The Rest of the Story

As you recall from the previous blog, we'd had a cold  night.

Here is the rest of the day:

I went downstairs to the warm part of the house to discover Fin  had died. Now, it wasn't really a surprise, he'd been off his feed (do fish go off their feed?) for about three weeks. I have a lot of experience with this, and every time that happens, watch out.

We had Fin for about a year, I guess, and that seems to be the extent of a Beta's stay with us. The one before him (not counting the one that died 3 days later and I made Husband take him back for a refund), was Tyke. She was a baby, less than the size of my pinkie nail, hence the name. And even though her box was marked "male" it didn't make her one. She was rather dull in color. However; she lived two years, so I guess if you get 'em young, you get to keep 'em longer.

I miss Fin. As soon as Husband gets over the Mongolian strangle or whatever it is he has, he's going fishing at Wal-mart.

Next, Daughter calls me all het up. Turns out she's waiting at the four way stop and sees a car coming toward her who doesn't stop, but rear ends her. And then, for good measure, does it again.

She said at first she was afraid it was some evil meanie, but then she saw it was some old lady.

Ahem. Turns out it was a classmate of mine. Some old lady, indeed.

At any rate, Daughter recognized her as she approached the car. 

Of course, this occurred as Daughter was on her way to be oriented to her new, other part time job. 

Turns out it only cost us $10.00 to replace the plastic red thingie that fits over a tail light.

The woman that hit her, however; told Daughter (who she just happen to run in to the next day) Get it! Get it! Run into! Ha!
that she is having to have a new bumper and headlight. 

You just shouldn't mess around with a P.T. Cruiser. They are chunky and low to the ground. They don't move much.

Daughter was sore across her chest the next day from where the seat belt had locked and kept her immobile.  

Have  you noticed some days are fuller than others?

Tis so.

Coming Up For Air

If you know me, you know we have spent the last week at a hospital. 

Mother was quite ill with a U.T.I./bladder infection named e-coli. She was fed lots of I.V. antibiotics and was sent home with more to take for ten days. 

But the doctors are more concerned over the four narrowing places in her small intestine than the infection, which they cleared up. 

They tell us she really needs surgery, but they are willing to try a very rigid diet first to see if this will prevent surgery.

Lord knows, we want to prevent surgery on an 86 year old woman. 

But: No more okra. No more tomatoes. No more cornbread. No more squash. No more onion. How cruel can they be?

Of course, there are a lot of foods she can have, and we have all agreed she will look at what can I have versus what I can't have. 

The good news is she has to eat six times a day.

Other Brother came down with a respiratory thing and had to drop out of the hospital stays. 

The rest of us (at least me, anyhow) are exhausted.

I won't talk about my pain, because I ain't got room on this blog.

But during this week long siege, my house became a wreck. After all, you come home long enough to shower and change into clean clothes, but you aren't there long enough to clean the bathroom or wash  your dirty clothes. You are there long enough to eat a bowl of something, but not there long enough to wash the dishes. 

And speaking of dishes, while we were still in the month of January, my dishwasher quit working. I took a moment to call the repairman and he can fix it - February 9. 

And the fish died.

But at least Mother is home, a plan of action has been laid, we got some clothes washed, and even a dish or two.

I reckon we'll get another fish soon.

Keep praying, folks.

Lord knows we need it.

What a Weekend!

Around eight o'clock Friday night my body exploded.

Okay, not really. But man, oh, man, it sure felt like it.

I was fine one second (in fact I'd had a pretty good day) and the next I had a full blown (pardon the pun) stomach virus.

Achy joints, fever, chills and all sorts of intestinal phenomenon took place. Finally, last night, about 48 hours later, it passed. (Pardon the pun, again).

At some point yesterday, late morning, maybe, I thought I really needed to come downstairs, if only for a few minutes. My fever had broken, so I wobbled on down for a few minutes.

Good Lord.

Husband had been in the kitchen.

Alone.

There was no discernible counter space seen. Both sinks were completely overrun with dirty dishes. The bottom dishwasher drawer was open. Somehow Husband had managed to get it stuck in that position.

The good news is, there were still a few clean dishes left in it.

He had attempted to fill the sugar canister, as it had emptied (mysteriously). But a large clump came out and he wound up spilling a third of it on the floor and surrounding areas.

If I hadn't been sick to my stomach before, that would have cinched the deal.

I think I swooned.

Even the fish, who resides on the window sill over the kitchen sink, was looking at me frantically. PTSD, I assume.

I never got as far as the pantry, where the two tall trash cans are, but I can guess.

I wobbled back to bed, and as soon as Daughter got up, I mewled to her that she had to clean up the kitchen.  She assured me those were her plans, not to worry.

Worry?

Who me?

By last night, the kitchen was back to the normal happy place it was designed to be. I was not afraid to eat something from it; feeling secure it no longer held any hidden plagues.

And I was feeling better, too.

Whatcha wanna bet I did not lose ONE pound through all this?

Ah, well.

It's good to be back.

Gone Fishin'

As those of you who read my blogs regularly already know, Tobias died recently. (See what happens if you miss a blog?  You don't get this important information in a timely fashion!)

Blogger Takes A Moment.

Don't  make fun of me, that fish lived with us for over two years.

Anywho, Husband brought home a new fish yesterday (or was it the day before?)

He asked me what did I want in a fish, and I said I wanted one that looked young and was very colorful.

So, off he goes fishing.

So to speak.

Husband says he picked out the youngest one he could find (read that little, and I do mean little). He marches to the check out and the cashier says, "Oh, I see you picked out a male."

Now, Husband happens to know that the females are much less colorful, but he likes to play innocent, so he asks, "How do you know it's male?"

She points to the lid of the carton in which the fish is swimming. It says, "MALE".

Why Husband tells this stuff on himself, I'll never know.

Anyway, he is a funny looking fish (no, I don't mean Husband. That's for another blog entirely). He is very small, and he has an extremely undershot jaw,(the fish, people, the fish!) more than any of the others we've had.

I named him Tyke,  much to the dismay of Daughter. Hey, if she doesn't like it, she can get her own fish.

Say hello to Tyke: