Come On-A My House

This is not a good week for houses.  My mother's house (now in my custody) needs a new retaining wall or two.  My house needs all the plumbing ripped out and new plumbing installed.  Bet you didn't know that most houses built in the 80's have plastic plumbing and it can POP, BURST, EXPLODE, RUPTURE, SPLIT, or DETONATE at any given time - usually when you're out of town and you come home and everything you own on the first floor is soaked and looks like a banana peel because water never, ever, ever runs uphill.  That's just a principle of physics and you can bet on it.  My mother's retaining wall will not bother me because I'm not there to witness the mess.  I just get to write the checks.  The plumbing issue here will not bother me because the job will take place while we're out of town.  I will come home to new pipes and no more plumbing fears.  That's another lie.  I will come home to a house torn apart, literally, and will have to then deal with a drywall worker who will patch it back together.  And then I'll spend the rest of my days here walking around the house scrutinizing all the patches and wonder if he really did a good job or will they all have to be re-done.  We've lived in this house 30+ years and have had multiple drywall repairs and only one repair man did a good job.  Why not use him, you ask?  I lost his name.  I wish I could learn to do drywall repair.  In order to do this job, I think you have to be able to lift those huge drywall slabs and place them in your truck.  Then you go home and use drills and wall anchors and insulation and wires and window cutters and rope pulleys and carburetors and stuff and you really need to know what you're doing or you will make one big fat mess.  Of course, you will also need to get on the internet and read up on drywalling.  You can learn to do anything on YouTube.  But I don't have a truck.  So I'm back to relying on someone who knows someone's brother's uncle's sister-in-law's father who can do this job.  Please, dear God of the Toilets, don't let him be a drunk.  This house has some other problems that need fixin sometime soon.  On a happier note, the dishwasher died last night and I've taken it apart!!  YAAAAY!  Who needs a truck?

Rah Rah Rah!!!

Here I am again.  In my part of the world, Central Virginia, today was the first day of school. In my grandson's part of the world, the stars at night are big and bright, clap clap clap clap, deep in the heart of Georgia. Oh wait - that's Texas.  That's another part of the world, so I hear.  I was there once, visiting people I love.  They're still there.  I know Texas is a very large state, but who really lives there, other than the ones I love?  It's flat and windy and flat.  I'm from Appalachia.  You know, with mountains and green stuff - rhododendron and dogwood trees and such.   It would be difficult for me to live in Texas.  Plus, I can't wear cowgirl boots.  They all have leather soles and leather soles make, ahem, mature women slip, slide, and fall.  Trust my experience on this one.  Some mature women who write goofball stuff should wear saddle oxfords the rest of their lives.  I wore those for years and years - like from 1st grade to 12th grade. I reckon I couldn't walk back then, either.  Speaking of schools, the huzbin and I went back to our native Appalachia to attend my high school reunion.  I graduated 15 years ago and I must say, everyone still looks stunning.  And they all still have some sense. Well, most of them.  Sandy and I were classmates since 2nd grade.  Kai and I used to sit in Mr. Jackson's geometry class and act silly and laugh a lot and maybe or maybe not work on geometry.  Jerry was and is the village idiot, but he cannot help that - he was born that way. My high school reunion is a bit different than most.  It is always an all school reunion and because the school no longer exists (my home town enjoys tearing down older buildings like a 4 year old destroys his Lego towers) all those who graduated are quite loyal to the reunion.  There are precious artifacts like the school mascot and 73 yearbooks to peruse; sports celebrities to worship - even at this stage of life, they're still great; the marching band - never mind the fact that the last graduating class was in 1989, this band is still fantastic.  The school song must be sung!  The majorettes must perform (yeah, there are some very brave women out there) no matter their ages!  And the rally cry must be called!!!  It turns over 1,000 people into 16 year olds again.  Well, that and some alcohol.  You can be anything with a third vodka tonic in your hand.  We talked and talked and talked to many people we won't see until the next reunion.  And, sadly, some of them may not be there.  Yep, life is turning that corner.   It's a good thing to cherish and respect the good relationships we have.  I don't need to tell you that.  You learned that a long time ago.  

What a Loser

Yep.  Loser.  That's me and I'm down with it.  I looked on my blogger dashboard and saw the last time I posted was April.  That was in the springtime - when all vegetation was greening, the flowers and trees were blossoming, the butterflies were caterpillaring, the birds were egging, the pools were opening, and on and on.  And now it's August.  So what happened to time?  I think I've mentioned about 10,000 times that I'm now in adult hell.  I'm continuing to mother my mother.  She has been moved from assisted living to skilled nursing care.  I met with her care team a few weeks ago after they very correctly assessed her needs. And they have graciously let me know I'm on that team, too.  Oh joy.  For some freak reason that I cannot comprehend, the care team is on salary, yet I'm not.  Once again, I've been bamboozled.  I've also been tricked into visiting the facility more often.  The care team correctly assessed that she will not walk again.  Listen carefully to me, ya'll.  CONTINUE TO MOVE.  If you only walk around the house, CONTINUE TO MOVE.  If not, you will also end up in skilled nursing all too quickly with your college degree you worked like a dog to achieve,  yet now having someone tell you where to go after your 4:30 meal or Bingo game and how to map your way back to your room that is 5 yards away.  And it's time to change your diaper, even though you've told the nurse 4 times today you don't want it changed.  "DAMMIT WHERE'S MY WALKER???"  You don't move, you're gonna be that person.  
So on the happy flip side, my grandson began kindergarten today.  Yes, way down south, they begin school on August 1.  I'm assuming the end of January is the beginning of summer vacation.  His parents sent photos of him sitting on the steps in front of the house, waiting for the bus with his friends, boarding the bus.  It's killing me!!!!!! That kid is supposed to be about 3 years old.  Why is he now in kindergarten?  Where is the time going??  I'm afraid if I blink, he'll be in college!  I hope his kindergarten days are happy and full of love and fun.  He's such a sweetie.  I know he'll soak up every bit of schoolin' and come back and teach the rest of us some new tricks.  Because that's the way 5 year olds roll.  They are so eager and excited and they just have to bring it home for the rest of us.  Kinda really balances out where I am in life right now.  The bad and the good.  It's life, friends, and we only get to go around once.  KEEP MOVING.  
On another note, all you friends from high school - remember how we just had to monogram everything to be oh so cool?  I done did one for you to look at.  How dare I end the sentence with a preposition!!!

Knit One, Purl One

Good grief!!!  Where have you been??  I've been looking and looking for you.  Seriously, I have. Behind everything.  The trees, the furniture, just behind everything!  Of course, as usual, I'm lying.  I've been laid up, recovering, crippled, gimpy.  I've been in the bizness of putting surgery behind me.  Doing physical therapy and more physical therapy.  I want to be done with this yesterday.   Where's Ernest Angley when I need him?  Slap my forehead, scream "HEALED," and erase all those future PT appointments.  Sigh.....  So I had the surgery.  The huzbin, then the sister, took care of me.  What a chore.  "Do this." "Get that."  "I want."  No doubt they want this event to never, ever, ever occur again.  They were so good to me.  I have an amazing family.   Any one of them would step up and do whatever is needed at any given time.  They're good people - just like ya'll.  I know if I called any one of you for any reason, you would do your best to fill my request.  Don't start shaking in your boots and deleting me as a friend - I'm not going to do that to you.  But I really do have a good bunch of friends.  Some of my really good friends don't even do FB, if you can believe that.  They're missing the circus. 
 So during my confinement, I had an assortment of entertainments to keep me bizzy.  And because I'm a screwball, I have to have the "right" entertainment at the right time.  Apparently, this was the "right" season for knitting baby sweaters.  I have already knit seven sweaters, with three more in the lineup.  Who doesn't want to receive a baby sweater?  Even if you don't have a baby, you would need one to give to a new baby at some point.  That's how the daughter thinks.  She is the recipient of many, many baby sweaters, hats and booties because she has many, many friends who seem to enjoy the state of being knocked up.  When you have friends in that state, you need the baby sweaters.  And the recipients seem to really enjoy those sweaters because, let's face reality, very few people hand make anything anymore.  It's so easy to hit Target or the local baby shop/toy store.  Not that I don't like those places.  I love those places, but you never find a hand knit sweater/hat/booty there.  So I like to think my sweaters are a little special.  I would like to be able to associate a good memory with creating them, but you know my memory card has swiss cheese holes in it.  I began knitting when I was a little girl.  One of my mother's friends taught me the basics.  I played with it off and on as a young adult and now that I'm an old lady grandmother, it's only fitting that I'm knitting.  How I love a cornball rhyme.   I do love knitting and it keeps me off the streets and somewhat out of trouble. And it's very soothing to my brain. Maybe I can knit those brain holes closed.  That would be a good thing to do. Seriously.  I'm as seriously serious as I can be.

Protection

Yes, it's me again.  And I'm 5 days away from "going under the knife."  I bet you haven't heard that one in a long time.  I'm trying to fix up the bedroom that will be my prison quarters while I'm recovering.  If I recover.  If I live through the surgery.  You know, I have a bad post op history..... And every now and then I love drama.  Speaking of drama, let me give you some advice.  And let me preface this advice by telling you several things.  First, I know all of you have wonderful mothers.  Mothers who were/are your best friends, mothers who always told/tell you how pretty, intelligent, kind, thoughtful, generous, loving, ambitious, helpful you are.  I don't have that mother.  My mother is most definitely an alien from another planet - the planet where crazy and misery is the norm.  Name the crazy or misery, and I'll tell you a story about my mother.  For the longest time, the sister and I have known she isn't our "real" mother.  Why our real mother left two fabulous children is still mind boggling, but now we're left to deal with the pretend crazy mother. The second thing is this - when you don't get what you need from someone who is needier than a 3 year old, you look to other people.  And we have always done that.  I'm very grateful for good role models all my life.  And that brings me to the second thing I'm telling you.  A woman very dear to me told me when I was a young married woman, "Do not EVER, under any circumstance, take your mother into your home when her health fails.  You will also fail."  Knowing my mother would be hitting the health skids sooner than later, I kept that advice in my very empty brain.   I may disremember loads of things, but I ain't gonna ever forget that.  However, my dear older friend didn't tell me that moving my mother into a facility in my town would also be hell on earth.  In the past, I have told you in our family, lying is our first language and our modus operandi.  At least with the mother.  And, yes, it began with the sister and me so we take full responsibility.  But self preservation takes priority.  I remind you of this because now that my mother is in my town, lying to her has gotten quite intricate.  She knows very little about anything in my life because I cannot handle the intrusive, lengthy, condemning, CRAZEEEEEE questioning.  She shoulda worked for the Nazis.  But with this upcoming surgery, I've had to tell her about it BECAUSE SHE NOW LIVES IN MY TOWN!!!!!  And the hundreds of absurd questions..... I'm not even gonna go into them.  But I am gonna put a limit to the number of times she can call me during this ordeal.  Actually, she is not allowed to call me.  Some member of the family (Bwahahahahaha - suckers!!!!) can call and update her - with lies, if they choose.  Why?  Because she's such a negative person and when you don't feel well, you don't need someone telling you you're never gonna recover.  And don't eat such and such.  And don't do such and such, even if the therapist is telling you to do it.  And why did you blah blah and how much did that surgery cost ($25) and was the physician able to do his job (no, he is an alcoholic and my surgery is his therapy) and when is the last time you had sex?  Yes, that's my mother.  Maybe now you can understand a little bit why I like to make pretty flowers.  And yes, they're weird.  Like my mother.

This Crazy Life

Here I am again.  And, again, it's been quite a while.  I'm getting a little annoyed that sometimes real life takes over my lovely little world and I don't get to play as much.  My lovely little world has been changing over the past year, but I really got socked in November.  I've shared my woes with some of you, and you've been sooooo good to me - listening and comforting and scolding and promising to hide the bodies if it comes to that.  In November, a big fat tumor the size of a lemon was found in my groin.  After 10,000 tests (most of which involved enough radiation to wipe out my end of town), biopsies, consultations, yadda yadda yadda, the tumor was determined to be a pseudotumor - a tumor that is full of stuff like you would find in your vacuum cleaner bag.  Thankfully, not serious, but must come out.  And that's not even the big stuff.  The big stuff is this pseudotumor was created because my 10 year old metal on metal hip implant decided to do a strip tease and throw some trash into another part of my body.  Trash that includes cobalt and chromium.  Hello, poisoned system.  There are some very ugly side effects of cobalt/chromium poisoning.  Like memory loss.  Bwahahahaha - three years ago, I had a surgery and suffered hyponatremia.  That's sodium loss that causes brain injury.  Yep.  That's me.  So I really don't need any more brain loss.  I practically have to be lead around on a leash as it is. Here's the fun part - I have to have hip revision and tumor removal surgery on the 25th.  I can't even begin to tell you my feelings about this, so I'll shut it.  Anyway, the huzbin and then the sister are going to be my nurses for a few weeks.  They'll make recovery fun, because they're fun people and we love to laugh a lot.  Unless, by that time, my brain is totally gone.  Crap.  I know them - they'll still laugh a lot, and they'll laugh at me.  But that's okay because this family operates on humor.  That's how we handle just about everything, including the very bad things.  We're good at approaching and digesting the bad stuff, but then we always seem to find something comical in every single situation.  We've decided it's our healthy way of dealing with crap.  Speaking of crap, I think we need some warm weather.  We don't have that yet in my town, so I made these flowers for you.  When you make flowers, you get to create whatever you want, so deal with it.  If I can deal with this upcoming surgery, you can deal with weird flowers.