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Cam again here. While waiting for Krissa’s electricity to be restored, let’s enjoy a video about the Internets!

Well, here I sit in the path of destruction.  Future path, that is.  We will see.  We are north of the predicted landfall and thus, on the “dirty side”.  For all of you hurricane virgins, this just means the side of the hurricane with the most rain.

We evacuated three years ago for Rita and I will never forget that experience as long as I live.  Someone, somewhere, high up in city politics probably, screwed the pooch and started yelling something to the affect of “Run!  Run for your liiiiiives!”.   It was just plain hysteria talking due to the totally unbelievable fiasco that happened in New Orleans.  Apparently the ones in the know didn’t stop to consider that there was no way to duplicate that tragedy anywhere else but New Orleans.  The city that sits below sea level and has a series of dikes and levies, (that were in poor repair), holding back the water.  This information was apparently denied the person who started telling everyone to evacuate, from Galveston all the way up north of Houston to Conroe.

My FIL was alive then and so we had John, Henrietta, Marcos, Keelan, me, two dogs, two cats and oh, did I forget to say that the day before the hysteria we picked up my dear friend Susan from the airport.  She was visiting me from Italy, via her parents house in Denver.  Almost my first words were, “So, have you watched the news lately?”  At that point we were just barely paying attention to “it” and were wondering if it was even coming this way.  By the time we got home and turned on the TV things were getting all out of control by the news media.  They were starting to get whipped into a frenzy and eventually, I am sure, they believed their own hype.  EVERYONE was leaving.  We got sucked in and piled on the freeway outa here with everyone else.

It normally takes about 7 hours to get to my parents house up just north of Ft. Worth.  We arrived in 32.  No, REALLY.

Quite literally, Marcos almost died on that trip.  He and Henrietta were both on Hospice and doing fairly well at the time.  We sat in stopped traffic in triple digit heat for hours and hours.  There was no A/C because you can’t run it in that kind of traffic as the car will overheat.  He dehydrated to the point that when we FINALLY found a place we could stop, waaaaay off the beaten to death path, he staggered out of the car with a good deal of help from me and walked straight over to a trash can and threw up.  Henrietta’s wheelchair was strapped on top of the Trailblazer and so John just picked up her 80ish pounds and carried her in to the restroom for me.  He turned his head while holding her up in front of the potty while I snatched down her pants and she pooed in the potty.  I was able to hold her up while I pulled up her pants…somehow.  I don’t really remember how.

You should have seen all the looks we got with him carrying her in there!  That was so funny.  That was the only funny thing about the entire experience.  John and Susan took turns driving and I kept apologizing to her for the lack of fun her visit was being.

Susan was a dream come true to evacuate with.  I wouldn’t wish what happened to us on anyone, let alone my best friend, but good Lord, she was such a help.  Just dealing with the old folks, was hard enough.

Poor Marcos.  We planned to leave in the dead of the night, I’m thinking it was about 1:00AM, so hopefully we wouldn’t have as much heat to deal with.  At least not immediately.  I told John and Henrietta that I was going to give her an Ativan, (anti-anxiety meds), so she could just go ahead and sleep once she got in the car.  She agreed that she should.  They were her Rx and she took one every night to help her go to sleep.  So when we left I gave it to her and turned to Marcos and said, “Here, Marcos, why don’t you take one, too?  It’ll help you sleep.”  Famous last words.  He popped it in his mouth and we set out.  In about 20 minutes he started crawling out of his skin and was grabbing everything in the front seat with him.  NOTHING was sacred.  Gear knob, glovebox, buttons on the door, OnStar, radio, A/C, played with the seatbelt endlessly.  He was like a very badly behaved toddler.  I can’t tell you how many times I said, OH GAWD, I AM SOOOO SORRY I DID THAT!  Needless to say, he never got another Ativan.

So I have been up since the butt-crack of dawn trying to get “ready”.  We are staying here and keeping our fingers crossed.  I know it is looking really bad right now, but last time, we left and the power never even went out, people.  Not a single blinking clock greeted us upon our return.  I think there was a medium sized dead branch in our yard.  Woo-hoo.

Is this the smartest thing I’ve ever done?  Probably not.  Yet, neither was evacuating for Rita.

Today, while shopping for bread in the Mrs. Baird’s Thrift Store, John and I were discussing the merits of different loaves of breads.  Which kind to get?  Hmmm.  I casually remarked to him, “So, what’s the difference between 7 grain and 12 grain?”  The guy behind the counter just COULD NOT let it go by.  Slow drawl,  “That’d be ’bout 5 grains…”.

Sometimes you can escape the smartasses at home, let your guard down, and still find yourself not entirely safe.

Yesterday when we stopped by the barn to feed the horses I was standing holding the hose while filling the horse trough with water.  It was pretty cloudy and looking like rain.  Oh, good.  We really need it.  Then all of the sudden the wind kicked up so strong that I actually looked up in the sky for funnel clouds and about that time, a dead limb blew down out of the tree I was standing under and smacked me in the side of the head!  It really hurt!  John was sitting in the car on the phone not paying any attention and the horses were in the barn eating, so no one even noticed God beaning me in the head.  I asked Him at the time if there was any significance to that, any kind of message I should take from it.  Haven’t gotten any response yet so apparently not.

However, I got back in the car mentally thanking God for the rain we were about to get that is so badly needed and had no idea that Edouard was lurking out there, just waiting to spring into…  Oh who am I kidding?  It’s wimpy and it’s headed this way.  BUT, it’s bringing rain with it!  I live just inland from Galveston so we should get a butt load!  Hopefully not much damage…

So yesterday morning I am, quite literally, slapped in the side of the head with a tree limb and then, tomorrow morning a hurricane should be arriving.  Like the superstitious yo-yo that thinks if he wears the wrong color socks his sports team will lose, it’s ALL about me and I am wondering if I did or said something to bring this on…. Still.  We really need the rain.

Can you tell John is on vacation?  I am being very bad about posting and I really am sorry.  A sorry poster, that is!

First off and the biggest news is that I am the proud aunt of an adorable, new nephew.  My brother, Cam and SIL, Melissa, are the proud parents of 8 year old Noah!  This is the reason my brother is in the States right now, and not at home in Italy.  He’s doing the finalization of Noah’s adoption with the court in Wise County, Texas where it all began.

Noah is a sweetheart who loves Spiderman, swimming, going to the beach, (They live a block or two from the Mediterranean!), riding his Green Machine, snowboarding and being a sweetheart, most of the time.  He’s a doll!  Check it out.

Here he is on his Green Machine, riding in a park at the shore of the Mediterranean Sea.  (Note: two wheeling it on a three wheeler!)

Here he is with my brother, Cam and Melissa, the lovely wife.

Here, Melissa is outfitting him to snowboard.

In action!  I believe this was his first time on a snowboard.

Last Christmas at my parents house looking at a new game.

I said his name, he turned around and I snapped the shot before he knew I even had a camera. (The date on the camera is wrong.  It was last Christmas.

Coloring on his dad’s cast.

A friend of theirs in Italy got married…

Got married at a CASTLE!  But did I get cool pics of the castle?  NO!  grumble, mumblestupidbrothermumble….

At some banquet or another with the lovely mother/my SIL, Melissa!

Snowboarding in the Alps.  I can’t remember which ones.

Isn’t he adorable!  Anyone need a dimple?  He’s got plenty to spare!  I couldn’t be more tickled and even though I already welcomed him to the family when they got him, I am so happy it’s official, now.  Noah Camdon Wilde.  I think it sounds great!

Well, I have been taken to task by my itty, bitty, baby brother.  Calling him that made him furious, years and years ago.  I am thinking now, it’s just dandy. Anyway, yesterday was his birthday and I didn’t even mention it.  I DID remember and called him and all that, but, reporting on the U.P. just seemed to be foremost in my thoughts because, I suppose, I felt like I needed to explain, partially, why I hadn’t been keeping up with this blog.  Not that a U.P. is more significant than his birthday, or even an S.P., but over here in this household you just get caught up in all the excitement of the bowel movements.  You understand.  Sure you do. YESTERDAY, baby brother, Cam, turned 37 years old.  I go back and forth between thinking my teenagers are aging me faster and then I think it’s gotta be him.  He will catch up someday, but for now he’s eight years younger. I remember when he was born, and that’s saying a lot because I have very few memories of childhood.  I was roused in the middle of the night and taken to my auntie-poo’s house to stay while Mither and Pop trailed off to the hospital.  I don’t remember visiting in the hospital, but I’m sure I did.  This was back in the day when a 3 day maternity stay was the norm.    When he finally came home I LOVED that baby with an intensity I assumed only a mother could feel.  He was MINE.  I wanted to do everything for him.  Well, almost everything.  I remember him as a toddler so well.  He was adorable.  I took him everywhere I could with me.  We were living in Lafayette, La. and the subdivision we lived in had a local 7-11 store several blocks away.  My friends and I would walk down there regularly.  I dearly loved pulling my little brother behind me in a wagon outfitted with pillows and a blanket if it was cold.  In the store, I always bought him some candy and then we’d set out towards home.  We took baths together and had tons of fun in the bathtub.  I am sure we splashed an entire ocean of water on the floor. Any time he got into trouble and was being punished or scolded, I cried longer and harder than he did.  He called me “Ya-Ya”, and if he was being put in a time out in his room he’d sit in there and call for me until I convinced our mom to let me go in to see him. And then one day, it happened.  He soured for me.  He was no longer The Golden Boy.   I believe he was 4 and I remember telling my mom that “He is SO spoiled!”.  And the funny thing is that I had absolutely NO idea how he got that way.  Mom says he still worshiped me and I just didn’t think any of what he did was acceptable anymore and he was acting like a baby.  He was 4 and he needed to grow up. The problem, I can see as I look back, was not that he was 4 but I was 12 and about to be a teenager.  (Oh Lord, thank you for giving my parents a stalwart nature more suited to an adventurous pioneer and, consequently, the ability to let me live.)  Oops, was I praying?  Er, yeah, sorry ’bout that.  The mention of the word “teenager” frequently brings on an involuntary fervent prayer response.

A few days old.  Fat ass weighed 9 lbs. at birth…

His second Halloween… hard to tell if his cheeks are full of candy or….  No.  He’s just fat.

Playing with a puppy at our grandmother’s house.

Looking adorable in the backyard at our house.

Here he is with “Baby”, his constant companion.

And a scarecrow for his third Halloween.

Four years old and for the LONGEST time that hat never left his head.  He even wore it to school everyday in Kindergarten.   He’s snaggletoothed here because I ACCIDENTALLY kicked his tooth out.

Loved playing anything outside.

Four or Five years old and was already interested in music.  He now plays a guitar quite well.

Special thanks go to our dear Mither who scanned and sent these pictures after digging through thousands and getting all mired down in “Oooooh LOOK!…AWWWW, he’s soo CUTE!  OH, I’d forgotten all about that!  Look at how sweet!…”

Ever since Henrietta has been back from the hospital after the fall she had over 3 1/2 years ago, she has, from time to time…entertained night visitors.  No.  She is not running a brothel. (I would be getting a cut of the proceeds.)  She sees people very vividly at night.  Occasionally, they answer her when she speaks to them, usually yes or no answers to her questions.  There are usually groups of people gathered and most often children are there, too.  The children are playing with one another sometimes and the women are usually older.  The men are sometimes short and sometimes very, very tall.  She can never see the face of the really tall man, as he is over in the corner and it is too dark to see him.  She tells me about these vivid…sights and what all she says to them and if she gets any answers, (she sleeps without her hearing aid, so she can’t hear the answers unless she puts it in).  She can describe in minute detail what they are wearing and the expressions on their faces.  It always ends when she gets annoyed that they won’t leave and she turns on the lamp on her nightstand.  Poof.  No one there.

At this point I’d like to point out that our house is about 20 years old and no one has ever died here, with the exception of the FIL, Marcos a couple of years ago.  He could hardly bring all those other people here as he was fairly unsociable and I find it hard to believe he has changed that much since he died.  Plus, I am assuming H would recognize her husband among the crowd in there.

What do you think?  Keep in mind she is completely sane and has absolutely no cognitive problems at all, with the possible exception of believing herself to be the center of the universe.

I really am interested in what anyone might have to say about this.

Well, after several phone calls during the night with questions of some urgency about where to turn or what exit, I got the final one at 4:15 AM saying, “We’re here!”  I have talked to them several times since and Mither, also.  They are SO EXCITED.  Just a few moments ago I got a call from them saying they are all going to Greenwood to eat lunch at the little Greenwood General Store/Gas Station/Eatin’ Spot.  I have been there to eat with my parents before and it is an extremely quaint little, old store/restaurant that makes the best homemade hamburgers I have ever tasted.  Also, the best fried catfish.  It was interesting reading up on the little town in the info in the link.  I believe it said the last census count  was 76 back in 2003.  However, since the town was settled back in the 1870’s it has had as many as 300 residents.  Just a thriving metropolis. Hee, hee…

It has poured buckets and buckets of rain all day and everything is good and soaked and I feel that there is very little chance that anything could catch on fire from fireworks tonight.  So I guess this is good.  John is at work, so we will just “celebrate” separately, for now.  Tomorrow he’s off and SIL will stay here for a bit with H and we will brave the hordes and go…somewhere.

I will leave you with some images from Nana and Pop’s house… because I feel like everybody should be able to go to such a neat, wonderful place and I wish I could take you all.

Here is Ricochet.  He has wandered up onto the back porch again.  Silly thing likes to look in the windows.  He really should have been named “Tom”, as in “Peeping”.

View of the pond from the back porch during a really good blanket of snow this past winter.

Just a few hours old colt, during the same snow.

John is working late tonight and Henrietta wanted to be fed something that no one else will eat.  Done.  I am not a very big supper eater.  Kes is 18 years old and just read me the riot act about not getting supper done early enough to suit her.  I looked at her blankly and said, “Supper?”  To which she grabbed her purse and stormed out muttering something about going to get something to eat.  Clearly, she is steamed at ME.  I think this is unfair.  This is just me sawing away in a frenzied manner cutting the apron strings a bit. PLUS there is always the chance that she will think that if she’s not going to stick around and eat any food I may or may not produce, then maybe she shouldn’t accept any money for her college education….  Yeah, right.

Poor H.  She woke up early this morning due to her foley cathater failing during the night.  She was swamped in urine.  Wet gown, soaked diaper, wet chux, wet sheets.  It was all very bad.  She kept apologizing to me the whole time I was cleaning her up.  It is very hard to listen to someone apologize through chattering teeth for something they had absolutely no control over.  Anyway, the nurse showed up and we finally got her re-catherized.  Which is a HUGE pain in the arse hoo-hoo.  She has fistulas.  I swear, she is like swiss cheese up inside there.  I have helped with every catheter change and there are many prayers recited at each one, by H, the nurses, and me.  There are only a select few nurses that are considered experienced enough to get it done right and those are now the only ones that are ever sent out.  It takes over an hour to find the “sweet spot” and get urine back.  She is a nervous wreck all this time cause even small things stress her out and this is major thing on her scale.   So when they are done she is wiped out.  But, in the end, we got pee back in the tube and there was much rejoicing.

Man.  How sad is that commentary on my life?  HAHAHA.

I will post again later today.