Monthly Archives: October 2013
My oldest daughter loves Halloween.
No, really loves Halloween.
Like over-the-top loves Halloween.
She’s always been like that, too. And her husband? Oh, he’s just as much in love with Halloween as she is.
They take weeks to decorate their house, and win the ‘Best House’ award every year. On Halloween night, people from all over the county load up their cars and trucks, SUVs and mini-vans, all to come visit this one house. She has hundreds of visitors, and many repeat ‘customers’ throughout the night. We turn the entire garage (or yard, depending on the weather) into a haunted house. We’ll have “Jason”, a “Freddy” and always a chainsaw killer.
The whole family pitches in most Halloweens, and we all buy candy. I’ll bet we pass out $300 worth of it at least.
But, even before the trick-or-treating she has a party for all the kids in the neighborhood.
And I do mean all.
So, this before-party is something I’d never been asked to be part of until this year when everyone else bailed on her.
This should probably me my first clue, but I’m clue-less.
A week ago I agreed to help, and then jumped on Pinterest to find peanut-free treats.
You know how you can see something on Pinterest and think “I can do that..” only to have it not work out like the picture?
Well, at least not this time.
(I almost forgot to post the ‘before’ pic of my bat cookies)
So, these are buttery cookies filled with plum jam – you can use any red jam for this – that you then poke holes in to make it look like a vampire bit into them. Theoretically, the jam will run out the holes a bit and look like blood.
Voila!! Vampire Bat Bite Cookies!
And when that doesn’t happen, just enlarge one ‘tooth’ hole and add a little jam with a toothpick to make it look gory.
So, could I do it twice? I mean find another peanut-free treat to make for the party?
Apparently, I can.
These are sooooooo easy. Cut a big marshy-mallow in half (wet the knife, it’ll be easier), dunk the halves in water for a second and then drop into a bag of colored sugar and give it a shake. Top with a drop of green icing for the stem.
I figured two for two was good, so I wasn’t going to try again.
But my oldest is bold and brave….
And so are her kids!
And why do I keep hearing Lloyd Christmas shouting “I GOT WORMS!” in my head?
Yes, those perfectly creepy kids are two of my gran-chillun’ Their mama has instilled the love of all things Halloween-y in them.
I’m very proud.
Also, I want the little guy’s t-shirt.
So have a spook-tacular Halloween, and if you come to my daughter’s house I’m the witch with the long black hair and the creepy cackle.
Don’t get too close, I hear children go good with worms and bloody bats.
I’ll get you my pretty! And your little dog, too!
Last Tuesday my baby girl had to put her beagle to sleep.
It was the first puppy she and her husband had ever had together.
She was 11, and had kidney disease and an enlarged liver that was probably filled with tumors.
She had been sickly off and on for a year, but nothing really that major, until a few days before her last trip to the vet when the vomiting and diarrhea were constant and alarming. She also refused food and water most of the time.
My baby girl called me, her voice a sobbing tear-filled wail of pain.
“Mom, the vet said she’s dying and there’s nothing they can do.”
“Oh honey, I am SO sorry.”
“She said we should put her to sleep because she is in pain and feeling sickly. But, Mom she’s bouncing around the office and wagging her tail…and I cannot make this decision on my own…” her voice trailing off into sobs…”can you come get the baby? She’s been here like two hours already and she’s getting antsy. My husband is taking off work early to be here.”
“Sure.” I limped my swollen back up there and got her, brought her back to my house and fed her peanut butter and jelly. A couple of hours later I had to take her back to the vet and drop her as I was going for my MRI.
When I got to the vet, the tech was walking into the exam room carrying a taped up box which I knew carried the remains of the spunky little beagle.
My first grandpuppy was going out in a storage box, and they were taking her home to bury her in the backyard of the home she’d only lived in for a year.
My baby girl and her husband grabbed me and sobbed. I did, too.
I had no words. Not one.
There is nothing quite so painful as the loss of a loved one, and I don’t care if it’s “just” a dog, loss is loss.
So, Miss Jenny got the cancer and died on a Tuesday. They buried her in a shady spot in the yard she loved.
Forrest would be proud.
That’s all I have to say about that.
You know how you are always seeing the “Come to the Dark Side, We Have Cookies” meme?
Okay, maybe I’m the only one always seeing it, but back in the day it was the cat’s pajamas..or something.
Anyway, it’s true.
You see my once only-bad back apparently couldn’t hold out against the cookie temptation and went completely evil a week ago last Sunday.
And here you thought I was just lazy about updating my blog.
But, no…I was battling the forces of EVIL in my spine.
I was cooking dinner, I stepped back one step and was frozen in place. I could not move in any direction without pain that is what I imagine a lightning bolt shooting down your spine, through your ass, and into your legs feels like.
Not that I would know about lightning bolts, nor do I wish to learn, but it’s a white hot thing and so was this pain.
White. Hot. Exquisite (my word for pain that’s a 12 on a scale of 1-10).
The only ‘comfortable’ (and I use that term verrrrry loosely) position, was standing up with the top half of me bent over and resting on something…anything.
And walking? Fugeddaboudit! I looked like the old man from Laugh-In, the one Ruth Buzzi was always smacking with her purse…ummm…anyone remember that? Sigh….I’m old.
Anywho…I dragged my ass to the doctor on Monday, and had an MRI on Tuesday, and the bottom line is this.
My spine is fecked-up..totally FUBAR’d, screwed…in other words…a mess.
A hot mess.
A hot, painful mess of facet syndrome, ruptured discs (4), stenosis, arthritis, etc.
The doctor told me to take the week off (which I did and could get used to), and gave me assorted drugs to take to relieve pain and inflammation (again, I could get used to) and so slowly but surely as the week wore on I felt a little better.
Then, I drove to work this morning.
Forty miles. Forty painful miles.
And sat at a desk all day. After the first hour, the pain was excruciating…even with the delightful pain medication I was given. Of course, one can only take so much of that and function. I’d like to measure dosage in ‘handfuls’, but cannot find those instructions anywhere.
Injections have been suggested, but since 2001 I’ve had eight of those with zero results. So, thanks but no thanks.
I am waiting for someone to mention the “S” word soon, and not it’s not “S” as in Sam Winchester, because I’d be all yessssssssssssssssssssssss to that even though I prefer Dean, but hey if Sam is offered then Sam I’ll take.
No, “S” as in surgery.
This too, is not an option.
It’s because of the relatively low success rate, relatively high failure rate, and all that lies in between. If I’m going to have a fecked back, then fine I’ll deal with it. I don’t want some knife-happy surgeon trying to ‘fix’ me.
No, I’m not gonna go there.
Unless, of course, there’s cookies.
No, this isn’t a creepy Halloween-y type story. It’s really a cool story about veterans.
From the rabbit hole that is the ‘Net……
“While visiting some cemeteries you may notice that headstones marking certain graves have coins on them, left by previous visitors to the grave.
These coins have distinct meanings when left on the headstones of those who gave their life while serving in America’s military, and these meanings vary depending on the denomination of coin.
A coin left on a headstone or at the grave site is meant as a message to the deceased soldier’s family that someone else has visited the grave to pay respect. Leaving a penny at the grave means simply that you visited.
A nickel indicates that you and the deceased trained at boot camp together, while a dime means you served with him in some capacity. By leaving a quarter at the grave, you are telling the family that you were with the solider when he was killed.
According to tradition, the money left at graves in national cemeteries and state veterans cemeteries is eventually collected, and the funds are put toward maintaining the cemetery or paying burial costs for indigent veterans.
In the US, this practice became common during the Vietnam war, due to the political divide in the country over the war; leaving a coin was seen as a more practical way to communicate that you had visited the grave than contacting the soldier’s family, which could devolve into an uncomfortable argument over politics relating to the war.
Some Vietnam veterans would leave coins as a “down payment” to buy their fallen comrades a beer or play a hand of cards when they would finally be reunited.
The tradition of leaving coins on the headstones of military men and women can be traced to as far back as the Roman Empire.”
Elebenty hunnert years ago a little movie called “The Wizard of Oz” was made.
Almost as many years ago a young girl sat in front of a movie screen, transfixed.
Suddenly, the chaos of her world could all be left behind if she could only get somewhere over the rainbow.
There a magical land, peopled with magical folks, would be singing and sunshine.
Well, most of them anyway. The rest should watch out for houses. I’m just sayin…
The world of Oz was ordered, and beautiful, and kind, and a deep yearning was fulfilled in the end. And, home was everything it should be – soft and warm and safe and filled with love.
The little girl in front of the screen longed for a home like that. So much so, that she was convinced if she got some ruby slippers and clicked her heels together, the magic would sweep her away to a land where everything was lemon drops and dreams.
The little girl grew up, as little girls are wont to do, but the magic of Oz never left her. In times of trouble, she’d dream of the land over the rainbow.
When she was a young woman, the girl married a man as kind and big-hearted as the Wizard himself, and in time he made all her dreams come true, including this which was waiting for her when she got home from work last Thursday…proving that sometimes the man behind the curtain is great and powerful.
I feel like I’m spinning in circles.
And, I’m sitting still.
It’s kinda like being drunk, without the fun and with the nausea and disorientation.
I thought it was from the bronchitis/sinus infection I came down with last week.
But, it started several days after I started on the antibiotics.
Now, I think it may be fluid in my ear.
Or a reaction to the amoxicillin (Asks Uncle Google about that, finds that amoxi causes everything from anemia to throwing up – including dizziness – and in fact it’s the same friggin’ list for every drug, and what the hell..no, what the actual hell??)
Or all of the above.
All I know is I list to the port side when I walk, and I keep having to explain why I look like I’m drunk at 7:00 in the morning. We call that last one a “career limiting” move.
I’m also having trouble concentrating.
Maybe it’s a toom-uh (pretend Ah-nold said that last word).
Whatever, it’s not fun…like I’m told being drunk is.
Aaaaaaaaaaand Imagonna quit talking to Uncle Google. All he does anymore is scare the shit out of me.
Please tell me it is.
It. Has. To. Be.
And I shall loudly protest, holding up signs which reinforce my position and solidify my solidarity with others who feel the same way I do.
We shall form a mob and shout “HARUMPH!”
We shall wear arm bands, as soon as we agree on color, and no George we are not wearing puce. I don’t care what you say it looks like it sounds – puke.
Once you people realize I am on the right side of history we can all go have a drink, so hurry up because it’s bound to be 5 o’clock somewhere.
It all started about a year ago, and now I’m ashamed to admit I find myriad ways to feed my addiction.
I’m very creative in that respect.
I know, it’s a serious matter but I also know that I can’t (won’t) stop until I’ve hit rock bottom.
I’m only writing about it now, because I’m afraid that time will come.
Very soon, in fact.
I mean I can only think of so many excuses to take my car over to the Discount Tire just so I can score some free Green Mountain coffee, before someone catches on and makes me stop.
I know I could buy my own Keurig and brew my own Green Mountain, but it’s not the same. Any addict will tell you that part of the thrill is getting away with it.
*checks Discount Tire website*
Heyyyyyyyyy….did y’all know they have free tire pressure checks? I didn’t till just now.
Never mind all that nonsense above, I have…umm…a tire that’s low…or will be low in a minute. Trust me, I’m psychic like that.