Buttered Crumbs

I hobble into the kitchen intent on making myself some soup and buttered crackers. Evan takes a look at me and tries to send me back to bed.

I have this covered, mom. You go.

Well, I want crackers too. Buttered.

Okay. Just pour how much soup you want in the bowl and go.

He brings me this.





Seriously Evan? This is how you butter crackers? For real? I have to take a picture of this. I'm posting this online for all the world to see...what did you do? Just randomly fling crackers and butter on the plate with your eyes closed? You DID have Occupational Therapy at one time...seriously? Your poor mother can hardly walk and this is how you bring her buttered crackers. I ask so little of you...

He starts making faces of my face while I am concentrating on taking this picture for all the internets to see with my camera phone.

Your face, mom. Your Face!

I don't care. Just look at these crackers!

I finally get the picture and post it online. Underneath I caption it "Evan brought me soup and crackers...he is still working on buttering skills..."

I settle back on my bed, swat a few cats away. Evan joins me with his SpaghettiO's.

I take a bite of my soup.

Oh for heaven's sakes, the soup is cold!

Of course it's cold! It took you 20 minutes to take the freaking picture!

Well, the lighting is so bad in here, you know.

I know.

Family Ties

The other day I was talking to Evan about family history. I showed him a picture of my second great grand aunt, Jane Murphy.

She looks Indian.

I think so too! It proves a theory I have about why I have hit a brick wall concerning how to connect her grandmother to the Field family from Virginia that...






Do we have anybody famous in the family?

Well, see here? This older lady, is Laura Onstott...she is my great great grandmother, and her father's brother was Henry Onstott, and he owned a cooper shop in New Salem, Illinois...you know, where Lincoln studied. They were friends...I've told you this. And that is her daughter, Aunt Maude. The chest in the front room was hers, and so is the white pitcher...

Oh! And the Field family, which would be cousins or uncles to Jane Murphy, her grandmother was Jane Field...well Joseph and Ruebin Field went along with Lewis and Clark! Isn't that exciting?




I pause to take a breath and he jumps in

I mean like was anybody on the Titanic?

Uh, no.

Well, did anybody at least travel on any of the White Star Line ships?

Let me get back to you on that.

Family Outing

Thursday afternoon the entire family came along to my water-boarding session. Lucky me. My torture takes place at a different hospital than the one that I go to for all of my other forms of torture that involve scanners, x-rays, MRI's and CAT scans that do not involve kittens in any way shape or form. And that sucks.

So, we travel to this hospital that is about 25 minutes away, because The Torturer is said to be the best at what my ailment and condition is. (let me state again for the record, NOBODY knows for sure just what my ailment or condition is.)

I'm dressed in jeans and a sweater because Evan wants to go out to eat at this Indian restaurant that he went to once and has been wanting to go back for the longest time. Ward (who I might rename Eeyore ) was up to it but wasn't sure if I would be. Oh hell yes, I would go if I had to crawl...

Anyway, The Torturer calls me back and has me change into a pair of paper shorts. I get up on the table and she tells me

Today I am going to stretch out your scar tissue.

My what? Where?

You might have some internal scar tissue from your surgery that is pulling on your connective tissues blah blah blah blah causing your back pain

And with that she put one hand under my ass and the other on my tummy. And she stayed like that for 10 minutes. With her eyes closed. Not saying a word. Um, yeah.
And people, she came out of her trance

Did the scope go through your bellybutton during your surgery?
(she lifts my shirt up)

Yeah, and here, and here...I think she used my stretch marks as entry points so she wouldn't leave a new scar.
(I make a har har har sound because I thought I made a clever joke. Then I realized just how weird this whole thing was...so I har har har'ed again)

People, she stuck her finger in my bellybutton. I swear to God. I couldn't remember if I washed it out when I took my shower. Was her finger going to come out smelling like Parmesan cheese? Like toe jam? Like the smell behind Evan's ear? (he informed me this is what his bellybutton smells like when he proofed my post...I had to add it in) I was mortified.

Uh, har har har, what are you doing in my belly button?
(as I lay on the table in paper shorts thinking that Impending Doom was fast approaching)

Oh, same thing with the internal scar tissue blah blah blah blah

She closed her eyes again and began sticking her finger further into my bellybutton, making circular movements as she sunk in towards my spine.

Another 10 minutes went by and she opened her eyes

Do you have any more scars? Any older scars on your body?

I directed her to both knees and decided to keep the scars from my breast reduction in '87 a secret. (yes, people...I know, once I was so excited to finally get boobs...but they didn't know when to stop)

After the session was over, I hobbled out to my family and we headed off to the car and on out way to the Indian restaurant. (which I would tell you about, but too many swear words were said.)


Now, I have never had Indian food in my life, but I was excited to try it...especially when I saw so many lamb dishes on the menu. I LOVE LAMB. The dish that I ordered was called lamb pasanda and described in the menu as "boneless lamb cooked in a mild butter sauce"...they had me at butter sauce.

If you look at this picture, the butter sauce is red....har har har. I asked my authentic Indain waitress if I had the right order, you see, I was expecting, oh, A CREAMY WHITE BUTTER SAUCE...but, according to Ward Eeyore all Indian sauces are red because of the Curry. Ward Eeyore is an expert, you know. (wink wink)

So, my authentic Indian waitress assured me I was served what I ordered, but I still had my doubts because she totally gave me the stink eye as she walked away.

So there I was, in total pain and agony, my belly button having just been violated, picking through my mild buttered sauced lamb with my fork, when the waitress comes back and says to me

You can use your spoon, ma'am (MA'AM!) to mix the sauce with the rice

Oh, okay, har har har.

She turns away and I tell my family

Good Lord, I can't even eat Indian food right. I'm hopeless. Broken and hopeless.

Pretty much, mom, pretty much.

The First Shot Is The Deepest

I checked my purse several times to make sure that my Epi-Pen was in place. Convinced this poster above my hospital bed was an actual sign from God that IMPENDING DOOM was headed my way. I was waiting to go across the hall for the injection in my Sacroiliac Joint. (yes, I cried when the stuck the needle in the first and second time. And yes I said "Can we be done now please" in a voice that can only be described as half whimper half Cocker Spaniel) I studied it for a awhile and debated on whether I should steal it and tack it on my fridge at home...After all, anxious and scared, along with not understanding why my body is deciding to be a major asshole since August 18th seems to be my new decorating theme (along with Fentanyl patches and Lidoderm wrappers, and assorted bottles of pain pills that stop working and make ER trips a new part of my life.


And then I thought if I mention feeling anything on the poster, they just might wheel me up to the psych ward...I am looking a little crazy these days...but at least it would a change of scenery for bed-rest...hmmm

A Long Long Time Ago

Days after these pictures were taken the most wonderful thing EVER to happen in the history of my world (besides getting boobs) happened.





And it wasn't my grandparent's getting new wallpaper. Or curtains...excuse me, SHEERS. Oh, I think we lived with that lovely combo at least until I got my boobs, and that was well into my teens. And that was the '80s. The 1980's.

The most wonderful thing ever was Sesame Street made its debut, and with it, so did this song...which was my absolute FAVORITE! And fueled my continued love for Madame Alexander Dolls to this day...(though since Evan has informed me he isn't having children of his own, I must leave my collection to some poor orphan girl...taking applications now...)

Yes people, I am officially older than Sesame Street. As Oscar would say, "Suck it".

And, is anybody else concerned about a one year old child near open flame like that? Without an adult near? Do you notice the lack of people or decorations at this festive party? Almost like they just set a cake WITH AN OPEN FLAME in front of me and left the camera on auto play and went in the other room to watch Walter Cronkite or something while I just amused myself...you know things were a lot different in the 60's...we even had lead paint back then.


*Okay, now that I have my glasses on, I realize the cake with the lit candle is actually on the counter and not on my highchair tray...BUT, I still stand by the above statement...we did have lead paint back then, and I am willing to bet that this cake was served after my grandfather got home from work...and back then that meant it was cocktail time for my grandmother (all the housewives did it!) and one Budweiser was consumed. Not by me. And I'm pretty sure my mom made this cake. And I loved it.

Refund Please

I've been 41 now for almost 48 hours. Long enough to know I don't care much for it at all. I don't think it fits me...yes, 41 is too big. 41 has a rear end that I trip over when I walk. 41 is also too small. 41 makes the print too tiny too read. 41 makes my eyes go all squishy up, which we all know will lead to wrinkles that will last until death 'til us part. And that (as I have found out) is a freaking long time.



So, I am returning 41 for something else...for what, I don't know yet...I'll let you know when I find it.

Recyclying

22 years ago I secreted this purse from my grandmother's closet after she died. Inside one of the zippered pockets are wrapped toothpicks stamped " Stix, Baer and Fuller", a fancy St. Louis department store that went out of business three years before she did.

I think it completes my Jackie Kennedy Halloween costume perfectly.