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Tossed Salad Friday

~~ There are TV commercials for all sorts of debilitating aches and maladies, and I guess by repetition they are seeping into my brain. Last week I felt stinging pain in both my feet and blistering hot itchiness. I’m thinking, what if I have chronic something-something and I become debilitated unless I take that medication that may cause strokes or sudden death? Suddenly, the cause of my agony became comically clear:  I was sitting outside (next to a basket of fruit) and bugs were swarming and biting like crazy. Whew!

~~ Last Saturday I attended a lovely party my friend threw for herself. I mean, I think it was lovely, because we arrived many hours late. Driving from NY to NJ is not for the faint of heart and the habitually prompt. We spent hours driving in a near-monsoon, complete with flooding, and then hours more watching crawling bugs overtake us on the highway. Five hours there, three hours back, all in one day. That’s crazy.

~~But we did get to linger in the kitchen for more than an hour with our friend, catching up and chatting. That’s a rarity.

~~ WOO, WOO, WOO she screamed from somewhere deep within her geriatric self. CRACK, CRACK, CRACK HIM IN THE SKULL.

~~ After that episode, the diminutive dementia patient began practicing to be what I thought was a bullfrog.Once I investigated, I’ll say she sounds like an eastern spadefoot frog. Take a listen: http://www.in.gov/dnr/fishwild/files/spadeft2.MP3

~~ Two days ago, the health care aide walks into the kitchen and unspools about 15 sheets from the paper towel holder. Was there a mess? Nope — she was having lunch. So yesterday, she walks in and sees there’s just about 1½ sheets of paper towel on the roll. She rips off one, looks at me, and walks away. No “Is there another roll?” or any courtesy. It’s the little things.

~~ The smells this week are eau de freshly fertilized field and parfum de fish fry. I waste a lot of time gagging when I could be doing something else. Like crying.

~~ The two-three women in the front of a doctor’s office are habitually grumpy and trash the management every time I’m there. However, they are usually pleasant enough to me. A few days ago, I paid my co-pay by check. “Is this a business check?” one asked. No, it’s just sized for the printer. “You have to go get another one. This check won’t scan in and there’s nothing I can do,” she says quite crabbily. That crustacean changed into a sheep once I said, “I was here a few weeks back and you processed the same type of check then without complaint.” On my way out, her co-worker whispered to me, “She’s on a diet.”

~~ This:

~~ And this, too:

Have a great weekend! Can you believe it’s the end of August? Grrrr.

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ A guy stumbled coming out of the deli. I trapped his brown bag between my arm and the yoga mat bag slung across my hip. “Wow, thanks, great catch!” he says. “You coulda been a Yankee.” Wearing a Mets’ tee, I winked at him and said, “You shoulda stopped at thanks.”

~~ Speaking of tees, the woman on the next mat in yoga class had a great one: TALK TO ME WHEN YOUR CHAKRAS ARE ALIGNED.

~~ This is a transcript of a phone conversation I had yesterday after saying my name:

Real Estate Agent: Hello, you’re the attorney for sellers, Mr.  & Mrs. ________. We have an accepted offer.

Me: Hi, I’m no longer in practice. I’ll let the sellers know.

REA: What? We can’t waste time — this house took a long time to sell. Just do this deal, OK?

Me: No, but I can give them a referral when I call.

REA: mumble Bitch mumble [click].

~~ I startle easily; I’m told it’s likely due to an excess of stress hormone. (Imagine that!) I’m sitting at my kitchen table, eating lunch and reading an excellent article, when the health care aide walks into the room gabbing on her cell phone. Abruptly shaken from a temporary oasis of aloneness, my heart raced in alarm. I calmed down, of course, but couldn’t shake the resentment that I was vulnerable to such a disruption.

~~ The geriatric dementia person in my house is screaming at the top of her very ample lungs. Dylan Thomas’ poem, Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night, comes to mind as she rages against the changes that come at the close of our figurative days. She’s unpleasant and downright disagreeable, but who can blame her on a certain level?

~~ Then again, I wonder if I am absorbing some of her repellent demeanor. I worry that if I become as feeble and void of control as she, my subconscious will ignite and spew this same sourness towards those who love me and care for me. How can I possibly apologize in advance?

~~ I went in to see if I could distract her from the shouting. When I inquire as to the circumstances, she says, “I’m not shouting. You are.”

~~ As I turn to walk away, I try to catch the aide’s eye. But she’s too busy texting. Or maybe she’s typing up her own version of this story for an alternate blog, “Barely Working.”

~~ The screams quiet as I reach the door. She goes from frantic to asleep in seconds flat. I stay frenzied for hours, days, months.

~~ The desire to comment on the politics of this past week is eclipsed by the adoration and admiration I have for some Olympic athletes. There’s the vegan weightlifter, the face-making swimmer, and the fastest man alive. I tell you what, if I was having a girl baby soon, I’d be naming her Simone. Her middle name might be Gabby, but it would definitely not be Hope.

Have a great weekend!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ As I type this, the dementia-patient’s aide is doing laundry. To protect our geriatric cesspool, she’s been instructed to use only the short wash setting that runs about 25 minutes. I passed by the washer to see there’s still one hour and 36 minutes left to go on her load of laundry.

~~ This past Saturday, I walked into the kitchen to see her setting up her rice cooker on the cutting board. I say, “Before you start, I just need 10 minutes to make the dogs’ lunch and prepare some vegetables for roasting.” She looks right at me, turns around, plugs in her cooker, and walks away. Yes, I should have got in her face at that point, but I didn’t for a few reasons. I waited until the cooker’s setting turned from cook to warm, then waited some more before I went to find her sitting on the couch watching TV. I reiterated how inconvenienced I was, at which point she silently walks into the kitchen, grabs her rice cooker, and (inadvertently, I believe) knocks a bunch of Brussels sprouts I’d just washed onto the floor. She looks at them and walks away.

~~ One more: I see her go up the stairs to her bedroom while she’s supposed to be watching her charge. The shower turns on, so I ask my son to “babysit” for a bit. Fifteen minutes later (and I believe solely in response to my banging on her door yelling, “Are you OK?”) she emerges. I blurt out how we’ve been watching her very-much-awake patient. In response, she says “Oh.”

~~ My house smells like a latrine, the screams of “SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT” and “HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!” are the earworms of the week, and I am an outcast in my own home. Having a dementia-saddled person and a full-time aide occupying my house 24/7 is akin to the worst case of PMS that anyone, anywhere has ever experienced.

I’ll move on now just to protect my sanity and probably yours as well.

~~ I was heartened to read the research debunking flossing as a life-prolonging practice. Actually, I do floss regularly, but the smug dental hygienists I’ve encountered in my life will now need to shut up.

~~ If I were a novelist, I’d get great plots and twists while at yoga. Sometimes I eavesdrop on juicy story snippets, other times people tell me things I’d never imagine. Like the poor woman whose grown daughter and grandchild got stopped at customs in London on their way back to France after visiting her in NY. Seems her daughter didn’t have a document attesting that her son was traveling with his father’s knowledge so they were detained by the authorities. The father was in China and unreachable, and my friend couldn’t do anything here. Since there had been no issues departing Europe and she was now on her way home, the daughter couldn’t understand the fuss. And the 12-year-old boy couldn’t convince officials that he was with his mom and his dad knew they’d just visited his grandparents. The nightmare resolved, but I’ll save some of the intrigue in case I ever get inspired.

~~ Or how about the woman who shared that she knew she wasn’t bisexual when a friend’s girlfriend tried to kiss her while they were making tuna salad sandwiches? There was a beach trip, the part where an attempted smoocher got in a van with three guys, and a lot more. Again, if I ever do write a novel, you might read it all play out.

~~ Perhaps I’ll write an autobiography instead of a juicy novel. In that case, my working title might be, Why are there Carrots in the Foyer? I just uttered this ridiculous question to my dogs, who — like the aide — looked at me with a blank expression and did zip.

Have a great weekend!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ When you’re shivering in February, the month of August is so alluring. However, when July swooshes by and August arrives, I’m like, damn, I want it to be June again.

~~ A new aide started this week. I have no idea what will be, but as of now, there’s no hue and cry from her.

~~ However, her charge is another story. She's screaming amidst her dementia, "Say what you wanna say." So I sing, "And let the words fall out. Honestly, I wanna see you be brave." She glares at me and says, "Oh, you shit."

~~ Look out, Laura. I don’t who you are or what you’ve done, but there is a very frail, elderly woman who is declaring, “Laura, I will kill you. Die, die, die, die, Laura.” (Considering she can’t even reach the doorknob without assistance, you likely are safe, but I’d take precautions just to be sure.)

~~ The guy asked me how I could like sushi when “it’s all fish.” No, I explain, I get vegetable sushi. He rolls his eyes and says, “That isn’t how sushi works.”   OK, thanks.

~~ Last year, a woman yelled at me while I was walking down the block towards the yoga studio. “Move your car! I need to park there so I can mow my lawn” and so on. She was exceedingly hostile and I wasn’t going to win by declaring it a public street, so I moved the car. Flash forward a year and I’m walking past her house as she’s standing in the driveway. “Hello,” she greets me. I stiffen but respond in kind. “You going to yoga?” I nod. “Do you like it? Is it good for bad backs? I have a bad back and need to do something…” OK, she doesn’t remember me and I love yoga, so I extoll its virtues and even tell her when the gentlest classes meet. I walk away thinking how absolutely strange this universe can be.

~~ When Republicans advise Donald Trump to “get back on message” what exactly do they mean? Stop smearing a Gold Star family and resume smearing women or Muslims, or start praising Vladimir Putin and Saddam Hussein? What is Trump’s message besides “I say I’m a winner so I must be one” or calling Hillary Clinton kindergarten names?

~~ The Trump men (who berate and belittle with abandon, and slay animals with glee) can’t fathom how a “strong” woman would “allow” herself to be sexually harassed. That’s friggin’ ridiculous and completely cut off from reality. Remove the words sexual harassment and substitute anything else inflicted upon a victim, and then tell me you think these people have any grip on reality.

~~ It’s distressing that Trump has a platform to do and say such malicious, hateful things, but voters who’d rather flip the bird to the USA than vote for a qualified candidate are enjoying their moment in the sun (after spending decades under rocks). What makes me nauseated (aside from the orange creature from the black lagoon) is that I have seen teachers post messages in support of Trump and parents proclaim that they are voting for him. I respect democracy despite its messiness, but it’s insanity for teachers to vote for a bully they wouldn’t allow in their classrooms. And parents — how will you look your kids in the eyes one day and admit, “Yes, he was a lot like Mussolini [or Joseph McCarthy], but I was very willing to hand him the keys to our country”?

~~ I raised these concerns with a middle school teacher and she said, “Well, but, I hate Obama and Hillary’s a clone of his.” There is so much wrong with this response that we just need to move along. (After reading this analysis of Trump supporters:

~~ I tweeted out to the NY Mets that they should consider getting Raid to sponsor the team. Players are dropping like flies!

~~ The latest issue of Boating Times Long Island is out. You’ll enjoy it, I promise!

Have a great weekend!


Tossed Salad Friday

This week’s installation of What Did I Do to Deserve This? has adoration, near-poisoning, attempted absolution, and a limited escape. I guess I’ll start with dementia mania.

~~ We tell every home health care aide not to feed our dogs. We repeatedly and explicitly say, “Do not give them any food. Ever.” Yet the other evening, as I’m preparing dinner, I see my littlest pooch eating something at the feet of the aide. I lose my cool and scream, “What’s he eating?” She tells me and I frantically check the ingredients, discovering that it contains onion. Onions are toxic to dogs, and Mookie only weighs 11 pounds, so my agitation reaches fever pitch. The vet is consulted, a 24-hour watch is instituted, and hysteria continues until we’re certain he’ll be fine. (He was.)

~~ The aide corners me in the kitchen the next day to tell me she needs to apologize because “my god requires me to do so.” Not because she’s contrite, mind you. Being the same woman who told me I’m evil (we’ve been trying to oust her, believe me) I flat out say that I’m not going to forgive her to relieve her of divine responsibility. I try to walk away, but she starts begging me to free her heart so her lord will look kindly on her. I say, look, you want to apologize for the name-calling and the poisoning, fine, but don’t tell me you’re repentant solely so you can get into Heaven. Forty freaking minutes later, I’ve heard how maybe I’m not an evil person (I just do “evil things”), that she admits that we told her never to feed the dogs but she didn’t understand why — so she disregarded our rule, that a dog almost bit her when she was four but her husband loved them, that she “maybe, maybe” had been trying to assert dominance in the kitchen, and that I “must” forgive her to “liberate” my heart and prevent it from harming me. I could have written 400 or more words in 40 minutes, or listened to a couple of innings of the Mets’ game. Instead I was subjected to this dressing down/confessional/demand that never once extended an olive branch towards me. I firmly believe an apology is meaningless if you append a “because” or an “if,” and one that is nakedly couched in an appeal for someone else’s salvation is pretty damn worthless.

~~ Oh yeah, I forgot: the reason she talks on the phone all the live long day. It’s because I don’t give her extra tasks to do. What? Her only job is take care of the elderly dementia patient, not wash my floor. I refuse to be blamed for her indolence.

~~ Moving on… I got to run away for a few hours last week. I saw the “Absolutely Fabulous” movie and it was delightful. One of my favorite sitcoms playing on the big screen for 90 minutes was great, but most importantly, I escaped from the loony bin.

~~ What a blast of a week watching the rock stars of the Democrat Party weave their words together. I also appreciated the opening acts and the real-life stories, even the ones that made me cry. I’ve always been a proud party member and these days, the pride goes both ways.

~~ My born-in-the-90s son hasn’t really heard Bill Clinton speak much, so I was delighted to listen to Bill’s stem-winder in his company. We talked about both his speech and Barack Obama’s, and contrasted the two. To me, President Clinton speaks as if he’s reaching through the TV and engaging in a one-on-one conversation, while President Obama grabs us all up as a country and takes us to a higher place.

~~ Can’t get away with not using first names soon when referring to “President Clinton.”

~~ Michelle Obama’s speech was awesome, as expected, and I marveled at all she is despite all the brickbats flung her way. Which leads me to the woman who I’ve admired since I read a small feature on her during the Watergate investigation (that right-wing smear about her being fired is just a malicious urban myth, by the way). I’ve seen a bit of me in her and her in me, but more than that, I’ve seen the embodiment of a public servant that endures triple the shit because she’s a woman while accomplishing four times more than many people of any gender.

~~ Most of all, what I see is the near-achievement of a dream that my mother shared with many others of her generation and those who came before. She wanted her daughter to live in a world where anything is possible. Hey Mom, I’ve been working hard to make it happen… and Hillary Clinton is going to make our dream a reality.

Have a great weekend!

Tossed Salad Friday

I’m breaking this blog up into three parts today. I have attracted new readers who crave continuing craziness from dementia-land, and I’ve been depriving a loyal group of readers (some who go all the way back to 2006 when I began blogging) of the political rantings they request. So feel free to skip and choose. I’m just grateful to have such great readers!

Details from Dementia-Land

~~ My husband finds the aide sitting in the shade of a tree in our side yard with her elderly charge in full sun. What’s going on? “The sun is no good for me,” says the aide. Well, it’s not good for an 88-year-old woman who’s not wearing a hat or sunscreen, either. The aide shrugs.

~~ Oh, but that’s nothing. We are now privileged to have a “Messenger from G-d” in our home. OK, OK, I’ll back up and elaborate: There was food of the aide’s in the microwave for at least 10 minutes after the cook cycle ended, and my dogs wanted dinner. Tired of waiting, I opened the microwave and went to remove the plastic tub. It was hot, so I held it gingerly around the edges and walked it the three yards into the area where the aide sat on the couch gabbing on her phone. I released it onto the table and was walking away when I heard, “You treat me like an animal dropping my food like that.” What? I turn back and say, “It’s hot. Thank you would have been sufficient.” I know I shouldn’t have said anything, but who could have predicted her dropping to her knees, waving her arms in the air and screaming, “Oh, thank you for treating me like a dog! Thank you! But you don’t know that I am a messenger from G-d and YOU   ARE   EVIL!

~~ There was more, of course. Apparently I couldn’t do her job because I “just sit around all day” and she’s “keeping a list.” (Uh-oh.) I snarkily said, “Satan is leaving,” and I departed with a semi-obligatory door slam.

~~ She’s gotta go, of course, but her lazy and nasty personality is only part of the problem. Home health care agencies need to do a better job of assessing the long-term temperament of employees they assign to live in for weeks, caring for someone who yells, BIIIIIIIIIIIIIITCH! at the top of her lungs for an hour. Or NAKED! NAKED! HEE, HEE, HEE, HEE, NAKED! for that matter. It’s a hard job, but the screening process is pathetic. With a capital P and that rhymes with B which stands for Bullshit.

Life Observations

~ The doctor’s office says it can’t give me a copy of my recent test results unless I sign a release and wait seven to 10 days. Moreover, I need to confirm that I have an appointment with another doctor or I can’t have a copy of the results. I say, “If I was in the office when the doc discussed this with me, she would have hit print and I could have had it on my way out, right?” Yes, the Politburo-in-training record clerk confirmed. But because the doc called me, I had to “follow procedure.”

~~ This:

~~ I told a friend I was anxiously awaiting seeing the “Absolutely Fabulous” movie this weekend. “The TV show’s a movie?” she squealed. Yes, I said, and her voice rose even higher. “This is the best thing ever since I won 87 dollars in the lottery!”

~~ If you’re seeking recommendations for books, the list I compiled for Boating Times is a really good one: http://boatingtimesli.com/NY/hotreadsfortheboat/
You don’t have to be relaxing on the deck of a boat to enjoy any of these, but it’ll make it better, believe me!

WTF Politics

~~ I’m writing this before Thursday night’s speeches, so just reach out if you want my reaction to Trump’s sermon or anything else that you want to discuss respectfully.

~~ This week has shown two subsets of people. One is the group that has no idea how to spell plagiarize. And the other has no idea what it means (yes, there is overlapping). Look, typos happen, but Twitter and Facebook have spellcheck, so I’m thinking these experts believe they know better. Then there are bottom feeders like Chris Christie who claim that if 93% of the speech isn’t copied, it’s not a ripoff. I guess if his teachers gave exams with 100 questions and he only copied seven answers from the smart girl in front of him, his teacher would have no cause to flunk him and his school couldn’t suspend him?

~~ Listen, the plagiary isn’t an ordinary mistake. Melania Trump claimed on national TV that she wrote it, though a staff copywriter came forward days later to say she did. This is a national convention, people — whether the speech was written by the college dropout who lies and says she has a degree or the Trump employee (who has been publicly accused of errors before in one of the books she co-wrote with him), no one scanned the speech for plagiarism? It takes moments with readily available software that editors and teachers employ all the time. The speech Melania ripped off was no different from her husband blatantly appropriating Queen’s music without permission or payment. Or Ivanka Trump’s allegedly ripping off Aquazzura’s shoe designs. These are entitled people who wink at each other and take what they want, thinking we’re too ignorant to find out or too insignificant to matter. Just ask all the people Trump has stiffed and smeared along his route to this point.

~~ According to Eric Trump, animal slayer, his dad is going to bring Christmas back from wherever it has been banished by President Obama. I reread the Constitution and I can’t find Christmas mentioned anywhere! Then again, I can’t find “Article 12” either, which Trump has pledged to defend! http://blogs.wsj.com/washwire/2016/07/07/donald-trumps-pledge-to-defend-article-xii-of-constitution-raises-eyebrows/

~~ Hey! I just realized that I’m evil and Ben Carson says Hillary Clinton is a Lucifer-worshipper. Could that mean Ben and Newt’s posse is coming after me, too?

~~ Mike Pence is on record stating women have no place in the military, LBGTQ have no place in the country, and that it’s “hysteria” to think tobacco kills. You OK with that? I’m not.

Have a great weekend!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ I tweeted about boating with the family being challenging but mostly FUN. Here’s what happened that changed the meaning entirely when someone retweeted that post:

~~ A caller to a sports talk show cracked me up. He said, “I’m a Yankee fan for 30 years, and I want you to know about me. Some people see the glass as half-full and some see it as half-empty. I don’t even see the glass!”

~~ A friend told me, “I had a dream about you where you bought a zoo and you let me run it.” I asked her what she thought it meant and she said, “Dunno. Probably too much Mexican food.”

~~ I heard a story that every parent can probably relate to at some point. The storyteller shared how the family drove to New Hampshire from Long Island because her teenage child was participating in a lacrosse tournament. When they arrived early enough to grab a leisurely lunch before the action started, the teen asked, “Where’s my bag?” It seems she left all her equipment home, so they drove to the nearest sporting goods store, which happened to be 30 miles away in another state. They spend a ton of money on replacement equipment and arrived back at the field with minutes to spare. My kids usually announced at 10:00 pm they needed posterboard or a tie-dye tee shirt by 7:30 am the next morning, but it’s a quick jump to the lacrosse story.

~~ Regular readers know I live with someone with dementia. Yesterday I swear she was repeatedly screaming, at the tip-top of her lungs, SWING, BATTER, BATTER, BATTER! There was a semi-song that went YOU ARE POOOOO, DOO, DOO, DOOOO, YOU DON’T KNOW, HATE, HATE, HATE, and a lot of hocking up phlegm and lecturing on things that made no sense to me whatsoever. And a pervasive smell of latex and poop.

~~ The aide got under my skin 12 ways this week, aside from being on the phone so long that I am sure she sucked up the data allocated to at least three small countries. Listen, I know it’s hard to be in someone else’s house, but you’re in someone else’s house. Try to be respectful and not leave behind wet paper towels, a dirty sponge, knives facing up in the dishwasher, crumbs on the counter, and a top of an oatmeal packet. Don’t be all up under my armpit coring an apple as I make the dogs their dinner, and don’t take one of the sweet potatoes I roasted —there were six when I put them on the counter to cool, and when I returned, there were five. When I inquired, she said, “Oh, maybe I thought they were for the lady’s dinner.” Right.

~~ Maybe next week I’ll have the strength — and words — for some soapbox roaring. Lord knows I have enough material. Right now I’m all wrung out from no baseball all week and life at the nut farm. I’m hearing YOU ARE DEAD, LA LA, DEEEEEEE-AAAD, LA LA as I type this. Four rooms away.

Have a great weekend!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ Here’s what I heard every day this week, screamed for extended periods at the top of remarkably robust lungs:




~~ Line number three is a favorite refrain, whether shrieked in glee or anger. Sometimes it’s both semi-simultaneously.

~~ Unless you’re a telephone operator, make cold sales calls, or do customer service, I challenge you to prove that you are on the phone more during work hours than the home health aide. What in heaven’s name can you have to say for 10 or 11 hours a day?

~~ As I type this, she’s speaking loudly and animatedly in a language that I cannot understand, although the words “shitty ass” may or may not be part of the conversation.

~~ I believe she has locked onto some punitive pirouette wherein she hears me heading for the kitchen or the washing machine and she gets there even faster. She puts something in the toaster oven at 450 degrees and then leaves it there for 20-30 minutes, or lunges for the microwave or washer. Call me paranoid if you like, but I have varied my times in an effort to avoid this maneuvering and territorialism.
Yet anytime my flip flops flap on the floor — Abra Cadabra! Like magic, she appears posthaste.

~~ I overheard one woman telling another, “I went to your acupuncturist twice, but he’s more hands-y than needle-y. Who really wants that?”

~~ The guy tried to toss a coffee cup into an outdoors trash receptacle and missed, splashing the cup’s remaining contents across the sidewalk in front of me. I stopped just short of the stream and made startled eye contact with him. He shrugged and said, “It’s just coffee, honey.”

~~ Maybe that story is a metaphor for life nowadays. If whatever flies by you doesn’t actually splash you, shrug it off and say, “It’s just coffee, honey.”

Have a great weekend!


Tossed Salad Friday

~~ I have to admit that this is getting harder and harder all the time. Putting an amusing, flippant spin on my life, I mean. I live and work in a looney bin, dear readers. However, I’ll try to maintain some superficial glibness and hide the absolute destruction of my will to carry on.

~~ The song is loud and clear, in a voice still melodic despite dementia. “La, la, la laaaa, KILL HIM!”

~~ The names have changed in her fog-filled brain. I was “Him,” now I’m “Shit.” Freddy has become “Joe.”

~~ The aide is très dramatique if you call her on anything. She engaged in Occupy Kitchen both Tuesday and Wednesday for three-plus hours at a time, halting me from having lunch. Finally, starving (it was 3:30 pm and I’d had breakfast at 7:00 am) I went in to inquire how fast she could wrap it up. “Oh, oh, oh! You never want me to cook! I’ll never cook again as long as I’m here!” she started, and then continued shouting until I thought my brain would burst. Like a 12-year-old, I went to my room hungry, slamming the door for emphasis.

~~ Yesterday morning I set out to make a cup of tea. She came from her room and literally cut me off on the way to the dispenser. Of course, she drained it entirely.

~~ Unless you are willing to inhale copious amounts of Lysol (I am not — yet), the stench and stink is pervasive. I chose to use both words because they are not redundant. There’s the ever-present stench of someone losing their grip on their body as well as their mind, and there’s the sporadic stinking up of the premises by deceased creatures, abundant unfamiliar spice combos, and burnt toast. Slices and slices of burnt toast, leading me to believe it’s a choice, not an accident.

~~ I have a sliver of good news:  My husband’s car is dead, but it’s summer, so it’s easier for him to walk to work.

~~ I wanted to comment on politics here, across the pond, and everywhere else in the world, but it’s a holiday weekend where everyone deserves a break from my well-known proclivities for ever-expansive, all-inclusive, violence-free advocates and activities.
Have a great weekend! Happy 4th!

Tossed Salad Friday

~~ We’ll subtitle today’s blog Cooking Beans and Conversing. Because that’s what killed any possibility of me finding a nice quiet stretch of time to write on Monday. I don’t get why some people shout on a mobile phone — I believe smartphones are supremely capable of picking up normal conversational tones. But don’t tell that to the woman who yakked so loudly that I’m sure people two blocks away wondered why their TVs and radios played only Creole.

~~ Or perhaps we’ll subtitle today’s entry Listen, Listen to How Much She Poops. Better yet —Why You Don’t Have a Broom? is kinda catchy. I was in the zone, so close to finding a great ending to a story, when I was asked the latter. And less-than-enchanted by a recital of the former while I tried desperately to get some alone time with my washing machine.

~~ Did you hear the one about the aide who broke the motor in the hospital bed, then insisted to the agency that it’s an inhospitable place to work because the bed is too low? Don’t worry if you didn’t — it’s not actually a joke.

~~ How about one more non-joke joke? This one’s about a visitor who took a shower in our guest room — the same place the aide resides. The aide apparently took the guest’s wet towel and put it outside over a fallen screen in our backyard, where my husband happened to come across it. Why was it there? “To dry,” of course.

~~ A lovely yoga teacher shared this great quote:

~~ I am truly going to dedicate myself to boredom. I’ll let you know [yawn] if I’m successful.

~~ Seeing as how I’m way behind in my writing and starting to feel some pressure to let things go, I’ll just post this with pride:

~~ And finally share with you that even when you’re lucky enough to find the right person, 37 years of marriage is frickin’ amazing:

Have a great weekend!



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