Well, things have just been rocking around here.  We seem to be hell-bent on fertilizing an area roughly the size of Texas, with all the poop that happened last night.

I am sitting here feeling drained and uninspired to report these goings on, due mostly to the fact that I haven’t had enough coffee yet.  I’ll be right back.

OK, I got a full fresh, scorching hot mug of it and am feeling like there may be hope yet.

I have been having a wee bit of trouble getting to sleep early enough and am usually nodding off about 1:00 to 2:00am.  While I do enjoy my time just flitting about doing what I want or reading, whatever, at this late hour, I recognize the need to live less like a vampire and more like a human being.  H doesn’t get up till really late, so neither was I.  Usually.

At 10:30 I took a sleep aide.  This is a first.  I have never tried one before and thought that this might be a good idea to help me get a kick start on my new hours.  John, who has been having hell with this respiratory infection and coughing like a three pack a day smoker,  is blissfully asleep and not coughing.  I begin puttering around the house getting just a few more things done before hitting the sack.  Putting away any food left out, corralling the pets, locking the doors, etc.  I went in and climbed in bed, really feeling the effects of this sleep aide now.  Wow!  This is awesome I am so sleepy, gonna be a great nights sleep, I bet John’s coughing won’t even keep me up.

So I am drifting off, picturing smothering John with a pillow if he starts coughing and what do I hear?

Go on.  Take a guess.

The bell.

Henrietta is aaaaaall  over ringing that bell.  It sounded a tad frantic,  shook long and hard.  (Heh, I said “long and hard”.  John’s gonna razz me ’bout that.)

It was 11:20pm.  I went in and she was all in a dither.  “Krissa, I have to poooooooop!”

Er… ok.

I put her on the pot and she did.

*POOP REPORT*

runny, yet not diarrhea

amount: substantial

odor: not as bad as some, worse than others

messiness: about half in diaper, half in bedpan.

She was freaked out beyond belief.  It was… (cue the scary music), the dreaded U.P.*

Then again at 12:40am the bell again.  I literally staggered into the room.   Yanked off the diaper and shoved a bedpan under her butt, all the while fielding questions about what  was the matter with her.

Yeah, that sleep aide was kicking my ass.

She kept insisting that the food she ate was what upset her.  This is what she always says.  As far as she knows she has never had a virus, it’s always the food.  We all ate the food and I pointed that out to her.  We were all fine, albeit sleepy.  But, no. She has “a delicate stomach” and when things are bad for her they make her sick.

Whatever.

I went back to sleep about 1:00am and then there was a repeat performance about 4:45.  She was absolutely beside herself.  Shaking and babbling about the poop.  There was no poop, but she was a wired mess anticipating it.  I went and got her an Ativan and gave it to her and she slept.  So did I, finally.  But poor John kept coughing and with all of H’s pooping and his coughing I don’t think he ever did get much.

So I slept in again this morning, *sigh* and Henrietta didn’t wake up until 1:00pm.  She has taken to her sickbed and won’t be getting up today.  She is all about anticipating the next poop.

Here I sit.  My butt is getting wider by the second, I can feel it!  And it’s all of you people’s fault… yeah, that’s it!  That’ll be what I’m going with till something better comes along.

The blog reading isn’t so much the problem. I fairly well devour that quickly. It’s the sitting here stewing about all the teeny-tiny thoughts in my leetle head.  How to proceed? How to proceed?

It doesn’t help that I am a tad ADD.  And no, I am not good at addition, so don’t get smart with me.  Whatever it is you were thinking of for a comeback, I’ve already thought of it and wasn’t clever enough to sit down and type it.  Now it’s gone!  Oh, you think you’ve got something new?  Well, good-lemme hear it!  *Heh, picturing my bloggers screwing their faces up and thinking about their comment*

Do I sound a tad bitchy?  I’m not really, just kind of frustrated.  I feel like I’m being creatively stifled… by myself, I guess.  The thinking that if I sit down and just start typing is quite obviously not working out the way I wanted it.  Where the hell is that novel I was thinking about writing right now?  No doubt, being stifled somewhere.

At some point I am going to be forced to apologize to you, but bear with me for a minute… it’s coming, any minute now I will brainstorm.  Just waiting till the moment gets here and I will seize it.  Carpe diem and all that.  Maybe I’m just waiting till the dishwasher stops running.  Or till I get a glass of water.  Or the smell of the last bedpan I emptied leaves the air.  Or I finish folding the load of towels on the couch.

Ohimgawd. you should totally see the load of towels on the couch.

Remember last time I left, the house was perfectly clean and I came back to, well, less than stellar conditions.  This time, not so much.  Everything seemed really good, especially considering I didn’t clean before I left, cause, well hey, I learned my lesson. Plus, I was gone for 11 days this time and not just 7.  So I am pretty pleased about all of this and I did my laundry I came home with and collected a little bit more out of our hamper and Henrietta’s.  The girls do their own usually.  After a day or so I began to notice that H’s stock of bath towels in her bathroom was very, very low and I wasn’t finding them anywhere.  Not her hamper, or the dryer or washer or anywhere.  So it slowly dawns on me that the younger child living here had taken over her bathroom while I was gone and all her towels were, undoubtedly, on the floor in her room.

I hollered, (that’s what you do in Texas), upstairs for her to throw me down all her towels to wash.  Take a look at just the towels, hand-towels, and washcloths that landed on the, well, landing.

I was gone 11 days, did I mention that?  She doesn’t have a car to wash and her dog is small enough to dry with one washcloth.

Now, I’m feeling guilty and need to get back in there and fold and restock H’s towels.  All the ones that aren’t purple or turquoise are the guilty, (but CLEAN AND DRY) girl’s and go in her bathroom.

So there.  I sit here all wide-assed and guilty for not folding towels and it’s all YOUR FAULT.  That’s my story, and I’ll stand by it.

Now, I guess I need to apologize for this post.  I’m sorry, I will try to get something better worked up soon.

Here is my Pop’s sister’s house.  My aunt Holly.  She lives here in Chico, Texas,  not too terribly far from Mither’s and Pop’s house in Decatur.  The population of  Chico was 947, in  the year 2000.  Just think, there could be actually over 1000 people living there, now.  A thriving metropolis.

Memorable quote alert!

While we were visiting Holly, she was lamenting some plumbing problems she had been having and fixed herself.  Either Mither or I one, said something to the effect of  “Well, good for you.  No plumber needed…”, or something like that.  Holly responded, “All you need to know about being a plumber is payday is every Friday and shit runs downhill.”.  I don’t think truer words have ever been spoken.

Now, where was I?  OH YES!  I love Holly’s house and want to show you around it!  (She said I could.  Thanks Holly!)

Here it is from one side.

And here it is from the other.  See the ivy on the chimney?  Apparently, when it reaches the top it becomes too heavy to support itself and the whole thing, in one big sheet, will fall away from the house and roll up down at the bottom, where it will be chopped off and thrown away.  Then the thing will start growing again.  This happened three or four years ago and the silly thing has pretty much fully recovered.

Here are some of my favorite shots from inside the house.  Isn’t that tin ceiling cool?

And here is Holly and Mither in the billiards room.

Here’s a wall in the billiards room.

This fireplace is in one of the parlors.

This is in the butler’s pantry.

Look how neatly she did the floor in there.

Here we are in the downstairs bath.  There is a potty behind that little wall of shelves.

Didn’t she do an outstanding job with the Victorian decorating?  And not just in here, but all over the house!

And here we are in her adorable little kitchen.  I never did step back and take a shot of the entire thing.  We were in a hurry and for some reason I kept just getting close ups and areas.  This kitchen was built on and you can see the painted stone in this shot, where it used to be the outside wall.  I think it was probably a porch.

It’s really a small kitchen but it has lots of windows and she’s painted it in fresh bright colors, so it really doesn’t make it feel crowded in there… Unless there are two people at the same time trying to do something.

Here are her cabinet door handles.  Cool idea, huh.

And here we have one of the many counter top culprits that reside with my aunt, trying to look innocent, all the while plotting to destroy something, or attack somebody.  It’s anyone’s guess.

Here we have Holly and some of the outside “innocent bystanders”.   This is part of the back porch.

At the other end of the back porch.  I have no idea what they were talking about.  Probably me, my ears were burning.

Here’s something kind of strange.  Take a guess at what this is.  Go ahead and try.  It’s out in her back yard and has vines and trees and plants growing all over the top of it.  It’s not a root cellar, either.  It’s a bomb shelter.  Built sometime in the 50′s I’d guess.   How bizarre is that?

Here’s her house from the street.  You can barely even see it’s there!

Sorry, I never made it upstairs!  Maybe next time I go to visit Mither I will!

And that’s all from my Aunt Holly’s house in Chico, Texas.   Bye, ya’ll!