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Tossed Salad Friday

~~ The talk in Dementia-ville was spirited, though I only heard one side. “Keep it... No, it’s for you. Keep it, I say…. Keep it, keep it, keep it… Oh, you are a stupid woman. I still say keep it!” What do you suppose “it” is?

~~ The man in my driveway says, “C’mon, let’s hustle to make that train!” I tell him I rarely hustle and point him towards my side door. I get in my car as I hear him knocking pounding and repeating the directive for the departing aide to get a move on.

~~ A new acquaintance heard a friend ask me about the patient. After listening for a bit, she joined the conversation to offer “guidance” on how to deal with those suffering from dementia. I cut her off by saying, “Thanks, but [patient] is immobile, incontinent, and unresponsive to almost everything.” She looks at me with undisguised pity and at least a soupçon of naked contempt as she asks, “Why wouldn’t you want to at least try my suggestions?” Sigh.

~~ A brand new smell wafted by my unwelcoming nose. It was more husky than smoky and heavily laced with paprika. I don’t know what charred moose stew smells like, but you have no way of checking up on me if I call it that.

~~ Finally, I have a nice story from Dementia-ville. A nurse came to check the patient and rang the front door bell. Having emerged from the shower, I cracked open the window above and asked, “May I help you?” He responded with who he was and why he was there, and I said, “Please go around to the side door.” At that, he looked up towards the window, blew me a kiss, and walked away.

~~ The acorn war took its toll on Miss Lovie Smith. The battle heated up as the damn nuts flew fast and furious, with the enemy amping hostilities. Two days ago, however, she emitted a squeal that rattled my back windows (OK, maybe I’m exaggerating) and I flew to the back door. A horde of crows (not enough to make a murder) were perched on a branch in the combat zone, screeching directly at Lovie. Were they defending the hapless squirrels or telling my too-big-for-her-britches mongrel to quit her bitching? I don’t know, but I also don’t care, because ever since the crows gave her what for, she comes in when I call her. Thanks, crows.

~~ Overheard:  “I have three sisters-in-law. Which bitch did you mean?”

~~ Overheard: “It’s not hard at all. You just text him and say lose my number.”

~~ Confession: I didn’t want to blog today. I’m absolutely disgusted by the strident representatives of the minority who hold the majority in Congress. Their statements — and those of their supporters — sicken me. I’m repelled by the con artist in the White House, a man who pays little taxes but spends mine on himself and his crime family. I’m aghast at people I thought were decent but revealed themselves to be so consumed with hatred that they’ve incinerated any morality they might have possessed. As I stated, I didn’t want to blog today because my stomach turned over so many times that it’s become as twisted as a gymnast’s bun. Nevertheless, here I am, bent belly and all, to tell you that something’s gotta give because I’m not ready to watch the Constitution sacrificed at the altar of an amoral, felonious scammer.

~~ Dasvidaniya. Have a great weekend! Celebrate Columbus if you choose. I'm on the side of the natives.



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