I have tons of stuff I've made already that I could use, but I wanted to see if I could make stuff that would match a couple of items in my new clothes perfectly.

So the above is the pendant (pre-glossed) that will go with the pink skirt and blouse, both of which I bought exclusively to match a gorgeous hand-knit shawl given to me by a knitter friend. And the below is a grey and black spotted pendant to go with the grey and black leopard printed cardigan.

The grey and black one is not my favorite piece of work. I don't really like it just by looking at it. But it does look better in person (and glossed) and it does match the dang cardigan well.... and so I'll wear it solely with that cardigan.

The above is more of my packing attempts--- where am I going to put the "scrunchy boots"? So far, my packing is not very thorough. There's that rolling bag and then a duffel bag. I'm probably going to have to wear the scrunchy boots since they take up beaucoup space in either of my bags.....

Here's the grey and black pendant with the cardigan. And I know, the pendant doesn't look that great. But I promise you the pendant looks better in person and glossed---and it does match the cardigan if you could see it in person.

And the above is the purple/pink pendant I made to match up the pink outfit with the gorgeous shawl--and I really like that pendant. I even made earrings to match.

The above is stupid Little Baby waiting for her tuna fix. I don't think she'll miss me much because Blaine spoils her rotten and he's not coming down to Texas until a couple weeks after I leave.

I just stuck the above picture on here to show you these buttons I've made recently. They're glossed and ready for holes to be drilled into them. I'll do them after the Texas trip.

Anyhoo, I'm DYING to get on the road! I am really looking forward to spending time with my mother and then going to my sister's shindig.

And if I don't make a blog post entry before I go this Friday, I will definitely make one when I arrive at my Mumsy's house. She has some new projects that I'd like to photograph and show you---they are GORGEOUS.

Blue Tuesday (And A Question)...

2010-09-01T10:12:00.007-05:00

It's a dark, rainy day.

I knew it would be that way when I took a picture of that ugly, ominous thundercloud above us. Sure enough, a few minutes later, really loud thunder began occurring, the kind of thunder that makes the whole house shake.

Didn't seem to bother Little Baby at all---she sleeps right through it.

But it definitely bothers Leonard, as you can see from him peeking out from his hidee-hole below.

Hey, I have a question that's been worrying me. It's about Little Baby. She's approximately 17 years old, and she's starting to lose her eyesight, her teeth can't take dry catfood anymore, she can't quite make it to the litterbox, stairs are painful for her and she limps up one step at a time, and she gets lost in the dark (especially when she's in the basement.)

She's been yowling more and more this last year. She has a certain loud "wah-wah" sound when she's about to throw up a hairball.

But she has other types of yowling (a slightly different sound) when she's lost (especially at night when she can't find us), when she's confused, or when Blaine leaves for work.

But what really worries me is that she yowls loudly in her sleep sometimes. I wonder if she's having a bad dream because she's definitely asleep when she's doing it. Whenever it happens, I always go over to her and stroke her lightly, saying "It's alright, Little Baby, you're safe and sound", until she wakes up and looks oriented and she's calm again. It happens a lot these days.

And it tears my heart out.

Does anybody know what that means when a cat yowls loudly in her sleep? Is she having nightmares of the couple of weeks she lay starving in that bush I rescued her from? It was in an area deep in gang territory, in the days when I worked the highly dangerous east side of Kansas City, years ago when I was working as a Road Nurse here in Kansas. At one of my patients' house a feral, stray cat had had a litter of kittens in a bush---and they were starving and neglected. So I plucked Little Baby out, put her in my pocket, and took her home. She was only about 2 weeks old and Blaine and I weren't sure she'd live....

Art Imitating Art.....

2010-08-30T08:30:00.010-05:00

I'm the one who can take the heat,

The one they say just can't be beat,

I'll shoot it to you straight,

And look you in the eye,

So gimme just a minute

and I'll tell you why,

I'm a rough boy.....

("Rough Boy", ZZ Top)

Well I finally finished the Little Red Riding Hoodie and so I chose a new project to work on. I ended up choosing the the unifinished set of "Animal Crackers Socks".

What I aim to do with these socks is finish designing them and then put the patterns up for sale in the same document. Kind of like a 4-in-1 deal.

There will be 4 socks. The knitter will have her/his choice of cuffs, leopard color combo, heels, and sizes. One size will be a ladies med/large. The other size will be a ladies small.

Also, I made the leopard fair isle chart to where there's only one place that a float is longer than 5 stitches so that there is that only place which requires the knitter to twist the yarn to carry it in back of the working color. (I hate doing that.) There will be a complete pattern repeat on each needle, which makes it easier to see where you are and check that you haven't made any mistakes. (And it makes it much easier to fix mistakes before you go on and knit umpteen more rounds before realizing it.)

But it's always a big entertaining thing for Blaine to sit back and be sarcastic about what he calls "my crazy, psychedelic projects".

Blaine is a macho man and thinks the whole world should dress in somber blue, gray, or dark brown. He's what you might call (as ZZ Top said so well) a "rough boy". And believe me, I suffer my rough boy's analytics about all my psychedelic projects because, as most of you know, all my knitting projects... er.... march to a different drummer.

You should have heard him while I was knitting the Little Red Riding Hoodie.

"Hey Bo! Ronald McDonald called---he wants his coat back!"

Very funny.

Or, while I'm trying on one of my wildly colored cardigans, he'll remark: "Now all you need is a big red nose and big floppy shoes...."

Lord Jesus, keep me from throttling him......

But actually, his remarks don't stop just with my crazy knitted projects. He does it in other situations, too.

For example, if he sees a huge, multiple car crash scene on the Nascar races, he'll say: "If you weren't sitting right here I would have sworn that was you driving.... because that's how you drive our buggy in Walmart."

Ho ho ho....

Or if I'm not understanding some computer thing that he's trying to explain, he'll exclaim: "Geez, Bo--do you need a flashlight and a map up in your brain?"

God help me!!

Eventually I got so irked at him because of that remark above that I began providing my own snappy comebacks. Like: "What do I look like? A Bill Gates employee?"

(Okay, it's weak, but it got my point across.)

And I've written before about his habit of harping at me over how much toilet tissue I use (see "The Quicker Crapper Picker Upper" post here).

Verily, verily, no matter how much I tell him I'm only performing the typical female's hygiene, he still makes crass remarks about my "usage" numbers. And then I'll get irritated back at him and reply back at him:

Him: "Bo! We're out of toilet tissue again! What are you doing with it in there---eating it?"

Me: "What would like? To come into the bathroom with a magnifying glass so you could witness just exactly how much I'm using and why? Or should I just stop using it altogether and see how that goes?"

Or I get irritated because I suspect he's not listening to me when I'm talking. So I'll test him and ask: "What did I just say?"

Him: "Ummmm, you said that Little Baby did something that made you mad..."

Me, suspiciously: "Well okay....I guess you were listening."

But I couldn't quell my suspicions. So I began to ask more specifically.

Me (again, suspecting he wasn't listening): "What did I just say?"

Him: "Umm....You broke a wooden knitting needle....."

Me: "What did I say after that?"

Him: "Ummm......uh... well... "

Me: "Ahah! See? You don't listen to me! You've just confirmed what I've been suspecting all along. And that's a neat trick there---you've actually trained yourself to remember only the last 5 words I said simply to prove that you really were 'listening'! But I figured you out, Buster! Yessiree, you didn't remember a damn thing after those words--- and I talked a whole paragraph!"

Sigh..... I know. I know what you're thinking.... and you'd be right.

I really shouldn't be complaining about that idgit because he is so very good to me. Blaine's good qualities are endless---he actually thinks it is his job to ensure my happiness because I'm a female and he's the Alpha Male. In fact, he just called me from some super computer building to wish me a happy birthday. (It's my birthday today.)

Here are some of his good qualities: He does ALL the laundry, he makes enough coffee so that when I get up there's a lot left for me, he can literally fix anything which is broken (ask me about the crystal candlestick some time), he notices if I'm depressed or anxious and asks what he can buy me to fix it, he tries to massage my tensed up shoulders but his big strong hands do it too hard and it hurts (but I never tell him that), and......

....the biggest and bestest thing....

Is that he knows I'm crazy and doesn't mind...

(Oops, I shouldn't have said that. My therapists tell me not to refer to myself as crazy. They say that I should say instead: "I have a chronic mental illness"--- which sounds totally lame to me.)

Where was I?

Oh yes....at the end of this blog post.

Talk at ya later, 'taters....

I'll Huff And I'll Puff....Oh Wait, That's A Different Fairy Tale....

2010-08-23T10:41:00.010-05:00

You like your life in a free-form style,

You'll take an inch but you'd love a mile,

There never seems to be quite enough,

Floating around to fill your lovin' cup,

("Jackie Blue", Ozark Mountain Daredevils)

Well.....at last, I've finished the dratted Little Red Riding Hoodie....

...a garment which has virtually sucked the life out of me for months. I'm totally SICK of the thing. But it's finally finished, thank God. (Except I haven't sewn those frogs down yet.)

(You can click on the picture to enlarge it.)

Originally, in the beginning, when I was sketching out how it would have to be knit, I had wanted lengths of green leaf trim for the button bands and the wrists. I thought that the leaf trim would be so cunningly pretty. But the time length that I procrastinated about putting it on the LRRH convinced me that my continued delay was actually due to the fact that--- deep down in my heart --- I just didn't like the leaf trim on there.

Nope, the trim just didn't look right, no matter how I arranged it, and thus my prolonged hesitation.

So I chose this way of finishing the LRRH---black frogs for closure and giant tassels on the drawstrings. It looks cute when you tie the drawstrings into a bow and let them hang down the front.

I would say "Tah Dah!" but I know that a lot of people probably think the garment is hideous. But I like it. And I'm sure I'll get a lot of wear out of it this winter.

I'm going through some difficulties these days and I'm glad I finished the thing because I need the relaxation of knitting on something else for a change. I'm even to the point that I can't think up decent topics for this blog. Don't know what's the matter.....

...but my therapists are like cerebral battering rams, mentally pounding at me over and over...

My therapists don't play around---they are on me like white on rice, every minute of three days of therapy a week...

People think therapy is just sitting in a chair and boring the hell out of your therapist by talking about one's youth. But that's not it. It's actually a lot of work---and if your therapists are like mine, they will eventually beat you down to a malleable, humble state.

I thought I was like that until I saw my psychiatrist last week.

And he surprised the hell out of me by substantially increasing the dose of one of my more serious meds, Seroquel. I am absolutely mortified about that.

The increase is hundreds of milligrams more than that of the other patients in my group. What's up with that?

Goddang, AM I THAT CRAZY?

I always joke around behind the therapists' backs and amuse the other patients by calling Seroquel "animal tranquilizer".

Gallows humor, I guess....

I used to be known as quite the "wild child"..... but that's all gone now. I feel like these meds have beat me down into a colorless, melancholy, and sad creature. The only place to find the roots of my wild child personality is in my knitting, where I vicariously knit madly colorful things on the fly, making up the patterns as I go---the color changes performed in deference to the changes in my mood...

Oh well, didn't mean to whine at you. I think I'll go upstairs and look into the Magical Yarn Closet and pull out some unfinished object to knit on. The shawl with a ruffled trim. Or maybe the "Animal Crackers" leopard socks. Or that totally wild cardigan which just needs sleeves.

ooh-hoo, jackie blue,

Making wishes that never come true,

Going places where you've never been,

ooh jackie, you're going again....

Finally Over With The Consumption......

2010-08-16T08:45:00.011-05:00

Well, FINALLY, after over a week of being ill and not being able to play with my hobbies, I am back in good health--- and also back in the saddle again for getting back into my studio to enjoy myself making jewlery. First off, I decided to get organized and tidy things up. The above is one of my "stringing stations" where I sit on the floor to string necklaces, make earrings, or wire beads & pendants.

Above is one of the "unfinished stations" where I have things that are mostly finished but need the finishing touches. Like how those metallic blue buttons need holes drilled into them with the dremel. The pendants and earrings to the left need beads to be attached to the bottom loops. (You can click on the pictures to enlarge.)

The above is a bunch of finished items---sorry the picture isn't very good (but you can click to enlarge). There's pendants with matching earrings and there's a sack of finished buttons all the way to the right. (And yes, I do realize my jewelry is not everybody's cup of tea.)

More finished items---necklaces and earrings.

Even more finished items.

And more finished items.

The above is a pendant with a guilded gold edge, made to look like the metallic gold papers some chocolates come packaged in.

Here's some other pendants and earrings---and I transferred a Barbie-like face onto one of those pendants. I liked the picture because she's wearing a leopard hat.

And last but not least is the paints area, where all sorts of paints, glosses, and other miscellaneous items are. There's other areas in the studio, where different things are done---you'd be amazed at how much stuff I have got in there.

I'm still an amateur, but it's fun learning. My mother is going to teach me some things when I go down to Texas in September.

What's happening is that my sister is going to get married. And afterwards there will be a two-day wedding event in Dallas--- with a family dinner and a huge cocktail party at the Mariott hotel in "The Legacy" complex.

But there's a glitch---my mother and sister have had a huge falling out and are not speaking. My mother has chosen not to attend the wedding event. (Long, complicated story.)

So anyway, I will go down to Texas a couple weeks before Blaine drives down so that I can spend some extra time with my mother. As you know, she is a professional artist and has 2 huge, exciting studios which contain every hobby material imaginable. And Mumsy has promised to teach me jewelry wiring techniques--yay!!!

Blaine will come down later on, and then he and I will drive to Dallas to check into the Marriot for the two days of festivities. I asked Mumsy if she thought I could make napkin rings out of polymer clay for a wedding gift for my sister and she said yes---and that she will show me how to do it when I get down there--yay again!!!

(Yes, my sister is one of those who uses napkin rings on her table.....)

(Blaine and I eat our meals in front of the TV set with paper towels as napkins....)

(You know, I wonder what guests would think if I ever served a meal with napkin rings..... but with paper towels rolled up in the napkin rings instead of cloth ones????)

(Interesting thought, don't you think?)

What Can a Woman Do to Get Some Sympathy When She's Sick?

2010-08-09T05:40:00.005-05:00

What IS IT with men that they don't know how to take care of a woman when she's sick? I mean, Blaine is the greatest guy in the world.....UNTIL I GET SICK.

You know, I rarely get sick with viruses and such. Rarely. In fact, I haven't gotten one in the two years since I returned to Blaine from Texas.

But since Saturday, I have been felled by the meanest virus I've ever known. I am so sick that I can barely get out of bed to go to the refrigerator and get a yogurt. And my coughing spells feel like I've coughed up a lung...

And when I do go downstairs, I get the scene below--no sympathy from Little Baby. She wants her tuna plate filled with tuna even if it means I have to crawl on all 4's.

Sigh..... so it must be true--- there is simply no rest for the wicked, as proclaimed in the Book of Isaiah verses 48:22 and 57:20-21.

(Maybe I should get less wickeder?)

Is "wickeder" a word?

Where was I?

Oh yeah, nobody in the household has any sympathy for me in my state of the consumption....

And below you can see how concerned Blaine and Leonard are about it.

As I walked by them to shakily walk back up the stairs to the bedroom, I couldn't help but to remark sarcastically: "Can I get you a Coke and a footstool?"

But Blaine is of the ilk that he doesn't do "sympathy" for sick people. And he doesn't believe in pampering me when I'm sick. Although, if he were sick, like he was this past week, he expected much attention. Now he's better but the virus jumped to me and I went down like a tossed sack of rotten potatoes. And yet Blaine just blithely goes about his business, irritated that I haven't done any housework in the days I was sick.

He actually had the GALL to sarcastically exclaim: "Do you even KNOW HOW to use a Swiffer?"

And when I whined that I was sick as a dog, he actually had even MORE GALL to say: "Get off the cross---we need the wood!"

And, being ill, I just couldn't come up with any snappy comebacks.

But let me think on that for a bit......

Therapy.....Or, Don't Cry For Me Copacabana...

2010-08-02T11:46:00.019-05:00

She's got eyes of the bluest skies,

As if they thought of rain,

I hate to look into those eyes,

And see an ounce of pain,

("Sweet Child O' Mine", Guns & Roses)

Night before last, at the stroke of midnight, I awoke in the middle of a nightmare, and I experienced one of the worst panic attacks I've had in weeks. The panic played out like a piano doing scales.....going up and down throughout every single secret thought which haunts me....

My nightmares are always the same....I'm in a foreign country during my childhood and I'm re-experiencing the same thing over and over...

I had been remembering a bloody political riot on the famous Copacabana Beach when my parents were stationed in Brazil. That day my family had been at the beach. I was a small child, as was my younger sister, and we were playing at the warm water's edge where the waves lapped at our legs and we were laughing at something silly. My parents were located way up the beach, near the street, sunning themselves on a blanket stretched out, a picnic lunch packed in a cooler.

All of a sudden, seemingly coming from nowhere, there were hundreds of people fighting on the beach directly in front of us..... fighting to the kill. The beach went dark with scores of people battling each other. My sister and I stood stock still in the water, frozen in horror, each of us dropping our little sand buckets, which floated merrily away, never to be seen again. My sister and I both saw machetes and knives in people's hands, attacking and dueling it out in the riot---and blood was flowing freely. My sister and I couldn't run to safety because our parents were on the other side of the riot. The only other way was back into the water---and neither of us could swim.

And then I saw him.

It was my tall, dark-haired father. Unbelievably, he was forcing his way through the riot--and I had never seen such a frightened, but determined, look on his face. As he made his way through the thick of the fighting hordes, he used any means or tactic he could to get through, shoving people out of the way with both arms. I even saw him kick some people out of the way. My father was a powerful man. When he was almost to the water, I saw him vault over a dying man who had fallen onto the sand, bleeding his life away. And....unbelievably, my father made it to my sister and I without any injury.

He grabbed us girls up, one with the right arm and the other with the left, and as he gripped us tight with his powerful arms, he courageously began wading back through the riot, us small girls each held like a football clutched under the arm of an NFL football player running for a touchdown. As we traveled wildy through the riot, I was inches away from people getting their throats slit and other people reeling backwards from being fatally stabbed---and I watched in horror as the mortally wounded people fell to the sand, which by now was running red rivers of blood.

But my father heroically made it back to the street, both his daughters safe, where my mother stood crying with relief when she saw us girls. We ran out of the area as fast as we could, among crowds of others trying to get away from the riot, my parents holding my sister and I tightly. And I'll never forget, as we made our way home, my mother crying piteously the entire time.

And there's other panic flashbacks...but let's not talk of them now...

Where was I?

Oh yes....the LRRH and my studio.

Anyway, I got up from bed and took a sedative, Klonopin, to try and diminish the panic attack. (Which only helped a little bit). Then I went back to bed and tossed and turned all night, sweating and waiting feverishly for the light of day, too afraid to go back to sleep in case the terrible nightmare returned.

I've had these panic attacks all my life. And the PTSD flashbacks can occur at any time without warning. No therapist has ever been able to help me cease having them, although the meds they have put me on have helped diminish the number of occurrences. I feel bitter about these attacks--and I also feel cursed and envious when I see all the normal people around me who don't experience panic attacks.

And then I get angry and ask God: "Why me? Why have you given me all this crap? Don't I have enough on my plate without things like alcoholism, absolutely no self-esteem, and anxiety 24/7 that sets off these panic attacks? And would it have been too much to ask that you didn't give me this horror-filled life, which caused my psychiatric breakdown and the subsequent need for intense therapy 3 days a week? WHY WHY WHY! Why did you pile all this stuff onto your creation called Bo???"

In the morning, I called Jack, my therapist, and he talked to me awhile to get me to stop crying so hard. Eventually I calmed down a little and then he gave me an assignment for that day to help distract me from the lingering effects of the panick. He told me to work on the Little Red Riding Hoodie--- and to work on them faithfully for the next few days. Through my tears, I promised to do just that.

So I did as he asked, and the results you can see here.

First, I worked in the studio. My hands still shaking from the after effects of the panic attack, I grabbed a big piece of black clay, wondering what to make out of it. And then I started working....

After conditioning the clay by squeezing it awhile till it was soft and pliable, I rolled it out flat.

Then, still trying to calm myself, I stamped the piece all over with words like "hope", "peace", "passion", "truth", and "love". And then I used a cookie cutter to stamp out heart shaped cut-outs from the clay. I had decided that I was going to make buttons.

I still had leftover tears rolling down my cheeks as I worked. I had to keep wiping them away so they wouldn't drip onto the buttons-in-progress.

Per the advice of my friends at the polymer clay list, I applied sparkly blue Pearl Ex powders to the heart cut-outs before I baked them, just brushing the top of them with the glittery Pearl Ex, which made the stamped words more noticeable. I decided that I loved the glittery blue on black. And then I baked them.

While the buttons were baking in my convection oven, I worked on the Little Red Riding Hoodie. Right now I'm currently crocheting a thin black line of single crochet on the button band area. As I work further on the LRRH, you'll see why I did that.

Below is it's pic---sorry the picture is upside down but I had to take the picture that way to avoid putting my shadow on the garment.

Meanwhile, Little Baby, as usual, wants tuna. But sometimes I just can't drop what I'm doing, especially since she wants it all day. I mean, sometimes I'll put a big glob of tuna on her plate, and she'll eat hers and Leonard's, too----and then she'll start asking for it ALL OVER AGAIN!!!!!!

So now she has a new tactic---she just sits by her dishes all day with a disgusted look on her face in order to shame me into putting tuna on there. It doesn't bother me in the bit.

But it is unnerving.....

Well, I finally finished the heart buttons. After they cooled down from being baked, I painted some of the words or partial words on them red (one on each button) and then I finished by applying a nice gloss coat. (This picture of them is weird. In reality they are more blue---I think the flash of the camera blinded them in light.)

Now all I have to do is drill the buttonholes.

You're waiting for someone to understand you,

But you've got demons in the closet,

And you're screaming out to stop it,

Saying life's begun to cheat you,

Friends are out to beat you,

Grab onto what you can scramble for....

("Hide in Your Shell", Supertramp)

OK, I Think The Story Would Be More Believable If Little Red Riding Hood Was Attacked Not By A Wolf But By A Bull--Like Matadors...

2010-07-28T06:59:00.015-05:00

sssshhh....don't tell.....

But I'm working on the Little Red Riding Hoodie.

And ssshhh again....

Because the below is what that idgit Little Baby does between tuna feedings.....

The Ice Cream Man Cometh....

2010-07-23T09:10:00.020-05:00

So there I was, making some red psychedelic beads, and I heard distant thunder---which was odd, since it had just been sunny and hotter than hell just a few moments ago.

But anybody who knows me will tell you that I love storms. So, knowing the thunder was announcing the imminent arrival of a storm, I ran downstairs, grabbed my camera, and went out on the back deck to watch the storm come in and, hopefully, get some good pictures of it.

All of a sudden I heard Blaine yelling: "Hey Dumb Dora! It says on the TV that there's a bad storm coming in from the west and that lightning could even be miles up front of it----and so you had better come inside."

I replied: "You don't have to tell me where the storm is---that damn new TV is so big that I can see the weather lady from here!"

And then...amazingly.....I heard another sound.....a sound which has eluded me for 18 years.

I heard the lovely jingle of the bells on a Good Humor Ice Cream Truck....

But.... no matter which state I've ever lived in, I have always tried to catch the ice cream man without success. I have been thwarted in my efforts to catch one time after time again, year after year, as for some reason the damn ice cream men I've encountered all think they're Dale Earnhardt in the Indy 500, speeding through the neighborhood at jet engine speed.

But I'm stubborn..... and so I rushed into the house, grabbed some of Blaine's quarters on the dining room table, and flew out the front door towards that wondrous jingling sound which announces that the ice cream man cometh.....

Sprinting like I was in the 100-yard dash, quarters clutched in my left fist, I ran like hell towards the ice cream man. I saw that he was still on the cul-de-sac----which meant that he'd HAVE to pass where I was in order to leave the street. And I was taking no chances....

And then the storm arrived in earnest. Large sheets of rain began pelting the neighborhood and thunder and lightning were all around.

But I wasn't going to let this ice cream man go. I wanted a damn Good Humor "Sundae Cone". And I knew that the ice cream man was going to try and speed away, since he knew nobody would come out to buy an ice cream in hurricane-force winds.

But I was way ahead of him!

I ran out into the middle of the street, waving my arms like a madwoman, signaling the ice cream man to stop. And he had to stop in order to avoid running me over.

"I want a Good Humor Sundae Cone!" I yelled at him, my voice practically drowned out by the thunder and winds.

Aghast, and giving me a look which I know meant he was questioning my sanity, he quickly grabbed one of the precious cones out of the freezer box and said: "That's two bucks."

I counted the change in my hand, and announced: "Oh DAMN! I'm short---let me go inside and get some more money....."

But he yelled back: "Are you nuts? We are in a major storm here! Just give me what you've got!"

So I forked over the money and took possession of my Good Humor Sundae Cone---and hurried back into the house, my entire body soaking wet.

See? I did it! Hee hee!! I overcame an 18-year curse and finally caught the damn ice cream man! HEH!

I started cavorting around the living room, waving my Good Humor Sundae Cone under everybody's noses, bragging to Blaine, Leonard, and Little Baby about my success in getting something I'd wanted for 18 years--- but nobody was interested. Blaine just sighed and rolled his eyes at my stupidity in going out into an electrical storm, and the cats weren't even listening.

I noticed Little Baby sleeping on the sack into which Blaine had put some dried herbs he'd picked off the deck garden. Obviously, Blaine hadn't noticed it yet. I chuckled to myself to think how he'd blow his stack when he saw that.

And so, still chuckling to myself, I ate my hard won Good Humor "Sundae Cone".

Really, I Have Better Things To Do Than Worry About A Pouting Cat...

2010-07-18T09:17:00.006-05:00

Okay, so idgity Blaine has a 55" television set delivered.

And I'm left wondering what in the hell was wrong with our old behemoth below? It was huge, too...

I couldn't resist remarking: "Why don't you get it over with and install an IMAX system in here? We could invite the neighbors and charge money for watching it--- with popcorn and everything." He did not respond.

And look below, at Little Baby's face and tell me what she's saying. Well I know EXACTLY what that face means. It means: "I don't give a damn about the new TV, I just want tuna placed into my bowl---NOW!"