sharpchick_2011: (Moon)
Had a lovely, fun-filled Thanksgiving with my son, his girlfriend and all four kids. He has two, she has two, and when everyone is all together, it makes for an interesting time. We had ages from 8 down to 1 1/2.

We went out to eat at a family style restaurant where you could either have a traditional southern Thanksgiving plate or order anything you wanted, including breakfast.

I elected to let someone else do the cooking and washing up this year.

So, the kids all wanted breakfast. Three of them had pancakes, including McKayla, my youngest granddaughter.

I cut her pancakes up and then held her plate to the side so I could feed her. She kept doing that dodging thing toddlers do with food. I offered her stuff from my plate.

Nope, the head swiveled to the side, lips locked in defiant grimace. Adam looked up and told me he thought she preferred to feed herself.

I said with syrupy pancakes? You've got to be kidding...

Who knew a syrup laden pancake could be so well constructed that it would survive being flopped around in the air by an independent 18 month old without having parts of it flung into the laps of nearby diners?

I learn something new every day...
Came home in the afternoon to find that Tigger was having intestinal upset.

Which got worse throughout the evening and into the night, culminating in bloody diarrhea.

Naturally, on a holiday evening.

Left voice mail for the vet that we would be in promptly Friday morning.

No fever, no parasites, no detectable explanation at all. Same as with the idiopathic cystitis thing of two months ago, for which we are now injecting him every three weeks with Adequan.

For the rest of his life.

The only explanation the vet had was stress. Nonetheless, a round of antibiotics, to make sure there is not a bacterial infection.

And had to rest his gut, which meant no food until this morning.

His cohorts were not amused. I free feed the cats because my work schedule doesn't permit me to be around to do the scheduled meal thing.

To ease him back into food, today we are doing four small scheduled meals.

Which means for all.

Emma in particular is very put out, glaring at me as I took up the bowls. Emma snacks between serial naps. There should be something for her to snack on when she awakes.

Stoney has been following me around, doing the feline vocal equivalent of whining.

And I am trying to figure out what could have stressed Tigger out.
The Weather Channel has just texted me that the temperature will drop like a rock, and we have a 30% to 40% chance of snow showers for the next few days.

WTF? The Farmers Almanac said nothing about that...
The journey is good.

It has just enough weirdness in it to keep me from getting complacent.

sharpchick_2011: (Default)
PhotobucketIt was a good week for...

...Making connections with another Burris researcher through the Burris DNA Project. We don't seem to be able to connect our dots yet - hers start in North and South Carolina though, so there is hope. Her family is descended through Solomon Burriss. Her husband was a 12/12 marker match for my father.

...My car guys, who got a chunk of change from me for replacement of my front struts. They'll make out well next week, too, because on the way home Friday from the shop, I started hearing my squealer on my right front brake.

That's what my son calls it. He says it means to get my butt back to the car guys.

...The United States Navy, whose representatives at the memorial service for my Uncle Tommy last Monday exemplified the dignity and compassion of members of our armed services who provide the military portions of funerals and memorial services.

Those men were outstanding.
PhotobucketIt was a bad week for...

...The American flying public, as illustrated by what happened to Thomas Sawyer, at the Detroit Metro Airport.


Sawyer, a survivor of bladder cancer, wears a urostomy bag. Last November, TSA screeners in Detroit handled him so roughly that the seal on the bag broke, and he wound up with urine on his clothing. He says they haven't learned anything in the last 8 months, even though TSA Chief John Pistole apologized to him in a phone call in late November. Pistole told Sawyer he would speak with TSA supervisors to determine what kind of training needed to be provided to TSA screeners.

Methinks they cannot hear you, Chief Pistole...maybe they need some piss on them to get the point.

...People, animals and plants in Arkansas - the drought continues and it's showing even in large, mature trees. Today is quite overcast and humid, and if it means rain, I'm good with it.

The journey is good, but the heat is stifling...

sharpchick_2011: (Cat with lime)
Overheard in the Barnes and Noble cafe yesterday afternoon...a wedding planner explaining to the bride that the wedding planner needs to have a seat at the $85 per plate dinner reception because of her "blood sugar issues."

I wanted to get the little fresh-faced bride aside and tell her to run like her hair was on fire...

My rain gauge had 3.6 inches in it when I dumped it earlier this morning.

We had a couple of really strong thunderstorms roar through last night and were under flash flood warnings.

The garden needed the rain.

The goldfish in the garden pond were glad to see me with their food this morning, and one did a few interesting flips and twists to get over to me.

Goldfish are like puppies with fins.

To shake off the horror that remains at the Arkansas State Hospital - yes, still - I've been spending as much time in the garden on the weekends as I can.

While I'm there, I've read three good books. All fiction.

The Best of Times, by Penny Vincenzi. Imagine a multiple car pile-up on a busy British highway, and the effect it has on the lives of not only the people involved in the wreck, but also the witnesses.

Le Mariage, by Diane Johnson. The difference in expectations of marriage across cultures - France and America - and whether it's really until death, or prison, do you part.

The Weight of Water, by Anita Shreve. I've read some of her other work, but had missed this one, published in 1997, which uses a true account of a century old murder mystery in New England to show just how far a woman can be pushed until she snaps.

Next up is daughters-in-law by Joanna Trollope. I'll probably start it inside the cottage, curled up on the couch.

Looks like more rain.

The journey is good.



sharpchick_2011: (Default)

May 2014



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