RoyalDynasty: Queen Mum's Blog

Timberrrrrrrrrr!

Two massive pin oak trees are being removed from their curbside place in front of my ranch style home. Cleaning up the acorns and leaves has become too expensive. The pin oaks hold their dead leaves during winter only releasing them now and then to be sure your lawn looks a mess. The acorns are a hazard underfoot. The sidewalk is broken and heaved up by roots which are heading for the cement slab my house rests on.

The trees are over 100 feet tall and if my arms worked I could touch my own fingers if two of me were hugging the same tree. But obviously I am no tree hugger. I have nagged City Hall relentlessly to get rid of these trees. Yesterday three fellows cut branches and chipped up the wood. Men in trees. Turn off the television.

Viva La Queen

My mother never gave out information about reproduction and I never asked. When I was nine I heard her apologize to a guest for not being able to offer napkins at lunch so I proudly retrieved the sanitary napkins from the bathroom and plunked them down on the table.

All information I got was referenced to animal behavior with embarrassed distain and disgust. Her wedding night was a bloody humiliation. The marital act was a duty performed but never enjoyed.

So I read all the books in the sixties and introduced conversations about sex to my children in nurturing ways. I thought I had covered the subject admirably when one day the Queen arrived home after a sixth grade movie about sex.

"Horrible!' Why didn't you tell me about this stuff?" she accused.

So I wasn't surprised when I had to prove to her that her maternal background was French. My word was not enough. And although my vision was blurred due to an eye examination she insisted I find the written reference before she would admit she was wrong.

Last night Gary's butt phoned my house three times. When I phoned him to tell him to stop sitting on his pager blackberry gizmo, I let myself engage in a brief discussion of how Q was mis-reporting grandmother information. Gary jumped at the chance to say she should not blog at all as the girls where he worked did not want to be mentioned on her blog.

Well, she did call them the P---- Posse but she did not get into their nationality. If she had called them Germans I can see why they might have been steamed but P---- Posse is harmless fun. Viva La Queen!

 

Queen_Mum Vs. Wild

When people don't post daily, faithful readers query, " Is she sick? Did she fall?" But sickness or falling would be grist for a post. There is no grist at this old persons mill.

I eat whatever one lame index finger can snag and propel to the mouth. I read blogs. I sleep long and deep. And I watch television.

I just watched the Discovery Channel "Man vs. Wild" where I learned to bite off the bodies of ants for valuable protein when stranded without food in the wild. I was told to never ingest the ant head as its savage mandibles can inflict great pain.

The very same week I read a blog where people duped an ant colony from invading their house by creating a barricade using dishwashing detergent. Coinkydink? Or grist.

Memorial weekend there was a M/Wild marathon and I learned when I am stranded on the African savannah without water all I need to do is locate some fresh elephant dung. This can be squeezed mightily over the mouth until the life saving fluid is released. Splash! Dehydration prevented.

The next step is to observe vultures so full from scavenging zebra carcass they cannot fly. This assures Man the kill is recent. So just go to it and smell. If it doesn't smell rotten go ahead and dig in. He ate the zebra raw but I might want to build a cooking fire. Just need to be sure to keep flint in my pocket in case my matches got wet.

 

LIFE AMONG LIARS

When I worked in an office I never left for the day without cleaning my desk off. Phone numbers were kept on a Rolodex and a month-at-a-glance calendar was filled out and followed. In my day there was ignorance and incompetence but nobody I worked with lied.

Things are different nowadays. This old lady I've become can't read her own handwriting. Can't hold a phone to her ear. Looks at a date and writes it on the wrong month. Last week I organized all my names and phone numbers on a page on the computer. BIG. This week I started following up on who dropped the ball on my feeding apparatus. The world famous post-polio rehabilitation doctor DID send a Letter of Medical Necessity to Amanda, O.T. Twice. The O.T. department isn't answering the phone. The letters will be faxed to Angie so she can submit to Medicare for denial. She may be the ball-dropper.

In the meantime I tried to eat a spinach salad yesterday unsuccessfully. Today it took an hour to get a slice of banana nut bread to my mouth and it has been an uphill battle since then. The tastiest thing I've eaten this week was a bratwurst and twice baked potato Sherrie brought me when she did my hair. Brats 'N Beauty. It works for me. I wish her shop sold durable medical equipment. No lie.

Follow the Bouncing Ball

I've spent the last few days sorting though the ball box to see what needs to be done to get back in the game of feeding myself.

Sadly, we are back at square one. Angie, whose company installs the Mobile Arm Support With Elevation Assist, will request a letter of medical necessity from the post-polio rehabilitation specialist. When he gets it to her she will forward it to Medicare for denial. This was supposed to have happened 4 months ago.

I'm not sure the fellow knows who I am. So I'm thinking of sending a note and attaching my picture. Today I scrabbled through my jotted notes and phone numbers and made up a large print page for the computer. My handwriting is as bad as my eyesight so now it will be easier to follow-up (nag) people.

My neighbor Archie who mows my lawn is going to have knee surgery in July and be laid up until October. People who have mowed for me in the past charge a flat rate for the mow plus whatever they choose to add on to the bill for the price of gasoline. I have a perfectly good Toro mower that is battery powered. They won't use it. Too quiet?

Could be depressing but fortunately the sun is shining and happy little burbles of pleasure keep erupting from my brain.

 

Downhill Slope

 
This has been a downhill year. I just called to find out the status of my "Mobile Arm Support With Elevation Assist" and it appears Amanda O.T. no longer works at the hospital who authorized my need for it December 26,2006. Like she dropped the ball. So someone from there is looking in the missing ball box to see if they can get me back in the game.

When Queen was here yesterday she devised food I can snag with my left index finger and get to my mouth. Turkey chunks, cheese chunks and cherry tomatoes. I'm going to show the only existing picture of my left hand because I always hid it because it was lame. This picture was 10 years ago. Cute huh?

Anyway, this left arm has a working elbow muscle and an index finger that can't open but mostly clamps shut like a lobster claw. So everything I eat has to be snag-worthy. My staple edibles of chili, cereal and oatmeal surprise me by not falling into the snag-worthy category. They require endless scooping, raising and lifting by right hand. Too much work most mornings.

I haven't eaten Cheetos corn-puffs in years but opened a big can last night and adroitly nabbed half the can. For someone who has eschewed fast food for years this may turn into a slippery slope.

Post-polio Weight Loss Plan

I've been reading disability blogs and everyone seems to be miserable in different ways. I guess people would rather live with their own discomfort than someone else's. I feel lucky not to have to deal with arthritis or toothache pain.

It's been four months since a request was made to Social Security for a device to attach to my wheelchair which will assist me in shoveling food in my mouth. When they deny me the device then and only then will my private insurance pick up 80% of the tab and send it to me.

Some think outraged calls should be made demanding action. But there is no point in being agitated. As long as I can spear food with a fork I can get it to my mouth so I won't starve. However, it's surprisingly messy to eat cake or cookies with a fork.

Hosta La Vista Baby

I'm feeling quite smug about posting these garden pictures from 1995. Todays picture is of the shady side. The birch tree is now blighted by some disease that caused removal of six larger birch trees out front in 1991. This one will just have to rot or blow down. There are no wires or valuables beneath it.

The Hosta Negrens has been separated many times and shared with friends. As hostas go this is a big variety. It isn't as tasty to Brer Rabbit and is still alive. Painted Japanese ferns,astilbe and bleeding heart were in this circle surrounded by miniature daffodills. I haven't ventured down there in three years so I'm not sure what remains.

i spent a decade crawling around this bed trying to achieve a look that equaled the catalogues. Never happened. But it did give me interests and exercise.

Ferns of Yesteryear

It has taken me all this time to scan and post a picture on my own.

There may be a picture of ferns here. If you can see them it's only because someone took a picture. This shady bit of the yard was once fluffy with ferns. Rabbits devoured every last frond and spore. People talk about the damage goats and deer do but rabbits are my enemies.

Reach Out and Spill Something

The microwave sat in the corner of the counter for 30 years. Recently I found it difficult to lift food up the four inch lip of the appliance and onto the glass turntable. I was mulling over solutions to this problem when my beautician/friend Sherry suggested placing it on a lower surface.

In a second she whipped it over to a serving cabinet and swept up the debris that was behind it at its old spot. I spent the next day trying to get used to the change.

If it stays with its back to the wall it is awkward to open. But the server top is heat resistant so the hot dish has a landing space. At right angles it is easier to access but the UGLY back and cord is exposed to the entire room. And the front has no ledge as the micro is an exact fit. Without a ledge for a landing spot my hope of avoiding a boiling spill catastrophe is doomed.

I do have a large acrylic tray that could go under it and extend out. I'll try this today. If it works then I need to dig out the book to see if covering the microwave back with a camouflaging dishtowel would cause it to explode. In the meantime nutritional drinks and bars constitute my meals.

It seems like for every solution there is a new problem. That may be why husbands and cats resist change.

What Is Going On?

I'm trying to figure out why I don't have time to blog. My conclusion is I start out reading blogs. I like them and go back and read their archives. They link to other blogs so I read those and their archives and so it goes. I know more about these people than my own relatives. I would sooner comment on a blog than answer a personal email.

In the UK there is a site where folks with disabilities write about the subject every May. I am spooked by this because there are some politically incorrect attitudes about disability I have that I never thought of.

When I was 13 people said hurtful things: "You used to be pretty before you had polio" but I never challenged them. It was what they thought. I preferred words to sad eyes. I can't get mad at ignorance.

One of the things I don't understand is why disabled friends want to have the world revamped to include us. There are lots of places I can't go so I don't. This attitude infuriates disabled activists who want access to everything. Presently I'm having to rethink everything I do in this house to keep it accessible as I decline.

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

My "spells" have ceased. Many doctors were consulted and Neurontin dosage tinkered with until a week ago when I decided spells were not as bad as drug dizziness. Whatever was pinching adorable little wristy nerve endings tapered off and stopped. My lame left hand no longer does the fandango. It just hangs off the frail arm like a spent dancer. Trembly and shy.

This month began physical therapy involving myofaschia pressure. The therapist is of course on the opposite side of town. Sue drives me. The therapist started out slowly but yesterday she launched an attack on arm muscles that had not moved since 1949. Most therapists are not interested in atrophied sinews but this gal dotes on them. She longs to train the Queen Daughter to do them. Today I rested. Tomorrow more pushing and stretching. She seems to be trying to teach the arms the Boogaloo.

Bachelor Creeper

Q. figured out how to add pictures to my blog Saturday. I took careful notes because there is no rational way to remember the convoluted steps necessary to duplicate the procedure.Every weekend I will attempt to add another photo. One always does best by practice.

After I had upper and lower spinal fusion in 1989 I spent the next decade gardening and reading gardening books. I was dazzled by the plant descriptions and photos in those books. My place never measured up.

I had a rusted shed demolished and made plans for a simple pergola on the 9x12 concrete slab left behind. Carpenters in this area drew elaborate plans for gazebos but even when I showed them pictures they couldn't manage a pergola.

I had read of a new type of material made out of recycled plastic. I called around and found someone who knew about it. He came out and built a sort of house shell and attached trellis to it. The first strong wind the trellis became air born. After much puzzlement on his part he stopped taking my calls. I bought some metal S hooks and Q. hung the trellis on the rafters with them. From a distance it looks nice.

I planted many vines around the trellis house. The only one that survived was an ornamental kiwi. He doesn't bloom or bear fruit. To do so would require a Female kiwi. I bought him two. Mr. Kiwi did not provide for either Mrs. Kiwi and both ladies died. Currently he lives a bachelors life by a corner post without mate or progeny. I have yet to view his "pink and white variegated foliage....a charmer on trellis, posts or walls."

Another Test

Trellis house.
 

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

I've been reading blogs lately.

At first I just read Q's blog. Then blogs that linked to hers. Then MS blogs. Then Great Britain. Then disability. What placed a big black DOOMED on my forehead was when I began reading the archives of my favorites. And these folks post daily!

One of my saddest days was when I realized I had read every word my favorite English fiction authors had written. Now reading The Perorations of Lady Bracknell and Charles Dawson's blogs every day gives me something to mull on. They are so real to me I lap up each bowl of words like one of their kittens.

What this does is make one feel that others say it better. And with more acerbic eloquence. So once a week is all I am motivated to write. Until I've read every blog on everything and the subsequent comments.

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

The Queen accompanied me to the Physical Terrorists office Tuesday. PT appeared to need a translator for MomSpeak. The issue of making atrophied muscles work didn't come up. She has apparently lost interest in bringing right arm back to life.

An exercise regime was developed for walking through the house twice a day for 3 minutes. Just walking to the bathroom takes care of that. Another is flopping my left forearm over and under and up and down. Shoulder shrugs were instituted. Something like 10 or 20 repetitions or twenty for ten. I forget exactly.

I get bored with keeping track of repetition statistics. I am easily distracted from the count. Maybe I could ask myself questions on my 3 minute walkabouts to the bathroom and shrug when I don't have the answers. The flopping fore arm has no productive purpose.

When I had polio and was 100% paralyzed the first movement that came back was my left forearm. "Look at this," I'd say "It's back." By the time my parents arrived at the hospital I had worn it out. But they believed me and were encouraged.

They never expected I'd live to 70 much less be doing exercises to develop my biceps.

Thursday, April 05, 2007

When my daughter writes so freely about subjects that in the fifties were not discussed, I wonder. "How did she get so confident and open?" I can only remember two things that happened to me that I didn't dare tell my mother. When Dan and I were dating at the University we spent 30 minutes in his Plymouth kissing good night at the end of a date. He was only the second fellow I had dated and kissed in a car. I don't believe I had been educated in the physiological changes that occur in a man when aroused. So the kissing part was what I was developing my expertise in when Whoops! his hand shot under my skirt and up my thigh.

"A pass!" I squawked. I was delighted. "Let's go back to the dorm right now."
"Are you mad?" he asked.
"Not in the least. I want to tell everyone at the dorm someone FINALLY made a pass at me." And I did. He never tried it again nor did anyone else. I failed in the repeat pass department. Squawking must affect the male condition somehow.

Fast forward 10 years one ex-husband and two children and a reunion and marriage to Dan. I got a job as a social worker and presented a case study to a group of dignitaries and juvenile court commissioners. When I got back to the office one of the commissioners called me to compliment me on the presentation. I was proud. But he kept complimenting me until I had a dim thought he wanted something. He had lots of questions about where I hung out and where we might meet again.

During the questioning I mentioned my husband and children and I went to the library a lot. Eventually it dawned on me he was interested in ME. I blushed from my toes up. A coworker saw me and asked who I was talking with to upset me so. I should have squealed " A pass. Some little fart made a pass!" But that was the seventies and I felt I had given the wrong signal when I presented my case. Sincerity must be a turn on to Juvenile Commissioners. Another lesson learned.

Wednesday, April 04, 2007

My mother married beneath her. My dad completed second grade and dropped out of school to help on the farm. When mother married him at age 17 she was ridiculed by his family because of her "airs". She learned to say yaller instead of yellow and became comfortable around curse words.

She always regretted this and said sincerely that by the time she realized what she had done, the habits were impossible to break. She was so proud her children had not taken on her bad habits. Little did she know she would be QUOTED by her beloved granddaughter as saying "horsesh**t" in reference to a post about Masons. It would have pained her.

My sister Dolores Charlotte would have preferred the nickname "Dee". She referred to herself as Dee but couldn't generate any interest. Other people tried to nickname her "Lolly" but she squashed that. She would have loved that her only niece did not spell her name correctly in the blog. DElores is that much closer to Dee. And more distant than Dolores...Child of Sorrow. Of course nowadays no one in their right mind would risk naming a child Dolores....rhymes with Seinfeld.

Monday, April 02, 2007

The myofascial physical therapy continues twice a week thanks to transportation by friend Sue. I would have backed off after the first visit. Last session I was lectured on my attitude. I have always faced facts. If polio destroyed nerve endings and resulted in muscles atrophying then get over it. Move on.

But PT lady does not agree with the World Famous polio specialist I go to. She thinks I am letting lack of use due to old age affect my strength. W.F. specialist said "Go. Try it. What can it hurt?" To me it is as frustrating as holding a book really close to a blind persons eyes and insisting they can read. Not going to happen. But there goes that negative attitude of mine. I was only 13 when a friend tried to get me to a faith healer. Didn't happen.

"Every day in every way I'm getting better and better." What can it hurt?

On a more positive note I tied for first place on Lady Bracknell's blog amidst stiff competition. The win allowed me the privilege of being smug and I CACKLED when I read that my post made her ladyship laugh. But then I realized the win was announced on April Fools Day. Co-inky-dink? Or that dry English wit?

Friday, March 09, 2007

Both arms stopped working this month. Usually Lefty drags Righty over to whatever needs gripping. Once it is at the spot desired, magic happens. Plastic is plopped into the micro and food zapped. Nowadays lifting the arm and container up four inches is beyond Lefty. Could the plastic Lifeline alarm on my wrist be weighing him down? No.

On a happier note I got the results of my physical back and the fasting blood work showed no diabetes. Sue just placed 16 variety drumsticks in my freezer. If Lefty or Righty let me down I might be able to snag one with the Grab Stick. Then 15 minutes hacking through the plastic and bob'syouruncle!

I am reading MS blogs and found one where the writer was lame on her right side and fell, breaking her left wrist. Her description of the fall just cheered me up tremendously. Her fall was caused by a kitten. When I broke my right upper arm,elbow and wrist it was caused by a puppy. But my account 10 years ago would not have cheered others up.

I think if God has a chance to do it over he should build his humans with pop up gauges like Honeysuckle turkeys. That way you would know when you were done.

Saturday, March 03, 2007

I will now share my technique for melting pounds off old frames.

Step 1: Make your right arm hang limply by your side.
Step 2: Make your left hand dangle limply from your wrist.
Step 3: Have your new doctor schedule a blood test where you fast 12 hours before the test.

Because I knew this test was coming I started eating oatmeal for breakfast most mornings beginning Feb.1. Then late afternoon a frozen nutritious dinner prepared by Sue. Evenings a tangerine or Granny Smith apple, cheese, with chocolate graham cracker. Because the Helping Agency kept coming in and out I didn't have a lot of time to think about food and even if I did it was just too much work to shovel it in my mouth.

So when I weighed in on March 2, I was 128 pounds. Very pleased about that. Test results come later.
When I got home i ate:
Pat's vanilla bean cherry tea cake
3 Russell Stover chocolates
Bacon and biscuits
Stew and biscuits

Shoveling it in my mouth didn't seem as onerous.

Wednesday, February 28, 2007

The Queen got me hooked up with Bloglines today. Now I will be able to see who has posted recently. I tend to be outraged if a dedicated blogger skips a day. I do not hold myself to the same standards I hold others, you will notice.

Every time Q uses my computer it takes a while for the Apple Cube I use to recover from the taint of an outsider. Computers are like cars in this way. Every time someone drove my car it took forever to get the mirrors straight and the seat adjusted. Same with the Apple. At least I don't have the problem of running out of gas.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

While eating my oatmeal this morning I watched a young white boy sing a song from Dream Girls. He sang so loud and hard I wondered he might injure himself. I like gospel singing but it seemed odd coming from such a little peanut fellow. He was discovered on U-tube.

In my teens we liked Eddie Fisher. At the height of his popularity we went to a performance at the Fox. Everyone began screaming. I was surprised to find myself screaming too. It went on the whole performance. We drowned out Oh My Papa. He introduced his fiancee Debbie Reynolds who was seated in the audience. We screamed louder. Afterwards I realized how dumb it was to pay to hear someone and not listen.

The little fellow who sang the Dream Girl song will never be drowned out by his audience. But he's due for hernia repair if he keeps on singing like hefty black women.

Monday, February 26, 2007

After a month of visits The Helping Agency will be phasing me out. Getting everybody scheduled and not overlapping has been beyond my ability. I have always blocked out days of the week for certain things. Monday cleaning, Tuesday Hairdo, Wednesday lunch date, Friday Breakfast with the Gang of Five. Doctor's visits are sprinkled randomly. The Helpers keep muscling into my planned time.

They have found a nice place for me to live that is $1,500 more per month than my income. One of the brochures has white haired people in boats laughing their brains out as they speed on the river. They promise fun and activity. I'm looking for neither.

I want to sleep as long as I want. Retired people should not have to set their alarms to be told how to live. I get it.

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Yesterday was the first day this week I did not have professional help coming. These folks have just about worn me out.

They call a lot. Usually the night before or morning of the appointment. They come at times I have other things I prefer to do like fix breakfast. They make work for me such as going to the door (they don't want it left open for them) and locking it when they leave.

They use extra towels and washcloths on me which I have to launder. They clutter up my kitchen table with their logs and folders. They will finish up their Medicare financed assignment next week. It has been helpful because now when I hire someone for personal care I know what to ask for.

This morning I made a big pot of Columbian coffee. I added half and half and sweetener to the pot. I have some little pint glass bottles that at one time held Starbucks frappachino. I filled those using a funnel then capped and refrigerated them. I don't resent drinking coffee from a straw if is prepared this way.

I made a big bowl of oatmeal in the microwave. I used half and half instead of water. I ate one serving and refrigerated three. All this preparation took 2 1/2 hours. I emptied and filled the dishwasher and by noon was able to go to the computer and read the Queen's blog. This is always the highlight of my morning. The treat I love to chew on the rest of the day.

Friday, February 23, 2007

I talked to "Sam" at Earthlink earlier this week.

It took him 30 minutes to gather my name, father's middle name etc. He could not repeat my French spelled street address. He put me on hold several times. He is mailing a more up to date DSL modem and not charging for the modem or shipping. He is knocking $10 off my bill next month. Then he INSISTED I be HAPPY!

Sam: Are you happy?
M.E.: No.
Sam: [Lists all he has given me.] You are happy NOW Margaret.
M.E. : I have wasted hours on the phone. I am not happy.
At this point he berates me for not being happy.

So I gave him terrible marks on an evaluation that came right after the call and added this :

"Since 2/11/07 I have been patronized and hung up on by people at Earthlink. My passwords are compromised and I have been expected to remain on the phone for long periods of time.

"Five days without service is unacceptable. I cannot be made happy. To hear "Sam Daniels" insist that I be happy is insulting. To be happy I need real customer service; not lip service.

"My suggestion is that you establish a supervisor who can be called on when your first line staff is unable to help a Valued Customer. I kept notes on the people I talked to and only two bothered to write up a trouble ticket. Of those only 'Jason' followed up."

Today the new modem was hurled on my porch by Fed Ex. It did not make me happy. While I was typing this my connection failed twice.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

I'm not used to doctors calling my home after dark. The neurologist who called last night said I had pinched nerves in both wrists and should start using Nurontin during the day. I didn't ask him the sensible questions others later asked me. He said I did not need to make a followup appointment. Goodbye!

At my initial visit he asked me to remember goofy things. Dalmatian, menu,basketball. I imagined a Dalmatian sitting on a basketball reading a menu. But when I was asked to recall the words later I missed one. Now of course they are filling up valuable real estate in my brain. I can't forget them. And no future opportunity with Dr. Neurologist to casually drop into the conversation a witty reference about the spotted dog who could balance on balls and read menus. Another artery filled with medical debris.

I see the polio rehab/physiatrist next week. He is also a night caller. But i'll be ready. One reference to Dalmatians and I'm hanging up my basketball.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Six weird things about me:

1] I think men are more interesting than women.

2] I don't need to be loved by an animal to feel lovable.

3] Rearranging furniture gives me immense satisfaction.

4] I hate the cold/exposed feeling of uncovered neck and shoulders anytime.

5] I could spend all my time cleaning and de-cluttering and feel complete.

6] Food no longer interests me.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Watched Six Feet Under last night on Bravo channel. They show you three shows back to back which I can't stay up for. They show them again Saturday morning so I can catch up on the ones aired past my bedtime on Monday nights.

I like the fact they dub epithets in the actors actual voice. You can see what they really are saying by reading their lips but you don't have to hear it. This suits me. I don't like curse words. it shows ignorance of language. An inability to communicate. Similarly "you know" "ahhh" "like" and so forth are tiresome.

The show constantly interests me. Currently the mother has married James Cromwell (character actor in "Babe"). He is shown demonstrating how to use a ceramic "nettie pot" which irrigates the sinus with salt water. I have heard about this device and had no idea what it looked like. It is like a gravy boat. Question answered.

I watched "Amazing Race" after Sixty Minutes. I'm going to give it a try but I'm thinking it's a little too hectic for my taste. Or maybe it is the music.

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Light snow has covered up paw prints in the deep snow accumulation from last Tuesday. The scenery is refreshed.

Sue brought Great Northern Bean soup and biscuits yesterday. Easy for me to eat from the container she brings it in. She used a recipe which always interests me. How can you go wrong with beans unless you neglect to soak them overnight. Sue added onions,ham and carrots. My mother just used a ham hock which made the taste less sweet.

The only time my dad cooked for us he heated beans while my mom had surgery. He meticulously chopped a fresh tomato to accompany the dish. It still suits my taste when I can find a real tomato. After I was married he showed me how to make "goulash" . It contained spaghetti and hamburger with canned tomatoes. What made it good was the bacon grease you used to brown the onions and meat.

When we were growing up on Caroline Street in the city we had food which we ate until it was gone. Friday was breaded cod with spaghetti. Other dishes like pork liver fried until it was hard. Round "steak" pounded and fried until it chewed like leather. Fresh green beans with new potatoes. Cabbage cooked until it was brown. Chicken and dumplings. Fried chicken.
Side dishes included mashed potatoes and gravy.

My mother never taught me to cook. She was The Cook. The first time she and my stepfather visited in Albuquerque I served ham with a glaze and he complimented me on the glaze. She didn't like that one bit. It was her recipe and he had been eating it for years with nary a word of praise. She snarled at him. He had already insulted her cooking by suggesting she use lemon Jello for pie filling instead of her time consuming recipe using fresh lemons.

These critters scampering around the yard should appreciate their life. They would have been cut up and smothered in gravy when I was a girl.

Friday, February 16, 2007

The Indian Level Two Tech guy for Earthlink got me online yesterday but the connection is shaky. He opined my 2002 modem is "old". When I feel like waiting for customer support for hours I should request a new one. Apparently you can dicker with them until they are willing to ship one to you free. Or they can disconnect and you are sent back to the beginning. Earthlink is not my friend.

Snow is deep on the ground and temperature in the single digits. The personal care ladies are supposed to come on Monday and Thursday to scrub me down and get me tidy. They have a variety of reasons not to arrive on schedule. 1] Car transmission failed 2] Doctor is going to call to schedule their gallbladder/hernia surgery 3] Last appointment is on the other side of town 4] Confusion on actual time of arrival previously determined

Yesterday the lady called twice to work out a time. I ate early so I could run the dishwasher and she could empty it before my scrub. But she arrived while it was in the middle of things and I had to stop it so it didn't use up the hot water for the shower. After the shower I could have had her run the washer but I didn't feel like putting the washed load in the dryer. As it happened she sat comfortably at my kitchen table while her sister shopped in the neighborhood and got lost coming to pick her up.

The Occupational Therapy Lady comes twice a week. She has been helpful in showing me how to use the sock putter-on-er and getting rid of 30 pair of socks that are too tight for the device. She has worked with me on using the button hook. She made a suggestion for writing more legibly. She took an oversized typing aide with her to heat and fit to my small left hand for the computer.

She lives five minutes from here so schedules me for early or late arrivals. When she stops coming all services stop. The lady nurse came twice and initially said I should be in a nursing home. "You just sell your house and use the money to pay for the Home!" "Why can't I pay people to come here?" Annoyed glare.

The Day of the Big Snow a different nurse who was a guy called and addressed me fondly. "Howya doin' sweetheart? Ya feelin' okay? Do you think you need a nurse?" I've never needed a nurse especially one who calls me sweetheart. But maybe he was calling from a snowdrift somewhere and needed to hear a mother's voice.

If Earthlink and Home Care keep providing services to me a nursing home might start looking good. But I will have to brush up on Senile Dementia. No one with half a mind could endure such well intentioned help.