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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!
LET’S GO METS!

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