HalfAsstic.com

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.

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.

Oh, what first, what first?!

I guess first of all I would like to let everyone in on a new blogger that is absolutely amazing to me. Her name is Amy and she, along with her husband and six children, live in Zambia, Africa running an orphanage. They have been there for seven years!

The name of her blog is Amy’s Assorted Adventures and boy, does it live up to it’s name!

It is fascinating to me what effort has to go into everything just to keep it going on over there. I mean everything! Anyway, I dearly love going here and reading about her and her adorable babies that are living with them and thriving due to their care. The babies get fat, healthy looking and out-going not long after being taken to them. The stories of how they end up with them are sometimes heartbreaking.  But everything she and her family is doing is adventurous, enthusiastic, and brave.

I would like to pass on the coveted “Loaded Diaper Award” to her and say right now that I have never given it out before.

Actually I forgot it was there and even when I did remember about it, I kept thinking that I should give it to someone with infants in diapers. Or, maybe an old lady they have hanging around keeping life interesting and diapers full. But, then I remember thinking, “Krissa,” (Yes I converse with myself like this… don’t you?), “what better reason to give a Loaded Diaper Award than giving it because someone has to put up with a lot of shit? I mean, isn’t that why you have it?” To which I answered myself, (Because it would be rude not to and I already know how out of hand I get when someone is rude to me.) “Yup.”

Well, Amy is a wonderful person that I have been having tons of fun conversing with and intend to have more, and she is not only doing diaper duty in spades, she is putting up with the shit of a difficult environment and laws and policies that make little or no sense, every day.

She deserves it. So go and read her. She is awesome, I tell you! AND new to blogging, so follow!

In other news…

Another of my favorite bloggers is having a wonderful giveaway! Jennymac over at Let’s Have A Cocktail, is giving away a Jimmy Choo handbag that is a lover-ly, luscious, chocolate brown, leather to the person drawn on Feb. 10, 2010. The rules and and all the goodies needed to enter are at her site and it’s easy-peasy, so go on over and enter! Plus, read her because she is all full of awesome and is the best way to make your few minutes of, “get away to another place through blogging”, the most fulfilling. Not to mention she is as sweet as pie.

So there! That’s it for me and you guys have got to get off and see these blogs!  Really! I wouldn’t lie to you! OK, that may or may not be true, depending on the situation, but still….

There are more Christmas pictures, ya’ll!

Up first, we’re moving into the Victorian bedroom, where Mither has a tree and garland over the headboard. There was also garland over the mirror on the dresser yet, somehow, I missed the shot of that.

The paint technique she used in here is beautiful as well.

Here’s the small Christmas tree in the sewing room. Festive, no?

I am skipping around a wee bit, (Sort of like I do in real life-really, you should see me…), and here we are at the end of the hall, across from the kitchen. The furry thing is Tootsie, she is heading out the door.

Here we are in the “girl’s room”.

Besides the Christmas tree, there was a lovely garland going across the top of the headboard. It had to go. I was sleeping in there, (being the perfect sister and giving the Victorian room to my brother and SIL), and the damn thing was attacking me in the night and interfering with my slumber. It’s on the floor on the other side of the bed. Try to imagine it.

Can you tell Mither likes to fool with paint?  It is even prettier in person.

Here’s a closer up shot of the walls…

Wandering down the hall, here we have Pop’s room gun cabinet. Festive as well.

A rather vintage Miss Martha’s nativity scene…

Now at the end of this hall is Mither and Pop’s room. For some reason the tree looks lit with yellow lights from here, and…

…white lights from here. Now why is that? I didn’t use a flash with either shot and the lights were white in real life. Crazy.

Mither’s room is serene and calm in a sea of blue and white.

This is a lovely, snowy looking little vignette.

That Mither does love her sparkle.

On outside now…

SEE! SNOW!  This is the cattle guard in front.

Coy pond. I suspect they’re cold…

I just love this shot…

And this off the back porch at the tank that is looking a little frozen.

I can’t tell you how much fun it was to take pictures of all this snow! And yes, I know it’s not nearly as much as a  lot of you get, but for here and on Christmas Day, it was amazing.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Day late and a dollar short. Whatev.

These pictures are so freakin’ spectacular that you will be forced, I say FORCED, to forgive me.  Well, OK, maybe not forced, but I think you will want to.  Hope?

Ahem. Here we go.

As you may remember me mentioning years months weeks a long time ago, I spent my first Christmas with my entire family, (the ‘rentals and sole sibling), present in the same house, at the same time, for the first time in probably over 15 years.

You see, my brother is a very difficult man.

Heh! Love you, Cam!

It’s true, though. He’s in the military and they, my dear, sainted sister-in-law and now my semi-new nephew, have been living all over the globe for an eternity. They are now stationed back in Alamogordo NM. So it was very exciting for us all to be there together. We picked up the food fight right where we left off.

Also? This was the very first documented white Christmas in Decatur, Texas in, I guess, forever.  My parents are 72 and 73, and had never had one before.  BIG EXCITEMENT.

So without further ado, or even undo or redo, here are the pictures!

Here we are with the living room all decked out for the holidays!  Mither goes all out.

I think their tree is sooo beautiful.

Here’s a winter scene in the front hall I really love!

On the other side of the hall.

Here we are in the dining room and it is so tranquil. This buffet was my great-grandmother’s.

I love this little “ice covered” tree over in the corner.

The centerpiece on the dining room table. “Angel hair” with Christmas lights run underneath it.

Mither painted the walls flat navy blue and then with clear gloss, free handed the design in the curtains in the previous picture. I think this make such a pretty effect.

I remember, when I was a child, thinking that the gifts under our tree looked so pretty it was magical. I love helping Mither wrap them and continuing with the illusion.

Now, here we go down the hall to the Kitchen. Mither being Mither and all, of course the hall has to have a Christmas tree as well.

I just counted and there are 11 pictures so far in here and I don’t want to bog anyone’s pooter down, so I will finish up my Christmas post in a second edition!

Till later, Merry Christmas Free Toes, everybody!

Hello everybody. I am, (yes, once again), apologizing for my absence. I am needing a note from my mother at this point and even she is miffed that I still haven’t gotten around to posting all the fabulous pictures of Christmas at her house.

Hey, it’s just a little over a week until February and I don’t like to rush things.

Every time I think about sitting down and posting I start off with something funny in my mind and it turns all maudlin in my head before I can get it out. And I don’t think it’s because the Lexapro isn’t doing the job it once was.

Let’s do a rundown, shall we?

Henrietta is still convinced that Gilbert, (the older daughter’s longtime boyfriend), is the devil and frequently can be overheard muttering things about diablo and then using his name under her breath. Yesterday she told John that I was trying to give her drugs that Gilbert supplied me with that were illegal. (Mucinex DM)  She also started crying a few days ago and telling John that she just KNOWS that Gilbert is bringing drugs over here and “shooting” them into him, (John). He had been to the doctor and they had taken blood and so he had a cotton ball taped to the inside of his elbow. I guess I should be proud that she thinks that we only deal with the kind of pushers that use an alcohol pad and then a sterile cotton ball and band-aid after the shooting up. We be classy like that.

She is also convinced that I am a horrible person because I won’t let her go to the hospital. She has been sick with the same virus that has worked it’s way through the rest of the family and lingered in the chests and throats and sinus cavities of each of us for two to three weeks each.  She is convinced she is dying because she has a hacky little cough that bothers her a few times an hour.

I coughed like I had TB for three weeks and and had a rattle in my chest like a maraca.  On a couple of the days when it was at it’s worst I stayed in bed because there were other people here that could take care of her. I heard that woman say to John, “What’s the matter with her now?” John was obviously aggravated with her when he told her I was sick, (as if she didn’t know), and she didn’t say anything else about it. But now, she is telling me that she wants to go to the hospital because she is coughing. When I tell her it’s just a virus she says, “How do you know?”, and telling her that everyone else has had the same thing and the same symptoms does not help.  “Oh, Krissa… you don’t know!”  She asked me to call a friend of mine that’s a nurse that lives about 20 minutes away and have her come and listen to her chest and tell her what she’s got. (As if that would settle it.) I told her no, there was no way. She said, “Well, she could take my temperature!”. I told her over and over she has no fever. She started telling me I didn’t know what I was talking about. I RAISED TWO CHILDREN. LIKE, I REALLY DON’T KNOW HOW TO TELL IF SOMEONE HAS FEVER!

I got the damn thermometer and took her temp. Normal. So she let that drop.  But she started crying because she wanted to go to the hospital. No amount of assurance that the hospital wouldn’t take her would do. She won’t believe it. I explained that the insurance wouldn’t cover her admittance to the hospital for a cough. She just looked away and shook her head like a small child being defiant.

But, she gave up on the waterworks.

In other news…

John is not doing well at all and I am desperately hoping we can find a new way to attack his heart problems with a new pulmonary doctor and when we see him I am going to ask him if he can recommend a new cardiologist.  He has been sick and barely able to function at least 50% of the time since he got out of the hospital. They are not doing anything different. Same drugs, same course of action. (None.)  He hasn’t been to see the pulmonologist since he got out of the hospital because we found out the hard way that he doesn’t accept our insurance. But he is having such a hard time breathing now that we both think we have to do something new. So he will be going to see him on February 2nd.

Meanwhile his present cardiologist is saying that he should maybe consider “another line of work”, that maybe he just can’t do this anymore. As if there are  all these jobs out there waiting for him to just pick one. I think John is wondering if he can do it too.  I am frightened of the future and all the terribly unsure aspects of our lives.

Meanwhile…

Kessa made a small batch of hash browns the other day for her breakfast along with an egg, ham and cheese sandwich between two slices of perfectly toasted bread. She then walked over and set the plate down on a small occasional table between two chairs in our living room and, (for some totally unknown reason), went down the hall to my bedroom to talk to me for a few minutes. Leaving the sandwich innocently sitting there. On the plate. On the table. Between the two chairs.

Moments later she and I emerged from the bedroom and she exclaimed, “Baby!”  I wondered why since Baby was no where to be seen.

Neither was her sandwich.

Baby was rather shy for another couple of hours, the guilty little shit.

And no, I’m not even talking about up in the panhandle, where they compete with the weather in Bismark in the winter.

Remember this? Last summer, my aunt’s house up in Burleson, Texas, close to Ft Worth?

Here is what she sent me the other day.

How’s that for cold looking? Still it IS beautiful

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John went to the cardiologist today and came home with a grin on his face. They did another EKG and the guy said that he is showing improvement since the last time he was there a month ago.  This made us both very happy. Especially since it seemed like he was getting worse with all the water retention he’s been having.

OH, by the way, we have, apparently, kicked the diabetes in the butt! It’s been days and John hasn’t had any insulin. I do believe his body is producing it on it’s on. YEA!

Now, if only I could figure out what to cook with no salt… I am running out of idea’s people!

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Sometime before Christmas I placed an order to this wonderful place because of something I read here at Red’s. Let me tell you, when the box arrived I had no idea how wonderful it would smell! Kessa just happened to be home when I opened the package and before I could even get the camera and take a picture of the beautiful packaging she had torn through it and was in heaven in the soaps. All I ended up getting a shot of was Baby, “regifted” in the ribbon the awesome smelling bundle was wrapped up in.

And it wouldn’t be Baby without that trademark crooked smile.

Uuuh, yeah. I’m not sure what’s up with the one ear either. Makes her look a bit demonic…

Aaaannnywaaaaaay, so the wonnerful, Lynnel had me a batch of the most fabulous smelling soaps and lip balms that you can not even begin to imagine. They sat out on the table in the breakfast area for a few days and everytime John or I entered the house we were inhaling deeply of the lovely smells from that area.

You have GOT to experience this wonderful smell for yourself! Go order from this sweet lady!

Like an idiot I accidentally placed two orders on line and only intended one, so I called her and cleared that up. She was so very nice and fun to talk to.  Anyway, her soaps were the best gifts a good many people got this year!

And Baby really does rock  that red bow.

Henrietta is off her ever lovin’ rocker and John is sick with congestive heart failure and I am sick with something, (bronchitis?), and I want to have myself committed to get away from this nut house. Go ahead and call the men in the white coats to come get me.

Please.

While they’re here they could throw a cursory glance over at H and tell me what the hell they see. She has slipped down the slippery slope of peanut butter enemas and DayQuil eye wash.

She’s done checked out.

I have to say that I sincerely think this new, memory-bank deficit,  recent draft, Henrietta is going to be easier to handle than the one that was just …”on her way out”.  Because, she requires much less assurance and help to understand what is going on. She see’s it only one way and that is the way she see’s it. All you can do is placate her and move on.

A few days ago, Thursday, I believe. We were watching the UT game and The Boyfriend was here as we had invited him over to watch it. Sounds like a fun time,  huh? You would think so. Anyway John and T.B., henceforth known as Gil or Gilly or Gilbert, were sitting in the living room across the room from one another just basically talking about the game so far. Nothing too terribly exciting was happening and they were talking pretty low. John would bust out coughing fairly often, but not any different than it’s been for the past 5 months. At this point in the evening John and I glanced up and saw H rolling through the doorway into the living room.

Announcing to the room in general, “He’s a very sick man!”

Looks were exchanged and John said, “Mom, what’s up?”

“I was cold back in there, John.” Very whiny and pitiful. So I walked up and got behind her wheelchair and propelled her over in front of the fireplace where, Satan Gilbert had built us a very nice fire.  She was so busy casting mean looking sidelong glances at Gilly that she almost didn’t notice what I was doing.

“Oh! Krissa, nooooooo! I have to go back in there and finish writing my letter!” I said, “I thought you were cold?”, and she stuck her two hands straight up in the air to show me her gloves.  Very defiantly. She didn’t say anything, just waved her hands at me. Kinda like jazz hands but not nearly as happy looking. In fact I’m thinking that even standing behind her I could see her rolling her eyes at me. So I asked her if she wanted to sit in front of the fire with the rest of us and warm up there and she she got VERY defensive, stuck her hands up in the air again, (This time I did a quick once over to determine if there were any middle fingers sticking up cause I was getting the message at this point.), and I grabbed her chair and started rolling her back to her room.

I knew what was going to happen, the writing was on the wall, so I pulled her into her parking spot and got in front of her, put my finger under her chin, lifted it and stared deep into her beady little eyes.

“Henrietta, now I want you to listen to me.”

She stared up as wide eyed as she could possibly contrive. “Yeeees, Krissa?”

“There is absolutely nothing bad going on in that room and John and Gilbert are just enjoying the game. You are more than welcome to watch it with us. Once again she said she had to finish writing her letter, however I’m thinking that she may have underestimated how difficult this would be with the gloves on. And while doing periodic jazz hands.

“Henrietta, I know how you are and how you get about Gilbert. I don’t want you making any more wild stories up about John and him or any nonsense like that.”

She is properly appalled at my accusations and let’s me know it. I reiterate that she is all about making up evil, foul-intentioned lies. She is properly outraged, and assures me that NOTHING is further from the truth. I admonish her one more time, by leaning over and enunciating carefully so that there is no room for doubt about what I am saying:

“Remember, everything is fine in there and John and Gilbert are just watching the game. They’re having a good time!”

She told me that she does NOT make up lies, and I shouldn’t say that. Whatever. As I was leaving the room I heard her say very sarcastically, “God bless you, Krissa!” I turned and smiled and said something to the effect of, “May He bless you, too.”

Friday morning I was sick as a dog and thank God good old Tanya was here and takin’ care o’ tings with her. I eventually made it in to where Tanya was and got the scoop from her. H had told her that last night Gilly came over and got Kes and took her and they got married and then he and John were  in a heated argument and John’s boss, that’s right his boss had to come over and, “calm everything down”.

She has never met his boss. Hell, I’ve never met his boss. He’s this guy that lives 45 minutes away in Pearland and does not possess the kind of heartfelt concern for his employees that would cause him to drive from there to here to “calm things down”. He didn’t even visit John while he was in the hospital the  better part of October.

I have no idea where she pulled that from, I suspect straight out of her ass, but it did lend her story a lot of flair.

I’m thinking maybe fiction writer for her new career.

Anyway, I am bound and determined to just wave everything away from here on out, just say, “OK, whatever.”, and be done with it. There’s a small, dim, light on up there, yet it’s not bright enough to vanquish her demons.