I Broke My Scooter

I haven't blogged in a few days because I've been busy.

Busy moaning, crying, gasping, pouting, etc.

My scooter broke.

You know how when you are in bed and  you scoot your bottom over to get more comfortable?

Can't do it.

I am locked down, stove  up, tore up, messed up and hurt.

For some reason, when my bottom wouldn't scoot, I panicked.

Husband tried to calm me down, and moved me for me until I got comfortable.

I went to the chiropractor, but couldn't see the woman who has helped me before.

So I saw somebody else.

And now, I'm worse.

I got a massage yesterday and couldn't get off the table. She had already left the room so I could get up and get dressed. I had to holler, "My bottom won't move!" She graciously moved me for me.

This has got to stop.  I'm beginning to feel cheap and tawdry.

Wow! Tawdry would be a great Scrabble word!

I dug out the tinge unit, and of course the batteries were dead. They finally charged,and it gives me some comfort.

Tonight we are going to "The Atlanta Christmas Musical". Husband's first cousin is the co-writer to the score. We have tickets. Husband's Baby Sister is coming from Alabama.

MUST GO.

So I'll be electrocuting myself all night with a touch of muscle relaxant and pray for the best.

Toss a prayer up there for me, will ya?

A Little Conversation

WARNING: The following is a typical conversation around the supper table. It is not for the faint of heart.

Husband says something about where the (fill in the blank, I can't remember) is.

I sing the first line of "Where the Boys are".

Daughter, looking at me accusingly, "Is the second line of that song 'someone waits for me'?"

I smile and sing the first line again, adding the line she just told me. (I did a beautiful job, I might add).

She shakes her head. "They played that song all the time at work. I am so over that song."

Husband: "Connie Francis was very famous in her day. Just about every song she sang was popular."

Me: "She also produced Princess Leia."

Daughter: "Who?"

Me: You know, 'Star Wars'. "

Daughter "Oh. You  mean Princess Leia."  I said lee-uh, she said lay-uh.

Me: "Whatever."

Husband: "No, her mama was Debbie Reynolds."

Me: "I get those two mixed up all the time!"

Husband: "Her ex-husband, Bobby Fisher, said she was all fake."

Me: "Bobby Fisher was the chess champ."

Husband: "Oh. I mean Eddie Fisher."

Daughter: "Thanks a lot! Now that stupid song is stuck in my head."

Husband: (and he  means it) "What song?"

I begin a lovely rendition of "Where the Boys are."

Daughter: "Mama!!!"

And so it goes.

Happenin' Stuff

So much has been going on these past few days, I don't know where to start.

Thanksgiving was nice. We did the usual preparations, except we are all chipping in more and more and Mother less. She should actually be doing nothing but when you figure out how to keep her from it, let me know, okay?
Last year I was flat on my back and had to rely on Daughter to do my part, too. This year I hung in there and wasn't flat on my back until Friday. But the massage therapist has helped. If I ain't a lot better, chiropractor, here I come. I hate being on muscle relaxants too much, but sometimes that seems to be the only solution. Daughter and I are doing a duet at church tomorrow, so I may be hollering for help in putting on my pantyhose. I'm not sure it's possible.

Speaking of being flat on one's back, one of my dearest, bestest friend's husband fell off the roof and landed flat on his back. He has grievous injuries to his back and at least ten if not more ribs broken. One surgery has been done, the "real" surgery is set for Monday if his lungs have healed enough.

I am heartbroken for them. Their lives have changed forever. As she once told me, "There was  your life before you fell, now you have a life for after you have fallen."

If you are of the praying sort, get to it, please. They need it.

I have been asked to speak to the genealogy society here. I reckon it's because I'm so old they figure I can remember way back yonder. Unfortunately, I'm so old I can't remember way back yonder, so I'll read some of a book or two of mine and we can laugh and talk about it.

I can still talk real good.

And, speaking of books, mine are still selling pretty well. If you've missed one or two, you need to contact me. Also, Christmas is coming up and I have a book for just about every age.

Oh, and please raise your hand if you know my password for my e-mail.

Eh, me neither.

Later.

Do You Smell That? Part 2

Okay, so the charred rat was taken away to the woods, the air finally cleared and our house was beginning to get warm again.

I went out to the studio to blog and do some other work on my computer, when out of the corner of my eye I saw something scurrying close to the baseboards.

I'm sure you know what this was.

I sat really still, and in a few minutes, the mouse got braver and came out into the room, about two feet from me. When it started toward me, I said, "Okay, that's a little too brave." I started clapping my hands and the mouse spazzed.

Frantically trying to find a tiny uncovered place underneath the door that leads to the garage, it kept banging its head on the rug that was stuffed there. But finally, it found the place where it had come in and disappeared.

Mice: 2   Humans 0. (I know the first one fried, but talk about disrupting our lives!)

I gave Husband the good news. He asked, "Do I have to kill it?"

"Not if you don't mind all our wires being chewed in half. The choice is yours."

He sighed heavily and set traps.

No sign of a creature stirring today.

Not even a mouse.

Something's Fishy - I Smell a Rat

As you know, we haven't had heat in our downstairs since Saturday. It was 23 degrees this morning. 

Chilling news.

We took the little electric heater from the upstairs bathroom down and made do yesterday.

But this morning was a different story. When I hadn't heard from the service people by 9:05 a.m. I called them. I was on hold for an awfully long time, but finally someone came on and said they'd be here this afternoon.

So we set about building a nice fire, which began to warm the living room (a little bit, it had to warm the firebox first) and put the electric heater on the other end of the room. We got up to a brisk 61 degrees in the living room, but it felt  much colder. The cold seemed to be coming off the walls and floor in waves.

Not more than half an hour later, the office called back and said they'd had a cancellation and would be here in a few minutes.

The fellow arrived about a half hour later, turned on the heat pump and a foul, burning smell filled the house. He went down stairs. Banging and thumping could be heard through the floors.

Eventually he came a'knocking at the door. "I found yore problem. But I don't know if ye want to see it er not."

"Is it a rat?" I asked. I had told Husband when the whole thing began it smelled like burnt meat. And I don't care how old the "little boy" is, I knew that gleam in his eye. He was about to show the girl something to squeal about. (no matter how old the girl is!)

The man grinned at me, and brought forth a very black, charred mouse corpse, it's tail suspended between the grip of a pair of pliers.

Now, I don't know why a mouse would decide to croak right on a heat strip of our heat pump, but he surely did.

The service tech had us back in business in no time, though the smell took a little while to go away.

We decided to keep the fireplace fire, the first of the winter.

I look forward to more fires, but I hope they are under more pleasant circumstances with less drama.

Speaking of drama, there was  more of that later on, but we'll chat about that next time, 'k?

FIRE!!

Yesterday, while still in jammies, just after coffee, we began to smell something burning in our house.

The smoke alarms were quiet, there was no smoke. The animals were calm.

I, on the other hand, was freaking out, at least on the inside.

Our house burned when I was seventeen, and once that happens, it changes you. I don't think about it much anymore, but boy, I was thinking about it yesterday morning.

Husband and I commenced to feel of walls, outlets, floors, ceilings and everything else that would stand still. Nothing felt hot. The switch box seemed fine. The attic space was cool and odor free.

I called the fire department and explained. A very nice guy said he'd send someone out.

A long time went by - maybe a half hour. Finally a guy (the same one I talked to on the phone, turns out) pulled up in a big red truck with a few lights around the hood.

He had this neat little sensor in his hand. It looked like a small TV on a stick. Anyway, it detects hot spots inside walls, or floors, or ceilings. He found none.

The smell was almost gone by now. He asked questions about the dryer (hadn't been on), the heat (yes, we'd used it numerous times already) and if all the lights worked. We went through the house and turned on every lamp, which is a big job in my house.

He said he was still worried, but couldn't do anything else. He also warned me, that if the smell came back to call 911, explain everything that had transpired. "We will decide if it's an emergency. If you had called 911 to start with, someone would have been here in a matter of minutes.  Instead, I had to round up a truck, and then wound up having to come myself. If you called 911, it's a first responder and everybody hops to it."

I meekly agreed to do this. We went about our day. Then last evening, it started getting chilly, so I went to the thermostat and turned the heat up. Guess what? The smell, oh, the smell.  It was worse; stronger than before.

I quickly turned the heat pump off altogether, and we aired out the downstairs a little. This morning the smell was still present, but faint.

So early today, before coffee, we (read Husband) hauled the portable heater downstairs and plugged it up. It got the temperature from 62 to 65 in the living room, which is quite acceptable.

We also have the fireplace if needed, so we'll be okay until Monday morning when a serviceman is supposed to call and come.

Thank God our house is still standing.

Thank God.

Busy Days

The past couple of days have been rather hectic. 

Day before yesterday I had lunch with a friend. She has retired, and we vowed we'd have lunch about once a month. Many months have passed, and although we have scheduled 101 times, this was the first time we actually, you know, ate together.

This doesn't sound like much to the average person - going out to lunch- but it's something I have to get over, which usually means bed for the rest of the day.

Whatever. It was worth it. 

Yesterday was the funeral day. Husband's friend was being put to rest. The funeral was out of town. It was an unusual funeral, for many reasons, and when it was over it could not have been raining any harder.

We were hungry; I had not had any food since breakfast. By the time I got in the restaurant, I was soaked. Yes, I had an umbrella. In fact I had a very  large umbrella. But my legs were soaked anyway. Through lined pants and leggings underneath that. Ugh.

We ate like pigs and drove home in a heavy rainfall.

Needless to say, it was another get-me-to-bed-quick kind of evenings. 

Tomorrow I'm having lunch with another friend then taking Mother to the doctor.

I think I'll just go ahead and get ready for bed now.