from the porches

blame it on the moon

 

A couple of things happened today for some unknown reason, because surely, they shouldn't have.  The first was when I received a phone call from the vet's office today:

Vet:  Mrs. George.

Me:  Yes?

Vet: The groomer is finished giving Bubba his summer cut.

Me:  Great!

Vet:  Well, Mrs. George.  Bubba had a hard time standing up.

Me:  Yes.  I told the groomer that he had a bad leg and had a hard time standing on four legs.  In fact he is basically a three-legged dog.  It's his hip that's the problem.

Vet:  Well, Mrs. George.  Because Bubba couldn't stand up very good, the groomer kind of shaved one of his nipples half off.

Me:  WHAT?

Vet:  Yes, but we stopped the bleeding and put antiseptic on it and then we glued it back on like we do stitches.

Me:  You're kidding me, right?

Vet:  No, mam.  But we're not going to charge you for that.

Me:  Well, I would hope not.  And by the way, how much do I owe you for the summer haircut?

Vet:  $80.00

Me: Well, thank goodness you didn't charge me for the rest!

....

Amazing!!!

  Folks, I blame this on the moon.  What do you think?

Then later this afternoon I take my mother to High Springs to get her toe nails clipped since last Tuesday's appointment didn't work out because of the bank fiasco. 

Everything went fine.  We even drove through the Bank of America drive-thru window with no irritation whatsoever.

After that we drove around the block to turn left on Main Street when we noticed smoke next to one of the antique stores.  Then we see flames scooting across the fresh mulch, right under the electric fuse boxes.

Leave it to me.  Ta Da!

I call 911 to report a fire on Main Street in downtown High Springs.

But then I see tourists milling around the spreading flames and I see a buisnessman rushing through the crowd with a fire extinguisher, spraying the flames.

So I hang up on the 911 call I placed to the police department, and drive on around to The Great Outdoors to have a relaxing dinner with Mom.

But as I step out of the car, my cell phone rings.

Me:  Hello.

PD:  Mam, we just received a 911 call from this phone number.  Do you have an emergency?

I then explain about the tourist and the fire extinguisher, etc. and thank the police for returning my call and that I hope I didn't bother them.

Then Mom and I go into The Great Outdoors to eat.  And while we're munching on hot bread with honey butter, guess what we see?

FIRE TRUCKS!

Yes, indeed.  The Fire Department is coming to the rescue.

So now I'm wondering if I'm a girl hero?  Or Heroine?

..........

Anyway,  I blame this whole entire day on the full moon.

What else could it be?

 

the tooth fairy

Madeline is growing up so fast. 

Now she wants to talk "school" with me; and when I ask what she's learning, she will tell me in detail.

Recently, the tooth fairy exchanged Madeline $5.00 for a bottom tooth the size of a pea, and on Sunday she told me the tooth fairy was bringing her another $5.00 for the tooth she lost during dinner.

I then told her how Nana got a dime (a whopping 10 Cents) from the tooth fairy.  She looked at me and squinched up her cute little nose.  I'm not sure she knows how much that is yet, but she will soon.
 
 

car wash cackles

Yesterday Truett and I were in Alachua running errands when Truett said, "Hey, let's get the car washed while we're in town."

"Okay,"  I said. 

Then I began visualizing bubble art like the photograph above.  I have not taken many pictures lately, so in a sick kind of way, I thought driving through the car wash would be the perfect avenue for more interesting bubble art.

Of course, I knew we would see the big rollers. . .

 And the opaque lights through the front windshield; but I never expected to see this. . .

You've got it! 

That is Truett's arm.  Just as we were pulling to the stopping wedge, I heard Truett yell out an expletive,  "Oh Crap!" (sorry folks.  I had to clean up his language)  It seems Truett's mind was elsewhere.

Well, I cackled and cackled and cackled.  I laughed so hard I cried. . .

And it felt good. 

Thanks for the laugh, Truett.
 

pink dogwood dilemma

I don't look at the beautiful dogwood trees without remembering an incident I had when I taught in Savannah, Georgia.  

When I went to University of Tennessee, each spring the dogwoods bloomed.  White ones and pink ones.  

Well, when I was teaching in Savannah, under my first woman principal, I had a real eye-opener.  Each teacher was responsible for the office bulletin board that greeted parents.  My turn was in April, right during dogwood blossom time.

So I took coke bottle tops, rounded-cut pink tissue paper strips about two inches long, layered and glued the tissue strips in the opening of the bottle cap and put a yellow construction center on each 3-D pink dogwood blossom.  Then I carefully cut brown strips for the branches of the tree and glued each 3-D blossom to the tree limbs.  Kapow!  The bulletin board was gorgeous!

Two days went by and I got compliment after compliment on my beautiful bulletin board. 

Except for one person: the principal. 

She called me in her office and told me to "Take that down.  You are misleading our students.  There is no such thing as a pink dogwood."  I argued with her for a little bit and told her I could prove that there were pink dogwood blossoms.

At which point I called someone (I'm thinking it was my twin), and said,  "Mail me a pink dogwood blossom."  And I explained my predicament.

The pink dogwood blossom arrived in a white jewelry box covered with white tissue paper.  I showed my principal and she responded, "That's fine.  But pink dogwoods don't bloom in Savannah, so take that bulletin board down."

"Yes, mam," I answered.  Then I put up some store bought poster of "Spring" and labeled it "Spring", and immediately applied to teach at a different school. 

Sometimes, for the fun of it, I look at my white dogwood blossoms across my driveway and imagine they're pink.

So there!

 
 

kissing eyelashes

This afternoon Truett and I took Maddie and Oliver to swim lessons at the UF swimming complex.

My brother, Steve (from Nashville), went with us while Mom's neighbor stayed with Mom.  

It felt good to be in the fresh spring air watching the grandchildren swim.  

 It felt good to exhale.

Maddie was the youngest of three girls in her class, but she was the strongest swimmer.  That's pretty good considering Maddie is 6 and the other two girls appeared to be 9 and 11 years old, or thereabout. 

  Meanwhile, Oliver was exactly where he needed to be to learn swim basics.

 All the children get rewarded with cookies following their lessons.  The children say that's the best part.

But that's not my  best part. 

No siree, Bob.

My best part is kissing the grandchildren's wet eyelashes!
 
 

the outing

This afternoon Mom and I took an outing:

First stop:  Bank of America. I imagine after our trip there this afternoon, BOA wishes that old Mrs. Sanford would withdraw all her money and bank elsewhere.

It started out fine.  We sat down and her favorite banker, Michael, came over and doted on Mom.  He told her she looked great and she told him she felt great . . .and then she let him rub her slightly furry balding head.  But Michael was not who we needed to see.

We needed to speak with the loan officer who could add me to Mom's account and jiggle funds from one account to another. 

Well.  The young girl loan officer was helping a cute 30'ish male customer, so we waited our turn.  And we waited. . .and waited . . .and waited.

Clearly this young man's business was done (I know because I have ears in the back of my head, being a teacher and all); and another young female loan officer came out and started chatting with the others.  But then it turned sour.  They began giggling.  And giggling.

Uh, oh!  I could feel Mom's tension building by her deep sighs, her twisting and turning in her chai,r and her blurts, "Are they done yet?" 

So I hurried up to Michael and said, "Michael, it's not right that they're socializing since we've been here about 45 minutes and my mother is about to lose it.

Then, before I could return to my seat, I hear my mom shout, "Are y'all done now?  We've been waiting over an hour and I'm an old woman . . .and I'm SICK!"

Well, instantly another employee of the bank rushed over and said,  "Is there a problem?" 

I answered, "Yes.  We've been here quite a while and my mother really needs to take care of her banking business."  Then I whispered,  "She's just been through two chemos and this is her first outing and she's about to fall apart."

To make a long story shorter, the third employee took care of us, Mom had to cancel her toenail clipping appointment with Christy, and we hurried to The Great Outdoors to eat dinner with Mom's friends from her neighborhood.

I really wish the story ended there, but it didn't. 

The trip to The Great Outdoors Restaurant  wasn't nealry as harsh as the trip to Bank of America. Plus,I warned all the friendly waiters and waitresses at the restaurant that Mom was a little testy and forgive her if she snapped at them.  They were so nice.  They bowed to Mom.  They smiled.  Poor Blake, our waiter,  put up with Mom calling him "Brett" or "Brad" or "Whatever your name is." 

But, all in all, dinner was a piece of cake compared to the banking experience.

Lordy me.  Now I'm showing re-runs of photographs because the story doesn't end here.

On to Winn-Dixie, the local grocery store, only to find out the doctor did not fax a prescription for Mom's sleeping pill.  So when I returned to the car Mom says, "I have a story to tell you."

"Okay, Mom."  And she begins.

So I see this little girl in the parking lot and I wave my hand out the window and yell,  "Hey, little girl.  Come here.  Little girl, come here!"  But the little girl doesn't come here.  Instead she runs to her mom's car and says, "There's an old lady yelling at me, "Hey, little girl.  Come here."

By now I'm thinking that this outing was a bad idea.

So the mom of the little girl comes over to the car and it's Christy, the toe-nail clipper person...(I'm sorry here, folks.  The Pedicurist.)

And she hugs my mother's neck and tells her she looks great and she rubs her head and says, "I'm going to see you next Tuesday since you had to cancel today."  So...I guess alls well that ends well.

Finally, we arrived home.  Mom fell into the bed and I raced to the computer.

By the way, have you had any exciting outings lately?  And Myk.  Where the heck were you today?...but thanks for having the mashed potatoes and catfish menu ready for my mother.

PS. Blake.  We still love you even though Mom doesn't want to remember anyone's name.

 

 

 

 
 

whirlwind

Since late January I have been in a whirlwind dealing with Mom's doctor appointments, surgeries, chemotherapy, fevers, trips back to the hospital, and ultimately moving Mom in with us.

Now, two months later, the winds have died down and my new routine and added responsibilities are settling out.

Mom has had virtually no side effects from her chemotherapy session last Thursday, which is a blessing for us all.  She's chatting away, reading books again, and eating solid foods.  I can tell she's feeling better because now she is back to voicing her political opinions. . . loud and clear!

Mom and I are running a couple of errands tomorrow.  Tuesdays were always our night out.  I've spoken with a friend from The Great Outdoors Restaurant in High Springs; and they will be cooking up some mashed potatoes, especially for mom.

I don't miss the whirlwind at all.  Now I can think clearly again.

PS.  I do have to remind Mom later that the big, brass bell I bought is for emergencies ONLY!  

 

train trip

 
 Today Mom and I were remembering the train ride we took in 1962 from Tennessee to Seattle, Washington.  I had never taken a train ride longer than three hours before, so it proved to be quite an experience.  One I will always remember.  One that has kept me longing to travel west and northwest.

 
We rode the Silver Bullet for three to four days to get to Washington state.  Miles and miles and miles of America whizzed past the windows and I took it all in.  I had never seen mountains or cacti or cowboys.  Sherry and I rode in the upper deck where we got a panoramic view of America.

I will never forget eating in the dining car with table-clothed tables, silver teapots and butlers with white hand towels draped across their forearm.  I was enthralled with a couple of Nuns who ate grapes from their picnic basket at their feet.  I had never seen a Nun in habit before so I would sneak glances over the seat back wondering about their lives.

I remember not wanting my chips, but instead, I longed for the Nuns' grapes.  (I have to be careful here because sometimes I get my facts mixed up and my hand is called on it, but I think they were grapes. . . or plums, maybe). 

Before our train trip to Seattle to visit my Aunt and Uncle and cousins, I had been working part-time at the Clarksville High School library for a whopping $100 a month.  I had saved a little of my paychecks and ended up buying a grey, kitten hand puppet.   As soon as little children on the train heard this, they flocked to the facing seat across from mine; and I entertained them.  By the end of the train trip, I had had enough of little kids, believe me. (Little did I know I would end up teaching children for forty-six years).

 
Trains. 

Thinking about that train ride certainly is a reprieve from real life.

floppity flop

I find all I can write about is my Mom, but then, that's what is consuming my life right now. So be patient.  One day I'll get back to blogging about silly birds or gopher turtles or armadillos.

 Mom had a great day yesterday.  I took her to Gainesville for her Nulasta shot which follows chemotherapy.  We walked in the clinic and right away Mom told the nurse to "Tighten that bracelet.  It's going to fall off onto the floor."

At which point the nurse looked at me and whispered,  "She's an ornery one, isn't she?" 

I smiled and said, "Yes."

The nurse then said, "I love it!  So many cancer patients have no spunk left!" 

You may know she took a spill night before last.  As she tells the story:

"I put my right hand on the walker and took my left hand off and all my weight went to the right and floppity flop. . .I went down and then I just sat in the corner."

 Truett  now calls Mom Curly.  She doesn't mind.  She says, "My hair doesn't matter to me.  It will grow back and if not...so be it!"

So that's where we are.  She did tell me her eyes felt all gobbily gook yesterday as we were driving through Alachua on our way home.  Merry Jennifer says it may be the Prednisone which will make her feel kind of crazy.  That's too bad because she had just gotten to where she could read again.

Have a nice day my friends.

ms alice

This is my mother, Ms. Alice.  Since my Dad passed away in 2004, Ms. Alice came into her own.  After grieving for the loss of my dad, one day she said, "Guess what. I never have to cook supper again!"  And she didn't.

Ms. Alice lives with me now, and many people are involved in her life to make her understand that the cancer she has is curable and she will survive if she has the will and the want to and the strength, which means she has to do her physical therapy exercises and not lay in the bed all live long day. 

 
  Now this is Ida Mae, my mother's "sitter" by day.  Of course, right away my mother said,  "Now, I like that woman."  And we do too.  Ida Mae is a talker...a loud talker, so my mom doesn't have to say, "Come closer if you expect me to hear you!"

Ms. Alice has been saying a few things that get me and Ida Mae laughing so hard we cry.  For instance:

Good golly Miss Molly.  Who wants to live to be 96 years old?

or

reflecting on her life six weeks ago and feeling down and out, Ms. Alice waves her hands at her side and says, "That life is under the bridge...under the bridge...under the bridge."

But we don't think so!!

So there, Ms. Alice!

Unfortunately, this is Ms. Alice's lymphoma.  But the good news is:  All that blistering sore has disappeared.  This is a sad picture for me to look at because Ms. Alice is a fighter. . .and given the right mindset, she will conquer that nasty old cancer.

I did photograph Ms. Alice after she had her head shaved, but I didn't like the stupid fluorescent stocking cap she wore, so I am NOT posting it! 

Ms. Alice told Ida Mae the other day to "Beat the snot out of that blue pill so it doesn't float in her Ensure milkshake (made with vanilla ice cream, of course).

I love Ms. Alice.  . . even though she embarrasses me at times.  You know.  We're in a restaurant and she will say, "Come here, Blake or Mike.  Merry.  Tell them about the time you were football queen!  That's when I want to scream, "Leave me out of this!"

Ms. Alice is a fighter of strong mind and strong will. . .and I am lucky to be her daughter.