This N That

Exciting things around Hill House going on:

Yesterday, Daughter came careening into the room, flapping her hands and making unintelligible sounds. She'd been to church without us, so I thought maybe our pastor had decided to try something different. 

But, no. Frost, the Great White Hunter had caught a real, live, field mouse and was holding it in his mouth. Daughter finally got out that the  mouse was looking at her as if to say, "What am I gonna do?" in a very distraught voice. Husband made Frost turn the mouse loose, shooed it into a waste basket and took it out to a thicket.

Today Husband was changing light bulbs in the street lights in the yard. He said one of the globes was extra hard to screw off, and when he lifted it a lot of gobby stuff came with it. When he peered in to see what it was, he was face to face, eye to eye with a big old hairy wolf spider. For those of you who don't know what a wolf spider looks like: 

Except they look more hairy in person. They are very large and them suckers jump - maybe to the left, maybe to the right, maybe straight.  

However; Husband jumped straight back and landed okay. He was on a ladder at the time.

Oh, and I hear Kanye West has announced he is going to run for president in 2020. That really puts  my mind to rest.

I'm still down in my back. I walk like I have a corn cob you-know-where. Couldn't be seen at my chiropractor today, of course. So tomorrow it is.

I reckon that's all for now.

Have a good 'un.

Homecoming

I don't know where you spent your Saturday, but some of mine was spent at the graveyard.

I knew I wasn't ready for it yet, because my back is out again, and every step I took let me know I was very much alive.

Tomorrow is homecoming where my mother's husband (yes, my daddy), her parents, her daddy's parents and her mother's parents are buried. Also various siblings, cousins and whatnot. Translated, I have a set of grandparents, great-grandparents and great-great grandparents buried there.

Mother purchased flowers for Daddy's grave, her parents' and grandparents' graves.

Here's the thing: my daddy is buried with all my mother's people. His folks are buried at another church in the county, where all his father's people are. His mother's people are buried at two different churches, all in this county.

Anyway, I asked why Daddy was buried there, and Mother said that's where he wanted to be.

I was looking at tombstones while we were waiting on Husband to come back from the "cage" where you throw all the old flowers. My great-grandmother has all her children, save one, buried there. She outlived all of them but two. There is a three year old, a sixteen year old, a twenty-seven year old, and my grandfather who was sixty-six when he died. She had another son, who is buried in Etowah, Tenn. He was sixty-two when he died. I know what killed all of them but one; the three year old. Mother can't remember and if I ever knew, well, I can't remember either.

Taking flowers to graves doesn't interest me much. But looking at old tombstones does. I've heard stories about these people all my life, and I guess this makes them more "real" to me.

All I know is I was glad to leave, glad it wasn't a hot or rainy day, and glad I could return to my bed, tiresome as it gets.

Hope your Saturday was filled with fun, too.

Feted at IHOP

Yesterday was Mother's eighty-sixth birthday. She was very excited about the cards and telephone calls she was receiving, many from our church. She doesn't attend anymore, but she's still on our birthday calendar, and I let folks know at the end of church service Sunday that I was grateful she was still around.

I appreciate people remembering her.

She was tickled.

She got some gifts, too. She always complains about gifts, as I think I've mentioned here before.

Daughter was very upset that she wasn't going to see her Nanny on her birthday, but she overslept (as usual), and then had to work. She knew that by the time she got off work, it would be too late to visit.

So, I suggested that Husband and I pick up Mother and journey over to IHOP to eat an early supper. We figured we'd surprise Daughter and have a jolly good time.

Which we did.

Daughter saw us pull up (radar) and excitedly opened the restaurant door for us, eyes dancing. She'd already alerted other wait staff, and they were wishing Mother happy birthday as we came through to be seated.

Then Daughter insisted on paying for the meal, since it was Nanny's birthday. She's never really been able to do that before, and I think it made her feel good.

We gave her a LARGE tip, and left pleasantly full.

As they say; a good time was had by all.

Hair Today and Gone, er, Today.

To say I got a haircut today is like saying the ocean has a little water in it.

Whimper.

It's not that it isn't a good haircut, in fact it is a very good hair cut. But it's a very, um, big haircut.

Please refrain, when you next see me, from saying things like: "WOW! See ya got your ears lowered!", "Man, did you get a haircut??", "It doesn't look that bad - really."

See, I got myself a permanent a few weeks ago, and it fried my hair. Not only did it fry my hair, part of my  hair didn't even curl, not one little bit. 

In my history of perms, which goes back thirty some years, I've never been fried, nor  has one ever failed to take. (I don't count the ones when I was a kid, every one of those Mother forced me to have fried my hair, it was nothing but sad frizz.)

I was offered a free perm, since this one didn't curl, but upon looking at the mess, she was afraid to do so, and frankly, I was afraid for her to.

So, since I couldn't do anything with it, we both took a deep breath and she commenced to cut.

And cut.

If I was thirty years younger, I would look cute. Sorta like I needed to go whip on some ice skates and a short skirt and get to the ice.

But I ain't thirty years younger, I am wrinkled and drooped and waddled. 

So if you see a tall woman with a bag on her head, it's just me. Trying not to hyperventilate while my  hair grows back out.

And speaking of hair, I developed some condition that comes and goes about five years ago. Into the third year, I noticed a place where  my hair looked thinner. Then last year, it was more noticeable, and this year, when the condition came back, I was, like, Yikes! Get me to a dermatologist.

Apparently, this happens to women in their forties. Me, more like fifties and sixties, but I've always been a late bloomer. I have this line, starting on the left side of my widow's peak, which turns into a t about two inches back. Of course, it would be in the front, because thinned hair wouldn't be any fun if no one could see it, right? 

So, the doc gave me meds to put on my scalp and meds to take by mouth and vitamins. 

I will admit it helped the condition stop, but the hair didn't grow back. So guess what she suggested? Yep. What you see advertised for men every time you turn on the TV. 

No, all you witty folks. Not Viagra.

Husband went to the local you-know-what and purchased me some instant hair grow. He was worried briefly they'd think it was for him, but when I gave him my best icy stare, he hushed and went.

It's working. I have stubby hair growing in the thinned areas. It's even shorter than my  haircut!

Well, I guess that about covers it. 

Other than hair? I got nothing. 

 And not much of that.

Ask me

Ask me what I had for dinner day before yesterday.

I'll answer, "A tomato sandwich and green beans."

Ask me what I had for supper night before last.

I'll answer, "A tomato sandwich and green beans."

Ask me what I had for dinner yesterday.

I'll answer, " A tomato sandwich and green beans."

Now, I love them both. Truly I do.

But I 'bout kissed husbands feet when he brought supper home last night, which was not a tomato sandwich and green beans.

Having a crick down your back, which meets with the lower back pain one lives with, can put a damper on cooking.

So, ask me what I'm having for dinner today....

I Should Have Been A Cat

Specifically a Maine Coon tom cat, who lives in the house.

I look at Eli's life - and it fits what I call really, really, really good.

He sleeps with the woman he loves (that would be me!). He watches over her carefully. If she's on the computer, he lies down next to her. If she's in the kitchen, he's right there, observing. If she lies down to rest, he's there, right beside her. If she's doing laundry, he hops up into a basket of dirty clothes, to make sure they "knead" to be washed.

He eats his favorite food in the morning, he eats Frost's food (special from the vet due to kidney problems), he eats his own dry food, he eats chicken when we cook it. One has to eat a lot to save up energy for that five hour afternoon nap.

He has fresh water handed to him. And speaking of water, at times, if concerned enough, he gets in the shower and makes sure she doesn't slip and fall.

His bathroom is kept clean for him.

He rules the roost. If you cross him (if you are a cat or dog), he simply shows with brute strength that he is, indeed, king.

If anyone sees him, they gasp about his regal beauty. He may blink or nod in kindly acknowledgement.

He gazes out the window and imagines if he were out there what he would hunt and chase. But he doesn't have to really do it; his imagination gets fulfilled with toys that won't hurt him back.

He is confident that he is loved, safe and at peace.

Yep.

I shoulda been a tom cat.

Life couldn't get any better.

A Pain in the Neck

Yesterday morning I awoke, and the first thing I realized was that I was lying on the wrong side (of my body) and I had a crick in my shoulder/neck area.

Husband came through the bedroom door to wake me for church and before I could moan and whine one little word, he said, "I got a terrible crick in my neck."

What! Outrage! That was my line!

Now, tell me, how can one whine when one has been whined to about the very same thing?

And how the heck did we both get a crick?

Anyway, we tried to help each other.

We both still have cricks.

And; sympathy does not love company.

A Middle Aged Woman

I guess I'm not really middle aged anymore (unless I live to be 122 years old), but my body seems to have forgotten that I am OLD and has stuck itself in the middle of middle age. 

Things get really warm around here, ifyouknowwhatImeanandIthinkyoudo.  And I also freeze sometimes for no reason.

Looking at my bathroom the other day, I saw something that perfectly describes me.

So, I took a picture.

Sad, ain't it?

What a world, what a world...

I know all of you have wondered what the heck I've been doing, since I have obviously not been blogging.

Well, gather round the kitchen table (it seats five, that should be plenty) and I'll let you in on what my life has been like since my last blog.

It's got more stuff than you'll find anywhere outside of a soap opera. Some of you men will say it's pay back for my last blog, but Husband still loves me, so there.

First, there was a two day killer attempt to find a "new" car for our household. Daughter has a job now (gasp) and we are in dire need of one more vehicle. She'll be paying this time, which is kinda nice.

Then there was our ladies church meeting, which I barely remember I was so tired.

Then, there was THE BEANS.  Them beans was without a doubt, the sorriest beans that ever beaned. Mother took some, her friend took some (she threatened to throw them in the creek) and we took the rest. I was worried about canning them, but turns out they were so tough it wasn't an issue. After ditching many of them, we had enough left for about three big messes. And this time, it really was a mess.

After the beans, there was Sunday, and I ain't got time to blog on Sunday. I'm too busy restin'. And going to church to teach and be taught. And visiting Mother.

Yesterday morning was a hair appointment. By the time I got home, ate, and began a short rest, our electricity went out. This was yesterday at 3:45 p.m. It came back on today at 4:15 p.m.  That's right, ladies and gentlemen 24 and one half hours without air conditioning. We  have a generator, which gives us the refrigerator, lights in the kitchen and two outlets, and it also runs our water pump. So we can survive. But who wants to without air conditioning in Georgia in August, pray tell?

I am trying to recover, but I swan, I nearly had a case of the vapors.

Maybe I'll feel better when the pizza gets here.

Husband and His Quiet Life

Husband considers himself a quiet man.

Husband is obviously  not in touch with reality.

He can be "anti-social" at times; that means he plain doesn't want to go wherever he could/should go and stays home instead.

But when he's out and about, he is not a quiet man. In fact, he insists on being the life of the party.

As evidenced by:




                               Cupid at large

Husband is on your left

Muscle Man

Clowning Around

Guess Who's Coming To Town?

  Don't ask

Tarzan to my Jane

Don't do That

Daughter has a friend who was in a bad motorcycle accident a few years back. He was hurt pretty seriously, and was out of work for some time.

But, of course, he didn't stop riding. So, yesterday he was in another, much worse accident, not only hurting himself but grievously injuring his girlfriend.

I see fatal motorcycle accidents in the news (sometimes local) every day.

Yet, people continue to ride them.   You may be one of those people who choose to do so.

I admit, I don't understand it. We are crazy enough to go zooming down the road in a hunk of metal. But wrapped in...nothing?

Sorry, I don't understand.

I remember when I was a kid, a friend of mine had a bicycle that was in pretty good shape except for the brakes.

There weren't any.

So, naturally my silly mother told me I better not get on that bike; or else.

Of course, I didn't. Not until I got out of sight of the house, then, of course, I did.

The or else  turned out to be falling off the back of the bike due to a hard bump. We happened to be going down a hill pretty fast, so I fell pretty hard. I landed on my left arm, and cut and scraped my elbow, leaving a fine scar as of today.

My friend freaked out and stopped the bike by dragging her toe on the pavement.

She didn't have on shoes at the time.

The point is, I guess, is if you do something dangerous I reckon you should expect eventual consequences.

Whether it be a scarred elbow or a fractured skull.

PS: Please don't send me messages about how wonderful the freedom is of riding down the rode with nothing to hinder you (like a car).  I don't particularly want to offend you, but I don't want to hear it.