score . . .

two turtleneck sweaters, one in black and one in carmel, two long sleeve T's with beading:  $19.06. 

Miata mayhem . . .

I had arranged to meet my granddaughter and DIL at the eye doctor's to have Kaitlyn's eyes checked and order her new contacts.  A belated Christmas present. 

As soon as I pulled into a parking spot, I knew something was iffy with my poor little Miata.  After 13 years, it was having a nervous breakdown.  It was stalling, huffing, puffing and trying to throw itself into the car in front of us.  Not good.  Each time I turned it on, it leapt forward and died.  The last time, it lurched unreasonably close to the much larger fender in front of it.  I had visions of having to visit the car orthodontist for a grill replacement. My insurance company would not have been happy but gratefully, it stopped inches from disaster.  When that car departed, I tried to coax my little Miata into its spot.  Lurch, crunch, lurch, squeal.

And so I called:

home. and asked for moral support and a ride.

my mechanic only to remember he was off this week.

another mechanic and they could take me.

AAA and they sent Tony and a flatbed to the rescue.

My car pulled into the repair shop right behind the 9TS and I.  It hurt looking at my baby on that big old truck . . . sort of reminded me of a Tonka toy.  Sigh.

Several hours later, with the 9TS banned from driving, Kidlet dropped me off to pick up my now not so ailing automobile.  YAY!!!

I understand that I have been really lucky to have had that car for so long with only one other problem in all these years, but I it still hurt to see it being hauled around like some lifeless carcass.

Hot Jesus . . .

So Joanie and I were sitting in La's at our usual spot gabbing about this and that last Tuesday when the conversation moved on to Florida Hospital, where her father is currently recuperating from this and that. I was telling her, that it was . . . before being taken over by the Seventh Day Adventists . . .  the best heart hospital in the area.  She was extolling the virtues of the nursing staff and doctors.  We agreed, if you have to be feeling a little punk, it was the place to be.

In the course of our bantering, she mentioned the multiple renderings of Jesus on the walls of the hospital.  And then it was said: in some of the pictures, Jesus was extremely good looking.  I had to wait well into my 63rd year to hear the phrase 'Hot Jesus'.  The sound emitted from my mouth was somewhere between a choking on a soda that went down too fast and that nervous twitter that strikes when you aren't quite sure how to respond to something.  Whatever, it had its desired effect and Gron and Michelle popped out to see what was up. 

The conversation morphed into which very good looking actors had been chosen to play Jesus over the years, with Joanie, recounting the shock and confusion she felt at age eleven, that indeed, the Jesus beaming down from the big screen was  . . .  shall we say, "HOT".

So I did some digging and came up with a who's who:

And it's true.  Even though in reality, Jesus was probably smaller in stature and darker skinned, those portraying him are HOT, HOT, HOT.  It makes for a very stressful conundrum.

If you're ever in town, come join us at La's, you never know what will come out of our mouths, and as my mother is right now probably spinning in her grave, I will extricate myself from this conversation and bid you all adieu . . .

and in no particular order . . .

Yup that's one of Publix's chocolate . . . OMG I ate too much . . . ganache cakes.  Followed by our almost kitten proof tree:

 And what is Christmas without a stylin' giraffe?

Jackie did most of the kitchen work including cleaning up the whole mess.  Everyone should have a Jackie.

 And of course everyone should have a granddaughter.  Oh yes!

And, as promised, a little Italian meat platter:

The 9TS showing off his Rastafarian hat to his older son . . . and no, I had nothing to do with that purchase:

Everyone needs some Italian hors d'oeuvres . . . but watch out for that red killer pepper:

And polka dot rain boots.  Air Punch! Yeah! Air Punch!

and finally Pippin, who was the only creature to wander downstairs for the Christmas morning opening of presents, was going berserk trying to get the pompom off the Santa on the tree skirt:

hope ya'll had a good one.

and a happy Christmas eve to all . . .

*tomorrow's prime rib is picked up and sitting sweetly in the fridge along with the corn on the cob.

*two sheet pans of manicotti are made and nestling next to the prime rib.

*an enormous pot of gravy, stuffed with 45 meatballs, six sausages links, and 14 pork ribs, is happily bubbling on the stove.

*three loaves of crusty french bread have been smeared with garlic butter, oregano and parsley and are playing tiddly winks with their much less adorned brother . . . not everyone in the cave loves garlic.

*the chocolate cake I didn't bake is ready for cutting.

*all that's left to do is wrap presents, add the leaves and set the table and drink wine.  Oh wait, I am drinking wine.  Silly me.

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen . . .

Got up early this morning to get Kidlet to a doctor's appointment.  Hurried home to let Christine in for the last time . . . she is taking a sabbatical from cleaning and going into home health care.  Good move for her but she will be missed as the cat hair piles up under beds, chairs and sofa's. 

Just before she finished, the termite inspector came.  No critters today.  YAY!!!  I wonder if they could spray for Mel and Anoma.  Just asking . . .

Then on to Publix for the makings of a much scaled down Italian dinner.  No feast of the seven fishes this year.  Instead, the 9TS is just making gravy with meat balls . . . made from beef, pork and veal . . . adding pork ribs and Italian sausage.  Rotini for the purists, baked manicotti for the rest of us.  A little garlic bread, salad and chocolate ganache cake for dessert and let's call it a night. 

Dinner at Carrabba's and then home to crash.  Its been a very busy day for the sloth and a longer one tomorrow.  Life is good this season.  Sunday he will rest his soul.

slurp . . .

We were invited to a complimentary dinner last night at Carrabba's by Kim, the owner.  I'd guess there were 50+ people in attendance.  I was fairly certain that the 9TS would not be wanting any part of a huge dinner with a bunch of strangers but he surprised the heck out of me and jumped at the chance.  And as an extra perk, we were able to sit next to friends, Denny and Sue.  Alrighty then . . .  let the fun begin.

OMG, so much food.   First course . . . after the flowing wino;  Fried Calamari.  Slurp.  And then Fried Zucchini, Spiedino (shrimp and scallops), and Margherita Pizza.  Main course:  Beef Marsala, Polo Rosa Maria, Chicken Bryan, and for dessert, decadent chocolate bread pudding and ice cream.  Did I mention the wine was flowing? 

To top it all off, we left with goodie bags stuffed with a pitcher, two flavored syrups, a wine bottle opener, and a Carrabba's recipe book . . .  not to mention a little special gift from Jen . . . peanut butter/chocolate fudge.

We rolled out of there.  We are still rolling.  Burp!

The thing that I love best . . . besides my new found love of Spiedino, is the warmth you feel entering the restaurant.  Hope gave us a card explaining how we felt like family . . . does it get any better.  Jen, Christina and Cole were waiting on us hand and foot but the thing is, it felt more like being in their home . . . of course if we were at Jen's, I could tie her down, pour her a drink and enjoy her company and let her enjoy. 

So much for MMEL.  It's a temporary thing.

tis the season . . .

Christmas has sort of gotten away from me this year.  With horror I realized it was now the 20th and still I have not shopped.  My Christmas cards, although made, have not all been mailed . . .  some still sit forlornly on my desk, needing notes and addresses.  Even Christmas present ideas are elusive.  Only the tree is indicative of the season in this household. 

The 9TS is feeling the Christmas slump as well.  And he has put his foot down.  He has had enough.  "I am not going to Tampa for two days, the week before Christmas, and stay in a hotel."  And so it goes . . .

Kidlet is held up in her room working diligently on her father's Christmas present.  She should be up north with her friends but she chooses to be here.  No wonder I love her. 

So one would think with all this gloom and doom festering about the cave that things would be murky at best but they are not.  Joanie, faithfully walks with me four mornings a week.  Five now that yoga has stopped for the holidays.  We count turtles and walk in crisp cool air and chatter.  She is a good, good friend.

And then at lunch today, she and Nancy listen to me patiently when I know they are sorely tempted to roll their eyes at me and say, "Enough!", but they never do.

And after lunch, these friends of mine exchange presents.  Note again, I have not gone Christmas shopping . . . it was a rather one sided affair . . . but my feet are now ensconced in THE most amazing slipper pocket that vibrates and massages at the flick of a button.  Ah, they are sooooo happy.  Pippin, however is leery.  She approaches with caution but stops short of actually touching my now furry feet.

Joanie found me another reticulated cat for my mantle collection.  He is just purrfect.  She knows me so well.

But the best thing is that even though I am ill prepared for the season, they still extend the same friendship that they have for years.  They are still there.  Solid.  Strong.  Well appreciated and loved. 

And of course, what's a post without a little nugget of ineptitude.  Kidlet had been downstairs for quite a while.  Finally she trudges up with a plate of hard boiled egg centers . . . she only likes the white, which works fine by me, because I only like the yolks.  So there I am, leaning back against the pillows, laptop resting on my thighs, and I go to pop one of those cholesterol laden balls of goodness to my mouth . . . make it part way  . . .  before it explodes into tiny yellow shards, raining down on my chest, Bear's head, the bedspread and my keyboard.  Just call me klutz and be done with it.

The whole point is that with good friends, a good sloth, a good Kidlet and good intentions, it doesn't matter whether it is almost Christmas or not.  I have everything I need.  So there.

fluff and stuff . . .

We have an appointment with a Pain Intervention specialist at Moffitt this week but it is just for a consultation.  We'd have to go back if he thinks he can do something specific.  When I explained how difficult a 2.5 hour ride was for the 9TS  . . . going twelve rounds with Mel and Anoma each way, they agreed to fit him in the next morning if needed.  So we may or may not be spending the night again in Tampa, leaving Kidlet to hold down the fort.  Fingers and toes crossed the good doctor can do something. 

Yesterday, the tree finally went up and this morning, the balls went on . . . sort of.  I put three on, Pippin takes one off.   I put two on, Pippin takes three off.  I go in the kitchen to bake some cinnamon oat cookies and Pippin takes four off.  Just when I thought I had things under control, Ninja comes out from under the tree, batting another ball.  Bear is my only non-destructive beastie.

While the laundry was running, I played with two Anna Aspnes kits:

Since I really wanted to do something Christmas-y, I cheated.  I'm allowed.

My last chore of the day before making some baked ziti, is to balance my checkbook.  Gah!  I am so bad at balancing.  No wonder I put it off.

so here's the deal . . .

apparently the Yervoy was a flop.  Well, not only a flop but the prime reason for the 9TS's current major discomforts.

Mel and his cousin Anoma have been having a field day.  They've been swimming around in his ribs and vacationing in what is left of his right lung and apparently cavorting in his left lung as well.  Sigh.

Those little explosions on the surface of his belly?  Mel and Anoma playing with fireworks.  I really do despise that dastardly duo.

Our plan of attack?  First step, increase his long release morphine and get an appointment with pain intervention doctor at Moffitt to do a nerve block.

And then come our choices:

Option One:  Anti-PD1.   Here's the problem.  Like Yervoy (IPI), it irritates the bowels.  So we need to stand clear of any immune stimulating trials.  And two, they have no trials currently available for people who have responded with such a severe case of colitis to the Yervoy as did the 9TS.   So, not an option.

Second. Try him on a Dentritic cell vaccine.  The catch?  He has to be weaned off all steroids first.  It's the weaning off that is the issue.  We've tried three times already . . . but we have a schedule in place and will try yet again.

Third.  We could try chemo but it just doesn't have a good track record against arch nemesis, Mel and Anoma.  We might get a 10% to 20% decrease in growth and Temodar is easy for the body to tolerate but it is not a cure.  To be clear, Dr. K, says. "there is no cure."  Blunt, but fact.

Fourth.  Do nothing but palliative care.

Our options give us much food for thought . . . I can't help but wish we could starve M & A.   to their untimely and much desired death.  Amen.

I'm off to try and get my head together.  I love my sloth.  This sucks.

fighting off boredom

While sitting in the hotel room waiting for the 9TS's next test, I was happily reading my mail and came across this little bit of wonderfulness from a local shop:

Slurp.  I mean REALLY!!!  Apple Cinnamon French Toast.  Hot out of the oven.  And if you are drooling too, here's the recipe that came with.  I'm trying it as soon as we get home.  Drool.

And, while I'm on the topic of toilet paper.  What?  I didn't make mention?  Oops, sorry, wrong segue.  But now that we are there, let me show you a toilet paper square from our hotel:

 

 They must redefine square.  Times are getting rough.   And no, that is not a shot glass on the counter top.  

Are you ready for one more goodie?  This was our highway buddy on the way over.  HAHAHA!

we are here . . .

The 9TS is a little worse for the wear.  Sitting in a car for 2.5 hours has a tendency to scrunch up his ribs.  While most of us don't even notice, Mel and Anoma have a field day amongst those pairs of curved bones.  They punch and kick, wiggle and bite.  They take out their jackhammers and picks and mine for gold.  They poke and jab, and do karate chops. 

 I entertain myself taking shots with my laptop.  Kidlet is crocheting.  The 9TS, he just wants to go home.

They just stole him for his MRI.  Tomorrow they will do blood work, a C-Scan and we see Dr. K.  THEN we can go home.

the grocery list . . .

so Kelli sent me a link to Proud Italian Cook.  Slurp.  I have been there before and drooled myself silly just reading.  Those zucchini boats along with this chicken, are going on my menu for this coming week.  I mean seriously, what's not to love about marinated grilled chicken breasts topped with fresh mozzarella, basil and a thick slice of tomato, drizzled with a balsamic reduction.  Or maybe fontina or goat cheese.  OK, Kidlet, you can have plain chicken.  Sigh.

I'm also making up a mess of baked ziti.  It won't be as good as normal since we have been out of the 9TS's marinara for quite some time.  But still, it is ooey, gooey good and cheesy.  Maybe I will have to get the sloth to coach me in Marinara 101.  I have the recipe, I just don't have his touch.

We're going to chow down on some hot spaghetti topped with a cold medley of diced fresh tomatoes, basil, garlic, olive oil, and fresh ground pepper, served with warm ciabatta bread.

And since Kidlet will be home, a little corned beef and cabbage in her honor.
The other nights will be either in Tampa, at Carrabba's or take out.  It will be a low cook week.

But speaking of Kidlet's impending arrival, I found new additions on the chalk board in the kitchen when she left last week:  Raspberry Tea, Nutella, Grenadine, Cream Soda . . .   yes, my sweet toothed student has made her mark.

bitesies . . .

cooking is getting odder and odder in the cave.  I will cram the 9TS full of anything he will eat.  No more ban on anything that isn't heart healthy.  Last night after stuffing him with calamari over linguini at Carrabba's, we stopped at Panera's for some of their artery clogging sticky buns for his late night snack.  At lunch today, after eating half a bowl of chicken stew, we got him a Cobblestone muffin for dessert tonight.  It didn't make it even until dinner.  Prednisone at work.

For dinner, I made him one of his favorites.  Cod cooked in stewed tomatoes with mashed potatoes:

he did a fairly decent job inhaling it.

Cod and me?  Not so much.  I noshed down on zucchini and squash mixed with onion, garlic and tomato.  It was the cheese that sent me over the edge:

Please let me die in veggie heaven!

So the new rule here is, all rules are out the window.  If he wants it, he gets it, because basically . . . I am ashamed to admit . . .  my sloth now weighs less than I do.  GAH on so many levels.

Peace out, cowgirls!

nefarious nuggets of nothingness . . .

I finally put some Christmas music on the other day and knocked out my Christmas cards.  Now to sign, address and mail.  Otherwise, Christmas has not yet come to the cave.  Maybe next week.  Since the 9TS can't hang the outside lights this year, I thought maybe I would hang some balls from the big oak in the front yard, until I really took a look and realized that involved a ladder, balance, coordination and luck.  Better to rethink that idea.  Snort.

Next week we are headed back to Tampa . . . the three of us.  They couldn't schedule the MRI the same day as the C-Scan and appointment with Dr. K., so we will be spending the night and get a chance to sleep in the next day before round two.  I need to ask about  MDX-1106/Anti-pd1 and see if that is a feasible route.  Fingers crossed please.

Last night, Jen sent me home with a lovely sample of her peanut butter/chocolate fudge.  Gone. Slurp.

I finished book number 44 for the year last night and started number 45.  I have to stop my addiction to Nook freebies.  I've found some gems but a whole kettle of stinkers too.  The other day, to my utter discontent, I realized I actually had to take my body to the library to return a book.  Gah!   I am spoiled beyond repair by downloads from the library and Barnes & Noble and when I wanted something that could withstand a dunk in the pool, a trip to the little used bookshop.  It had been a while since I had actually ventured into the library.  Thankfully, it still smells the same but I am wondering whatever happened to all the old Dewey Decimal card cases.  And no, it has not been THAT long since a trip to the library . . . consider that a mere non-sequitor.  I would love to have one of those empty card catalogs.  Yum!  Think of the possibilities.

brought to you by the letter p . . .

this one's for all you women over a certain age.  You'll know who you are.  And the topic is dreams . . .  very specific dreams.  The ones generated from the need to relieve oneself in the middle of night, while tucked serenely in bed, peaceful and deep in sleep.

We all have them. Don't deny it.  There you are sound asleep in dreamland whether it be a long ago vision of high school, or visiting some exotic place or maybe dreaming of your own home.  The urge hits.  You need to 'go'.  But in your dream, you are always thwarted.  The toilet is too dirty.  The toilet is occupied.  The toilet is overflowing.  There is no door on the toilet.  You get the idea.

A couple of nights ago, I dreamt I was back in college with my friend Jennifer.  We were in our 60's but had opted for continuing education.  Our two roommates were also in their 60's.  One was doing an article on returning to university.  They thought Jen and I would make good subject matter.  All was fine except our room had no bathroom and I was feeling the urge.  I cruised a couple of halls in the dorm in search of the elusive toilet.  No potty.  A few minutes later, although situated in central Pennsylvania, we were all outside watching the launch of a shuttle.  The shuttle was so close, it lifted us off our feet and soared us through the air.  I grasped the gutter of our dorm on my way down and hand over hand, peeked in each window looking for a bathroom.  I finally came to my own room, popped through the window and admitted to Jen and the other two women, that I desperately needed to do my thing.  One of the women smiled sweetly at me, pulled out a center drawer from a bureau, and pointed to a pad lining the drawer.  She indicated that that was indeed was the facilities.  After sitting awkwardly on the little pad, feet dangling over the edge of the drawer, it because obvious that I would be unable to perform with an audience.   I woke up . . . padded off to the porcelain goddess, did my thing and crawled back into bed . . .  to sleep soundly for the rest of the night.

Now the inference being . . .  if one does not awaken from said dreams . . . then perhaps one's bed suffers an unwanted baptism of a different sort.

So why am I even posting about this you ask.  Because Joanie and I giggle through our morning walks regaling ourselves with our bizarre and wondrous dreams.  And these, garner the most giggles.  Just paying it forward.

finally getting in the spirit . . .

Credits:  Template:  Anna Aspnes.

Knocked this one off this morning and finished my Christmas cards.  YAY!  Guess I better be doing some shopping here pretty soon. 

woof . . .

another friday . . .

challenge at Spraground:

Credits:  Frame Template:  LivE Designs, Transfer and Stitches:  Anna Aspnes, Leaves and Clock:  Katie Pertiet, Robin: Lynn Grieveson.

I love this quote.  My friend Paula gave me a framed copy and I have it hung in the bathroom so it can remind me over and over again to live in the moment.  Thanks, Paula!

pippin in a blanket . . .

shot by Kidlet.

wrap up . . .

I've rediscovered wraps.  The edible variety.  I've always loved them but somehow they didn't translate well to my kitchen.  But, the one good thing from our disastrous fish tacos, was the recommended torillas from the dairy section.  Yummy.  Pliable. Soft. Oh so good.

Yesterday I stuffed a tortilla with shredded romaine, kalamata olives, fresh feta cheese, diced tomato, fresh ground pepper and some Italian dressing.  Slurp!

Today, it was still warm, roast chicken with the feta, romaine and olives and dressing.

Tomorrow will be bleu cheese, chicken, bacon, romaine and cucumbers.

Followed by avocados, tomato and bleu cheese, romaine, etc.

The possibilities are endless. Tasty little sammies with fresh ingredients, waiting to tickle my taste buds and dive down my gullet.  Slurp, indeed!!!

while the 9TS . . .

sleeps, I play:

Credits:  Template: Tiffany Tillman, Stitched:  Anna Aspnes.

the skinny . . .

It seems the 9TS's guts are in an uproar and can't settle themselves down.  So, he is back on prednisone for the foreseeable future.  The problem with steroids is that long term usage comes with its own side effects . . .  nastier than those it is designed to cure.  So he is starting off on 60 mg a day and tapering to hopefully 10 mg a day and there he will stay, if indeed, 10 mg works.  If we have to raise the dosage, we   go to plan B. We are also repeating the Remicade.

Plan B puts my sloth back in the hospital for three days.  They will insert an IV and feed him intravenously.   When they are sure everything is going the way it is supposed to, the 9TS and his IV will be sent home to the cave.  A visiting nurse will come to rule the roost and he will be off solid food for three weeks while his bowels take a vacation . . .  cruise the Riviera, sip good French wine, and bake in the sun. 

Just as an aside, we stopped by the business office on our way out, to find out how our tab at this little establishment was doing.  We still have not received the bills from last summer.  Bottom line:  $760,000.00.   I think the Four Seasons have nicer rooms and better prices.  I'm just saying . . .

ugh . . .

two and a half weeks post prednisone and the 9TS slid down hill once again.  I called Moffitt this morning and we are headed back over tomorrow.  Sigh.  Cannot this man catch a break?  He is so tired of feeling sh . . badly.   my heart breaks for him. 

disaster #3 . . .

well, since they come in three's, we are good to go.  I just went to feed the beasties.  I opened the pop top of their cat food with my right hand, holding the can in my left.  The top came off and the entire contents hit the floor.  Pippin was pleased to be part of the clean up crew.   I am going back to bed.  With a bag of fritos and a diet pepsi . . .

oh, and photoshop:

Credits:  Template: Anna Aspnes, Font: LB_Typewriter, Foliage Stamp: Katie Pertiet, Quote Marks: CRenee.

 Joanie thought the acorns looked like olives shoved into caps.  Yep.

oops . . .

Yesterday, before heading for Carrabba's for dinner, I realized I hadn't finished myJen's present.

Let me back up.  One of my eccentric loves is organic coconut oil mixed with patchouli and slathered on my body.  Oooooo, it feels so good, soaks right in, smells delicious and takes away the world's woes.  I promise.  And since, myJen . . .   that's her name: MyJen: because, well, she is . . . loves patchouli too, I decided to make her some of my brew. 

I keep mine in a sealed apothecary jar.  Very unexciting.  It must have a lid.  Being organic, it becomes liquid when it is warm and solid when it is cold.  Go it?   Anyway, I needed something much better for myJen.  So, Joanie and I were on a twofold mission when he hit Renninger's the weekend before . . . find the proper container for myJen's potion.  And we did.  A lovely round glass fish, cut in half horizontally.  The lid being as large as the bottom.  Put together, the clear glass fish was perfect for a bathroom counter.  The bottom half had a scooped out section perfect for my goop.  I was delighted with my find.

Fast forward back to yesterday.  We were running late.  The 9TS, being two weeks off his prednisone was feeling not so well, but insisted we go to Carrabba's.  I had forgotten to load myJen's present.  Made a batch, poured it in the fish, stuck it in the fridge.  All was fine.  I ran upstairs to grab a good length of scotch tape to seal the fish for delivery.   I needed help.  The 9TS volunteered to hold him, while I wrapped the tape.  The fish jumped as fish are prone to do.  And crashed to the floor in 1000 pieces and a smear of patchouli and coconut oil.  Mess.  Horror.  Tears.  Sigh.

When myJen asked about the gloom, I told her the story.  One Ativan, two Crown Royals, a Polo Rosa Maria, two of myJen's Ritz crackers dipped in homemade fudge and all was right again with my world.

The 9TS wasn't quite as lucky.  All he could manage was a small bowl of their divine minestrone and a Momma Rosa mini dessert.  We think we see more prednisone in the future.

Harold and Timothy, the celebration . . .

Thanksgiving was quite perfect.  The usual suspects were gathered around the table which sagged, loaded with Timothy Turkey, Harold the Ham, mashed taters, sweet potato casserole, roasted brussel sprouts, roasted asparagus, relishes galore, hot crescent rolls and butter, stuffing, gravy . . . everything but cranberry sauce.  Who although invited, didn't quite make it:

and after dinner there came pumpkin pie, homemade hot apple crisp with vanilla ice cream and brownies with caramel swirled through the top.  Slurp.

Everyone rolled home stuffed to the gills and full of warm cheer while I waddled up to bed and collapsed.

Outtakes:  

Amen.

today . . .

the house will get cleaned

the sweet potato casserole will be made

the brownies will be made

the 9TS will battle the crowds for the last pumpkin pie

the apple crisp will be made today and baked tomorrow.  to be served bubbling hot with vanilla ice cream

the dips will be made

the deviled eggs will be made

and I will gain 10 pounds

*******************************************************************

yesterday, Joanie and I attempted our five mile walk.  out of the neighborhood and down the street, Mother Nature decided to spit.  another couple of blocks and she had a temper tantrum.  Joanie and I looked like contenders from the age 60+ category of a wet tee shirt contest.  drowned rats.  i pulled out my cell and woke up the 9TS to ask him to please close the windows.  Joanie and I sloshed our way home.  it was a very good day for a duck.

*******************************************************************

today I will be humming We Gather Together.  give it a try.

err runs . . .

Macy's to pay a bill and see if I can't spend some more.

Honey Baked Ham to pick up Harold.  And stuffing myself with samples of Red Velvet cake.

Elements of Design for a present for my SIL and discover it's a winter wonderland in there.

The library to prove I really exist and get a new card.

Pet store for cat sustenance.  Anti hairball so I can stop cleaning the rug.

Grocery store for Thanksgiving grub.  And wine.

Learning that I can't vacuum the backside of the carpet without it being eaten by my Animal.

Timothy and Harold . . .

while I was home playing with Photoshop, the 9TS was out chasing Thanksgiving dinner.  I had asked him to stop by Publix on the way home from the gym and pick up a 16 - 18 pound bird.  He called sometime later with panic in his voice.  Both nearby stores were out of the size I wanted, but he had some nice man scouring the freezer for a tom for our table.  Finally he tells me they found him a 14 almost 15 pound bird:  SOLD AMERICAN!  Timothy is now resting comfortably in the fridge thawing, in time to share the spotlight with Harold the Ham. 

Wondering why I havn't been doing updates on my sloth lately?  Because he is doing so well.  Great news huh?  He's still on good drugs but headed in the right direction.  We're hoping to have more goodness to share after his appointment at Moffitt next month.  Fingers perpetually crossed.

Oh and since I was playing, I'm going to share.  This is from this weeks challenge at JessicaSprague.com.  It is a template challenge sponsored by LivE Designs.  Love Liv's templates.

Credits:  Template:  LivE Designs, Stitching and water droplets: Anna Aspnes, Starfish: Katie Pertiet.

over hill, over dale, we will hit the dusty trail . . .

yep, Joanie and I faced the battle of the flea market.  Renninger's Antique Extravaganza to be exact, held three weekends a year in Mt. Dora, Florida.  Here's an overview, stolen from their site:

Acres and acres of someone else's treasures.   We parked in the hinter land and trucked on down to aisle 5.  Least you think that means we remembered where we parked, not really.  We would have been wise to leave a trail of crumbs but I am getting a head of myself.

Normally, I drag my camera, but I decided to carry light.  I had a mission in mind.  I needed a very specific Christmas present for Leeza and a something something, for my Jen.  I had told Joanie, without rain, it would be a little dusty in Mt. Dora.  Dress down.  So off we went in jeans and T's.  Joanie in sneaks and me in flip flops, yes folks, this is Florida, it was in the low 80's.  About three trees and an elephant sneeze away, and we were just like Pig Pen with a dust cloud following our every move.

Once down in the valley, we wandered from table to table looking for goodies and geegaws.  We spied metal goats, 1950's broaches, clock parts, stuffed chairs, French linens, sugar molds, fishing balls, trains and Victrolas.  And Yorkies of all sizes, carried in the arms of their beloveds.  One woman pushed a pram with not one but three tiny Yorkies.  I think there was a sale on them in some remote corner of the park, everyone seemed to have one but us.

We successfully found the gentleman for whom I was searching, for Leeza's surprise.  Score one.  Jen's something something was a little more difficult but was finally found.  Score two.  And then we got hungry.  Thirsty too.  And hit food row.  Joanie settled on a sweet little vegetarian gyro while I lusted after an all American hot dog.  Loaded. 

Again, we hit the trail, up one lane, down another, around this corner, under that tree.  We wandered and poked.  We pillaged.  Finally, exhausted, we left the valley and headed up to the flea market itself.  More wandering and picking, more prodding and pilfering. 

And down to the very last, I decided I needed the afore mentioned metal goat.  Dealer number two wanted fifteen dollars more than dealer number one.  Dealer number three was out of the small size I coveted.  We wandered back in search of dealer one but he was lost.  Lost in the rows and rows of flibbertigibbets.  Lost in our memories.  Hansel and Gretel could have done no better.  Ruefully, we headed home goat-less.  Served me right for not gathering him in my arms when I first fell in love.

And so we headed home where I immediately dumped six pound of dust from my feet down the tub drain and back to the earth from whence it had come.   It was a good day away from the cave.

Slurp . . .

I knew I was in for culinary delights this week when not one, but two, fresh basil plants hopped in my shopping cart.  The first was used Tuesday night in a wonderful Caprese salad with fresh off the floor mozzarella, thinly sliced basil, and ripe tomatoes, drizzled with a little olive oil and a sprinkle of balsamic vinegar.  And, I do mean fresh off the floor.  The container of fresh mozzarella balls was apparently practicing its full gainer with a half twist when I opened the refrigerator door.  Splat!  Of course the lid popped open, the inner seal forgot its purpose and rotund blobs of mozzarella took off, while their slightly slimy preservation liquid spread like a tsunami across my kitchen floor.  I claimed the three second rule and corralled those critters tout de suite.  Don't tell.

Tonight saw the demise of a perfectly beautiful aubergine.  However, my little eggplants, the 9TS and I are diametrically opposed when it comes to its consumption.  While we both start out browning the egg and breadcrumbed little disks in hot olive oil, his continue on to be stacked in double layers of marinara sauce and shredded mozzarella . . . popped in the oven for ten minutes and served with a bowl of steaming ziti!  Mine however get lightly dusted with kosher salt and are served with a side smear of herbed goat cheese and a ramekin of chiffonade basil drizzled with olive oil and red pepper flakes.  I ate it all!  And the 9TS ate the majority of his.  YAY Sloth!!!

Sunday night, we will be dining on a baked ziti and sausage casserole liberally imbedded with fresh basil and ricotta.  Slurp!

OK, so maybe you are more in tune with Kidlet's taste buds.  Most anything dipped in chocolate or brown gravy will light her fire.  Although even those two fail when it comes to eggplant, brussel sprouts or escargot.  If that's the case, while I slurp, you can crawl in the corner with a jar of Nutella.  I won't tell.

finally . . .

When Bear and Ninja first arrived, we had sheers on the window that ran along the side of the front door.  It didn't take the little devils long to figure out that they could wiggle their respective noses around, and nudge the curtains far enough to one side to peek out at the world.  And peek they did.  About a month later, I realized that they had also discovered . . . these curtains . . . which came with the house, were rotted from sun and age and they could stand up on their hind feet and rip through the weakened fabric.  Off with the curtains and a quick trip to Joann's.

That was four years ago.  The bag full of fabric sat around for four long years.  Today, I finally hauled it out, made a template from roofers paper and made the replacements.  Never, EVER, will I do that again.  Its been too long since I horsed around with sheers.  They slip and slide, they don't cut evenly.  They are just plain miserable. Or, maybe, I am just plain miserable.  I'm betting on the latter.  Grumble, grumble, grumble.

Anyway, they are up.  And what is the very first thing that happens?  A little nose tries to nudge them out of the way so she can peek at the world at large.  I wonder how long these will last.

God bless Pippin!

Sergeant Preston . . .

OK, along with his sneaker fetish, the 9TS likes hats.  All kinds.  He leans mostly toward brimmed hats with the brim worn in the back.  But all types of chapeaus are welcome in his collection.  Did I mention the hat that followed him home from the Caribbean . . . the one sporting attached dread locks?  I thought not.

But yesterday, he was running low on T's so we made a pilgrimage to Old Navy.  Since my body and the Old Navy prototype are polar opposites, I cruised around the men's department searching for goodies for the sloth.  I hit the big Kahuna.  At first look, he thought I had lost my mind and walked away, but I had planted the seed.   He wandered back and tried it on.  Perfecto.  With no more arm twisting, it made it to the checkout counter and I was regaled with stories of how he used to wear one back home in the Jersey winters, as a fledgling cop.

I now present Klondike Sloth.  King of the Yukon!!

In other news, I made a big ol' tender pot roast last night with taters, onions and carrots.  There wasn't a lot left over.  Slurp.  But I did siphon off the last bits of goodness and stash them in the fridge.  When I offered the tasty orts to Kidlet, she turned me down, "My refrigerator is a dead zone," said she.  "It's like a cemetery for  food."  And then I remembered being of the age where things grew fur in the depths of my refrigerator.  I will eat it for lunch tomorrow instead.

And last but not least, I was fiddling with Photoshop again yesterday afternoon and dug up some shots to match a flamingo Katie Pertiet was offering amongst her new weekly goodies.

Credits:  Template, Flamingo Blendable, Stitching:  Katie Pertiet, Paper: Lynn Grieveson, Dots:  Anna Aspnes, Date Stamp:  Dawn Inskip, Beads: Vinnie Pearce, Fonts:  Eccentric STD and Honey Script.

Other than that, it was quiet in the cave.  Just as it should be.

the heck you say . . .

Yes, we did it.  we got our hair cut. i say we, because Joanie valiantly held my hand.  OFF with my head . . . my rationale is that hair grows and you only live once.  and since my hair grows really fast . . . what the heck.

what the heck I said, as I sat in the chair.  what the heck I said, as she approached me with the razor.  what the heck, when pounds of hair fell to the floor and my cheek bones appeared for the first time in 20 years. 

Who the heck did the 9TS bring to Carrabba's said Jen, Christina, Matt and Hope.  Who the heck indeed.  And after dinner, we headed to the mall . . . the 9TS was happy to be out and about.  He wandered off in search of sneakers . . . he has a fetish.  don't tell.  I, to the nearest makeup counter.  if I don't have hair, I at least need BIG eyes.  right?

Are you expecting pictures?  Wrong. 

This morning, I woke up and ran to the bathroom mirror.  My worst nightmare had come true.  Looking back at me was Alfalfa on steroids.  Hair to the right of me, hair to the left.  Hair sticking straight up to the moon:

I clutched my stomach and asked myself what had I done and ran back under the covers. 

A little while later after pawing at my hair like a mad woman, I looked again.  All was right with the world.  It sat back down like a well trained dog.  And yes, I love my new hair.  And, as soon as someone wakes up, I will share a shot or two.  YAY!!!

minutia . . .

not much going on in the cave these days.  the 9TS goes up and down, feeling good half the day and not so good the rest.  sigh.  as for the rest, just trivia.

the locksmith is coming tomorrow to replace the front door lock which died after 23 years.  may it rest in peace.

tomorrow at 9:30, Joanie and I are going to get my hair chopped.  off.  short.

the fabric I bought for my flannel jammie dress bled.  no more white squares.  sigh.  and yes, I am too lazy to return the fabric.

Robin, your pocketbook is finally finished!!!

Received a wonderful thanksgiving card from Sue!!  thanks so much.

4.79

p.s. i am so thankful for all of you.

p.p.s.   Kidlet, you rock.

facebook finding . . .

last night was not the best in the cave.  Kidlet was waiting for her mid term exam grade to be posted.  She had studied long and hard for her advanced calculus test.  There was a lot riding on it.  When results finally came in, she was devastated.  Many tears.  

This morning I left for our walk before either Kidlet or the 9TS were up and about.  When I got home, he mentioned he had had a chat with Kidlet.

This is what I found on Kidlet's facebook:

My dad's a freaking beast.  I came home in tears one day in 8th grade, upset because I'd gotten my first and only B that year (in math of all things). Even though I wasn't supposed to get any money because I hadn't gotten straight A's, my dad gave me $20 and the second best statement ever - "I'm proud of you" (the first best being "I love you").  Guess who just came upstairs and gave me $20 following that disaster of an advanced calc test?  My dad, with the second best statement ever.  My dad's a beast, and he's proud of me.  That means more than any GPA ever could.

She has since met with her instructor and is on track for completing the course satisfactorily.  I'm not sure which of two I am more proud of.

4.71

the art show . . .

the first weekend in November you can always find us at the art show.  always.  especially considering it was downright chilly and spitting from the heavens.  but it wasn't anything some curly fries and a sausage/onion/pepper hoagie couldn't cure:

I'm sad to say, the art was pretty much the same old, same old, except for the man who drew with dirt and only dirt:

good thing he liked all things brown on brown.

And then there was the wood carver.  A man after my own heart.  You can see why here:

 and again with Hired On:

 and Pressure:

This guy just cracked me up.  The end.

things that go bump in the night . . .

I was chatting with Joanie this morning and for whatever reason, our conversation drifted around to little children and their antics: good and bad.  I had to confess the two instances whereupon I probably scarred two little boys for life.  I did.  On purpose.  Although neither, I admit, were my shining moments.

Episode One:  Kidlet, age three/four was afraid of the dark.  One of the little boys in daycare delighted in nothing better than shoving her in the outdoor bathroom, turning off the light, slamming said door closed and leaning against it to prevent my now hysterically crying child from escaping.  Grrrr.  This went on for several days in a row, as reported by a very tearful and hiccuping Kidlet, when I picked her up.  A couple of days later, I was running a little early and the whole gang was out back playing.  No Kidlet in sight but I could hear her screams.  The little monster child had done it again.  I released my child, bent down to the culprit, picked him up under his little armpits, looked him straight in the eye and told him if he ever locked Kidlet in the dark again, I was going to send the boogie man over to his house to gobble him up in the middle of the night.  I never raised my voice and calmly set him down.  He never bothered Kidlet again. 

The star of the Episode Two, was Biter Boy.  This kid, age 3 ish, was a nondenominational biter.  He bit every kid in sight.  After he bit Kidlet the first time, I went in and complained to the head of the school.  The second time I told her I was not paying all that money to have my child munched on.  Fix it.  The third time, I cornered Biter Boy, knelt down to his level and told him calmly that if he ever bit Kidlet again, his teeth were going to turn black, fall out and he would never be able to eat again.  Kidlet was immediately taken off on his menu. 

When I think back on it, I probably could have handled things a bit more diplomatically but we're talking about my Kidlet and there isn't too much I wouldn't do to protect her.  However I do apologize if either lad now spends hours on a couch paying some therapist for inordinate stress relative to boogie men and rotting teeth.

4.71

MMEL . . .

just in case you were wondering about my status, I must confess, I have been dyslexic lately and have been 'moving less and eating more'.   Thankfully, I only gained one miserable pound.  My walking partner went on a 12 day vacation and I got freaked about walking in the woodsies by myself and punked out for 10 of those 12 days.  But for the record:

Thursday: 4.71
Friday: 5.00  miles.

We are back on track, said she wiping the last crumb of tuna, pickle and potato chip sandwich from her upper lip.  Slurp!

soccer 101 . . .

yesterday was our granddaughter's first junior varsity soccer game.  I'm telling you, this kid is fearless.  So we joined her mom, other grandmother and aunt and cheered from the sidelines.  I think I need to mention that none of us know one iota about soccer.  I think we need a crash course . . .

 Credits: template, stitching: Anna Aspnes, Paper: MMareda.

so there I was . . .

sitting at lunch with my buds, munching on a yummy little chicken Caesar salad wrap, relaxing after one too many Locust, Bow and Cobra poses, when this little chickie walks in with this really cute hair cut.

She wandered through and sat outside in the garden.  After staring out the window, drooling over her hair, I did what anyone would do, I grabbed my cell phone, put it on photo and waltzed out and asked if I could take some shots of her head.

Turns out, she is a hair designer and cuts her own hair.  Slurp.  I think I may have to go by her salon and have a chat . . . my bangs would need to grow out a tad. 

Not that I wanted to make her a swirly face but since I don't know her, I didn't know if she'd want to be plastered all over the net.  Trust me, she is cute as a button.

I'm thinking it would be a good alternative to this:

 What do you think?