the battle of the remote . . .

The suites at Hope Lodge are spacious if sparsely decorated . . nothing that will catch allergens or dust . . . with high ceilings and huge windows in both the bedroom and the living room. One of my most favorite features, are the ceiling fans in both rooms. The 9TS is not so enamored. At home we replay the battle of the fans on a daily basis. I love them. He hates them. We negotiate . . . live runs smoothly.

These fans are on remote control. There is a little quirk. It took us a couple of nights to discover you have to close the door between the two rooms and aim the remote at the far bedroom wall and bounce the signal to turn on just the bedroom fan and not the living room. The 9TS figured that one out. But shortly after he fixed the situation, I was happily blogging in the breeze in the bedroom while he was watching TV fan-less in the other room, and my fan stopped. I raised an eyebrow in the 9TS's direction. He had innocent plastered all over his face. And since I had the remote, I knew he was not to blame. He turned my fan back on. This routine continued for several days and we chalked it up to a Hope Lodge oddity.

Mystery solved. At dinner Monday night, while I was still home, the discussion at the table was ceiling fans and how two of the guests were battling each other for control. It seems that not only can the signal be bounced off the walls in your own suite, it can control your neighbors fan. Jerry, one of the 9TS's compatriots, battles his neighbor on a nightly basis. All out war. On. Off. On. Jerry is not a happy camper. I, on the other hand, am content. It seems my adversary has checked out.

lost in translation . . .

Since the 9TS is back in Tampa, I have been left to my own devices until I join him tomorrow. And so, as the afternoon winds down, I find myself navigating Facebook. Facebook confuses me on a good day. This apparently was not a good day.

I have a Swedish friend . . . as in a Swede who lives in Sweden . . . and although she is beautifully bi-lingual, she occasionally posts in Swedish . . . which is of course doesn't bother me in the slightest since her art, which is what I drool over, needs no translation. But I am a curious soul. So, with nothing else on the agenda, I decided to Google a translation of her post and the three responses.

The first site I hit had her saying: is just over ritka.

The second site: Is ritkigt good

The third: ? r ritka just over

Hum, not a lot of continuity here. I am wondering, is she flying over Ritka? I decide to try the first response which translated into Why?

OK, so someone wants to know why she is flying over the Czech Republic. I do too.

Her response to that was . . . according to the translation site: It is sometimes. This is totally not making any sense.

The third reply was: Hope you get better. Now I am stumped. Maybe Ritka is Swedish for the Swine Flu. Maybe she is suffering from the Swine Flu while flying???? Ya think?

Makes me wonder how valid are these translation sites? What if she said: I am confused? And he replied: Why and she answered: Just because and her friend responded: Hope it gets better. Makes sense to me . . . but then I am prone to writing my own version of most things. Ask anyone in the family.

love me some shrimp . . .

take a pound and a half of good sized shrimp, peel them, devein them, rinse them and pat those puppies dry. Make a marinade of 3 tablespoons of olive oil, 1 tablespoon of red wine vinegar, a little salt, a little pepper, some oregano and a gazillion minced cloves of garlic. Whisk the marinade and then flip in the shrimp, swish around and refrigerate for a couple of hours. Pull them out, dump them in a baggie with bread crumbs and shake, shake, shake. Skewer the little beasties and grill them 4 minutes on each side. Sprinkle with fresh lemon juice and nosh. So good. So good. Add some grilled asparagus and some seasoned rice. Yummo.

I intended to take pictures but my mouth beat my eyes. Sorry.

Credits: Paper: Roben-Marie Smith, Stitches: Anna Aspnes, Mask: SBStudios, Sunset: Pixelworks, Fonts: Mistral, Karabine, Georgia.


credits: Paper and circles: Roben-Marie Smith, Paperbag Studios, Mask: Katie Pertiet, Stitching: Anna Aspnes, Fonts: Everyday Ghost, Magneto, CK_Ali's Writing.

from First Watch . . .

"Breakfast comes to those that wake."

"Life is something to do when you've finished breakfast."

I really like the wrappers around this restaurant's napkins.

yesterday . . . .

was an odd day. The 9TS met with a physical therapist after his radiation treatment and returned with his belly covered in long 'fingers' of tape. Did you per chance watch the women's Olympic volleyball tournaments and see the black taped shoulders? Bingo. That's what he is now sporting, only in natural beige. Apparently, it helps with circulation.

We escaped Moffitt and headed for a great little breakfast joint we discovered in a strip mall. Excellent. Since the 9TS's appointments have now been switched to 7:00 a.m., we have entire uninterrupted days to explore. Today was the Lowry Park Zoo. No one is going to confuse Lowry Park Zoo for say, the San Diego Zoo, or the Bronx Zoo or even the Jacksonville Zoo but it housed all sorts of goofy creatures like this googly bird, who I am sure has a more definitive name . . .



it was his/her top notch that cracked me up:



or this little fellow, who certainly knew how to keep cool:



as opposed to the obstreperous zebra who merely turned his back on us:



then there was this character who escaped the confines of the aviary and sucked up this very live, very wiggly worm in the blink of an eye. Doesn't say much for the zoo cuisine:



This was another escapee that the 9TS pointed out. He was very pleasant about posing for his picture:



and this long drink of water:



and this proud beastie:



and last but not least, my very personal favorite . . . I named her Flower . . .



They have an incredible Meerkat Manor with lots of little guys digging their hearts out. Too cute. But it was hot and I do mean H. O. T! We were melting. A couple of hours to recoup back at the lodge and we were ready for dinner. We tried a Japanese Steak house we had discovered earlier. Some things are truly better left undiscovered. This was one. We left with queasy stomachs. God bless Brioski.

Speaking of Bingo . . . a few paragraphs back . . . one of the service fraternities at USF sponsored a Bingo night for the inmates . . . er . . . residents. Picture an adorable group of 20 year olds chattering and playing Bingo with the conglomerate of folks that make up the current occupancy of Hope Lodge. Now right in the middle, picture the 9TS and me, laughing like fools and having a ball with Jen, our new USF buddy. The 9TS had originally told me we HAD to be upstairs by 8:00 for DWTS. We were late. He didn't mind.

is nothing sacred . . . .

and so it seems, my gall bladder and I need to part company. Since I am rather attached to it, I am trying my hardest to persuade the doctors to leave us both alone . . . but each one says: nope, its full of stones and needs to come out. I like to envision it decked out in Tiffany and Swarovski . . . a little tiara maybe . . . a diamond choker . . . a pair of emerald slippers? Friday, I picked up yet another test kit from the lab, brought it home and read the directions. Oh my! Anything that involves rubber gloves can't be good. Unless, of course, you are dying your hair or its Easter egg time. Cut me a break, Doc! Worse yet, I had to return the kit to the lab . . . think total embarrassment. Is nothing sacred?

Let's talk about klutzes. I am queen . . . although Katie also claims that title . . . then again, it might just be genetic. Last night while tip toeing into Katie's room at midnight, I stumbled over a door stop . . . my beloved Scottie. The score was cast iron 10; toe 0. After a few choice words and much hopping up and down, I managed to wake the entire household. I finally regained my 'couth' and slunk back into bed . . . toe throbbing. This morning, it had a beautiful purple ring around it. I am thinking it was jealous of my gall bladder's finery and wanted some color of its own . . . sigh.

my new friend . . .

Cute, huh? He came visiting my front door Monday morning. Click on him to see just how cute.



I think I'll lend him my razor . . .

notes from Hope Lodge . . .

Yesterday, I drove over to join the 9TS in Tampa. After dumping my stuff in the room and stashing the pre-makings of pasta fagioli in the fridge downstairs, I grabbed a soda and we headed to the porch to sit in the rocking chairs and catch up.

We had company. A 37 year old leukemia patient. After 14 years in the service his friends convinced him that his computer skills were wasted on the military and he should retire and make mega bucks for some communications company. He retired, sold his house and two things happened: the economy tanked and leukemia hit. He was down and out. Trapped between the VA and social security, he was amazed at the difference. While the VA was slow and rude, social security let him go to his own doctors and within days he was here at Moffitt.

Not really having found my comfort zone when talking about illness with the other guests, I let them ramble and then get back on safe ground. So since we were talking about rude, I mentioned Kanye West and we were off and running with a lively discussion. Finally he slows down, takes a good look at me, gulps and says, “Do you mind if I ask how a person of your . . . er . . . era . . . I mean vintage . . . a . . er . . . knows about Kanye West?” I laughed and told him we had a 21 year old. “Oh, he said, that explains it.”

Shortly after, he departed and once again I was forced to remember that I was indeed, 61 in body . . . 18 in mind. Sigh.

Oh and speaking of feeling 18, my sense of humor seems to be stuck there as well. Each of the 40 suites at Hope Lodge are named after the donor of the funds that created them. We are in the Hooker Suite. Don and Britta Hooker, thank you . . . for the safe haven and the chuckle.

catching up . . .

florence . . .

Template: Jessica Sprague, Papers: Lynne Grieveson

pisa and tuscany . . .

Credits: Template & Journaling Tag: Jessica Sprague, Everything else: Lynne Grieveson

getting comfortable . . .

Moaky arrived on our doorstep as one of four bundles of fur from which Katie was to choose. She went straight too him. It was a match made in heaven.



This large eared monster and Katie became inseparable. That was back in 2000. Moak lived here happily with Katie, Bru, Snoop and Flup. Once Katie left for college, he was bereft. The following year, he too went for a higher education. Since then Ninja and Bear have made an appearance. Moak does not like these new interlopers. And, although Moak knows where the treats are kept and where all the good hiding spots are, he has become very much a cat who wants to be king of his own castle . . . the only cat in his castle . . . and certainly not one infested with a large brown alpha cat. So he pretty much stays in Katie's room, on her bed, coming out only for necessities.

This last visit was longer than normal and after a few days in her room, he decided to venture out and came visiting when I was doing the laundry. Old habits are hard to break. Moak always loved a warm dryer.



two hours later, he was still there, snoring away, oblivious to the now cold enamel.



I was happy to see that he was finally getting comfortable again in this house.

vallette, malta . . .

credits: Template: Jessica Sprague, Venice Beach Kit: Lynne Grieveson

sorrento . . .

Credits: Template: Jessica Sprague, Kit: Venice Beach by Lynne Grieveson, Fonts: Georgia and Karabine.

out of order . . .

I had been chugging along doing layouts in chronological order but the last two sets of templates called for more photos then my next city afforded. So here comes Monte Carlo . . .





and today is a day of rest over at the Spraground. No templates today, she breathed with a sigh of relief. I have other things on my mind.

Starting Monday, the 9TS begins radiation therapy in Tampa for six weeks. We will be shuffling back and forth. He will commute on weekends and I, midweek. He is concerned the beasties will forget us if someone is not home part time, which is kind of cool since when I met him he was an anti-cat person. He claimed they were sneaky animals. Sneaky is right. Wormed themselves right into his heart. So Hope Lodge, here we come. And thank you ACS for the home away from home. Wish us luck. Please.

indecision . . .

The more I looked at the last two layouts, the more I thought I should have stuck to original bright color scheme. Now I can't decide. Help!

pages 9 and 9.5 ?

Who knows what page this will end up being. I jumped ahead in chronological order because these templates lent themselves better to the many photos I took in Portofino. Once again the tempates are by Jessica Sprague, digi guru and the kit is by Lynne Grieveson.