How and Why?

Pot roast and kabobs are out, since we don’t eat meat anymore… (cry for me!) so I cruise the net for meat-less, wheat-less, sugar-less, tasteless recipe items that somehow resemble normal food.

This looked promising. A small potato, two eggs, half a cup of greek yogurt, half teaspoon baking powder. That’s not hard. They are supposed to look like ordinary buns. Instead, the buggers came out resembling – and tasting like– hard cooked eggs.

I give up.


Whist I bemoaned the outcome of my hard work, the man tried to put a good spin on it. Trust me, he doesn’t want me to stop trying. ‘It’s not bad, just bland’ and ‘maybe with some steak sauce?’

I’d walked into the Florida room (away from the mess) and heard him say “Let’s leave this shit and go to Taco Hell”.

For some reason the man and I laughed for 20 minutes solid.

Clarity

While no one can truly love their wrinkles, infirmities and seemingly endless doctor visits… the distance age provides can be healing. I’d rather be young and firm, but peace that comes from understanding is its own reward.

To wit:

I left my horse on the farm with mom when I moved out. A few months later she’d sold the horse and all the tack.

‘Rage’ is too calm a word for the feeling I nurtured for most of my adult life. The newer saddle had taken me months of saving to buy! And my horse! (The one I hadn’t even been back to visit because I was too busy.)

What did I expect?? This old woman with rheumatoid arthritis was supposed to toddle across the pasture to the barn to feed and water the horse? Well, no feed in the summer.

She did what she had to do, what she’d done every time I looked away from some possession. Sell it or give it away. Birthday and Christmas gifts came with the understanding that I lose it and everything else if she wanted.

So I grew up not prizing things. They’re temporary. Easily taken away. I prefer a small amount of possessions, just enough to fill the smallest UHaul. A stark contrast to my hoarder husband.

Anyhoo, I forgave my mom and I hope she forgives me for being a shit about everything. Wherever she might be…

She was 43 when I was born; already tired of bullshit.

Age, my Friends

Is a big, besotted bitch. Truly. She loves making us look like fools. And nothing makes us feel elderly like really stupid mistakes, right?

Arriving fully five minutes ahead of my appointment, I found the dental office closed and locked. A quick call revealed that my appointment was for MARCH 17!

So I came home and pigged out on ice cream. It IS Fat Tuesday, after all!

There was another really stupid thing I did yesterday that is beyond the reach of what few brain cells are left.

Pictures of Mike working on the plumbing…


Being at one with the pipes.

*Silly man pretending to sleep.

Yes, plumbing makes me doze right off as well…

*I wouldn’t say he’s silly if he wasn’t such a sweetheart.

In the Dark

The power goes out and every little thing turns to bollocks. Stupid things, just because it’s dark and the quest for light is an overpowering need. Also, coffee.


Using a flashlight I took a candle out of the pantry and lit it; a beeswax. I’ve gotten a lot of hours from already, which is why it’s my go-to. It’s sitting on the counter while I pop back under the counter into what I think of as my ‘light cubby’.

And bent over like that, my hair caught on fire.

If you’ve not experienced this bit of lunacy… thank goodness. It’s a mess. A big mess.

Ash was everywhere; my clothes, the floor, counter, sink… oh, along with burnt globs of hair.

The smell is such that I’d have preferred a skunk invade my underwear drawer for a week!

Though waking my husband was not on my to-do list a shower was a definite must. As I pulled off my clothes and ponytail thingy more burnt hair and ash… should have done that in the kitchen. (After all, it was dark.)

No, you don’t get pictures. And tomorrow, I’ll hopefully get it repaired or shaved off.

EDIT

Simply adding that six weeks ago my hair was chopped off short. It was much too long, so… impelled by the mythical ‘wild hair’ I gave my husband a pair of shears and told him to cut it off.

And he did.

Now? Bet he thinks I’ve got a hair vendetta.

No, haven’t looked at it yet.

Bag

My Mom’s wee bag from the 40s or 50’s – not sure which. She danced on Lawrence Welk once and I can’t help but wonder if she purchased the purse for that reason. It was a very big deal, back then.


Just think… every little pearl bead was hand stitched on. That must have been labor intensive.

Should have taken a picture of the interior; it’s pristine.

Never been to an event which would have merited a clutch of this beauty. Which is a damn shame.

The Sky

Yesterday, Mike’s birthday.

Okay, I’ve obviously watched too much t.v. Can’t stop looking at the picture.

What I see: clearly, the world is about to end because there’s a mushroom cloud to the north. So, a lion is lifting a bear (really!) to a beautiful fountain to get… what? I get stuck there. Elixir of life? Grape soda??

Hmm…

SICK of IT

Okay, I’m old. Goodness knows it’s shoved in my face on a near consistent basis. Like a survey that lumps everyone 65 and over into one group: the last one. As if all of the 65 and overs are irrelevant to companies/marketing firms.

And this email from LabCorp made me want to press charges:

It’s fine, thanks.

Are you kidding me?? We get enough geezer mail from “Long Term Care” facilities and funeral homes, fer cripe’s sake!

In other news, I’m sick of the dadgum bamboo! Here we are again, trimming it into a mushroom…

Looks like I need to power clean the pavers again. There’s no rest for the OLD! Take that, LabCorp!!!

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