Archive for February, 2010

Halfass floundering in the snow

Hello duckies!  I have been totally out of pocket for a few days and am happy to report that I am back in action!

Lisa and I took a Thelma and Louise road trip up to my folks house in Decatur, Texas. Mither was having some blood pressure problems and even went so far as to get admitted to the hospital via the emergency room a couple of days before we went up. She is aaaaall about the drama when she wants a visit.  We told her it was unnecessary and just a simple invite would suffice. That ain’t how she rolls. *sigh*

So we got going up there as soon as we got a call from Mither saying, the weather was supposed to be dreadful and a ton of snow was due to fall. A TON.

OK, all my friends up north, I know what you’re thinking, how much could it possibly snow down here in The South?  I am telling you, it was A TON.

It started snowing on us as we were driving up there around three hours from destination. Huge flakes coming down hard.  This continued the entire way there and by the time we got there, (six and a half hour drive made into a ten hour drive), the snow was about 14″ deep. (Or up to Lisa’s waist knees.)

We did great. Went the whole way with no problems. When we got to the place that we usually turn off of the interstate and take a scenic, less traffic-y, route, we pulled over and discussed the best way. It was a unanimous decision to stay on interstate 45 until we got dumped off on highway 287, instead of going remote roads. Sooooo glad we did. Besides, Lisa’s GPS just doesn’t understand back roads as a way to get anywhere. That bitch told us we were going the wrong way no matter what we told her. She eventually got attitude, too.  Threatening to “pull over” worked with my kids. Not her.

Mither and Pop live on a private road along with a handful of other people and there is a BIG space between houses. Acres, in fact. Once we turned off the county road onto the private road we were a tad scared. There appeared to be one set of tracks plowing through the drifts and the road was completely indistinguishable except for these tracks. So we followed them.

I should point out here that Lisa has a nifty new Honda CRV with all kinds of cool gadgetry. We were still figuring some of them out. As soon as we got into the snow a warning signal appeared on her dashboard. This worried us and as she drove slowly, but steadily down the looooong drive/private road. So I am leaning over looking at the dashboard while she is approaching the intersection where the sign post says “Wilde”, and points off to the left of the sign and “Murphree” and points to the right. She wasn’t real sure she remembered which way to go and started asking me, “Right or left?! Right or left!?”.  I was looking at the dash and just said, “Straight.”. She turned right and was trying to follow the tracks when my head popped up and said, “STRAIGHT! STRAIGHT! STRAAAAAAAAIGHT!.

The warning sign on the dash turned out to be a thing that pops up when you are hydroplaning and are too stupid to realize it. Well our wheels were spinning all over the place.

Did I mention we were white knuckling it at this point? Tension was running high.  She swore there was no “straight” and somehow this warranted a hard right. Whatever. We were in the tracks of something. One pitiful little narrow set of them.  I am pretty sure her car didn’t have the ground clearance to clear the snow piled up in the middle so we were giving that a flat top cut.  I told her not to stop, no matter what, but not to go to fast either. We followed the tracks fairly successfully to the first house on the right where I, for some strange reason, pictured us driving up and turning around in a magically cleared off driveway.

Yeah, right.

Anyway, at the turn into the driveway we slid sideways off the tracks and we continued to go for as far as we could while navigating for all we’re worth back towards the elusive tracks.

There may have been some screaming, cussing and hair pulling, (each others). We will never say for sure.

So when we ceased to move there was a quick reversal and we plowed backwards for all we were worth. The problem was we didn’t turn and ended up in what turned out to be a ditch. I feel like I need to point out right now that there was no ditch when the snow was all over it.

But, sadly, then there was.

We sat there for a good minute and a half, mostly just looking at each other with saucer sized eyes. Then of course, as things go without fail in rural Texas, a pickup pulled up behind us and Bryan, one of my parents neighbors got out and came up to the window and said, “So…. whatchadoin’ Krissa?”

I, (quite valiantly), fought back a deep blush and said, “Oooooh, nuttin.” At this point, I believe Bryan and Lisa were introduced and he said he would haul us out.

I think I mentioned this is rural Texas, so there was no shock or amazement when he reached right inside the back of his pickup and with one hand pulled out a log chain while the other hand dove into a mound of snow that had collected back there and retrieved a fresh beer.

Soon we were hooked up and in neutral. He was hauling and spinning and fishtailing back and forth, yet the four wheel drive he was in couldn’t yank us out of the culvert we had dropped off of.

You should have seen Lisa’s and my eyes about then.

This all took maybe four minutes. Then another set of lights drove up behind us and Jeff Murphree and his son, Bradly, climbed out and trudged through the snow looking for all the world like they had nothing better to do. They were still in their firemen gear from work.

Oh, did I mention that Bryan Massey is an EMT? Yup, he was off work that day and well into a case, 12 pack, six pack of beer.

However, I knew we could not be in better hands.

About that time, Dalane Bible, not just a neighbor, but a friend of mine from high school, showed up.  Lisa and I looked at each other and she said, “Shit… they’re all gonna start peeing on the tires about now…  She had already abandoned the drivers seat, saying something to the effect of, “I’m not driving. You guys know what you’re doing. No, really, I’m not driving!” So Dalane hopped in the front and threw it into drive as Bryan commenced to yank our chain. Heh.

Did I mention the amount of testosterone in the air was palpable?You could have cut it with a knife.

So Dalane  drove while Bryan pulled and we made it neatly into our driveway.  Eventually.  It was a MESS. Snow stacked up everywhere.  Later, before we left to go home we whipped up a batch of banana nut bread muffins and my family’s world famous Oatmeal Butterscotch Cookies, and delivered them to all the houses in the tiny community where our heroes live.

That was the best kind of adventure. Best friends, mishap, heroes, saviors, fun, fun, fun.

We had a wonderful time visiting Mither and Pop from Thursday through Monday. Mither was released from the hospital on Saturday and we collected her without too much trouble in Pop’s pickup.  When we got home we did our best to take care of everything around there while we were available. Pop said he wanted to hire us to just stay and, “be full time”. Unfortunately Lisa had a doctor’s appointment the next day that she was determined to keep and I had to get home to take over the upkeep of Henrietta.

I will tell you what happened with her while I was gone on our next close encounter. Promise!

Here are some pics of how beautiful it was while we were there.

Above is the county road that led to my parents road/driveway.

Their back yard.

The koi pond from the window. Wonder what makes them want to even live in this kind of weather? I would just DIE if I was wet AND cold. Not to mention have a frozen ceiling.

The tank, where half of it was frozen. There were ducks down there on the half that wasn’t, but I never did get a picture of them.

Baby doing a poop. Once she figured out there was n0 other way to do one than put her butt down in it, she was willing to go. Though I really don’t think she was happy about it. I guess I can understand her feelings…

Until next time! Free toes, everybody!

Yes, I really left you with a picture of Baby pooping. This is the kind of documentation you have grown to expect at HalfAsstic.

Admit it.

The Henrietta Enquirer

My friend, Red, over at In The Wheel, had a brilliant idea. I cannot take any credit for this idea except to say that my friends are terribly creative and brilliant. Why, yes! Yes, you are! And you too! Oh, and you, and you and you! ALL OF YOU ARE!

OK, enough kissing ass and on to the brilliant idea Red had.

In a comment on the last post she said, “… maybe Henrietta should start a newspaper – the Henrietta Inquirer.”

This is an obvious oversight on my part as we could be rich by now and in paper print if the Hollywood press had found out about her back at the beginning of her wild story telling.  Well, or any press at all. Particularly the raunchy kind.

Can you imagine the ruckus  in her little mind as we sat here Superbowl Sunday, watching the game, groaning and shrieking, yelling and high fiving? She sat alone in her room watching some crime drama that she just can’t get enough of. (Cause, I mean what else is a paranoid little old lady going to want to watch? Certainly not sitcoms or anything else reasonable.) I had invited her in to watch the game with us, but she was fast to point out that she wanted nothing to do with it.

Then. Somewhere around the third quarter, she is spotted rolling down the hall like stormtroopers. She, effectively, bursts into the living room and snaps her head around in all directions.  “Why is it dark in here?! Turn that light on!”

The overhead light was off and I switched on a lamp beside me.  “What?” I was clearly a bit pissed. She ignored me completely and looked at John.

“Is he here?”

John and I don’t even pretend we don’t know who she’s talking about anymore.  “Gilbert is outside, mother, he’s checking on the steaks.

Damn, we ate late…

She doesn’t understand what he’s said, just as she doesn’t understand most of what anyone says when she’s got her dander up.

“John, you better not be letting him put any drugs into you!”

And, really, I think this is the most amazing thing about the whole affair. John, her perfect child that could never do any wrong in her eyes, and has NEVER IN HIS LIFE, (OK, he’s admitted to smoking a little pot in high school), DONE ANY DRUGS.  Not to mention he is battling CONGESTIVE HEART FAILURE!  She is convinced that he is getting illegal drugs from Gilbert who is clean as a whistle and has never been in any trouble like that in his life.

I can honestly say that we have stopped trying to talk her out of her misconceptions of Gilbert or anything that she comes up with that is crazy. She just gets kinda waved off. Heh. Which pisses HER off.

She was last seen, that night during the game, being quickly propelled down the hall to her room. With me doing the propelling.

Boundaries.  I would first like to describe, (so there can be absolutely no misunderstanding),  exactly where Henrietta’s lie.

They are completely and utterly nonexistent. People, I have searched. They are not there. I have reason to believe they never were. Kind of like a quirky birth defect that it’s OK to laugh at, because, damn, there is nothing else to do when you have been made that uncomfortable.

Today was just the latest on her arm long rap sheet of offenses.

Keelan’s friend, we’ll call her Marie to protect the innocent, came home from college for the day and was over at the house to see Keelan. When she walked through the living room Henrietta  saw her and they exchanged hello’s and the customary, “I haven’t seen you in so long”, and “It’s so good to see you again…”, and “How’s college?”

This is all sounding so civilized and like she knows how to comport herself, right?

I started feeling uncomfortable and was slowly realizing what was coming when she said, “Marie, I remember the last time you were here you had lost so much weight!”.

Ohshit, ohshit ohshit…

Then, under her breath a little but unmistakable to everyone in the room, “But, I see you’re gaining it all back.”.

Damn. The poor girl had almost made it to the stairs, too.

Every time one of her nieces is down from New York to visit she makes a comment about her weight.  Every. Single. Time. Only she is, only slightly, a little less affronting with her. The lady is extremely overweight and I would guess you could say “morbidly obese”.  Henrietta asks her if she’s trying to diet on each visit.

She comes from New York.  A milliondy-thousand miles away for this.

Yes, we’ve got such genteel, charming, southern breeding down here. And then there’s Henrietta.

Oh! Wait a minute! I was about to sign off when another unforgettable moment sprung to mind. Several years ago, when H was on hospice, her nurse  was a dear lady in her 60′s that we all became very fond of. She still comes over to visit from time to time and I run out to have lunch with her here and again.

Of course Henrietta got to know her life’s story by asking one obtrusive question after the other back when she first started coming to pay professional visits to her. She was very close to death at that point, yet not so close that she couldn’t be nosy. I am fairly certain there is no such place.

After knowing her for a few weeks and ascertaining that she was 63 and had never been married, she popped up and asked her if she was a virgin.  I almost fell over. To her credit, Connie, the nurse, snapped back, “Well, sure!” and gave her something to think about.

You know, over the years, even with Connie and I referring to her girlfriend that lives with her and everything, she still doesn’t get it that Connie’s gay.

I bet I could blow her mind with that. :-)

Hello. I am sitting here eating a bagel. It’s one of those that’s called an “everything bagel”. It is littered with all this stuff on top such as sesame seeds and other things that are unidentifiable yet, really good. I have a block of cream cheese in the fridge, but it’s not in a tub and would take a while to get soft enough to spread, so I have just opted for butter. I think I made the right move.  I could ask for a vote on this but, really? The bagel will be long gone and I probably won’t care one way or the other about the poll outcome. I mean except for YOUR opinion. Oh, and YOU!

Anyhow, I thought I would fill you people in on what’s going on with Pop and his possible case of Alzheimer’s. I wrote about it some time ago and really, I am too busy typing and eating a bagel to go find the post and link up.  (Hu, I knew all that bagel blather would be useful somehow…)

So when last I wrote about it Pop was in the beginning stages of some sort of dementia problem. The thinking was possibly Alzheimer’s but, there were no guarantees since, as it was explained to Mither, Alzheimer’s is really only 100% diagnosable by autopsy.  The doctors are saying now that they think he has vascular dementia.  This is a disease that progresses just like Alzheimer’s and they are both treated the same way, (with very little effect).

So time is creeping forward, (unless you have a baby or toddler), and Pop has gotten progressively worse. His biggest problem has been his change in personality. Or, I guess I should say everyone else’s problem. He flies into rages that are truly terrifying at times and always at Mither. Or me, when I was there, but nothing like the way he is to Mither.

He scared her so badly the other day that she just sat and didn’t say a word while he ranted and even used the “f” word at her.

Now take a minute and realize that they have been married FOR-EVAH, and she has never heard that word from his lips. He is 73 and from the deep south. Gentlemen just don’t talk like that in front of women. Go ahead and ask him. I dare ya. ;-)

The reason she didn’t respond to anything he was saying was that she was afraid he was going to go and get one of the many, many guns in the house and shoot her in his rage. I am not dramatizing here. Seriously. For the really’s.

So, when Kessa and Gilbert went to visit them Mither took those two aside and explained what they had to do. In order not to make a scene with Pop, they were to get their happy asses down to his gun range and shoot up every. single. round. of ammo in the house.

That is one huge job. Pop, has a lifetime’s collection of guns that were handed down to him, bought by him, used in Vietnam by him, given to him, etc. Many, many different kinds and shapes and sizes. (ALL PERFECTLY LEGAL, THOUGH. I mean we DO live in Texas.) What this meant is that there were dozens and dozens of boxes of ammunition in every caliber you can think of. OK, almost.

Those two spent hours trying to shoot up everything when he would be gone for one thing or another. Gilbert had a huge bruise on his shoulder and his wrist was sore. Kes didn’t shoot that diligently, but was tired of it all as well.

They never did finish. They brought home a ton of ammo that I sat in the floor and sorted by caliber and entered into evidence bags put in zip lock bags.

And then there was the guns they found that Mither had them take with them.  A loaded shotgun and 9mm Luger in his pickup. This is not like the Pop I knew from my childhood. It is way overkill. Plus the gun in the top of the closet that had to go. Loaded as well.

He still hasn’t discovered the missing ammo or guns yet. Mither says that when he does she is just going to explain to him how frightened she was when he was raging at her. I really don’t think he will remember doing it though, simply because he would have apologized to her for it later if he knew.

Anyway, my house could be an arsenal, now. I have been thinking about trying to earn extra cash doing something… wonder about being a “hired gun”…?  How would I work that out with H’s poopy diapers? I could take her with me as my pithy sidekick! Only she has never had a pithy word fall out of her mouth… Hummmm. I’m going to have to think on it.

I have identified some of those other seeds on the yummy bagel!  Poppy and rye! Very good bagel. Think I’ll go have another.