That’s what I keep asking myself. “If I’m so smart, why ain’t I rich?”
Archive for May, 2012
Beryl Was a Nice Little Rain Event
Beryl was a nice little rain event that we desperately needed to quell all the fires springing up in the area. The rain previously had been falling to the south of us and to the north of us but none here! Thank you, Beryl!
Yesterday evening my storm preparations were complete, which means I hadn’t made any beforehand and still hadn’t. It was just a tropical storm for goodness sakes! SwampMan mentioned that perhaps, if we needed to go to the store, we needed to go NOW before landfall. Considering that we were out of milk, I thought it might be a good idea, so we went and got some essential electrical-outage type storm supplies which consisted mostly of potato chips, boiled peanuts, and some sandwich stuff that, if we didn’t eat it for emergency supplies, would be in SwampMan’s lunch bag next week.
I ran into one of SwampSon’s high school friends at the store. He told me that people were going completely apeshit over the incoming storm. “Really?” I asked in surprise, because I had seen no evidence of apeshitting going on. The parking lot was nearly deserted except for the Florida Power and Light trucks that were prepositioned strategically in front of a BBQ restaurant. It would make me feel all good about my electrical service being speedily returned as soon as they finished the rib special in the event of an outage except that I’m not on FPL.
“Yeah! Go look for some water. There isn’t any!” Hunh. I hadn’t been down the water aisle on account of not worrying about water and, since there were plenty of tater chips, I was unaware that there had been any people in buying supplies earlier at all.
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not going to buy water, then!” I said. “I don’t understand why people go out and buy freakin’ water when they can just fill up some pots outta the tap, maybe freeze a few gallons of water in a plastic bag in the freezer and, if there’s no electricity, it can help keep the frozen foods cold and, as it thaws, provide ice water!”
SwampSon’s friend laughed. “I’m not worried about water at all. I’ve got an artesian well!” Hmmmm. Good thing to remember for the Zombie Invasion.
I did make some storm preparations, I suppose. For example, I boiled four dozen eggs yesterday. “Four dozen eggs!” you’re probably saying. “Bitch, four dozen eggs is not preparation. Four dozen eggs puts you firmly inside what the fuck territory!” Well, perhaps you wouldn’t say that. I’ve been amusing myself by watching rap videos while it has been raining outside.
SwampMan has threatened to take my computer away on account of he doesn’t like my wasting time on trash like rap music videos with their pottymouth language. “Unh hunh. That’s a good way to get a cap up your ass, motherfucker!” I think. Homeboy needs to chill.
Anyway, I made some deviled eggs this morning, and I’m about to boil taters for the tater salad and will use about a dozen eggs in that. Puppy will get @ a dozen boiled eggs for breakfast, and I’ll put any that are left over in the fridge to grab on the way out the door for a quick breakfast or lunch at work, so boiling four dozen eggs isn’t as far out in WTF territory as you might think.
Mom’s electricity was off for about eight hours up there outside Folkston, Georgia. She said that there was a lot of damage from downed trees in some of the towns around her, but her place was just fine.
We don’t even have much in the way of mud puddles because the ground was so very dry. Mom said she didn’t even have puddles, but her place is sandier.
Happy Memorial Day Weekend!
I think I might need some music so that I can dance around a little as we secure against the coming storm.
Make Sure Mom Eats!
I talked to my lil’ brother several times over the past week. He’s been really worried about Mom since he couldn’t be here. “I want you to make sure that Mom eats!” he worried, because she had been too anxious to eat more than a few bites in the last week of Bob’s illness, and no food at all on his last day.
I can proudly report to my lil’ brother that I have taken his admonition seriously. Mom had not been able to go further than the grocery store and doctor’s office in Folkston for over a year; in the past week, Mom and I have expanded Mom’s horizon of eating establishments from Waycross, Georgia to Yulee, Florida. How’s THAT for appetite tempting?
I dunno about HER but I’VE gained 5 lbs. and am now broke until payday!
Buried Stepdad Today
It was a hot, sunny day today for stepdad’s funeral. The sailors looked so uncomfortable in their dress whites. (Bob was a WWII Navy veteran. He looks waaaaay underage in his Navy photo as, in fact, he was!)
Zoe was quiet and well behaved throughout the ceremony. Her brothers were not present because, being boys, they have a problem with being quiet and well behaved for long periods of time. My poor son was in a long-sleeved black shirt and black pants and dark sunglasses. If the ironworker’s union has hitmen (and they probably do), they would look like my son today. WHY did he have on a long-sleeved black shirt on a day with the temperature over 90? I suspect he didn’t want his grandmother to see the tattoos on his arms. If that is the case, it is going to be a LONG summer for him, since Grandma is no longer confined to the house.
Maybe it could be because we’re more formal people. I, for example, would normally never dream of going to a funeral service without being attired in a dark dress, hosiery, and heels, weather be damned. God himself would strike me dead if I tried to sneak in wearing casual wear or (shudder) shorts. I just know it. I got frighteningly near casual funeral wear today when I discarded the long-sleeved black jacket that went with the dress in favor of a lighter color casual top. I could have almost been mistaken for a tourist except for wearing no makeup whatsoever. (It was just too danged hot, and I didn’t want makeup running down my face in long colorful streaks.)
Oh, Lordy, I am so dog tired. I can’t imagine how my poor mother must feel. She has never been alone before. She went from her mother’s house to marriage to her mother’s house to marriage to my house to marriage and now Bob is dead. My husband hopefully asked if she wanted to move in with us on account of she doesn’t nag him about his diet and fries chicken just the way he likes it (grin), but she said that she is going to try to live by herself.
We offered to send Dylan up for an extended visit to keep her company, but she unaccountably declined. I wonder why? Could it have anything to do with him getting the resurrection story and zombies kinda mixed up at Easter? Yeah, Jesus is coming….for your BRAIN!
Time is Running Out for Stepdad
Mom called this morning. I had previously arranged to be off work Tuesday so that I could sit with stepdad while Mom went to her doctor’s appointment.
“Good morning! And how are you this bright, wonderful day?” I said cheerily into the phone to Mom for it is, indeed, a beautiful day outside. I had planned on raking and mowing, doing some limb burning, and generally just cleaning up outside before it gets too hot.
“Well, not too good”, my mother said tearily. Uh oh.
“What’s wrong?”
“Bob is in a semi coma. He can no longer swallow.”
“DAMNIT! Is it the flu? Is he in the hospital?” I asked anxiously, for his relatives had visited him when one of them was recovering from the flu, and Bob did not look well at all last weekend.
“No, he refused to go to the hospital. He’s running a slight temperature, and he’s on a strong antibiotic, but it isn’t working. I think it’s his lung disease.” Bob is 82, I believe, and has had end-stage COPD for years. Four weeks ago, when mom was in town for her doctor’s appointment and I was sitting with Bob, he slept most of the time and had a hard time getting enough air to speak. Mom went by and saw his doctor to see what else she could do, and he told her at that time that Bob had very little time left, weeks to maybe four or five months at the most. If it hadn’t been for mom’s devoted nursing over the last several years, he would have been dead years ago. He recommended hospice care. Mom spoke to Bob about that, and he refused.
I was still trying to talk her into putting Bob in the hospital anyway, for maybe strong antibiotics and/or antivirals might help. “But why?” asked Mom. “He doesn’t want to go. His lung function is still decreasing. They will intubate him and put him on an IV. He will be in pain and miserable, and it may bring him another week or even month of life, but that’s all. He wants to die at home.”
Dang, I hate that. I want to fix things, to make things right, and I can’t do a thing for them. They haven’t seen the grandkids for about a year because we’ve been too fearful of introducing viral respiratory illnesses to his environment. When mom gets back from grocery shopping or a doctor’s visit, she showers and puts on clean clothes before attending Bob.
Mom told me that she called to let me know that she wouldn’t be able to make her doctor’s appointment Tuesday. I told her I’d finish cooking and be right up. “No, you don’t have to do that!” she told me. She said that I’d try to talk them into the hospital which would just upset Bob, and Bob already said he wanted no visitors because he felt too bad. She said that she needed to get back to Bob, and said goodbye.
I thought about it for awhile, then called back. “Have you notified his sisters?” I asked.
“Well, they visited two weeks ago because I’d called to tell them that Bob’s health was declining fast. Now he doesn’t want to see anybody.”
“Do y’all need groceries or anything at all?”
“No, no. Bob can’t swallow, and I’m too anxious to eat.”
“Have you notified Chuck and Steve?”
“No.”
“Well, at least I could do that.”
“I really need to get back to Bob!” Mom informed me, and hung up. She’ll be beside him, holding his hand, adjusting his pillow, and doing everything else that needs doing for an invalid, not leaving his side until the end.
This is going to be a busy next week, so blogging will be even lighter than usual.
I do wish that we would’ve thrown caution to the winds and brought his great grandkids up to visit, though. The kids haven’t visited, either, for the past year for the same reason….they were scared that they’d accidentally introduce a virus that would kill Bob.
UPDATE: Robert Copeland passed away at 9:20 p.m. Sunday evening. Mom was sitting with him holding his hand.
Happy 5th Birthday, Dylan!
Our little Dylan is five years old today! Happy birthday! Should I put in something silly like how much MeeMaw and Papa love their little man? Nah, I didn’t think so. Too embarrassing.
Mommy also found out today that the next baby will be another lil’ boy. Oh, my. They put her in the hospital for a couple hours for high blood pressure after she got the good news.
Freedom. We Used to Have It!
This week, the teacher of a 5th-grade classroom played the movie “The ButterCream Gang” in segments after recess for a lights out cool-down period before going back to school work (the playground was HOT after lunch this week). I was there briefly for several days while the movie was playing, then there for the end on Friday.
After the movie, the kids were full of questions. “Miz Teacher! Did people REALLY used to ride their bikes all over town like that?” Miz Teacher indicated that yes, when she was little, people rode their bikes all over like that, even though today she wouldn’t let her son out of her sight. She told them to ask me about my experiences when I was a kid.
I told them that when I was a kid, we were out riding bikes all day without parental supervision or oversight when we weren’t working (like the kid with the bicycle route) at an actual job or jobs. They were astonished to find out that when I was young, people that were in 5th grade were expected to watch their siblings, do household chores, mow grass, weed gardens, stay outside all day riding bicycles with friends when the chores were done, and have actual jobs for spending money, such as raking leaves for neighbors, mowing grass, or babysitting.
What the hell happened to us?
My ChickOWNa
SwampMan was complaining about a hen that had been annoying him at his barn. She had sat on a pile of rope, trying unsuccessfully to hatch it for about a month, then left for a day. She was back a day later, even though he’d moved the rope, setting on nonexistent eggs on a sheet of plywood.
He was working on my no-go vehicle and intermittently fussing about stupid chickens, stubborn wimmen, and old vehicles when My Sharona came on the radio. I started dancing around the barn mostly to annoy SwampMan. The chicken ruffled her feathers at me and glared angrily. Heh. A challenge to my authoritay!
Waving my fingers beside her head to the beat of the music DOOT doo doo DOOT doot DOOOT doot DOOOT doot doot DOOOT My chickowna! Chicken was NOT impressed with my dancing OR singing until I picked her up and started dancing around the barn. Muh muy muh MY chickowna!
We danced and flapped all around that barn until she was tossed into the air and caught one too many times, and she flew off to her imaginary eggs squawking “SAVE ME FROM THIS CRAZY HUMAN!” as loudly as she could. I don’t know what HER problem is. I’M not the one trying to hatch imaginary eggs, after all.
Dang. Guess it could be that she just doesn’t appreciate The Knack like she should.
A1A South 