Return Of The Skater Boy

Well, March most assuredly came in like an idiot and apparently is getting ready to go out exactly the same way.  Damn it all!  So the east coast and New England states are still suffering with too much rain and feet of unwelcome snow.  Wah!  I'm not going to come right out and say they deserve it; but come on!  Don't they?!

Here in the ever so glorious Midwest it is seventeen degrees on the day of the spring equinox.  How can we not feel punished?  And I personally had to rebook a doctor's appointment due to ice and my crippled inability to navigate the unsalted parking lot here at Elder House.  Luckily I managed one fast dash to the local Big Box for drugs, coffee, and broccoli cheese soup.  Life goes on.

I've been altering my daily routine a smidge. Fighting the afternoon pain to get some long delayed writing accomplished.  Also I've taken a friend's advice to heart and am relying on OTC pain meds when the prescriptions wear off after six or eight hours each day.  I've decided to risk the inevitable liver damage in an effort to experience a bit more of the actual daytime hours.  So far so good.

So far I've ripped apart Christmas gifts for my grandsons and begin them anew.  Looked up all the houseplants I want to purchase to replace the ones that died over this never ending winter of grey.  And yesterday I recalled FINALLY the name of the third Brady brother.  I refused to google it.  See how the impoverished elderly entertained themselves.

Besides the stupid birds who remain alive despite the lack of edible bugs outside the only indication of warmer weather EVER arriving is the Skater Boy.  On the few remotely snow less days he appears in khaki cargo shorts and sporting an army surplus back pack zooming down the middle of the street.  The sound he makes proceeds him by several blocks.  Fast, fast.  Don't blink.  Like the alleged spring he too is gone too soon.

Oh Girls...

ignore that it is a commercial

I Wish I Had An Orange

This time of year and this particular season are incredibly difficult for me.

Learning lessons from the bleak outside changes and shivering through the dropping temperatures are unwelcome experiences.  Skies filled with potential of snow and other frozen problem makers fill me with dread.  And self-pity, of course.  These days I take almost everything personally.

And as my body interior systems continue to fail I desperately have to come up with new strategies to keep myself from jumping off a bridge.  I don't have an orange today.  I wonder if I can trick myself into accepting the canned peaches as a substitute.  This is what I am learning.  On Monday I will go to the grocery and hope that I remember to purchase an orange to be prepared for the next fruit crisis.  Sometime those substitutes just don't work.

Chores are different, too.  For me the ability to stand while doing a sink load of dirty dishes is a major accomplishment.  Who would ever thought I, of all people, would be proud of such a task?  And is it truly considered standing if I am leaning half of me against the counter while scrubbing?  And literally counting the seconds before I collapse in pain before I finish cleaning the silverware?  These are realities for me not whining.

Entertainment is parcelled between bathroom squabbles and repositioning the dead or dying body parts.  I don't know how else to describe it.  I wonder why it is organs that are broken or diseased or not longer functioning properly can be removed; but the leg which causes such agony and hinders so many life qualities cannot be sliced off and tossed in the rubbish heap.  Luckily I do not own a power saw.  This form of imagining is free amusement for the ill.

Anyway, I am getting through the days.  I wish I was more like the saints I read about years ago in catechism class.  They offered their suffering  quietly up to god.  My big secret even back then was that I thought they were all fools.  They endured their individual  excrutiations and didn't even allowed themselves to yell out loud.  Still, I imagine there is a sort of dignity in it.  I ain't got that skill.  And I do so wish I had an orange.

First Christmas Carol Or NBA Only Worthwhile Moment

Happiness Beyond Compare

And last night I realized that they also make me strong.

I am overwhelmed by these individuals.

Gotta get Zootie here at the same time.

Thank you all!

I know how lucky I am to spend time with you.

Call me Grinny Grinnerson.

Let's See Who Can Guess This One!

I Swear! I Googled Wes Anderson

Go Zombies!

So Very Nifty

Would've been really excellent.

But I'd have been guilty due to the cross country postal fee.

Thoughtful and kind in and of itself.

Quirky to be sure.

Cactus will take up space in the dark bowl.

The guitar shaped measures will be chomped on by Miss Ellie Bananas.

Use for the other items will be found.

Swanky, sparkly yarns.

Traditional tomato pin cushion (my first EVER).

Glittery rick rack, pastel figured ribbon and molded paper flowers.

Any one item would have been special and put to very good use.

All of them together, and a phone call, truly nifty galore!

Goody Goody Happy Day!



One year ago...

The beautiful bride...

A beautiful bridesmaid...

Beautiful baby boy.

Each are all better today!

Have a great wedding, Juice, Juice's boys, and the other Juice!

Happiness and contentment forever!

xoxo, db

Plant A Let Ohs

Many moons ago I was a client at a weight lost clinic.  I went once a week, submitted to humiliation scale torture, listened to mind numbingly obvious lectures, and purchased incredibly expensive (which Mommy Dearest generously paged for), microscopic portion frozen foods. 

Yes, it worked like a charm.  I shed a punch of poundage which nobody noticed and which came back with all their extra buddies when I stopped attending the program

The skinny "counselors" encouraged me to reward myself whenever I met a goal.  Since the only reward I had ever given myself was food and I never had two dimes to spend on myself, I was a failure at treating myself.  Now, years later I discovered a present for me, me, me!

Houseplants!  Fairly inexpensive.  Big variety.  Rarely die.  No calories.  Yippee!

My oldest mother in law tongue.  Only one to survive the days at Angry Sisters house.  I don't think she killed the others on purpose, but I really miss the monstera.

Two newest.  Pink arrow and eponymous (I think).  I love the sketchy leaves.  The pots are actually dark, dark black.

Ellie Bananas tried ripping this to shreds with her chubby little hands.  Luckily she ate nothing and the plants have already recovered.

Hoya doing well despite by it's growing slowly.  I think it should have three or four more branches by now.

Christmas cactus I've had the best with so fair.  I have killed two before.  I think the trick is to ignore it most of the time.

Standard green arrow plant, pilfered from my school, and held alive by the pony.

Two tiny philodendron snatched from the Elder House lobby and (my personal favorite) jade plant.  This is another I want to touch all the time, but it also seems to thrive on neglect.  It does grow quickly enough for me.

These are my garden.  My oxygen factories.  My long delayed collection of rewards.

Spy School

Before I get started I just want to point out that the Sartorialist has a post up already for today's date that allegedly has been "up" for one minute.  ONE!  And it already has six comments!  Not to be believed!  I love that blog; but come on!  Do these commenters set their watches so as to be the first to write how much they adore the fact that madras is making a fashion comeback?  Or maybe all his college roommates signed a posting pact.  Could he have that many relatives?  Beats me.  I'm going to keep peeking in because I adore seeing what the rich and sometimes famous are up to in picturesque places around the globe.  But don't expect me to believe six comments in one minute.

Now...

During my first months here at Elder House I spent many hours flat out in bed peering at the parking lot and the houses across the street.  Not the ivy covered walks or beachy, pebbly shores I prefer; but lots of trees and surprisingly quite a bit of human motion.  Lots of automobile traffic.  (This is where I learned about spoke wheels for cars which are so ridiculous I refuse to discuss them any further.)  The everyday parade of children during the school year and the skateboard competitors this summer.  Families out for post dinner strolls and kids (lots of kids) on bikes make me happier than I ever imagined.

The physical pain and emotional upheaval I was enduring at the time made getting up a terrifying prospect and so I imagined myself working as an undercover agent observing my neighborhood so that I could singlehandedly save my country from reprehensible Bad Guys.  Instead I got Industrious Guy and his wife.  HHHhhhhhhmmm.  A year later I have a bit less pain: and so am up and around a bit more.  (God bless drugs!)  I haven't watched with much enthusiasm for several months.  And, I furtively glance from side to side, I think he might be UP TO SOMETHING!

YYYyyyyyyeeeeeesssss.

He waits until the wifey leaves at around four. Walks in and out of the house five or six times and ultimately squats down in his driveway with a sheet of paper about the size of the maps you used to get at gas stations and talks on his cell phone.  Once he walked all the way through my building's parking lot, up the steep hill street, and ended up leaning on some kid's basketball stand while still on the phone.  He makes wild gestures with his other hand, too.  Isn't that a sure sign of evil doing?

He never lets anybody come in his front door.  He doesn't clean his gutters, which is going to be a huge issue this fall.  He idles his work truck for almost twenty minutes every morning.  And he swats dust off his pants before going into the house.  Then he comes back out in different clothes and makes another mysterious walking phone call.

Total Bad Guy behavior, right?

Anyway I'm glad my drugs are working.  But I was a good observer of human shenanigans before.  I'm also a very good listener.  So in case anybody wondered:  Yes, I heard what you said.

Only In America!!!!

Celebrate capitalism with the best game show ever!



And So I

Gathered together all the books for Library Guy

Made three new hair clips

Found a dazzling new afghan pattern

Phoned Baby Sister

Listened to a strange animal noise outside my bedroom

Addressed envelopes

Pondered the "Kerry Weaver" crutch as a possibility

Drooled over the chicken taquito fragrance from the mainentance guy's lunch

Took some photos as my ficus slowly gives up the ghost

Crocheted just a little

Cleaned the top of my dresser

Organized photos in the ultimate photo box

Stayed very quiet

Uber People Watch

New fave on this do nothing day:  the Sartorialist.   MMMMmmmmm.  His blog archives to 2005 and every page is delish.  The above is, believe it or not, a street person in New York.  Style IS all around us.

This darling splash is from 2011, Paris.  Contrasting the two photos is amazing.  What an eye this guy has.  I admit, I was in the dark as to the photographer, and was hoping he was an unknown, undiscovered amateur.  This is not the case and I don't mind a bit.
Such an intriguing blend of so many elements.  The young and not so young.  Famous and not.  Some so colorful and some that actually look as if they existed in black and white.  One wonders how many beautiful people garbed so fetchingly can congregate in one place.  How the settings and backgrounds can be so magical and so appropriate.  I wonder what drew him in for the above shot?  The overwhelmingness of the jacket or the underwhelming starkness of the wall.


Enough gushing.  Make your favorite adult beverage and prepare to be dazzled.  I'll probably get killed here in cyber land for using these images without permission.  Ah well.  Go here:        http://www.thesartorialist.com/biography/  And hail Mr. Scott Schuman. 

Song For The Day

Saw This And Had To 2012-2



Saw this on a friend's fb page and had to take a second and then a third look.  Corporatate idiocy is usually not on my radar.  It seems such an easy target.  But this was too good to pass up.  Thanks, Becky.

Spare Me

Small animal photos.

Orders to copy and paste to prove that I am reading your entries.
Posts with misspelled words.
Posts exclusively composed of "text-ese."
Pseudo religious pleas or instructions.

Orders to copy and paste so that I will avoid dire consequences.
Links to horrible music.
Exhortations about dead family members.
Links to gun or gun owner sites.
Images of trite encouragement. Trite images of encouragement.

Sports related links.
Political links.

Thank you.  I promise to do the same.

It's Not Unusual

Yesterday I finished reading my first graphic novel.  I'd heard of these, through nieces and references on the old Roseanne program.  I'm not an authority; but I'm told one should not refer to them as comics.  As if comics were shameful or somehow less worthy of the reader's time.

This book was mentioned on a facebook page I peruse and, since I know and respect the page writer, I decided to read the book.  I easily reserved a copy at my local library. I was surprised.  The book was good.  Not a lot of excess verbiage and the illustrations were quite powerful.  The plot specifically focuses on the middle and high school years of Jeffrey Dahmer.  The author was about the same age as Dahmer at the time, and so his insights are colored by that perspective.  But that is all to the good.  As he traces Dahmer's behavior the author poignantly asks, "Where were the adults?"  Indeed.  Aren't we all sick of hearing/reading after yet another catastrophe involving young folk that the adults saw no signs?  Just what the fuck were they doing anyway?

My familiarity with comics (and I see nothing wrong with lumping graphic novels into that genre) is limited to my own youthful fascination with superheroes.  Superman was my 'go to' guy.  I've written elsewhere about how I never had an older brother and always wanted one.  Anyway, my possessing even a smidge of Superman lore allowed me to win a beer and pizza dinner for myself and my then boyfriend when I was first an undergrad.  The question:  Name Superman's mermaid girlfriend.

Oh, I also had a roommate whose boyfriend was a bit of a stoner and tried to get  me to fall in love with r crumb.  It didn't take as I had far too much homework that semester.  Altho it seems Mr. Backderf was profoundly influenced.  His art bears a striking resemblance.

Anyway, this book did what I believe all good writing should do.  It made me want to learn more about the topic.  If exploring the mind of a budding serial killer and his parents and the boys he went to school with intrigues you; then by all means seek out My Friend Dahmer by Derf Backderf.

It might even make you wonder about public schooling in this ever so great country of ours. 

End O The Week O

Blessings this week:

A really cool call from my best friend whom I never see informing me about an opportunity to obtain some much needed medical aid.  She's such a sweetie for thinking of me.

Really good news for Darling Eldest Daughter and her boys.  Wagons Ho!

The potential for really good things to happen soon for Sister and Son.  I'm always baffled when I hear that "siblings" begrudge her any good fortune.  Some of this family "just ain't right."

Really weird failure at making dark chocolate peanut butter fudge.  Let's call it a learning experience.  Tastes great but ugly.

Lots of really good books from Library Guy and a special order magazine that came in its own sealed delivery pouch.

Finding the really magnificent "little red rock" I've been searching for.  Take THAT, Big Box.  The item was discovered in Tennessee.

And, could it be?  Here at Elder House the distinct aroma of a pot smoking geezer.   Summer has officially begun I guess.

For Baby Sis

This is corny, but I know she will get it.
Can't wait, Honey!!!!!

Thanks for listening as always!