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Showing posts from January, 2021

An ugly chair named Bular

  I have been on Chair Quest for a while now. The original plan was the bring the beautiful brown couch up from the living room. Sadly, there wasn't enough room for it, nor for the old green recliner. I scoured various online sources and couldn't believe the cost for a damn armchair.  As I was already out for groceries this afternoon, I stopped by Goodwill. I didn't expect to find much. But I was gravely mistaken. It sat next to a dented file cabinet and some tangled netting - stout and somewhat chubby, a collection of nicks and missing bits on the thick, lumpy wood, and a plaid-ish fabric not produced since the mid 1900s.  If furniture could be personified by a mythological creature, this chair was definitely troll. It was absolutely ugly. How ugly? The good people at Goodwill had been marking it down by dollars for weeks. I bought it for $2.29 and then drove home to collect Better Half and the F150. This wasn't a job for a weensy Escape. The young men that loaded it

Kidney beans, coffee, and tapioca

     I didn't sleep well. A bowl of raw kidney beans followed me around, occasionally pausing to whisper, You gonna die and other nonsense.   I'd walk into a room - it was there. I'd wander down weird halls - it was waiting at the far end. I got into an old Plymouth - it was on the passenger seat. While it was unnerving, it was also aggravating as hell. Don't piss me off in my dreams. It's not pretty. I bashed the bowls, screaming like some alien thing protecting claimed space.  I thought I was doing very well until the ceiling above cracked and then split, pouring in a flood of those damn legumes. Their weight pressed down on my, suffocating me, grinding against my skin. I woke up in a cold sweat and gasping. Fucking beans . This crapola stems from yesterday morning's shit news and the lack of answers. I crawled out of bed to feed the dogs and made my forbidden coffee. I didn't want to eat. This is why I keep soft food around. Today's breakfast: tradit

Yo. It's a kidney. Lay off the coffee.

  You know how someone tells you something and you waste countless hours dwelling upon it until it departs reality to become full-blown paranoia? That's me right now. Yo. It's a kidney. My primary care physician's nurse-o-the-week called Friday morning. It was weird. "We got your lab results back and Doctor wanted me to tell you that you have borderline kidney failure. She wants you to eat more protein and don't drink coffee." End of call. I shit you not. Who does that? Who tells a patient something that will scare the blessed fuck out of them and not tell them to make an appointment. Did she use the wrong words? Did she mean "disease" and not "failure" ? Does the pain in my back belong to my kidney and not my fucked-up spine? Did I pee today? Was it brown? Should I visit my nephrologist? Is it because of Lupus? We're still trying to find a rheumatologist that takes my insurance... well, one that's even in this area. The old one r

The terrible, horrible, no-good very bad morning

  Mornings aren't my thang. Though I love waking up early, and to a quiet house, I have to force myself to complete my daily routine at the start of each day. Sometimes this routine is absolutely flawless. Other times everything that can go wrong will do so. Today was the latter. It started off much like every normal morning. Got out of bed, went potty, grabbed the pill case that contains my synthroid. And dropped it. Pills everywhere. Not just the two synthroid. Nope. The after-breakfast and noon compartments, too. Two of the dogs came running to claim the two-second rule, meaning you have two seconds to pick something up or they will eat it. "Hershey, stay back!" I hissed, not wanting to wake up my mother and her demon dog. "Hershey, back ! God damn it, Piper, get out of here. Piper! Piper! Ugh, get back! " Five minutes later, all the pills were off the floor and I had climbed into my chair to sort them. Ten minutes later, I was back on the floor again in sea

Things I would have done but...

 I set out with good intentions today. There's a stack of things needing to be done but... Yeah, it's the "but" moments. But only. But then. But what about. Those moments when all momentum is lost. I'm having a week's worth of them. I wanted to get more knitting done. Unlike the savvy cousins on my dad's side of the family, this hobby stuff leaves me perplexed. But I turn 50 this year and knitting feels right. I didn't get much done; three rows while watching the WH presser this afternoon. It was nice to spend time with Better Half, an equally nice to hear intelligent WH/Administration answers given to complex reporter questions. I had also hoped to file some crap and transfer recipes to this blog. I filed, sort of. Two scraps of paper. Woo. I added more crap to the basket long after this pic was taken. I had also planned to go on a walk with Hershey. Looked outside and Nope . Cold and snowing. He was kind to me while I procrastinated filing. I DID man

Did we create a nation of idiots?

"There is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there has always been. The strain of anti-intellectualism has been a constant thread winding its way through our political and cultural life, nurtured by the false notion that democracy means that my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge."          - Isaac Asimov      I found myself reflecting upon Jake Tapper's segment from today, titled on YouTube as "Tapper: I wish I saw evidence these people had a conscience".  A clip, if you're interested:   America did have a conscience not too long ago. But we've invested a hella effort into stripping it away. I'll give up on people having a conscience -  I'd like to see evidence that they're capable of thinking for themselves, and capable of telling truth from carefully crafted manipulation or bold statements meant to lift hackles. Fair points made by Tapper.  His words sparked to mind a lengthy online debate from yesteryear. My frien

A place to call home

    Home. The word takes on so many meanings depending upon perspective. Home is where you hang your hat, yet they say that you can never go home again, and I suppose the ideal home is one that is sweet? But, for those that don't have any, the word becomes precious. Home is a sense of belonging rather than living somewhere that feels temporal, as though one is staying in a hotel or crashing at a friend's house. We have lived with that temporal feel since 2014. If you're a regular reader, I won't bore you with a rehash. If you aren't, this entry won't make much sense. The beginning of our tale is here: Origins . I stood my ground. Firmly. Without any chance of ever backing down. Better Half and I needed more space. I claimed the "office" (my dad's old lair). I painted it. I packed away my mother's scripts and other work, and I refused to give up the space. My therapist will be so proud! At first, my mother was eager to file her stacks of papers.

Tripping balls art

  Click to enlarge! It's after 1:30 AM and I'm tripping balls over this acrylic pour flower creative process and outcome. It all started with a few wood turning videos to help me get sleepy. Isn't how these long nights always begin? Eventually, I landed on Fiona Art . THIS is my style, and what I've always desired to paint. Hmm. Maybe I can turn a corner of my new office space into a workstation? As for that new office? It came after a blorft day of painting the foyer to turn it into my mom's new office. It. Was. Heck. If that isn't trippy enough, try the countertop thing.    

Governor Schwarzenegger's Message Following this Week's Attack on the Capitol

    The recent assault on the Capitol caught many of us off-guard. More-so, it made us realize how low we've come as a nation. As I searched for something - anything reassuring, please! - I happened on Gov Schwarzenegger's video. I know he's not perfect; we all have done stupid shit in our lifetimes. But he was someone that I looked up to as a kid. I had a poster of him on my wall. Not because I had a crush on him, but because he was an immigrant that came to America like my own family did, and he was just as determined to "make it" here. Likewise, he was strong because he made himself strong. It took effort. I respected that. So now, when everyone is throwing around opinions, I'd like to share his address. Our nation and the divide therein won't mend on their own. It takes effort on our part.   Governor Schwarzenegger's Address TRANSCRIPT As an immigrant to this country, I would like to say a few words to my fellow Americans, and to our friends ar

Iillumination Drama Ministries, the old website.

 Just a hilarious-yet-poignant trip to the past:   Illumination Drama Ministries      

Twitter grows a spine

   Twitter permanently suspended Donald Trump's account today. It's about fooking time. Still, his fans are asking "now what will you bitch about?"   I never bitched. His nonsense was fuel for my sarcasm fires. Burn, baby, burn! As for what I'll do now that he's gone? Well, there is a lot of material left to play with. My humor aside, Twitter's actions are wise. It no longer has anything to do with anyone's political party. It has everything to do with not giving a person a platform from which to cause civil unrest, sedition, and so on.

A scare in the night and a smug morning

 Piper is notorious for frightening us. Be it a sudden, loud bark or falling over dead, she knows how to make her presence known. Yes, falling over dead.  I think of her as Piper the Four Minutes Dead - or Lazarus Dog. She's obviously the patron saint of crumb snatching. The first incident was a few years back. She came in after going potty and fell down dead in the kitchen. No heartbeat. No breath. Limp. Very dead. I yelled to Better Half and then began assessing her airway for CPR. I suspected that she had kibble lodged in her throat. She's so damn small that even my pinky was too big to clear it. Regardless, I fought to free up her airway, and began earnest effort to bring her back from the dead. My mother was beside herself, begging me to let her pray over the dog. Prayers are good but I'm not pausing resuscitation for them. It took a great amount of effort over the span of four minutes before she revived. She was wobbly and confused but definitely breathing on her own

Little Moments of Beauty

  Smurf Herder, Gus- Cerberus, and the Crumb Whore. We have a total of four dogs in our house. Three belong to the husfiend and me. The fourth belongs to my mom and is dubbed "demon dog". He's a neurotic little bastard that snarls at everything unless he's trying to dominate it. If you ask my mother, he's a precious angel.  Dante AKA Demon Dog Demon dog keys on my emotions, especially my mother's. If she's frustrated, he's overly protective. If she's ticked off, he attacks shit regardless of what it's doing.  He also barks. He wants a toy, or there's a leaf blowing around the back yard, or we're walking upstairs. Doorbells, thunder, and fireworks wind him up. My mom's answer for this bad behavior is to scream his name and tell him "no". Then there's his desire to dominate my dogs by humping them. It drives me nuts. He slinks along, licking his lips as he approaches their backsides.  I don't put up with it. I'l