She Was Asking for it.

There are some pretty ignorant people out there. As soon as I heard this chick speak, I knew she was just plain ignorant, and it wasn’t the religious garb she was wearing that tainted my opinion of her. Afterwards, I got the lowdown on this idiot, and what happened to her after I left. I wish I’d stayed around to see her being hauled away in a police car.
As far as I’m concerned, they need to give her a blindfold, cigarette, and a brick wall to lean against. What she did a few years ago was tantamount to treason.

Bird in the House, Ma...

After work today, we were in the kitchen when my husband noticed what looked like small wasp nest hanging on the soffiting over our deck. I thought it looked more a small hornet's nest, so I went out to investigate. As I got closer to it, I saw that it was a tiny little bat, all curled up into a ball.

I motioned for my husband to come out, and as he did, he grabbed the wasp spray. I told him to put it away, and to get out there fast. He thought it was a cocoon of some sort. I had to tell him it was a bat. I grabbed my camera and snapped a few photos of him...macro, so I had to get really close.

The bat reminded me of one of those hilarious events that happened when my kids were small. We were at Mom and Dad's, sitting around in the family room--except for Dad. He liked to sit at the kitchen table, smoke his cigs, drink a beer, and watch the little portable TV. At one point, he looked up at the kitchen ceiling, and without missing a beat, he very dryly said, "Bird in the house, Ma...".

I ran into the kitchen, telling Dad not to hurt it. When I got close, it swooped past my head. It was a bat, and that's exactly what I yelled, "BAAATTTTT!". That set up a huge round of chaos. Everyone started running around. I went berserk. I kept picturing that bat being rabid and getting tangled up in my hair. I grabbed my two little hysterical kids and ran from room to room, with the bat right behind us. It never occurred to me to take the kids to a bedroom and simply shut the door!

My husband never moved from his couch-potato post on the sofa. Picture a houseful of screaming maniacs, and then Mr. Smooth not even flinching while in his reclining position. At one point Dad had a fly swatter and was whapping the poor little guy (the bat--not my husband), but he managed to escape Dad and continue his reign of terror on the family. Finally, the bat flew out the sliding glass door to the enclosed back porch. I hurried and shut the door, then locked it. At least he was out there where he couldn't get to us! And I was fairly sure he couldn't get through a locked door.

A minute later, a scream came from the other side of the sliding glass door. Mom had been out on the porch, unbeknownst to us! And since I locked the door, she couldn't get back in. I unlocked the door and Mom scooted in before the bat could fly back into the main part of the house. We were finally able to get the bat back outdoors by opening the outside door off the porch. Whew!

For the next few minutes, the house was still noisy--but this time with the sound of laughter. That would've been hilarious on video, but few people had video cameras back then. Later, my son told me that he never thought bats were real, because they turned into vampires...and vampires weren't real. So when he saw the bat, his thinking was that bats ARE real and this guy was going to turn into a vampire!

I just checked on the little guy, and he's still hanging from the deck soffiting. I hope he's not sick. It's starting to get dark, and he should be out looking for supper. Funny that a bat scared the life out of me 30 years ago, but not today. I must be getting brave in my old age.

Sick of Being Sick

I don't know how people who are chronically sick stand it. It's just been a few weeks for me, and I'm losing patience real fast. Seems the strong antibiotic I took to get over pneumonia has killed off a lot of good bacteria as well as the bad bacteria. You know what happens when all the nice folks move out and leave their homes wide open...the riff-raff moves in.

And the riff-raff has moved in--on my tongue at first. It started with the black tongue that is common when taking an antibiotic. I thought it would clear up after I was done with the meds. Nope. It merely evolved. It became a "hairy tongue", and now it's become a full-fledged case of "thrush". Sunday night, my tongue began hurting. I thought maybe it was a taste bud gone bad and as the Bible says, "If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out". Well, I located a swollen taste bud in the central part of my tongue, and thinking "maybe if I just got rid of it"...I grabbed my small needle-nose pliers, latched onto the elongated taste bud, and pulled the stupid thing right off my tongue.

Who would've thought that a tongue with a dismembered taste bud would bleed so badly? I tried to yell at my husband to grab a wet wash cloth. He came in to see what I was blathering about, and found me trying to talk with a really bloody tongue. What a stupid thing to do.

Yesterday morning I woke up to sore tonsils and throat, and my tongue still hurt.  I felt generally sick again. I ended up going to the doctor, who gave me the diagnosis.  This stuff has spread to my throat and also my intestines.  I didn't tell her about my self-surgery.  I learned my lesson.  And in case you're wondering, the photo is NOT of my tongue.  I just tried to find an example of "thrush tongue" that wasn't horribly gross.

From now on, I won't sever anything other than skin tags.

My Turn

I didn't get to attend my little brother's first communion because I was sick. Yep, that's me in the chair all covered up. And missing one of the few times my little brother Mark ever sported wings.

Forty-nine years later, I'm still laying around in a big chair all covered up...and recuperating from pneumonia. This started coming on a week ago, but got really bad Thursday night. I think that's when the pneumonia set in. I missed making 14 batches of strawberry jam, but thanks to Mom and the hubby, it's made and in the freezer. It's a funny feeling to be laying around like a slug while others are doing your work. I had the same feeling when, as a kid, I'd hear the vacuum cleaner running early on Saturday mornings. That was all the alarm we needed to tell us to get up and help Mom clean up the house. (To this day, I can't stand to hear the cleaning lady at work vacuuming--I feel like I should be dusting or something.)

I think today's the turning point. My temperature's down to my normal 97.something. I can breathe a little deeper, even though the wheezes, squeaks and rattles are still there. My mind is coming out of the fog I've been in, and I no longer feel like I'm halfway between this world and the next one. The doctor's orders include staying home from work for the rest of this week. I'm hoping I'll feel good enough in a day or two to tackle some housework (ok, now you KNOW I'm sick).

Mom just called to see what I needed from the store. All I need is a loaf of bread and some vanilla ice cream. Thought I'd make a strawberry shake since I still have some berries in the fridge. My little bro Mark said he makes his shakes with our strawberry jam, and that sounded pretty good. I'll just claim I have a sore throat and need the shake to soothe the ol tonsils. Nobody will call me a liar, since I'm sick.

Thankfully, I had my mommy to take care of me while I was sick. I don't know why it is, but no matter how old a kid gets, when they're sick they want their moms. I guess that's because it's mostly the moms that took care of them when they were little. Mom was always there, no matter what time of the night. My dad slept through all those kid illnesses, and so did my husband. Just nature's way, I suppose.

Thanks, Mom. I love you.

A Shocking Turn of Events

Friday afternoon I was sitting in the waiting room of my chiropractor when I got a text..."Is Mom with you?" I texted back to my little sister, "No". Within a few seconds, the phone rang. Occasionally I have a sixth sense about things. I know the phone call did not carry good news; but I knew it would be ok.

First there was some small talk, then silence. I knew that silence would be followed by some jarring news. With her voice cracking, she said, "Mark's on his way to the hospital". She told me he was having problems with his heart; that it wasn't beating correctly and the doctor sent him to the hospital. I told her I had several friends with the same problem and it would be ok.


Mom and I headed north Saturday morning. At the hospital, Mark seemed pretty good--even with his chest thumping in crazy rhythms. The lines on the monitor zig-zagged with no regularity. When he stood, his pulse would go up to around 150. He was having some pain in his shoulder blade radiating to the front. And he was having problems walking without being able to catch his breath.


He admitted to having this problem for the past 15 years. About once a year, his heart will go out of rhythm, but will return to normal after four days. This time, the doctor wasn't messing around, especially with Mark's lightheadedness.

Sunday, Mark's heart was still not beating correctly so it looked like the "shock" would be a go for Monday. His doctor came in to see him and I asked if we could watch, or even hit the button for the big shock. No go. We'd have to sit in the waiting room. I even told the doctor of my experience shocking Mark with our electric fence. Nope. That didn't even work.

This morning, Mark had just been taken back by the time we arrived at 8. We'd been there earlier if we'd known, but they couldn't seem to be able to tell us what time they'd come for him. So we kept Mark's wife and daughter company for a couple of hours.


Finally, an Indian doctor came and told us that he did great. No blood clot, and it only took one shock to get the ol' ticker beating in rhythm again. He took us back to see Mark, who was being wheeled back to his room. Mark started in with his usual sick humor, telling everyone within earshot that he was clinically dead for five minutes and expected to go to Heaven. Instead, he went to hell and was greeted by Saddam Hussein. I asked if he saw the 72 virgins. He said he did, and there was a good reason they were all virgins.


Typical Mark.

In wrapping this up, I need to thank The Big Man above for watching over my little brother. Looks like we'll have him around a good long time to torment and tease. We'll expect the same in return.

Just like old times...except no more knock-down drag-out fights that were common between me and Mark. Now it's just hugs and "I love you's" between teasings.


Love you, little brother!

My Big Debut

I don’t know why she did it, but for some strange reason my sister volunteered *me* to speak at an an African-American Southern Baptist church. I’m not a speaker. I tend to stutter and talk very fast in front of groups of people. I don’t have a clue what they wanted me to speak about. But if my sister had this much confidence in me, I was going to do it. I got busy and wrote a mediocre speech. All I had to do was print it and rehearse it a couple of times.

My plan was to wait until Sunday morning to shop for an outfit, but I had in mind what I wanted to wear. I was going to buy a real pretty dress and find one of those big fancy hats to wear. I wanted to fit in and look like the folks I was going to address, even if I did have another skin color.

I headed off to Indy, wearing a loud floral matched pantsuit. I wore it all day Friday and then again on Saturday. I looked really skinny in it for some reason—like it had removed about 60 pounds from my frame. Sunday, I headed off to the mall to find that perfect outfit. Much to my chagrin, none of the stores were open at 8am on a Sunday morning. I went from store to store and kept finding great outfits and hats on display in the windows, but none of the stores were opening until noon.

I finally gave up and decided I had to wear my pantsuit for the third day in a row, and I hoped no one in the congregation would notice that it was beginning to stiffen up from the constant wear. But the really weird thing was, the slacks somehow turned into a skirt. Still, I didn’t look too bad considering my bare legs that I hadn’t shaved in weeks. But then I remembered I needed to put on makeup. Trouble with that was, I suddenly was sitting in a wheelchair and wasn’t capable of putting on my own makeup. Someone wheeled me to a table set up in the mall, and some kind girls were powdering my face and applying blush.

More interruptions…I had to find a place to hook up my laptop and print my speech. I found myself being pulled from place to place and not getting anything accomplished. And it was getting close to the time of the service.

I got out of the wheelchair and walked around a wall. On the other side, there stood my dad! I nearly passed out from the shock since Dad died over 18 years ago. Then I ran over and hugged him. He told me he hadn’t died 18 years ago, but was lost in Iraq for all that time. He looked so healthy and hadn’t aged one little bit, which only seemed a little strange. I was still mulling over how I could remember being with him when he died, but yet he didn’t die. And what was he doing in Iraq in the first place? He worked at Sears!

Still being dragged all over the mall, I gave up on printing my speech and decided to ad lib it. I would talk about my crazy preparation I was still going through. I would finish up the speech by talking about how there’s a lesson in everything and how even good things come from bad things. I was going to wow them, for sure. All I had to do was to keep my ideas in some sort of order and not start talking a mile a minute. So with half my makeup on, a dirty floral suit, and bare legs, I found myself in a beautiful large church. One of the church leaders met me and was walking me up the stairs to the stage. I was about to inspire a thousand African-American Baptists. They were going to love me—I just knew it!

Then I woke up. What a weird dream.

What Has This Got to do with Work???

I try...I really try to NOT listen to all the BS around me. I have noise-canceling headphones, but there are days that I really don't feel like listening to music or white noise while I'm working. Just today, here are just a few of the less-than-intelligent comments I heard from next door...

"Your hair looks cute!"

"It was all wobble-jello and bouncy."

"I'm leaving early today." (So what else is new?)

To top it off, I heard all about her labor of 32 years ago when she was telling a male co-worker all the gory details. He said it was because of the way she was built...you know...small hips.

Why does every workplace have one or more of these useless employees? Beats me, but they all do. Once in awhile, I could put up with this, but this talk goes on all day long, every day. I'd find another job, but it would just be the same thing.

Tired of complaining...it's time to go get a Margarita and forget the Doublemint Twins for awhile.