the baths . . .

first port and yay, I am ready to get off the boat and onto dry land. While the 9TS is a seagoing sailor, I am a wimp and while I was not seasick, I was glad to stop wandering down halls like a drunken soldier.

How typically Caribbean is this???

Virgin Gorda! I had been to the Baths some 20+ years ago via catamaran from St. Thomas. It was still just as gorgeous but now there were steps and ropes to help navigate the boulders and bathrooms and food. Big changes but still fairly pristine.

In no particular order, may I present, the churning blue Caribbean:

The welcoming committee:

the path down to the beach:

The welcome sign:

the rocks:

more rocks:

yet more rocks:

and just one more . . . I promise!

and a beer. You knew there had to be a beer shot, right?!?!?!?!

Adios, Virgin Gorda. Love you!

day 3: At C . . .

A peaceful day at sea. The 9TS and I headed for the deck for a little R&R after breakfast on the open air tail deck. Color us contented.


Soon the PA system announced the parade of officers:
\
and the band played:


before dinner, we relaxed on our balcony:

where my dear 9TS demonstrated his version of Junior Birdman:

yep, that's what I thought too!!!

happy birthday . . .

dear 9TS . . . la la la la!

We had a wonderful birthday dinner in Toscana, one of the ship's two specialty restaurants. If you wanted to, you could eat all seven courses but we both opted for just four. The 9TS had his calamari, Tuscany Bean soup and their version of Pasta di Mare and I scarfed down on tomato, mozzarella and basil salad, the same yummy soup and a filet mignon. Just let me roll over in happiness now.

For dessert, they brought a seven layer chocolate cake with three candles and sang happy birthday to the sloth. The head waiter had to remind the staff to sing in English. Snort.

So in all this glory, what do I remember to take pictures of??????

The bread plate:

and my slice of the cake:

yes, old age has slipped in to us both. Happy 68th Birthday my dear 9TS!!!

early morning . . .

and armed with both MapQuest and AAA Trip Tiks, found us on our way to Miami. Now it's not exactly that we don't know how to get from here to there, it's getting to the Port that tests my sanity. Both sources offer 20 lines and 18 turns to make the two mile trek from I-95 to the the J Terminal. Mind boggling. But once we made it, there were customs to clear, people to watch, a boat to explore, all before sail away. Things were looking good.

I must admit that the city of Miami looks a darn sight better from the water than it does while enmeshed within its bowels.

and while we waited for our cabin to be readied, we wandered, happy to be back on an R class ship.

They are tiny little dinghies compared to most ships. A mere 650 passengers. No rock climbing. No water slides. No kids programs. Actually no kids. Not that they are not allowed, but there are no resources for them. And as the 9TS not so kindly nicknamed it, we seemed to be on the 'cruise of the living dead'. Oops can I repeat that? We were among the youngest on board. There were more liver spots than my old dalmatian. I'm not complaining mind you, we met some real pistols on board and loved every minute . . . well except for 'cab man' but you have to wait for Tortola to meet him.

And then the obligatory life boat drill and muster. Can you tell how happy the 9TS was as we waited for instructions in the grand dining room???

after a good dinner and a trip to the casino, he was a contented beast . . . captain of his own seas.

magic doors and other chaos . . .

We sprang a leak. Or two. It happens when you live in the land of wild winds and driving rain. And three hurricanes in one season years back, laid the foundation for the damage. We finally found a company willing to scamper up the steep angle of our roofs to fix the damage. Hooray.

But first, they had to bring in equipment and give our huge laurel oak a haircut, a nice bob, a little shorter in the back, tapered at the sides . . . perfect for Florida weather:

and once they made enough space, they started ripping off the rotten wood on the upper gable.

and to my utter delight, they discovered a magic door!!!

now you might think the door was to blow in insulation or other stuffy reasons, but I know better.

this is definitely a portal for creatures great and small of types only a wily imagination can create and I intend to have great fun with it . . . .

but on with the story of men in trees:

and boys with their toys:

a mere two and a half days later, they were done replacing all of the rotten wood, painted everything in sight, fixed the chimney and another low board I had managed to demolish when the lawn mower got away from me, and packed up their scaffolding and were on their way.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, men who scampered like squirrels and worked like slaves. You did a great job!!!!

playing catch up . . .

Friday night . . . after hours . . . we got a call from Moffitt confirming our 3:30 appointment Tuesday the 22nd. No doctors name mentioned. So first thing yesterday morning I am on the phone trying to track down which doctor. It seems Dr. K. just made an appointment for us to see her but never called to let us know. Gotta love medical communication. Sigh.

But here is where it gets tricky. The 9TS has a birthday coming up and many moons ago, I decided that he needed a break and made reservations for us to once again hit the high seas. When the amazing Dr. Z. told us the so not what we wanted to hear news, I looked at the sloth and he looked and me and I timidly asked the amazing Dr. Z about our chances of still going. He broke into a huge grin and said, "GO, this has to be taken care of but it can certainly wait a few weeks." YAY! But now we had to get the same approval from Dr. K., and cancel this new appointment. Blessings on Jennifer, one of the nurses who steadfastly tracked Dr. K. down at her out of town hiding place and then double checked with the amazing Dr. Z and we were once again cleared to paddle around the big puddle.

And so, we plan on ignoring Mel and his smaller cousin Anoma for a time and will soon be making like touristas soaking up sun and imbibing tropical goodness. Hey, sometimes you just have to run away . . . and we are.

classes . . .

did I mention I was taking more classes? I is! The first one I signed up for is called TextFX taught by Tiffany Tillman over at Renee Pearson.com. All things typographic. Yummy.

But since my head is too full of cotton to be making much sense lately. I missed registration for Jessica Sprague's, Digi in Deeper and was crying in my cups. Sigh. How could I miss a beta class. Inconceivable!

Until my friend Jana told me it was still open and so I may have signed up a couple of days late but at least I am there. My home away from home.

Today, I finally got a breather and completed lesson one at the Spraground:

Lots of masking and brush work. Color me happy, happy, learning all the new techniques thrown into one layout. Can't wait to get to the other eleven . . . yes, eleven lessons.

Let me just swoon now and get it over with!

Toad of Toad Hall . . .

remember the 9TS's pride and joy . . . the car he wouldn't let me drive except under dire circumstances . . . the very same car that died in the driveway and broke his heart . . . the one that was a pace car for one of the oodles of races at the speedway in 2005 and that I could be shot on sight for not remembering which? Yeah, that car.

It was a lean mean lease machine and its visit with us was almost up. For months the 9TS has been searching the net, sniffing out this car and that. Website after website. Delirium. He checked out all the two seaters made. Fell in love with a Z. Sniffed out Chargers. Flirted with Audis and Cadillacs.

The only problem? We desperately needed four seats for four bottoms, in one car . . . not four seats spread between two cars. And so Thursday, we jaunted off for a mere look see at the Chrysler 300. Look see meaning just that. Look and See and Leave. Next thing I know, the 9TS has that gleam in his eye . . . the one reminiscent of that speed loving Toad from Wind in the Willows.

(credits: The Comic Treadmill)

There was no stopping him. His quest for power over rode all sensibilities. Hours later, he was the proud owner of a silver ship sailing the sea of the streets.

My little roadster is now quivering in the garage . . . afraid of being squished like the jelly bean it is by the monster wedged in beside it.

But the sloth is a happy camper and when it comes right down to it, what else is there?

another shockeroo . . .

to say we were blindsided by Mel and Anoma's divide and conquer technique, is putting it mildly. Who figured the conniving duo would take up separate domiciles in two of the five portals used for a previous surgery?

Our options seemed to be either radiation or surgery . . . surgery requiring the removal of some ribs. EEK . . . Roast rack of 9TS. Where is that bottle of Ativan???? But finally the Amazing Dr. Z called and the team is recommending a systemic approach. So there I am in the middle of the dealership . . . another story . . . frantically pulling out my pocket dictionary. S. ST. STEM. Oh, heck, just ask the good doc. Chemo! Which was yet another shockeroo since we've been told all along that there was no poisonous cocktail for those miserable lowlife cousins of calamity. They will imbibe any morbidly noxious concoction . . . chuckle . . . and high five each other in continued good health . . . dastardly curs that they are.

And so we are waiting yet again for the phone to ring . . . Dr. K. . . . queen of all things chemical. In the meantime, just to keep us occupied, the 9TS, Kidlet and I dragged our sleeping bodies out of bed at the ridiculous hour of 4 a.m. and shuffled off to Buffalo . . . oops, sorry, Tampa, for another brain MRI, had a wonderful breakfast at First Watch and gallivanted home once more.

Two of the three of us are still snoozing away . . . the third is of course, blathering away on her blog.

erm . . . dr. Z . . .

you were supposed to call today . . . will you please reschedule it for tomorrow. We are patiently waiting.

today . . .

I hate sitting in this place waiting. It makes my mind wander. Fully 50% of the people meandering around this building . . . those not employed by Moffitt . . . are cancer patients. Most of the other half are relatives, friends, neighbors. My eyes automatically drop to each couples wrists to see who wears the white, hospital dispensed, badge of courage and who does not.

Walking in, we are greeted by the phalanx 0f wheel chairs . . . as if a mere one or two will not suffice. A painful reminder of the ravages of the disease. The lobby smells of nothing. Another reminder that the needs of oversensitive noses are being taken care of.

It is cold since it is easier to add layers to keep warm then to cool off when too hot. Nauseated stomachs can be sensitive to too much heat.

I feel guilty here. For my health. Because so far, I have escaped its clutches. I see it on the faces of other spouses.

I check my watch a lot. To see how long before I get him back. Although the PET scan itself is relatively short, the prep work takes a long time. Total: 3 hours. I brought lots to occupy myself.

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

We are home. The news was not as good as we expected. There are two more spots on the right side of his chest. Not on the surface, but not in or on the lung either. This was just the preliminary finding. The Amazing Dr. Z will call us on Wednesday after the definitive results of the PET are in and the board has met with their recommendations. Friday we go back over for a brain scan . . . it's just a precaution.

We are tired. It was not such a very good day in the cave. Tomorrow will be better. Yes. Yes, it will.

there lived a young boy named . . .

tonight four of the Yoga Yaya's met for drinks before two of us continued on to class . . . nothing like a glass of wine to get your Om on. We don't normally participate in the night class but this was an exception to make up classes missed. I arrived at the center first. Not paying too much attention other than to note the police car parked over to the side, I locked my pocketbook in the car trunk, grabbed my mats and headed to the side door. I was almost there when I noticed a rather strange gentleman along the porch. Surprised, I jumped back. Since Lee, was pulling in the parking lot, I waiting to introduce her to my new friend.

He, however, would not move as we got closer. Not a good sign, so Lee went to get the officer to see if he could help. Our friend still didn't want to leave. As a matter of fact, he continued to guard the entrance. We finally caved and went around to the main door, leaving the cop and control services to handle our new bud.

Just thought you might like to meet him too:




Now somewhere in the black mining hills of Dakota
There lived a young boy named Rocky Raccoon
And one day his woman ran off with another guy
Hit young Rocky in the eye Rocky didn't like that
He said I'm gonna get that boy
So one day he walked into town
Booked himself a room in the local saloon.

Rocky Raccoon checked into his room
Only to find Gideon's bible
Rocky had come equipped with a gun
To shoot off the legs of his rival
His rival it seems had broken his dreams
By stealing the girl of his fancy.
Her name was Magil and she called herself Lil
But everyone knew her as Nancy.
Now she and her man who called himself Dan
Were in the next room at the hoedown
Rocky burst in and grinning a grin
He said Danny boy this is a showdown
But Daniel was hot-he drew first and shot
And Rocky collapsed in the corner.

The doctor came in stinking of gin
And proceeded to lie on the table
He said Rocky you met your match
And Rocky said, Doc it's only a scratch
And I'll be better I'll be better doc as soon as I am able.

Now Rocky Raccoon he fell back in his room
Only to find Gideon's bible
Gideon checked out and he left it no doubt
To help with good Rocky's revival.

I apologize for the quality of the shots, but at dusk with a cell phone, that's as good as it gets.

Simply amazing . . .

Theo Jansen - Kinetic Sculptor

Can you imagine his mind?!?!?!

st. augustine . . .

credits: Template: Anna Aspnes, Brads: Basic Grey

the amusing 9TS and other things . . .

I keep a chalk board hanging on the wall in the kitchen. If you use the last of something, the rule is, you have to put it on the shopping list or don't be surprised if it doesn't exist the next time you want it.

My kidlet is really good about this. I can always count on her to make sure she has Nutella, Grenadine or Chex Mix in good supply. The 9TS, not so much.

His mother always checked every cabinet before running to the store to see what she and her family needed. Bless her heart, she was a good mom. But she and I are different as moms and wives tend to be, so it took a little longer to get the 9TS with the program.

Now however, he likes to spice things up a little. This morning, I found Taco Bell sauce, Nonni's, and tilapia on the board. Oh, and one of the Sloth's picture grams.

I'm used to him and I know what he runs out of most often so I got it right away. Do you know what he wants?

And while I was in the kitchen shooting the list, I found the sloth buried under the kitchen sink. We have a pesky leak where the granite counter top meets the back splash. Once again, it has buckled the floor of the cabinet and once again the 9TS is replacing it.

So while the 9TS is up to his ears in sawdust, hammers and nails, my cleaning supplies are scattered all over everywhere.

Which is OK, because . . . well . . . because the two of us rarely have any interaction. My vacuum, yes, the cleaning supplies I leave to Christine who scrubs her little heart out once every two weeks and keeps us one step ahead of the health department. She is a blessing. A boon. An angel.

thread and needles . . .

My poor sewing machine has been on the fritz for a long time now. I've not done anything about it since it is 52 years old. Yep, I inherited it from my mother. She used it to make most of my clothes for elementary school. It went to boarding school with me and to college. It made most of my maternity clothes, the majority of the Kidlet's baby clothes, even my Christmas cards two years ago.

And lately, things have been piling up that need attention. New curtains for the window panel adjoining the front door, new pillow shams for my bedroom, a cute pattern still unused for a mid length cotton skirt. A tote whose fabric I purchased last year.

But apparently nothing compelling enough for me to actually do something about it. My guess was the power cord since before it died completely, if I jiggled the cord, it would occasionally start to work. That and I blew its 52 year old bulb. The bulb was an easy replacement. The cord, not so much, but after scouring the internet and phoning around locally, I discovered a little shop several towns south which seemed to have the proper replacement cord. The 9TS hauled my all metal, monster weighing machine to the Vette and off we went.

The gregarious repair man extolled the virtues of older machines as he fiddled with the cord and finally got the new one installed. We collectively held our breaths as he plugged her in and flicked on the switch. And then there was light!!!!

We are back in business for a paltry $10 bucks. And why was I so stoked on getting my machine fixed after all these months???

This!

from Karenika's blog here. In fact, take a look around and almost all of her projects involve sewing. And if I look back at all of the digital layouts I have done, there is stitching in almost every single one.

So tomorrow morning as soon as I get home from an appointment, I am going to play. And I couldn't be happier. Thanks for the push, Karen. I needed it.

food is better together . . .

The 9TS and I have been missing our dinners lately. Not missing as in not eating but missing as in not eating properly and/or together. I've been missing home cooked goodness.

Friday night was Carrabba's, of course, where I couldn't decide what I wanted to eat and so with the help of Jen, our fabulous waitress and Joe, the proprietor, we created a new offering. I had remembered an old dish, long since removed from the menu, that I sort of liked called Pasta Rambo but it included shrimp or crab, neither of which was setting my palette afire. So they suggested adding chicken or sausage. And again I couldn't decide because both are well . . . slurp. So they made Pasta Rambo with chicken and sausage. Oh, and was that good, so good in fact, that I will be dining on it again tomorrow. I promise. So if you like mushrooms and spinach sauteed in a white wine and butter sauce served over linguine and topped with your favorite fish or meat, you know where to go . . .

But things went down hill from there. Saturday, the 9TS and his youngest son, dropped down to Daytona to watch the 24 hour race. While the sloth noshed on speedway fare, I had a mixture of romaine, tuna, feta, greek olives and dressing. Good but not a real meal with the 9TS consuming along with me. Sigh.

Sunday started very late and by the time I went to cook, I realized my zucchini had not fared well in the fridge and all plans for goat cheese, basil and aforementioned zucchini over grilled chiabatta went out the door. We ordered pizza.

Monday was all messed up. We went on a pillow hunt . . . another story . . . and by 3:00, my unfed body fell apart and demanded nourishment NOW. So we noshed at the closest establishment. B.J.'s. A cob salad sandwich (moi) and pulled pork sliders (9TS), later, all was right with our world. We continued our hunt and finally finished by doing the weeks grocery shopping. No one was hungry for dinner. We both snacked at 9:30. Sigh.

Tuesday, instead of our normal take-out, I wanted a real home cooked meal, but our tastes would not converge. And so, the 9TS made his broccoli and cavatelli and I, my much delayed zucchini. It was good but not quite the same as when we sit down together and eat the same meal.

Last night we finally agreed. Stuffed eggplant: zucchini, mushrooms, red pepper . . . oh my! Parmesan, bread crumbs, mozzarella . . . no lie! Onion, garlic, fresh basil . . . to die! Fresh parsley, ground pepper, olive oil . . . sigh! It was good. Very, very good. And we sat and noshed together, as we should.

And so, while I enjoy eating out, the truth is, I would much rather be futzing around in the kitchen making a meal for the two of us to enjoy together and now you can see why I have not done well on MMEL this week.