What's new? 13th letter of the Greek alphabet. Hysterical old fraternity joke of starter husbands band-o-brothers. Getting a very shaky start here.
So the daughter of Steve has appeared from her first year of college for a summer respite with her pappy and yours truly. She is going to move to North Carolina to go to a chi chi private liberal arts college in Asheville in the fall. In the mean time she will be hunkering down in the dirt and what not, toiling at an organic vegetable farm for some dinero. The Spanish reference here is intentional. But what it means in real life is we get healthy stuff to eat for the next eight weeks. Except for beets, they are the liver and brains of the vegetable world. I don't care what you say. That's my final word on the subject.
Along with her sweet self, the daughter brought many bags, boxes, suitcases and sacks of stuff. She has a room the size of a cardboard box and I've already taken control of half the closet. First come first served and all that. Anyway she's spent several hours pouring through the detritus deciding what she can't possibly live without for eight weeks and what can be shipped off to North Carolina to the welcoming arms of her Mammy. Naturally this gives me ample opportunity to offer my valuable insight. I am quite happy to point out that you shouldn't even think about saving anything you haven't touched for a year. Plus noting that some of those things she covets were used to begin with, and besides the obvious..."what were you thinking" there's also the "I can't believe that was ever cute." I am well on my way to making myself an indispensable asset to her life and style.
The spouse and I went to the middle daughters house for dinner the other night. This is the first time I've seen the son-in-law since my little accident. He was in last place for favorite until he fed me. He's hovering somewhere between a high two, close to one right now. Besides he tells a mean joke. And he likes my cooking, which is what I helped out with, personally overseeing a yummy seat of the pants sauce for the ham and putting my own special touch on the potatoes avec cheese and onions and other secret stuff. Sadly the spouse dragged me off before we tucked in to the box of See's that was sitting on the counter. I'm just not over that yet, nor do I intend to be.
Fully exhausted from that outing I slept all the next morning arising at 1:00p in time for Steve to say adieu and take himself off to the land of the doomed he calls work. You see there was a biker party at the fairgrounds that night and Stevie had to be the chaperon, so to speak. Not just any bikers, I believe the term "Black Hell's Angels" was used as an adjective. Swell. So I guess everything went on just fine till the ho's in the bat-room got to getting and started a little riot. Girl fights are the stuff that dread, fear and loathing come from. It also involves the po-leece. You'll be relieved to discover that my beloved was safe in his office till the Calvary arrived and he could venture forth and add his two cents worth to the mayhem. Because, the bat-room riot then became a whole sale free for all what with the gentlemen bikers taking advantage of the distractions and hopping over the various bars and grabbing the demon alcohol. What a life my beloved has. Mercifully I was unaware of any of these shenanigans being safely at home with the Norco and the dogs and the tee vee. Bliss.
I wish I hadn't thought about the See's, cause now that's all I can think about. I've discovered, belatedly, that you are not a prisoner of what Grandma See's thinks should be in a box of candy. No, no, you can select individually all those tasty tidbits that only you like for your box of candy. I recommend 2# boxes to save your self wear and tear getting over to the store and like that more than once a day. My selections always include Bordeaux, the ones with the brown sugar goodness in the middle, and I admit it, the raspberry cremes, the English Toffee, the Molasses Chips, and I could go on, but I'm drooling. Pretty visual isn't it? And yes, I had to give up my gym membership temporarily, due to breakage, but I shall start up again, maybe next week and I have plenty to work off. sigh.
Believe it or not, several days have gone by, I severely edited what I'd blathered on about. What you read above is edited. Frightening.
I had a most entertaining weak end. It started by meeting the horse show mom/snow bound mom/she of the narcotic cocktails in Sonoma in the pouring rain to go house hunting. We found a cute place and to my mind that should be the end of that. Alas, I suspect we will venturing forth on more adventures in home buying, but it's all good, cause it's like spending someone else's money, which is v. good right now.
Since we are in California where everything is over priced, we asked about the vacant lot next to the house and property we were looking at. Now this place is reasonably priced for what ever reason, so we thought why not jump in immediately and increase the holding? So on a busy road, 8 acres with nada on it and a perk test for only a three bed room house? 1. something million. Wonder why it's been on the market for a century or so?
Anyway from house hunting to Mani-Pedi's. Of course to my mind it's always better to have your feeties in a steamy foot bath with a steamy cocktail in your hand, but Starbucks had to do, and it did quite nicely. From the salon to the Casa Blanca where Muffie lives. I was quite happy to let her trundle off to clean stalls and muck about whilst I busied myself in the kitchen creating cocktails. Having imbibed the creations we then, happily buzzed, ventured off once again to whine taste. Quite a day right?
We also got to meet up with the children of the horse show mom later on and sit around and make fun of what Dim Sum really looks like. I am quite happy to go to the third and sixth grade level when it comes to making assessments about stuff. Dim Sum can get quite entertaining. By then it was waaaaaaaaay too late to go back to Vacaville, so we all snuggled up in the big bed at Casa Blanca and settled in with the Face Book and what not. Just like a slumber party. You are NEVER to old for that. promise.
Ever living on the edge, tonight I shall attend the graduation of grandson Garrett who is matriculating from sixth grade. Do I have to buy him a car? These things can get so confusing. Anyway I love Garrett. He is a very happy little man and he cracks me up. He took a big dive off his dirt bike the other day so we were able to compare scars and what not. He plays baseball and the trumpet. Truly an inspiration, except that unfortunate infatuation with guns, so I try to always try to stay on his good side.
My daughter, who is expecting in October, has discovered she is having a boy baby. This is good because I was deciding to be somewhat miffed that she had changed the middle name of a girl baby so it no longer payed homage to her mammy. Remember, no one will ever love you as much as your real mother Alison. Just remember. Anyway we have a new baby to look forward to in a few short months. I shall venture in to New Mexico cowboy country for the blessed event. And to subject the new parents to a clear picture of what child rearing is really about. And like that. I can't wait.
So happy reader, I'll sign off for now. You're welcome.
Cheers,
Squidgy
Monday, June 6, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Week Three - Boredom, HGTV and House Cleaning
And so it goes. I'm healing. I know you all wanted to know that. I've been to my primary care doctor who is possibly the only person I know who didn't know about my accident. She said, "motorcycle?" I said, "that was last year." She said, "oh." Kind of anti climatic really.
So I've been sitting around...a lot. Depending on where I am in the pain/pain medication cycle I have also cleaned the carpet, vacuumed, groomed the #$%^& dogs, dusted, changed the slip cover on the couch, upgraded the teevee so I can watch the Horse Racing Channel, and done some laundry. I also have been cooking and sometimes do the dishes too. Yesterday I learned on the teevee that 3 parts cream of tartar to 1 part water makes an excellent "green" cleaning mixture for your stainless steel sink. I am alarmed to announce this was the most exciting thing that has happened in the past 5 days.
On Sunday the spouse and I trekked over to Petaluma to get my car. It has been living there since the helicopter whisked me away two weeks previously. We also got to celebrate Dan's birthday. This is a great occasion as Dan is now technically a year older than me. I love old people. We got him a bottle of Makers Mark "46" which I think either means Dan's "age" or IQ. It would depend on whether or not Dan is mean to me. Mostly IQ then...
The spouse keeps bugging me about blogging. I keep saying I have nothing to blog about. He keeps saying that never stopped you before. I just take whatever is handy and zone out. He is annoying.
Since I was able to upgrade the teevee subscription to include HRTV (horse racing tee vee) and that then opened a whole new vista of channels, I was able to watch the Preakness Stakes on something like four different channels. And tape each one as well. What a life. I must say though, I was pretty surprised to see the horse who was the biggest boob of all win. He looked to be using up way too much energy in the paddock bucking, spinning and rearing. I saw many grooms and grounds people high tailing it out of his way. Perhaps they had read what happens if you manage to insert yourself between a horses hooves and safety. In any case, this nag must have endurance to spare, cause he won in spite of his pre-race gymnastics. I'd put my money on him for the Belmont, if I had any. That would be the tip-o-the-day. No charge. His name is Shackleford and he is named for an island. Do you need to know any more?
Several weeks ago the spouse came home in a particularly foul mood. Never you mind how I knew, that's not what this is about. No, worse than even being told the dog could no longer come to work because of his indiscriminate attacking and biting habits and something about pinning someone to a chain link fence...details details, oh, the dog, not Steve. But I digress, anyway the boss man at the place Steve works had some kind of epiphany as to dress code for managers and therefore determined that my beloved should dress more like a manager. I took a long, thoughtful look at the man I married and marveled that it had taken this long. Steve was not sure what part of his ensemble the boss man objected to, could it be the sweatshirt with stainage? The too short pocketed t-shirt with stainage? The board shorts with stainage? Or the sandals? Hard to say. The upshot was that my spouse now had to dress his age. Damn baby, I thought this presentation was strictly reserved for mandatory holiday dinners and outings to the ballet. Nevertheless, the next morning my prince went rummaging through his side of the closet for something that was appropriate to his status. Plenty of shirts in there due to my diligent purchases of a new shirt every Christmas and birthday. Bonus: they all had the tags on them! Not so lucky in the trouser department. In the last move we made, I believe I may have thrown out every pair of slacks that hadn't been worn in say a year. So sweet cheeks was down to two pairs of slacks/trousers/not jeans. I don't think he was appreciative of the sympathetic grunts I made on his behalf as he struggled with the fastenings either. Sorry dude, just trying to be helpful. In any case I emailed his mother unit and whined pathetically that her darling only offspring was going to be fired because he had nothing to wear, and could she send clothes to him right now, oh, and here are the model numbers from the catalog, and could you go ahead and send some shirts too? Because God only knows how long it will be till the current crop goes stained, ripped, or whatever other horrors may befall them. Bless her little heart! The box arrived today and my dream machine shall be clothed in outfits befitting his station for some time to come. Thanks Mary. You're the bomb!
I have had visitors. My children and their children. The Sunday I came home from the hospital, Megan and her husband, Josh, currently #1 - you go gurl I mean guy, and the adorable grandchildren. I made sure I was heavily medicated before they got here so as to be at my best when they arrived. And they arrived bearing Jamba Juice goodness! Yeah! In turn I found a Shrek movie for the darlings and we settled in for a little visit. The next thing I knew little Mila was at my side with a fist full of coins, and she wanted to know if she could have them for her purse. I figured she had shaken "Grumpy" down for cash and approved the transaction and asked where her purse was. Sadly it was at home, so I sent her back out to "Grumpy" for an appropriate bucket to transport the coins home, which he did. Then next thing I knew all the darlings had their grubby little mitts on money that they wanted and furthermore they hadn't shaken down "Grumpy", they were pilfering from my change trophy. My bad that it was at urchin height, so I had to put down a few rules, nothing silver, nothing heavy. That game got old quite quickly.
On to the swamp in the back yard. We have a pond. It is not deep. The dogs stand in it. That's all they do is stand in it. Kind of strange. The pond is supposed to have a pump and a waterfall. Neither of those things work or even are there. The landlord was supposed to maintain all that sort of stuff, but he said he wasn't going to do that after all, and just to throw bleach in it once in awhile. Well, in the meantime we were overrun with horny frogs (not horny toads, well maybe, but I mean carnally inclined) over the winter and the upshot of that was a feverish hatching of tadpoles. Well the grandchildren were ever so excited about them. And insisted on catching a good number of them to take home with the money. It was a good day for the Kerns children booty-wise. In any case the capture of the tadpoles went something like this. Jack obtained a tadpole catching vessel from "Grumpy" and scooped the tadpoles in to it. Silas then came around and tipped them all on to the grass. Jack came in screaming that Silas murdered all the tadpoles. Silas came in grinning holding a mass of cookies and granola bars in one hand and grasping for my Jamba Juice with the other. Mila stole money. So then Jack would go back out and catch more tadpoles and Silas then returned them to their gasping brothers and sisters in the grass and Jack would screech and Mila would take more money. This went on for quite a while and I marveled that Megan could not hear any of the goings on and that Josh could, and was sleeping on the couch through the whole of it. Simply amazing. They are absolute darlings and I approve most heartily of them. Of course what I really liked was how easily they manipulated "Grumpy". Mila has ordered him to appear at her ballet class like YaYa did. Steve gravely agreed that he should indeed do that. I'll see to it that he does.
And so dear readers, I reach the limit of creativeness for this week. Hopefully something interesting will happen in my future. Oh wait, the daughter of Steve arrives for a summer homage to her pappy next week. That should prove interesting ...I'll let you know.
Cheers,
Squidgy
So I've been sitting around...a lot. Depending on where I am in the pain/pain medication cycle I have also cleaned the carpet, vacuumed, groomed the #$%^& dogs, dusted, changed the slip cover on the couch, upgraded the teevee so I can watch the Horse Racing Channel, and done some laundry. I also have been cooking and sometimes do the dishes too. Yesterday I learned on the teevee that 3 parts cream of tartar to 1 part water makes an excellent "green" cleaning mixture for your stainless steel sink. I am alarmed to announce this was the most exciting thing that has happened in the past 5 days.
On Sunday the spouse and I trekked over to Petaluma to get my car. It has been living there since the helicopter whisked me away two weeks previously. We also got to celebrate Dan's birthday. This is a great occasion as Dan is now technically a year older than me. I love old people. We got him a bottle of Makers Mark "46" which I think either means Dan's "age" or IQ. It would depend on whether or not Dan is mean to me. Mostly IQ then...
The spouse keeps bugging me about blogging. I keep saying I have nothing to blog about. He keeps saying that never stopped you before. I just take whatever is handy and zone out. He is annoying.
Since I was able to upgrade the teevee subscription to include HRTV (horse racing tee vee) and that then opened a whole new vista of channels, I was able to watch the Preakness Stakes on something like four different channels. And tape each one as well. What a life. I must say though, I was pretty surprised to see the horse who was the biggest boob of all win. He looked to be using up way too much energy in the paddock bucking, spinning and rearing. I saw many grooms and grounds people high tailing it out of his way. Perhaps they had read what happens if you manage to insert yourself between a horses hooves and safety. In any case, this nag must have endurance to spare, cause he won in spite of his pre-race gymnastics. I'd put my money on him for the Belmont, if I had any. That would be the tip-o-the-day. No charge. His name is Shackleford and he is named for an island. Do you need to know any more?
Several weeks ago the spouse came home in a particularly foul mood. Never you mind how I knew, that's not what this is about. No, worse than even being told the dog could no longer come to work because of his indiscriminate attacking and biting habits and something about pinning someone to a chain link fence...details details, oh, the dog, not Steve. But I digress, anyway the boss man at the place Steve works had some kind of epiphany as to dress code for managers and therefore determined that my beloved should dress more like a manager. I took a long, thoughtful look at the man I married and marveled that it had taken this long. Steve was not sure what part of his ensemble the boss man objected to, could it be the sweatshirt with stainage? The too short pocketed t-shirt with stainage? The board shorts with stainage? Or the sandals? Hard to say. The upshot was that my spouse now had to dress his age. Damn baby, I thought this presentation was strictly reserved for mandatory holiday dinners and outings to the ballet. Nevertheless, the next morning my prince went rummaging through his side of the closet for something that was appropriate to his status. Plenty of shirts in there due to my diligent purchases of a new shirt every Christmas and birthday. Bonus: they all had the tags on them! Not so lucky in the trouser department. In the last move we made, I believe I may have thrown out every pair of slacks that hadn't been worn in say a year. So sweet cheeks was down to two pairs of slacks/trousers/not jeans. I don't think he was appreciative of the sympathetic grunts I made on his behalf as he struggled with the fastenings either. Sorry dude, just trying to be helpful. In any case I emailed his mother unit and whined pathetically that her darling only offspring was going to be fired because he had nothing to wear, and could she send clothes to him right now, oh, and here are the model numbers from the catalog, and could you go ahead and send some shirts too? Because God only knows how long it will be till the current crop goes stained, ripped, or whatever other horrors may befall them. Bless her little heart! The box arrived today and my dream machine shall be clothed in outfits befitting his station for some time to come. Thanks Mary. You're the bomb!
I have had visitors. My children and their children. The Sunday I came home from the hospital, Megan and her husband, Josh, currently #1 - you go
On to the swamp in the back yard. We have a pond. It is not deep. The dogs stand in it. That's all they do is stand in it. Kind of strange. The pond is supposed to have a pump and a waterfall. Neither of those things work or even are there. The landlord was supposed to maintain all that sort of stuff, but he said he wasn't going to do that after all, and just to throw bleach in it once in awhile. Well, in the meantime we were overrun with horny frogs (not horny toads, well maybe, but I mean carnally inclined) over the winter and the upshot of that was a feverish hatching of tadpoles. Well the grandchildren were ever so excited about them. And insisted on catching a good number of them to take home with the money. It was a good day for the Kerns children booty-wise. In any case the capture of the tadpoles went something like this. Jack obtained a tadpole catching vessel from "Grumpy" and scooped the tadpoles in to it. Silas then came around and tipped them all on to the grass. Jack came in screaming that Silas murdered all the tadpoles. Silas came in grinning holding a mass of cookies and granola bars in one hand and grasping for my Jamba Juice with the other. Mila stole money. So then Jack would go back out and catch more tadpoles and Silas then returned them to their gasping brothers and sisters in the grass and Jack would screech and Mila would take more money. This went on for quite a while and I marveled that Megan could not hear any of the goings on and that Josh could, and was sleeping on the couch through the whole of it. Simply amazing. They are absolute darlings and I approve most heartily of them. Of course what I really liked was how easily they manipulated "Grumpy". Mila has ordered him to appear at her ballet class like YaYa did. Steve gravely agreed that he should indeed do that. I'll see to it that he does.
And so dear readers, I reach the limit of creativeness for this week. Hopefully something interesting will happen in my future. Oh wait, the daughter of Steve arrives for a summer homage to her pappy next week. That should prove interesting ...I'll let you know.
Cheers,
Squidgy
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Part Deux
So when we last left off I was relishing having a room to my self. And drugs on demand. However this idyll was spoiled somewhat by the clear fluids diet. Let me explain. If you can see through it, I could have it. Jello? yes. Consomme'? yes. Fruit Juice? yes. Oh and make that three times a day for three days. Actually make that three days of not eating. Not that I was hungry, but I was petulant and in a lot of pain and I have to say I even got tetchy. Stop rolling your eyes right this very minute, I'm an invalid. And that's invalid with the emphasis on the "in" not the "val".
And what good would a treatise about a hospital stay be if you didn't have your own personal version of "Nurse Ratched" to moan about? (please see One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest for reference). Mine was a PhD. Nurse Practitioner named Aldrich, but for our purposes shall be known henceforth as Nurse Wretched. What a piece of work. Evidently since I was not privately insured by the rich Gods of insurance, I was assigned this gem of a medical practitioner instead of an MD. I didn't really give a whoop about any of that, but I would have preferred someone who at one point, at least, had endured pain of the sort I was experiencing. Perhaps she would have understood managing the pain through a thoughtful use of narcotics was a better idea than hers, which was basically an aspirin and the mantra to man up. Many of you will recognize that being in pain, the type which manifests itself through the very act of breathing could have the nasty side effect of, say, crankiness. So this queen of medicine with absolutely no sense of humor prescribed an oral medication that I discovered upon my investigation, had the significant side effect of agitation. This becomes important when we visit my last interaction with the angel of mercy. I was also allowed to have my choice of other IV meds at certain times during the day, I had only to express my pain level in terms of intensity of one to ten to determine the dose. Unfortunately, because I've never been a very good stoner, I kept forgetting whether 10 was no pain or a lot of pain. Evidently this was an important distinction to make.
I was hospitalized in Santa Rosa for four nights and three days. I had expected to be incarcerated over night for observation, so the length of stay was something of a surprise. But I was pretty much asleep most of the time so it didn't matter that much. I also spent some time walking around the corridors with a nurse holding me up while I grasped the back of my gown so as not to share the glory of my backside with the ward population. The exercise regime was under the orders of Nurse Wretched. However, at some point in the stay she decided I had not saturated enough oxygen and then confined me to the bed with a clip to my finger and a hose up my nose which were hard wired to central command at the nurses station, so that if, say, I had to go the bathroom I could wait till someone could come unhook me from the various breathing devices. Or I could unhook myself and tottle off alone while various bells and whistles went off. Upon returning to my sanctuary (bed) I would try to remember to reattach all the various things so I could nod off, but nine times out of ten I would forget something so a nurse would have to come in anyway and cluck cluck about this and that. Still I think they appreciated they didn't have to come for potty duty every five minutes. Clear fluid diets will do that to you. This had the added benefit of giving Nurse Wretched something to lecture me about since I wasn't getting enough exercise prowling the halls. Never mind she had confined me to the bed, she could still give me lots of dire warnings. You just can't win for losing.
At some point during my stay I gained a "room mate". She was about 110, spoke no English and had had a stroke. Neat. So she was confined to her bed full stop, the don't even think about leaving your bed kind of bed confinement. This warning did not seem to translate effectively because she got up quite often to go potty. Sadly, in her case an alarm shrieked to warn everyone, including me, that the patient in bed "A" was escaping then six or seven medical experts would have to rush in to screech at her about fall risks and instability and being sick and what not. Then two or three translators would have to re-shriek the orders to the lady. And nothing ever really got through to her. It seemed to be important to screech because thats what you do when you have to converse with someone who doesn't know what you're saying. When my little room mate wasn't trying to make a break for it she would lay in her bed/prison and chant. That unnerved me to say the least. I fully expected crossed chicken bones and dolls with pins stuck in them to appear at any time. She also had visitors. About 30 or 40 at a time all babbling in the mystery language and the errant children who liked to peek at me from around the curtains. I found that baring my teeth at them had the desired affect of discouraging their visits.
All good things must come to an end and so I was informed that at some point I would be transferred to a Kaiser hospital. It was also agreed that going to a Kaiser nearer to home was a good idea. But they teased me with that tantalizing thought for a couple days. In the meantime I was still on the clear fluids diets even though Nurse Wretched had told me I could now be on a modified diet, sadly she neglected to tell anyone but me about this revelation. Day after day, three times a day I was presented with consomme, jello and fruit juice as my only dining option. Long about day three I started to feel a little hunger. At that point I had not really eaten anything since Saturday noon. It all came to a head one morning when I was once again presented with the hell diet and I had a complete hissy fit about it. This was resolved by someone bringing me a steaming bowl of Cream of Wheat. Yum. I love Cream of Wheat. Comfort food, memories of mommy and all that. Soon after that Nurse Wretched appeared to make her daily assessment of me as an individual (found severely inadequate) and as a patient. She informed me that she personally had determined not to send me to Kaiser the day before, probably just to be mean, but I could probably go this very day, but I had to have a heart ultrasound first. Ok. Then she asked me how I was tolerating the diet (translation: have you gone #2 yet?) So I said the diet was intolerable and why was I still on clear fluids long after she'd told me I could have real food. That caught her attention. She said, "What?" So I told her that the only offerings that had come my way in the guise of food was consomme, jello and fruit juice and that I'd finally had a cow about it that very morning and I had been presented with a bowl of Cream of Wheat. She said, "What?" So I explained it all again to her, using much smaller words, and the point finally got through. Defensively she said that she had told me I could have a more significant diet. I said that was great and all, but perhaps writing that down as an order would have perhaps gotten that point across to the nursing staff and dietitian. Then I stared at her. She blinked and asked me why I was agitated. So I told her why and also brought up that agitation was one of the side effects of the medication she had prescribed. And I stared some more. She bustled off to chew some nurses butt for not reading her mind and soon after that I was ensconced in an ambulance and on my way to Kaiser Vacaville. Bon Voyage.The stay in Vacaville lasted three days and among other luxuries I was also allowed a shower. I guess I forgot to mention that I'd only had sponge baths up to that point and hair washing was not part of the service. Amazing what feeling clean can do for you. I was almost sorry to leave, but on Thursday we parted company and I was remanded to the care of my loving spouse. Some of you may think that is a cruel and unusual punishment, but I will state here and now that he is a paragon of sainthood and my care under his tutelage has been nothing short of spiritual.
So I'm home and recovering. I have pain meds to take on a schedule and they help a lot. I've caught up on all the shows I'd recorded and have watched several movies. I will be happy to give you my critiques of them if you'd like to ask me, but I won't bore you with that unless you beg. I am rapidly running out of at home amusements. I'm not allowed to lift more than five pounds nor do I have my car, and I shouldn't drive just now in any case. Wa Wa Wa. I see the light at the end of the tunnel, though the light is a few weeks off yet. I'll be fine.
I fully expect to resume my house sitting gigs. I like doing that. And it gives me lots to think about and more importantly to write about...at your expense, but there you have it. Thanks for your notes of sympathy. And your jokes and cards. I can't laugh, but will sooner or later.
Cheers,
Squidgy
Saturday, May 14, 2011
felt like a bomb went off, but there was no noise...
What a week. First off, all my condolences to Chris and Logan Bearden and your family. Your loss is unimaginable and I can only hope you can find a way to live with it as best you can. Carol...we all miss you. Cheers.
Now, what about me? Shallow and self involved? yes, yes indeed. So as you know I spend countless hours at the beck and call of my friends in exchange for tasteful compensation. Such was the situation last weekend when the Petaluma "client" beckoned and I hastened to do the bidding of my horse show bound friends. I was somewhat suprised that I was also watching two gigantic dogs that closely resembled lions. But being easy going and even tempered I dealt with it and carried on..The weekend was most satisfactory in that the horses were well behaved. The dogs, not so much in that they chased one of the horses in his paddock barking and carrying on like a pair of d*** fools. Eventually one of them got smacked by the horse and went limping off to sulk. I ascertained nothing was lobbed off nor was there any blood, determined injuries were deserved and probably painful but not life threatening. I informed the mother of the bad dog of his sins and went back to what ever it was I was doing.
You faithful readers will remember I was in Petaluma when the dropped drawers shipper visited. I was forewarned that the same shipper would be arriving to pick up a horse at some point over the weekend and having previously endured that treat I was prepared. Imagine my delight when the shipper arrived and 1.) it wasn't the same bare mooned fellow of before and 2.) I received insider information on the Kentucky Derby hopefuls.. So the going away horse left I hustled back to the house to catch all the pregame excitement of the Derby on the Tee Vee.
Eventually I had to go back out and do the evening chores so I did that, expecting that my timing would be such that I should be back at the house in time for the start of the race. I cleaned the stalls, changed out blankets that needed changing and did the water refilling, got the hay fed and all that. So I was on my last horse and he was in a paddock that was on the way back to the house so I untied the bad dogs and put the halter on the horse and reached around the back end of him and the explosion happened. It was exactly like a gigantic bomb, but no noise and the next thing I knew I was several feet away from where I'd been an instant before and I couldn't breathe. And I thought, well this sucks, I can't breathe. If I can't breathe I will die and I'm not ready. So I made myself breathe then I rolled out of the pasture under the hot wire and reassessed. Hmmm, oh yeah, I believe I've just been double barrelled by the hind feet of a big horse and I was alone and I should correct that. So I did what any of you would have...I called Steve and he said call 911. I became hysterical and told him to just get over here as fast as he could. He was about 45 minutes or more away . So then I told him to call Muffie and he said he didn't have her number and said I should call 911 so I hung up on him and called Muffie myself and she said call 911 and since we had discussed the idea of her going to nursing school and because of that she was practically an expert and a doctor so I called 911. Then things got really exciting.
I was able to remember who I was, where I was, even the address and the gate code and all that stuff and the next thing I knew there were about 500 ambulances, cars, lights, personnel, and a helicopter milling around. Did I say helicopter? Why yes I did. Remember the horses in their paddocks? They saw the helicopter too and thought that was really interesting and stampeded around, and I was still on the ground and there was only a hot wire between me and them. One of the paramedics (you should not smoke BTW) was trying to pull me close to the wire for some unknown reason and since I was having a little bit of a time getting enough air to scream that the wire was H.O.T.! she had just had to find that out for herself, then she pulled the wire down in her uh "shock" and the horse got out and all kinds of pandemonium let loose. And I was thinking I might have been better off by myself since none of these guys knew the first thing about horses much less ones that were in a panic state, and the blades of the helicopter were taking a really long time stopping and I was on the ground on a back board with one of those "C" Collars on. So there was no way I could get myself out of the way and was at the mercy of at least three different medical response teams each vying for the opportunity to provide excellent care, but there was all the requisite posturing to be done first and I decided to freak out. I believe I was in shock and I was freezing and I kept wondering why they kept lifting my shirt up. Suddenly they remembered they had an ambulance and it would be quieter and warmer and maybe even safer in there so off we went and they did all their EMT stuff to me and decided they would transport me to the hospital then they decided I was a trauma case and I could go in the the helicopter. My first thought was that Steve would be really impressed by that, and my second thought was that the helicopter would have to start up again and the horses were loose and after the helicopter left there would be no need for the ambulances and the rest of the personnel to be there and they would leave and the horses would then be loose on the property (hopefully) or loose on the road (probably). So I refused to be transported till the guys told me they had captured the horses and put them in stalls with water and food blah blah. So anyway, eventually I was strapped in the helicopter and went for my first ride in a whirlybird. Wish I could remember any of it, or perhaps I don't.
At any rate I found myself enroute the trauma unit at Santa Rosa Memorial Hospital and I was fretting that I had Kaiser and they told me Kaiser did not have a trauma unit and so I just had to go where they took me and I decided they might have done this before and I was better off just going with it. In the mean time my cell phone rang and rang and rang. What exactly was I supposed to do about that? I had a needle the size of two penny nail in one arm, the other was strapped under a seat belt thingy, my entire body was strapped to a board and still it rang. Finally one of the EMTs answered it and talked to Steve or Muffie or both told them where I was. Under my concise direction the medic/receptionist told Muffie to go Petluma to make sure the horses were ok and the dogs were locked up in the garage and all that housekeeping stuff was done and to bring me my purse. He then told Steve to come to Santa Rosa to see me. We arrived on the roof of the hospital, just like in the movies, and they moved me again, excrutiating pain, to a guerney that they all agreed was the first one ever built and chugged me down to the E.R./Trauma place. Then the hospital personnel began cutting my clothes off. I had successfully forestalled this action while in the field in Petaluma, but I was no match for trauma docs and the like. It did not matter the jeans were brand new, the shirt was Ralph Lauren and the bra was comfortable snip snip off they came. Thankfully I'd managed to push my paddock boots off before they had a chance to get to them as well. I may sound a little pouty at this point, but I maintain I was in shock, wasn't sure what all had happened, wasn't sure how damaged I was or any of that yet, but things were happening, they took a chest x-ray then they sent me down the hall for a cat scan, brought me back, Steve called and said he was at the hospital emergency but they no record of me, which didn't sound like a good thing, but one of the trauma nurses heard the conversation and said they assign trauma patients a code # and never release their names, so she ran down and fetched him and brought him back with her. At last a face I could recognize. Then Muffie showed up and she had no problem getting in because, well she's Muffie and few people have the energy to argue with her for any length of time. Finally the trauma doc. came in and said they'd be keeping me overnight for observation and I said what's wrong with me? and he said lot's of stuff and left. Kid you not. Eventually he came back and said I had fractured my Sternum and broken 7 ribs. Dayum.
Each time he told me something was broken or cracked they gave me more drugs and that was a really good thing, but not so good if you were meant to remember anything important like how to manage breathng and things like that. I had only he word of Muffie and Steve to go on, but they were pretty involved listening in on the woes of other more interesting patients, the lingo of cops and medics and taking unflattering pictures of yours truly. Then Muffie gave her personal assessment of the drugs I was given and gave her recommendations of successful companion narcotics to enhance my pain control regime. And Steve was thinking they should serve the families of patients alcoholic cocktails and a nice meal while they waited and all I wanted was to find out what they were going to do to/with me.
So finally they decided to send me to a room so I could be observed by some other hospital people. My only wish was granted and I had a private room. And all I had to do was ask and the narcotic fairy would appear and send happy juice into my IV and I would waft away in to oblivion and be pain free. On the down side I kept mistaking the Tee Vee turny on button with the STAT call nurse panic button and so they became disenchanted with me rather sooner than I would have liked.
..to be continued
Cheers,
Squidgy
Now, what about me? Shallow and self involved? yes, yes indeed. So as you know I spend countless hours at the beck and call of my friends in exchange for tasteful compensation. Such was the situation last weekend when the Petaluma "client" beckoned and I hastened to do the bidding of my horse show bound friends. I was somewhat suprised that I was also watching two gigantic dogs that closely resembled lions. But being easy going and even tempered I dealt with it and carried on..The weekend was most satisfactory in that the horses were well behaved. The dogs, not so much in that they chased one of the horses in his paddock barking and carrying on like a pair of d*** fools. Eventually one of them got smacked by the horse and went limping off to sulk. I ascertained nothing was lobbed off nor was there any blood, determined injuries were deserved and probably painful but not life threatening. I informed the mother of the bad dog of his sins and went back to what ever it was I was doing.
You faithful readers will remember I was in Petaluma when the dropped drawers shipper visited. I was forewarned that the same shipper would be arriving to pick up a horse at some point over the weekend and having previously endured that treat I was prepared. Imagine my delight when the shipper arrived and 1.) it wasn't the same bare mooned fellow of before and 2.) I received insider information on the Kentucky Derby hopefuls.. So the going away horse left I hustled back to the house to catch all the pregame excitement of the Derby on the Tee Vee.
Eventually I had to go back out and do the evening chores so I did that, expecting that my timing would be such that I should be back at the house in time for the start of the race. I cleaned the stalls, changed out blankets that needed changing and did the water refilling, got the hay fed and all that. So I was on my last horse and he was in a paddock that was on the way back to the house so I untied the bad dogs and put the halter on the horse and reached around the back end of him and the explosion happened. It was exactly like a gigantic bomb, but no noise and the next thing I knew I was several feet away from where I'd been an instant before and I couldn't breathe. And I thought, well this sucks, I can't breathe. If I can't breathe I will die and I'm not ready. So I made myself breathe then I rolled out of the pasture under the hot wire and reassessed. Hmmm, oh yeah, I believe I've just been double barrelled by the hind feet of a big horse and I was alone and I should correct that. So I did what any of you would have...I called Steve and he said call 911. I became hysterical and told him to just get over here as fast as he could. He was about 45 minutes or more away . So then I told him to call Muffie and he said he didn't have her number and said I should call 911 so I hung up on him and called Muffie myself and she said call 911 and since we had discussed the idea of her going to nursing school and because of that she was practically an expert and a doctor so I called 911. Then things got really exciting.
I was able to remember who I was, where I was, even the address and the gate code and all that stuff and the next thing I knew there were about 500 ambulances, cars, lights, personnel, and a helicopter milling around. Did I say helicopter? Why yes I did. Remember the horses in their paddocks? They saw the helicopter too and thought that was really interesting and stampeded around, and I was still on the ground and there was only a hot wire between me and them. One of the paramedics (you should not smoke BTW) was trying to pull me close to the wire for some unknown reason and since I was having a little bit of a time getting enough air to scream that the wire was H.O.T.! she had just had to find that out for herself, then she pulled the wire down in her uh "shock" and the horse got out and all kinds of pandemonium let loose. And I was thinking I might have been better off by myself since none of these guys knew the first thing about horses much less ones that were in a panic state, and the blades of the helicopter were taking a really long time stopping and I was on the ground on a back board with one of those "C" Collars on. So there was no way I could get myself out of the way and was at the mercy of at least three different medical response teams each vying for the opportunity to provide excellent care, but there was all the requisite posturing to be done first and I decided to freak out. I believe I was in shock and I was freezing and I kept wondering why they kept lifting my shirt up. Suddenly they remembered they had an ambulance and it would be quieter and warmer and maybe even safer in there so off we went and they did all their EMT stuff to me and decided they would transport me to the hospital then they decided I was a trauma case and I could go in the the helicopter. My first thought was that Steve would be really impressed by that, and my second thought was that the helicopter would have to start up again and the horses were loose and after the helicopter left there would be no need for the ambulances and the rest of the personnel to be there and they would leave and the horses would then be loose on the property (hopefully) or loose on the road (probably). So I refused to be transported till the guys told me they had captured the horses and put them in stalls with water and food blah blah. So anyway, eventually I was strapped in the helicopter and went for my first ride in a whirlybird. Wish I could remember any of it, or perhaps I don't.
At any rate I found myself enroute the trauma unit at Santa Rosa Memorial Hospital and I was fretting that I had Kaiser and they told me Kaiser did not have a trauma unit and so I just had to go where they took me and I decided they might have done this before and I was better off just going with it. In the mean time my cell phone rang and rang and rang. What exactly was I supposed to do about that? I had a needle the size of two penny nail in one arm, the other was strapped under a seat belt thingy, my entire body was strapped to a board and still it rang. Finally one of the EMTs answered it and talked to Steve or Muffie or both told them where I was. Under my concise direction the medic/receptionist told Muffie to go Petluma to make sure the horses were ok and the dogs were locked up in the garage and all that housekeeping stuff was done and to bring me my purse. He then told Steve to come to Santa Rosa to see me. We arrived on the roof of the hospital, just like in the movies, and they moved me again, excrutiating pain, to a guerney that they all agreed was the first one ever built and chugged me down to the E.R./Trauma place. Then the hospital personnel began cutting my clothes off. I had successfully forestalled this action while in the field in Petaluma, but I was no match for trauma docs and the like. It did not matter the jeans were brand new, the shirt was Ralph Lauren and the bra was comfortable snip snip off they came. Thankfully I'd managed to push my paddock boots off before they had a chance to get to them as well. I may sound a little pouty at this point, but I maintain I was in shock, wasn't sure what all had happened, wasn't sure how damaged I was or any of that yet, but things were happening, they took a chest x-ray then they sent me down the hall for a cat scan, brought me back, Steve called and said he was at the hospital emergency but they no record of me, which didn't sound like a good thing, but one of the trauma nurses heard the conversation and said they assign trauma patients a code # and never release their names, so she ran down and fetched him and brought him back with her. At last a face I could recognize. Then Muffie showed up and she had no problem getting in because, well she's Muffie and few people have the energy to argue with her for any length of time. Finally the trauma doc. came in and said they'd be keeping me overnight for observation and I said what's wrong with me? and he said lot's of stuff and left. Kid you not. Eventually he came back and said I had fractured my Sternum and broken 7 ribs. Dayum.
Each time he told me something was broken or cracked they gave me more drugs and that was a really good thing, but not so good if you were meant to remember anything important like how to manage breathng and things like that. I had only he word of Muffie and Steve to go on, but they were pretty involved listening in on the woes of other more interesting patients, the lingo of cops and medics and taking unflattering pictures of yours truly. Then Muffie gave her personal assessment of the drugs I was given and gave her recommendations of successful companion narcotics to enhance my pain control regime. And Steve was thinking they should serve the families of patients alcoholic cocktails and a nice meal while they waited and all I wanted was to find out what they were going to do to/with me.
So finally they decided to send me to a room so I could be observed by some other hospital people. My only wish was granted and I had a private room. And all I had to do was ask and the narcotic fairy would appear and send happy juice into my IV and I would waft away in to oblivion and be pain free. On the down side I kept mistaking the Tee Vee turny on button with the STAT call nurse panic button and so they became disenchanted with me rather sooner than I would have liked.
..to be continued
Cheers,
Squidgy
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Juris Prudence or something
Among the random offerings in my mailbox the other day was an invitation from the Superior Court of Solano County to appear at 8:00 in the morning for jury duty. The term invitation is a very loose interpretation, however, I chose to believe they were polite anyway. I was given the option of phoning in the night before my service date to check the status of the request to appear and what not so I did that. And was informed my presence was not needed. So I foolishly made plans to go visit my youngest daughter and go to the ballet academe' (French Ya'll...all ballet is French) to watch little Mila train to become a prima ballerina with the rest of the four year olds in her class. Simply put that was a.d.o.r.a.b.l.e. and yes, I did take a video on my phone and yes I did and do bore strangers spitless with viewings. It is my duty. The daughter and the adorable grandchildren and I planned to have dinner after which I would spend the night. This as a nod to the fact that I successfully watched someone elses kid without any serious or lasting harm. Therefore Meg felt safe asking me to stay with her children while she scampered up to Tahoe to be with her hubby.
But I had been asked to call in at the end of the day the second day to check the status and I'll be go to hell if they didn't say right then and there on the phone that I should appear at 8:00 in the morning. So I was able to watch the ballet and have dinner but then I had to go home to prepare for my day in court.
Somehow I managed to get up and shower and make myself somewhat presentable and got to the court at the prescribed hour. No mean feat at any time. My fellow prospective jurors were herded in to a grim auditorium known as "Jury Room". So we all scrambled for seats that were not near anyone else and proceeded to examine each other scrupulously, well I did anyway. And my first thought was , "What part of that outfit is business casual?" and my second thought was, "No mirror at your house?" and so it went. I'm nothing if not judgemental and this was prime hunting. So anyway then we got to watch a jury movie which I remember nothing about, then we were divided in to groups I, II and III. I was in group I and assigned to a judge and court. Wonderful. So then we got to fill out some forms and mill around and I scooted off to fetch coffee, which I had to pay for. Sign of the times...Then my group was called and 12 of my compatriots were chosen to be in the first group of folks to sit in the jury box, then an additional six were chosen to be alternates. I was not chosen and I figured that this was all groovy and what not, but I would soon be on my way to hearth and home.
Not so quick. I had not counted on the myriad of excuses the initial 18 would come up with. Although I have to say it would have been a lot more entertaining if they hadn't been so passive aggressive with their excuses. I didn't really care except that none of this was like Law and Order, The Defenders, Perry Mason, or L.A. Law and I was rapidly losing my sense of humor about the whole affair. I did think the religious zealot who ranted on for a good long time about Judicial Law and Biblical Law and the differences and all that and he couldn't possibly compromise himself blah blah blah and judge was like "dude, you only have to consider judicial law here and your other beliefs don't count." I thought that was pretty good, cause I thought the religious zealot was going to have a stroke.
Well anyway the attorneys for the prosecution and defense went through the panel and dismissed the best liars and every time one was excused someone from the six alternates had to go take a seat in the jury box. To make this shorter, everyone was a bad liar and sooner or later almost all the jurors were excused and the extras (me and some 18 others) were eventually called and placed in the alternates chairs and as luck would have it the judge was tired of excuses and lies and the attorneys got rid of some more folks in the box and no one asked me anything and I was chosen as juror #10. What-A- process.
So we were sworn in and the trial began. Again not anything like I had been TV primed for. Real lawyers are boring. Or at least these two were. The plaintiff was boring and I pegged her as a liar and probably on some really good meds. for her day in court. The witness was a git and not credible and gross. Then the defendant, whom we all had been sizing up as a scum bag proved that to be true with the possibility that he too was a liar. And wasn't this just jolly? So we got to the end of the trial and it coincided with the end of the day so we went home and we were threatened with all kinds of bad stuff if we talked about, researched, used a dictionary and all this other stuff about the trial. Do you know Steve? He's nothing if not persistent. But I gotta hand it to him, he didn't try to wheedle anything out of me that compromised my position. Good boy. But what this really meant was that we got to come back for another day! What fun. So then were bored spitless with endless instructions read to us by the judge, then the boring attorneys rambled on and made no sense cause neither of them had made any points worth mentioning, and we had to listen and listen and listen. And I wondered why the defendant was wearing the same outfit as the day before and I also wondered why he didn't put a little more effort in to his appearance. I may be shallow.
So eventually we got to go to the jury deliberation room. And unlike what you've read in your Grisham novels and seen on the TV, there were no refreshments. Not looking good. Well anyway I thought the attorneys had done a piss poor job of both defense and prosecution and neither had proved anything and so my answer was obvious. You must acquit. Never underestimate the power of a group. So we wrangled and some people got hot, and I said yeah I thought the guy hit the girl, but no one proved to me he did and so that was that. We did get taken out to lunch led and followed by the cops, and when we returned we voted and were hung at 9-3 not guilty. Awesome. We needed a 100% accord to deliver a verdict, but we were not able to do that and the judge was a little pissy, though he said we were good boys and girls. So then the court somebody or other polled us one by one as to whether or not we were hopelessly deadlocked and we were able to agree on that and so we were excused and the whole deal was declared a mistrial. A fitting boring end to a really boring trial.
I am exempt from jury duty for a year now. Praise be. I'm glad I went through and did it, another life experience and blog fodder. Happily it was only two days out of my so full life and though I would have liked to have come to a consensus with all of us agreeing I did make an excellent contact with a guy who does BBQ catering and managed to get some recipes. Every cloud has a silver lining.
Cheers,
Squidgy, JD
But I had been asked to call in at the end of the day the second day to check the status and I'll be go to hell if they didn't say right then and there on the phone that I should appear at 8:00 in the morning. So I was able to watch the ballet and have dinner but then I had to go home to prepare for my day in court.
Somehow I managed to get up and shower and make myself somewhat presentable and got to the court at the prescribed hour. No mean feat at any time. My fellow prospective jurors were herded in to a grim auditorium known as "Jury Room". So we all scrambled for seats that were not near anyone else and proceeded to examine each other scrupulously, well I did anyway. And my first thought was , "What part of that outfit is business casual?" and my second thought was, "No mirror at your house?" and so it went. I'm nothing if not judgemental and this was prime hunting. So anyway then we got to watch a jury movie which I remember nothing about, then we were divided in to groups I, II and III. I was in group I and assigned to a judge and court. Wonderful. So then we got to fill out some forms and mill around and I scooted off to fetch coffee, which I had to pay for. Sign of the times...Then my group was called and 12 of my compatriots were chosen to be in the first group of folks to sit in the jury box, then an additional six were chosen to be alternates. I was not chosen and I figured that this was all groovy and what not, but I would soon be on my way to hearth and home.
Not so quick. I had not counted on the myriad of excuses the initial 18 would come up with. Although I have to say it would have been a lot more entertaining if they hadn't been so passive aggressive with their excuses. I didn't really care except that none of this was like Law and Order, The Defenders, Perry Mason, or L.A. Law and I was rapidly losing my sense of humor about the whole affair. I did think the religious zealot who ranted on for a good long time about Judicial Law and Biblical Law and the differences and all that and he couldn't possibly compromise himself blah blah blah and judge was like "dude, you only have to consider judicial law here and your other beliefs don't count." I thought that was pretty good, cause I thought the religious zealot was going to have a stroke.
Well anyway the attorneys for the prosecution and defense went through the panel and dismissed the best liars and every time one was excused someone from the six alternates had to go take a seat in the jury box. To make this shorter, everyone was a bad liar and sooner or later almost all the jurors were excused and the extras (me and some 18 others) were eventually called and placed in the alternates chairs and as luck would have it the judge was tired of excuses and lies and the attorneys got rid of some more folks in the box and no one asked me anything and I was chosen as juror #10. What-A- process.
So we were sworn in and the trial began. Again not anything like I had been TV primed for. Real lawyers are boring. Or at least these two were. The plaintiff was boring and I pegged her as a liar and probably on some really good meds. for her day in court. The witness was a git and not credible and gross. Then the defendant, whom we all had been sizing up as a scum bag proved that to be true with the possibility that he too was a liar. And wasn't this just jolly? So we got to the end of the trial and it coincided with the end of the day so we went home and we were threatened with all kinds of bad stuff if we talked about, researched, used a dictionary and all this other stuff about the trial. Do you know Steve? He's nothing if not persistent. But I gotta hand it to him, he didn't try to wheedle anything out of me that compromised my position. Good boy. But what this really meant was that we got to come back for another day! What fun. So then were bored spitless with endless instructions read to us by the judge, then the boring attorneys rambled on and made no sense cause neither of them had made any points worth mentioning, and we had to listen and listen and listen. And I wondered why the defendant was wearing the same outfit as the day before and I also wondered why he didn't put a little more effort in to his appearance. I may be shallow.
So eventually we got to go to the jury deliberation room. And unlike what you've read in your Grisham novels and seen on the TV, there were no refreshments. Not looking good. Well anyway I thought the attorneys had done a piss poor job of both defense and prosecution and neither had proved anything and so my answer was obvious. You must acquit. Never underestimate the power of a group. So we wrangled and some people got hot, and I said yeah I thought the guy hit the girl, but no one proved to me he did and so that was that. We did get taken out to lunch led and followed by the cops, and when we returned we voted and were hung at 9-3 not guilty. Awesome. We needed a 100% accord to deliver a verdict, but we were not able to do that and the judge was a little pissy, though he said we were good boys and girls. So then the court somebody or other polled us one by one as to whether or not we were hopelessly deadlocked and we were able to agree on that and so we were excused and the whole deal was declared a mistrial. A fitting boring end to a really boring trial.
I am exempt from jury duty for a year now. Praise be. I'm glad I went through and did it, another life experience and blog fodder. Happily it was only two days out of my so full life and though I would have liked to have come to a consensus with all of us agreeing I did make an excellent contact with a guy who does BBQ catering and managed to get some recipes. Every cloud has a silver lining.
Cheers,
Squidgy, JD
Friday, April 22, 2011
Recovery
I don't mind telling you that it has taken me all this time to recover from Nanny duties. I am definitely not cut out to tend to the needs and wants, petulant or not, of children. It's not that I don't like them, or maybe it is, but my goodness they are needy little buggers. Like they want food. In the morning. When it should be real quiet like. And they have to be taken to school. What? And if that wasn't enough, then they want to be picked up. Some of you will be shaking your collective heads and murmuring, "yeah but didn't you HAVE children?" Well the answer to that is yes. Yes I do/did. The offspring's recollections of their idyllic childhoods vary tremendously from one to another. Depending on which one you talk to and whether or not they are mad at me I am either the "mother of the year" or "demon seed". Very little middle ground there. Ah well, I'm not going to bore you with those reminisces.
No, I'm going to bore you with what I discovered last weekend while I toiled in the sun at Ram Tap. Not once but twice I was assaulted by two friends who wanted to let me know that I was sending them weekly spam. OMG. Spam. Really? This blog may be many things but it never occurred to me that it could be mistaken for Spam. So,
Says I: "did you open it?"
Says they: " ...eww no. "
Says I: "it's my blog and it's catching the nation by storm (or something.) I can't believe you think it's spam. Just read it. You'll be glad you did."
Says one of them: "OK fine I'll read it." (And then made a hasty departure.)
Says the other one (heretofore known as the humorless one): "I don't have time to read everything that comes in my inbox. When would I make money?"
**sigh**
Why does my life have to be so hard?
I am currently in Petaluma house sitting. I have five horses under my care. I've already been here for about seven hours and nothing has broken or run away. Pretty good so far.
Naturally this has given me some time to view some really outstanding day time television. Like "Cell block G; Women behind Bars." That was uplifting. One of the best parts of day time television, besides the obvious as above, are the ads for what you could be missing. Like next week when TLC will have the entire five days devoted to royal wedding stories and "insider" stuff. Will anyone be going to work? I think not. Probably too, the DVR's of the nation will be in overdrive on Friday busily capturing every moment on every network of the royal nuptials. Really? Good grief. Go mow your lawn. If you weren't invited, and I am miffed, they don't want you there. Period. Ha ha j.k. Of course you should watch. It's royalty for crimenty sakes. Like fairy tales and good over evil and the tooth fairy and Santa. Indulge, fantasize and over eat.
Because I don't have enough to worry about with the puzzle as to where my invite to the royal wedding do is, I must also fret about not being at Badminton this weekend for the biggest horse trials in the world. But I had this gig this weekend, so I couldn't get away. Seriously, if you ever have the chance and you even remotely like horses, try to go at least once to this amazing show. And if you don't like horses, there is always shopping. A lot of shopping. Sue and Linda are there. If you two love me, bring me presents. I love presents. Linda and her husband Terry are the proud owners of a horse that is competing there. They even have a pet rider, though she rides for a foreign country. But we like her anyway. Kick on!
As if that wasn't enough, this weekend, once again, all my friends are at a horse show near San Luis Obispo. I hope you are all having a marvelous time. And a lot of these lucky folks will then just jet off to the bluegrass state to watch Rolex next week. Another of the truly great horse shows. And may I just say Kelly, Tiana and Kristi? All the best. And Kristi? You love dressage. And Tiana? You are fantastic. Kisses to Blueberry. And Kelly? Just do what you do gurl.
I am getting v. nostalgic in my old age.
I'm going to post this now so Sue and Linda have ample time to shop for moi. I'm a fan of just about anything British, but I'd really like a royal wedding mug. And a new Barbour. And maybe some Dewberry's. You know little things.
Ta Ta for now
and
Cheers
Squidgy
No, I'm going to bore you with what I discovered last weekend while I toiled in the sun at Ram Tap. Not once but twice I was assaulted by two friends who wanted to let me know that I was sending them weekly spam. OMG. Spam. Really? This blog may be many things but it never occurred to me that it could be mistaken for Spam. So,
Says I: "did you open it?"
Says they: " ...eww no. "
Says I: "it's my blog and it's catching the nation by storm (or something.) I can't believe you think it's spam. Just read it. You'll be glad you did."
Says one of them: "OK fine I'll read it." (And then made a hasty departure.)
Says the other one (heretofore known as the humorless one): "I don't have time to read everything that comes in my inbox. When would I make money?"
**sigh**
Why does my life have to be so hard?
I am currently in Petaluma house sitting. I have five horses under my care. I've already been here for about seven hours and nothing has broken or run away. Pretty good so far.
Naturally this has given me some time to view some really outstanding day time television. Like "Cell block G; Women behind Bars." That was uplifting. One of the best parts of day time television, besides the obvious as above, are the ads for what you could be missing. Like next week when TLC will have the entire five days devoted to royal wedding stories and "insider" stuff. Will anyone be going to work? I think not. Probably too, the DVR's of the nation will be in overdrive on Friday busily capturing every moment on every network of the royal nuptials. Really? Good grief. Go mow your lawn. If you weren't invited, and I am miffed, they don't want you there. Period. Ha ha j.k. Of course you should watch. It's royalty for crimenty sakes. Like fairy tales and good over evil and the tooth fairy and Santa. Indulge, fantasize and over eat.
Because I don't have enough to worry about with the puzzle as to where my invite to the royal wedding do is, I must also fret about not being at Badminton this weekend for the biggest horse trials in the world. But I had this gig this weekend, so I couldn't get away. Seriously, if you ever have the chance and you even remotely like horses, try to go at least once to this amazing show. And if you don't like horses, there is always shopping. A lot of shopping. Sue and Linda are there. If you two love me, bring me presents. I love presents. Linda and her husband Terry are the proud owners of a horse that is competing there. They even have a pet rider, though she rides for a foreign country. But we like her anyway. Kick on!
As if that wasn't enough, this weekend, once again, all my friends are at a horse show near San Luis Obispo. I hope you are all having a marvelous time. And a lot of these lucky folks will then just jet off to the bluegrass state to watch Rolex next week. Another of the truly great horse shows. And may I just say Kelly, Tiana and Kristi? All the best. And Kristi? You love dressage. And Tiana? You are fantastic. Kisses to Blueberry. And Kelly? Just do what you do gurl.
I am getting v. nostalgic in my old age.
I'm going to post this now so Sue and Linda have ample time to shop for moi. I'm a fan of just about anything British, but I'd really like a royal wedding mug. And a new Barbour. And maybe some Dewberry's. You know little things.
Ta Ta for now
and
Cheers
Squidgy
Monday, April 4, 2011
nanny- a person, usually with special training, employed to care for children in a household
It occurred to me this past weekend that some of my best inspirations for this blog come during the idyllic hours I spend shoveling horse pookie. Coincidence? I think not.
Shoveling right along... Last Thursday I took myself off to whine country once again. I was to spend two days playing horse mom. The real mom had gone off to play with the rich and famous in Temecula for another horse show. She called me Thursday night, but really couldn't talk because she was at a fabulous dinner with fabulous friends. I don't know if she did that just to rub it in that I was eating deli take-out... alone whilst she and her cronies were at a smart dinner together, or not. sigh.
Squidgy Rides! Yep. So the fabulous horse show mom instructed me to ride her new horse the beloved Kilo. You have met Kilo in previous editions...OTTTB etc. etc. etc. OK then. Well of course I queried fabulous horse show mom (FHSM) if I should lunge the OTTTB to get the bucks and other vile behavior out of his system. To which FHSM replied, "Oh just get on him and ride." Well OK then. Cast your memory back to a couple episodes ago when I mentioned I wasn't in the shape I wanted to be. A scant five weeks have passed since then, and while I do go to the gym religiously (snort if you like) I've certainly not reached my ideal, and impossible goal yet. In any case it had been many, many years since I threw my leg over the back of a TB and I was sceptical of the whole idea.
Nevertheless, since I have Kaiser Insurance I bravely just got on him and rode! And loved every minute. Some of that was due to the fact that I was in my own saddle which is perfect in every way, but mostly because the beast had, what is known in the industry, a good work ethic. Yeah me. So anyway I rode for about 30 minutes partly because it was bloody hot, but mostly because Kilo had once again thrown his version of a Manolo Blahnik and the bang up job I'd done bandaging his foot only lasted so long. So that was all well and good and I was feeling all cheery and what not and foolishly expected FHSM to ring up and ask if I was alive and what ever - but she did not. Hmmm. Well anyway I re wrapped the foot and put Kilo to night night and called Shirley and said I wanted a horse just like Kilo only one that keeps his shoes on and we had a fine time slamming various farriers we've known and praising the one we loved and who are good and that was a fine time.
Round about nine o'clock FHSM texted me. What follows is a verbatim transcript of that conversation.
FHSM: How was Kilo?
Squidgy: Lovely
FHSM: Really? (like she thought I was being sarcastic or in traction or something...) >:-(
Squidgy: I love him
FHSM: sends blank text, probably in shock or something. >:-(
Then FHSM called up (remember I said she called?) OK so I figured she just called to ascertain it really was yours truly texting away and not some trauma doc. having a go. But as I said she could only talk for a second since she had more fabulous things to do now that I seemed to be alive.
Just for grins I rode Kilo the following day as well. Then I waited for the farrier to come put on the Manolo Blahnik. And waited andwaitedanwaited...Well you'd a thought someone coulda told me he'd come while I was up at the house taking a shower wouldn't you? So I waited for an hour and a half and then discovered he'd come and gone and I had played 5000 games of Mah Jong sitting in my car for no reason other than I should have just checked. fizzle
I high tailed it outta there because, as promised, Squidgy had another gig for Saturday and Sunday! Will wonders never cease. So anyway as I said I took myself off for gig II and presented myself to my new employers who were thrilled to death to see me, gave me a drink and we settled in for an evening of debauchery with the demon spirits.
Well as is their custom, the new employers arose from their slumber at the very b*** crack of dawn, and made sufficient noise as to awake yours truly, who does not welcome the dawn the same as these half wits. But I'd promised, in my incoherence the previous night, to arise with the chickens and them and get a quick run through as to what needed to be done to and for the six horses remaining at home while six other horses went off to go schooling cross country jumps in Paso Robles. So I made some kind of attempt to appear if not awake, then not completely asleep either. And Shirley rattled on a mile a minute with what to with this and that and the the other thing. And I smiled and nodded and wondered WTF any of it meant and they loaded the horses into the trailer and loaded themselves in to the truck and off they went. And I sat down and considered the ramifications of a nap.
However, I am nothing if not a consummate professional and I decided to try to recall what "she" had said and managed to remember there was something about doing the stalls. All nine or five thousand of them, at this point it really didn't matter now did it? So I breezed through them, again with that fitness thing, then took stock of the stock (hahaha I am still funny)
Then I remembered that three of the horses were leaving to go to new homes. And that various shippers would be calling to let me know of their imminent arrival and I had no recollection of who was going with who and when and any of that nonsense. So I called Shirley and said, "who's going with who and when?" So that got sorted out and sometime later the first shipper arrived to take Pearl with him to WA and I was Johnny on the Spot with that and met him at the gate with the correct horse and he parked his 18 wheeler in front of me and released the air brake or whatever the hell that thing is that hisses and pops and generally gave me a heart attack and Pearl leaped in the air and we then stood and stared as transport guy got out of the cab and pulled up his slinky gym shorts and made his way to us. I smiled. He smiled, and we agreed that this was the horse he was taking and he began the ritual of bringing down the ramp from the trailer, the top of which was up higher than my 5'6", placed the flimsy sides on the ramp, which give the illusion of barriers but in fact just sat there waving in the breeze, then down came the carpet and we were ready for Pearl to get in the trailer. Except we weren't because transport guy had to pull his shorts up. again. This time I was treated to more of the pair-o-moons than anyone had any right to see. So then we were ready and the horse went in, the shorts came down, I stared in horror, the shorts did not come up, I turned away and scanned my memory for what Emily Post said to do in these cases, discovered Emily Post would never have put herself in that position in the first place and gave it all up as a bad job and just got the hell out of the trailer. But transport guy with white, hairy moons was not done with me yet. Oh no. He was a commercial shipper so now I had to answer his questions that he had to commit to paper as to the horses name?...uh Pearl. Where it was going? Washington somewhere I think. New owner? I knew that. THEN I had to man up and sign the receipt. Great. So I did. Then transport guy pulled up his pants again, I said ta ta and safe trip and all that baloney and went back to the house, put my now filthy clothes in the washer and went back to bed. Not a bad way to make a living is it?
Later that afternoon I arose and since I don't wake up that easily after sufficient sleep either, I stumbled around for awhile, then made my way back to the barn and did the afternoon chores which were easy breezy and feeling pretty please with myself, settled in to wait for shipper #2 to come pick up the next two horses. Happily, and thankfully, this one had on jeans and a belt so we didn't have any of "those" issues. And he was very proud of his new trailer so we spent some time applauding it's various features, then I loaded the horses, he closed the door and off they went. Only three horses left...
So the next day came and I had to get my own lazy self up at the b*** crack of dawn, which I did rather more alertly since I'd not imbibed of the demon rum the night before and I got all the morning chores done then made nice with the horses who were left. Considered riding, and let it go. Then I decided to groom one of the horses. Which I did and considering I used only elbow grease and Show Sheen did a pretty good job of that as well. And feeling rather smug, went back to the house for another cup of coffee. Then Shirley called and said they were on their way home and I could leave if I wanted. Since I already had the check I did just that.
And now this:
Oh for crying out loud. Are you serious here? Whine country mom just rang up to hire yours truly for another episode at her casa. Evidently I am such a great friend, that now she is entrusting the life and welfare of her only son to my care. I mean really? Many of you know me. I'm sorry about that, but in any case...would you trust me with your child? That's what I thought. So the conversation went something like this:
WCM: I have to go on a camping field trip with my daughter on Weds, Thurs and will be back Friday. Can you stay?
Squidgy: Sure
WCM: Oh and by the way, little Alphonse (pseudonym) will be there and you'll need to drive him to school. Thanks man.
Squidgy: Are you serious?
WCM: Thanks man.
Squidgy: OK, are you insane?
WCM: You'll be fine,
Squidgy: Do I have to cook and all that too?
WCM: Yup
Squidgy: Perhaps I'll just call Child Protective Services now shall I?
WCM: I told him he has to buy hot lunch so you don't have to make lunches.
Squidgy: I always made my kids buy hot lunch. They learned to make their own lunches pretty early on. I hate making lunches. Hate it.
WCM: OK
Squidgy: You better have provisions, I'm not spending my wages feeding real meals.
WCM: Oh, and Holly will be there too!
Squidgy: What is wrong with you? Why would you do that?
WCM: You can leave on Friday...:-}
Squidgy: I hate you.
WCM: Love you man. Thanks
Squidgy: fizzle
Heavy sigh. I leave Wednesday for new gig as nanny to the rich and famous. Expecting a call from the father as he is a faithful reader. My life sux.
Cheers,
Squidgy
Shoveling right along... Last Thursday I took myself off to whine country once again. I was to spend two days playing horse mom. The real mom had gone off to play with the rich and famous in Temecula for another horse show. She called me Thursday night, but really couldn't talk because she was at a fabulous dinner with fabulous friends. I don't know if she did that just to rub it in that I was eating deli take-out... alone whilst she and her cronies were at a smart dinner together, or not. sigh.
Squidgy Rides! Yep. So the fabulous horse show mom instructed me to ride her new horse the beloved Kilo. You have met Kilo in previous editions...OTTTB etc. etc. etc. OK then. Well of course I queried fabulous horse show mom (FHSM) if I should lunge the OTTTB to get the bucks and other vile behavior out of his system. To which FHSM replied, "Oh just get on him and ride." Well OK then. Cast your memory back to a couple episodes ago when I mentioned I wasn't in the shape I wanted to be. A scant five weeks have passed since then, and while I do go to the gym religiously (snort if you like) I've certainly not reached my ideal, and impossible goal yet. In any case it had been many, many years since I threw my leg over the back of a TB and I was sceptical of the whole idea.
Nevertheless, since I have Kaiser Insurance I bravely just got on him and rode! And loved every minute. Some of that was due to the fact that I was in my own saddle which is perfect in every way, but mostly because the beast had, what is known in the industry, a good work ethic. Yeah me. So anyway I rode for about 30 minutes partly because it was bloody hot, but mostly because Kilo had once again thrown his version of a Manolo Blahnik and the bang up job I'd done bandaging his foot only lasted so long. So that was all well and good and I was feeling all cheery and what not and foolishly expected FHSM to ring up and ask if I was alive and what ever - but she did not. Hmmm. Well anyway I re wrapped the foot and put Kilo to night night and called Shirley and said I wanted a horse just like Kilo only one that keeps his shoes on and we had a fine time slamming various farriers we've known and praising the one we loved and who are good and that was a fine time.
Round about nine o'clock FHSM texted me. What follows is a verbatim transcript of that conversation.
FHSM: How was Kilo?
Squidgy: Lovely
FHSM: Really? (like she thought I was being sarcastic or in traction or something...) >:-(
Squidgy: I love him
FHSM: sends blank text, probably in shock or something. >:-(
Then FHSM called up (remember I said she called?) OK so I figured she just called to ascertain it really was yours truly texting away and not some trauma doc. having a go. But as I said she could only talk for a second since she had more fabulous things to do now that I seemed to be alive.
Just for grins I rode Kilo the following day as well. Then I waited for the farrier to come put on the Manolo Blahnik. And waited andwaitedanwaited...Well you'd a thought someone coulda told me he'd come while I was up at the house taking a shower wouldn't you? So I waited for an hour and a half and then discovered he'd come and gone and I had played 5000 games of Mah Jong sitting in my car for no reason other than I should have just checked. fizzle
I high tailed it outta there because, as promised, Squidgy had another gig for Saturday and Sunday! Will wonders never cease. So anyway as I said I took myself off for gig II and presented myself to my new employers who were thrilled to death to see me, gave me a drink and we settled in for an evening of debauchery with the demon spirits.
Well as is their custom, the new employers arose from their slumber at the very b*** crack of dawn, and made sufficient noise as to awake yours truly, who does not welcome the dawn the same as these half wits. But I'd promised, in my incoherence the previous night, to arise with the chickens and them and get a quick run through as to what needed to be done to and for the six horses remaining at home while six other horses went off to go schooling cross country jumps in Paso Robles. So I made some kind of attempt to appear if not awake, then not completely asleep either. And Shirley rattled on a mile a minute with what to with this and that and the the other thing. And I smiled and nodded and wondered WTF any of it meant and they loaded the horses into the trailer and loaded themselves in to the truck and off they went. And I sat down and considered the ramifications of a nap.
However, I am nothing if not a consummate professional and I decided to try to recall what "she" had said and managed to remember there was something about doing the stalls. All nine or five thousand of them, at this point it really didn't matter now did it? So I breezed through them, again with that fitness thing, then took stock of the stock (hahaha I am still funny)
Then I remembered that three of the horses were leaving to go to new homes. And that various shippers would be calling to let me know of their imminent arrival and I had no recollection of who was going with who and when and any of that nonsense. So I called Shirley and said, "who's going with who and when?" So that got sorted out and sometime later the first shipper arrived to take Pearl with him to WA and I was Johnny on the Spot with that and met him at the gate with the correct horse and he parked his 18 wheeler in front of me and released the air brake or whatever the hell that thing is that hisses and pops and generally gave me a heart attack and Pearl leaped in the air and we then stood and stared as transport guy got out of the cab and pulled up his slinky gym shorts and made his way to us. I smiled. He smiled, and we agreed that this was the horse he was taking and he began the ritual of bringing down the ramp from the trailer, the top of which was up higher than my 5'6", placed the flimsy sides on the ramp, which give the illusion of barriers but in fact just sat there waving in the breeze, then down came the carpet and we were ready for Pearl to get in the trailer. Except we weren't because transport guy had to pull his shorts up. again. This time I was treated to more of the pair-o-moons than anyone had any right to see. So then we were ready and the horse went in, the shorts came down, I stared in horror, the shorts did not come up, I turned away and scanned my memory for what Emily Post said to do in these cases, discovered Emily Post would never have put herself in that position in the first place and gave it all up as a bad job and just got the hell out of the trailer. But transport guy with white, hairy moons was not done with me yet. Oh no. He was a commercial shipper so now I had to answer his questions that he had to commit to paper as to the horses name?...uh Pearl. Where it was going? Washington somewhere I think. New owner? I knew that. THEN I had to man up and sign the receipt. Great. So I did. Then transport guy pulled up his pants again, I said ta ta and safe trip and all that baloney and went back to the house, put my now filthy clothes in the washer and went back to bed. Not a bad way to make a living is it?
Later that afternoon I arose and since I don't wake up that easily after sufficient sleep either, I stumbled around for awhile, then made my way back to the barn and did the afternoon chores which were easy breezy and feeling pretty please with myself, settled in to wait for shipper #2 to come pick up the next two horses. Happily, and thankfully, this one had on jeans and a belt so we didn't have any of "those" issues. And he was very proud of his new trailer so we spent some time applauding it's various features, then I loaded the horses, he closed the door and off they went. Only three horses left...
So the next day came and I had to get my own lazy self up at the b*** crack of dawn, which I did rather more alertly since I'd not imbibed of the demon rum the night before and I got all the morning chores done then made nice with the horses who were left. Considered riding, and let it go. Then I decided to groom one of the horses. Which I did and considering I used only elbow grease and Show Sheen did a pretty good job of that as well. And feeling rather smug, went back to the house for another cup of coffee. Then Shirley called and said they were on their way home and I could leave if I wanted. Since I already had the check I did just that.
And now this:
Oh for crying out loud. Are you serious here? Whine country mom just rang up to hire yours truly for another episode at her casa. Evidently I am such a great friend, that now she is entrusting the life and welfare of her only son to my care. I mean really? Many of you know me. I'm sorry about that, but in any case...would you trust me with your child? That's what I thought. So the conversation went something like this:
WCM: I have to go on a camping field trip with my daughter on Weds, Thurs and will be back Friday. Can you stay?
Squidgy: Sure
WCM: Oh and by the way, little Alphonse (pseudonym) will be there and you'll need to drive him to school. Thanks man.
Squidgy: Are you serious?
WCM: Thanks man.
Squidgy: OK, are you insane?
WCM: You'll be fine,
Squidgy: Do I have to cook and all that too?
WCM: Yup
Squidgy: Perhaps I'll just call Child Protective Services now shall I?
WCM: I told him he has to buy hot lunch so you don't have to make lunches.
Squidgy: I always made my kids buy hot lunch. They learned to make their own lunches pretty early on. I hate making lunches. Hate it.
WCM: OK
Squidgy: You better have provisions, I'm not spending my wages feeding real meals.
WCM: Oh, and Holly will be there too!
Squidgy: What is wrong with you? Why would you do that?
WCM: You can leave on Friday...:-}
Squidgy: I hate you.
WCM: Love you man. Thanks
Squidgy: fizzle
Heavy sigh. I leave Wednesday for new gig as nanny to the rich and famous. Expecting a call from the father as he is a faithful reader. My life sux.
Cheers,
Squidgy
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