who, who, who . . .

Did I ever tell you the story about the owlet in the kitchen?  Not mine.  Not my kitchen that is nor, my owlet.  But definitely an owlet in a kitchen.  Who's on first?

Back in the day, I entered college as a shy gangly thing fresh out of an all girls boarding school.  Four years later, I graduated somewhat irreverent in thought and action.  It was after all, 1967-1971.  I can hardly be faulted for swapping my Villager skirt and sweater sets for bell bottoms, buffalo sandals and crop tops, right?

The change was gradual until I met Hig my sophomore year, his senior.  My very own personal Peter Pan.  I was introduced to him by a mutual friend.  He might well have been from outer space.  Tall, equally as gangly, long hair and goatee, living off campus, riding his bike, working on an underground paper, marching in protests, messing with the Dean's mind.  But in those days, he represented everything I was not and I followed him around like a puppy.  He taught me how to shoot a gun. Drive his motorcycle.  Run the bridge rails.  Roll my own. 

One day, I being upset about something, he decided I needed to head home with him to Heartslog Valley, to meet his mother the ex-Russian actress and his father, the man who developed the formula for the paint that is the stripes down the middle of the roads. 

As we walked into the house, well after dark, we entered through the 'music room' complete with baby grand, harp, fiddle and other miscellaneous musical instruments and stands.  I was taken a little off balance but not so that I didn't notice the goings on in the kitchen while being introduced to his mother.  Along the upper most portion of the four walls, were dead branches nailed and strung together forming a trellis of sorts winding around and around the room.  Trying to concentrate on the conversation with his mother . . . first impressions being what they may . . . I totally lost it when my eyes focused off to one corner.  Surely someone else must have noticed the owlet among the twigs???  The very much alive owlet. Mouth agape, finger pointed, I indicated the forest creature lurking in the woodwork.  They, however, seemed not surprised.  Apparently, he/she lived with them . . . in the kitchen . . . in Hartslog Valley . . . just off the music room. 

To this day, whenever I meet another Peter Pan type soul, for a brief second, I have an urge to ask them who lives in their kitchen, hoping to find another owlet.

another little piece of my heart . . .

Credits:  Papers:  Summer Driggs, Mask and Stitches: Anna Aspnes, Hearts: Taylor Made and Catrine.

chick(en-less) peas . . .

Ever since our roasted chicken dinner Thursday night, I have been salivating over the thought of a homemade chicken salad sammie.  I like to make it with big chunks of white chicken, chopped celery, mayo, a little mustard, a dash of lemon and a passel of dill, chilled well, served on lightly toasted rye with a little romaine . . . my fave!!!!   Oh, and don't assume I will eat chicken salad anywhere but home where I know I cut off anything and every thing that resembled a chicken part other than boneless, skinless, cartilage-less, fat free breast.  Have you seen this video????

So there I am cutting up chicken . . .  a piece for the pot, a piece for me, a piece for the kitten.  I chopped the celery . . . crisp and young.  I mixed the mayo, mustard, lemon, salt and pepper dressing ready to be added . . . and then sprinkled the chicken and celery with dill,  which at first did not want to come out of the spice bottle.  Hum.  I knew I had a second bottle so I tried that.  Same result.  I finally resorted to finding my glasses and taking a good look.  I wish I hadn't.

The dill was furry.  Black and furry.  MOLDY.  Bleck!   Now I know you're thinking the obvious thing was to chuck the whole mess down the drain but I was whimpering.   I really, really wanted that sammie, so I reached for the strainer and gave the chicken and celery a bath.  Yes, I did.  Patted it dry, added the dressing and stirred  . . .   until my conscience niggled in my head.   Visions of ptomaine flashed through my brain . . . endless hours of cramping while clinging to the foot of the porcelain goddess.  A trip to the ER and having to explain my stupidity was the last straw.  Little tears flowed down my cheeks as I flicked on the garbage disposal and waved my lunch goodbye. 

Not wanting to suffer in silence, I called the 9TS at the gym for commiseration.  I heard the chuckle start low in his belly, whoosh past his breast bone, up his throat and ready to explode into a full blown guffaw.  I simply hung up. 

So what am I doing for lunch?  Guess I'll resort to mixing a mess of chick(en-less) peas, quartered artichoke hearts and sliced hearts of palm, drizzled with olive oil and seasoned with kosher salt and pepper.  Sigh. 

friday, you were a fickle friend . . .

While in Cassadaga last week, one of the women in the bookstore mentioned that she teaches a free yoga class Friday mornings over by us.  Joanie and I, still a little shell shocked at the idea of no yoga until August 23, decided we would check it out.  It was different but interesting . . . we deemed it our home away from home during the summer.  YAY!

And being Friday, the 9TS and I went to Carrabba's to stuff our bellies and inhale the rich camaraderie that brings us back week after week.   We beat the impending rain storm by minutes.   Suddenly while sipping my glass of cabernet, KA-BOOM, the lights flickered, died and came back on.  The table rattled ever so slightly.  That was a close strike.  Did you know Florida is the lightening capitol of the world?  A few minutes later and Matt rushed over to tell us the tale.  The bolt had turned one of the palms separating Carrabba's and Checker's Drive Thru into the proverbial burning bush.  Whoosh!!!  Look out sinners. 

It had settled down to a light rain as we pulled into the driveway but the remote control for the garage door was not working.  Sigh.   I hopped out and tried it manually.  All the outside panel would do was blink at me blankly.  I asked the 9TS for the keys.  Seems the sloth had yet to transfer the house keys to his car fob and we were locked out.  Not a problem, Joanie has a key.  Except Joanie was not home.  We decided rather than stand under the eaves away from the drizzle until they returned, we would run to Wally World and pick up the deodorant I ran out of this morning and various and sundry other necessary items.  By the time we got home, thankfully Joanie was also home and we let ourselves in.  No power.  Nada. 

I love not having power . . . for the first five minutes.  I know it hits my brain that nothing will work but it doesn't stop me from heading to the bathroom and trying to turn on the light in there.  Yeah, dummy, like if it doesn't work anywhere else, it will surely work in the bathroom.  GAH!

So I pulled out my laptop to entertain myself while the 9TS happily rummaged around with his flash light.  Again, I couldn't figure out why I couldn't get on the net.  D.U.M.M.Y.  Thankfully, I could still play digitally.  And, yes, we had called the power company.  Their best guess?  11:30 p.m.   Hum.  That was 4.5 hours and it was getting warm.   Luckily, the power trucks were soon out in the circle and I shooed the 9TS out to get the dirt.


Five minutes later.  LET THERE BE LIGHT!!!

Thank you Friday for all the entertainment.  

p.s.   the burning bush was the best!!!

yoga and the unforgiveable . . .

and so while, we were having such a jolly old time in Tampa Monday and Tuesday, I missed my yoga class.  The last one before summer break.  And we all know that me without yoga is almost as bad as the unmedicated me these days.  Luckily, there was a make up class last night.  But of course not without a little fanfare, some good friends, and a little wine.    The 9TS and I, met Joanie and Eddie, Lee and Lorraine and Chad at a local watering hole and imbibed.  And noshed.  Well, truthfully, I noshed very little because if you've ever done yoga after eating and then done rocking horses . . . well then you know.  It was not going to be me spreading little green mistys about the room.  Not I.

The 9TS and I departed early so he could drop me off at class and head home to pull the roaster pan full of a plump little chickie, a bunch of carrots, potatoes, and onions, out of the fridge and into the oven.  The plan was that dinner would be done just as class was finished and we were walking in the door.  And it was.  Slurp.

But in the meantime, there I was in class, slightly inebriated, amongst a bunch of yogi's I don't know and no moral support . . .  meaning Miss Lee was not sitting right behind me giggling like crazy the entire time but keeping me on the straight and narrow.  I did however manage to behave on my own.thank.you.very.much.

I wish the woman behind me had done so as well.  I'd seen her before when she would use our class as her makeup.  She has a tendency to arrive late after the doors are closed and awaken the entire class from within.  Sigh.  But then she settles down and behaves.

Behavior was not on her agenda last night.  And why did she have to sit behind me???  During rocking horses, I found out.  She ripped out one really large fart.  So loud in fact that you could hear everyone's breath stop.  And then it happened.  The aroma wafted around the room.  I felt like donning a gas mask and heading for the nearest London subway.  Noses wrinkled, a giggle erupted from across the room, faces struggled to stay straight.  GAH!!

She wasn't finished.  Her cell phone went off.  And rang.  And rang.  Until our lovely, sweet, mellow instructor, lost it and yelled out, "Can't you turn that darn thing off!"   Needless to say, there was very little within that night. 

I will miss my Tuesday classes until they begin again in late August.  It will be tough.  I think I might just have to up my meds for the duration. 

Peace out, cowgirls!

thud . . . .

we knew that the IPI/Yervoy was expensive.  So expensive that they would not even order it into the hospital pharmacy until our insurance agreed to cover it and our co-pay was in their hands.  OKEY-DOKEY, there cowboys . . . $6000.00 sitting on my Amex card.  Whooee!!  I can deal.

Today however, we get a little surprise missive in the mail.   Moffitt, less our insurance company's part, wants another . . . are you ready?????   $38,000.00.  Faint.

Let's see how fast Jeanne can dial the comptroller's office at Moffitt . . .   But of course, this is the one day he is out of the office.   Wine anyone????

EDIT:  Talked to the comptroller this morning.  Never mind that it looks like a bill, walks like a bill and quacks like a bill.  It is not a bill.  Whew!!!!

long damned day . . .

we went down to check-out and have breakfast at 9:30, the 9TS not having slept well at all.  The 9TS immediately turns to sweat and looks like he's going to pass out.  Wish we hadn't checked out, since the room would have been ours until noon, but they had already cleaned it.  Waited in the lobby for the 9TS to feel better.  I called Moffitt to see if there had been any cancellations and we could get in before 4:00.   At 11:00, we headed over.  The 9TS was feeling really badly and it was cooler there.

Doctors schedule was packed but she finally squeezed us in at 3:00.   The 9TS had just started to feel better.

Bottom line, the tumors have grown but, the cancer has not spread to other parts of his body so all in all, it is good news.  The next PET will not be until October . . . one month after his last Yervoy infusion.  Fingers crossed please.

I drove home.  Home sweet home!!!!

b.o.r.i.n.g . . .

back in the ice locker . . .  the 9TS is being scanned again today.    I had to chuckle when they called for a newly arrived patient and I saw her rather skimpy sundress.  The tech took one look and said, "Guess you're new to Moffitt."  While it is headed into the mid 90's today outside, there is frost on the windows here . . .  I swear.

I'm bored.  Is that mean to say?  Well, I am.  They took the 9TS at 10:10 and probably won't return him until 1:30.   I brought my laptop . . .  obviously, an EHD so I can go digital, my Nook, my iPhone and a crossword book.  I should have hours of entertainment.  I AM BORED!!!

Oh wait!  I wonder if Hulu.com works in here???  I'll let you know.  Because if it doesn't, just tune me out while I whine.

EDIT:  I stopped whining the second I found a couple NCIS episodes I had not seen.  Yay, Hulu!!!!!  So the 9TS was returned to me, none worse the wear and we headed off for lunch.

Found the International Mall south of Tampa and created havoc and depleted accounts.   Dinner at Carrabba's.   Day done.

Tomorrow we get the results.  Fingers crossed please.

oops . . .

My left foot hit the floor.  No problem.  My right immediately followed, lest I fall out of bed in a twisted mess.  No problem.  Took my first step.  Problem.  Seems yesterdays romp in the pool irritated the ______  (insert word of choice.  I picked a doozie.) out of my calf muscles. 

Them:       What do you expect after all those toe raises?  Warm chocolate chip cookies served in bed?

Me:           Why yes, that would be lovely.

Them:       Not!!!!

Me:           Listen, it was for your own good.  You have been sedentary for way to long.  You needed exercise.

Them:       Did you have to take such glee?  Counting to 200 like you were some type of super woman while we were doing all the work.  "Slow down," we pleaded.  Did you listen?  No.  Do you hear us now?????

Me:          Yes I hear you.  Sigh.  This is annoying, would you kindly take a break and loosen up?

Them:      Not until you have paid dearly.  This is going to be a long day, Sugar Plum.

Me:         You have about 28 minutes before I head back in the pool, you miserable toads.

Them:     NO! NO! NO!  We beg of you.  Not the pool again.  Please.  Grovel.  Grovel.  Beg.

Me:         ::::smirk::::

cassadaga redux . . .

So at 9:30 this morning, Joanie, Lee, Linda and I all piled into Joanie's new car and tooled down the highway over to the Cassadaga Spiritualist camp, to get readings.  Yup, we really did.

Three of us, being newbies to the spiritual world, asked for help in the bookshop.  It was explained that there was a sign-in board for the mediums and we could check to see who had availability that day.  There was a phone from which to contact them and we were told to make arrangements with whomever 'spoke' to us.  Um, I wasn't hearing too clearly evidently.

Joanie opted for Ms. Cooper, Linda and Lee chose gentlemanly Dr. Hoover and off they went.  Our plan . . . to meet back in the bookstore when finished.  I wasn't sure who to pick.  The one woman I contacted ahead of time, was already booked weeks in advance.  Her credentials included a stint on CBS.   I was pretty sure I didn't want to converse with a man.  I mean seriously, if he tells you, you will be involved in a car accident, do you really want to ask him if your panties were clean at the time.  You know what I mean???   I chose Hazel. 

After garnering directions to her home, I toddled off.  Like many other mediums, she does her readings in her home.  The room was tiny, the epitome of shabby, full of crystals, scents and oddly spray painted.  She started with a prayer and asked to hold the oldest piece of jewelry I was wearing.  I handed over my bracelet, hoping that it's association with my first husband wasn't going to send her bad vibes and mess up my juju.

I'm not going to reveal all, but suffice it to say, the first thing out of her mouth was that my husband's aura was blue, meaning he was deeply ill.  The hair on the back of my neck was doing a tap dance.  A few more shots like that, and I was out the door.  Early.  Yep, I ran and waited for the girls in the bookstore . . .  totally weirded out.

Back in the car, we headed to Downtown, Delightful, DeLand for lunch at the Mainstreet Grille.  Yummo!  We shared tidbits, giggled, laughed but mostly shut up and ate.  Yes, the food was that good.

Here we are in all of our glory:

                                                               Linda, Lee, Moi and Joanie

And that was my adventure into the other world.  I'm glad to be back in the cave.

snort . . .

went to the shrink this morning.  we talked about stress, sleep and sanity.  apparently, I'm nurturing all three.  in abundance.  come back in three months.

flag day . . .

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

KIDLET!!!!

YAY!!! . . .

day 4 and still no side effects.  YAY!

tomorrow is the kidlet's birthday.  YAY!

tomorrow is also a much needed yoga and lunch day.  YAY!

i finally got active in the pool and didn't drown.  YAY!

thursday is cassadaga with the girls.  YAY!

i haven't killed anyone recently.  YAY!  (not that i ever have, but i often get the itch.  you know, like in traffic or when the lady with a full cart ahead of me in publix thinks the bar code scanner radiates her food and demands everything be keyed in by hand.)

feed me . . .

We survived infusion number  one!!!!   Don't you like how I include myself in that survival?   But we did.  After breakfast, we arrived at Moffitt 15 minutes early and promptly got lost trying to find the lab.  They must have 7952 labs . . . I think we visited every single one before we found the right one. 

After their vampire routine, we headed up to the Cutaneous Clinic and got the low down on Yervoy  . . . the good, the bad and the  . . .  as it turns out, not so ugly . . . and signed the paperwork.  Back to the infusion center they hooked up the 9TS and fed his body with fierce little munchkins, who will plump up his t-cells, who will in return repel Mel and his cousin Anoma.  Go munchkins!

An hour and a half later, we were out and in search of another restaurant featured on Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives.  California Taco was only a couple of miles from Moffitt.   The place definitely qualifies as a dive.  A ramshackled building, in a ramshackled neighborhood with five little rickety outside tables, but let me tell you, the food was fabulous.  The 9TS noshed on a couple of fish tacos while I made short order of a pork burrito:

and speaking of food, I found a couple of shots left on my iPhone . . . presenting my favorite sandwich from La's, the turkey caprese.  Turkey, mozzarella, tomato, basil mayo, greens on toasted ciabatta:

and the day before we left, I had lunch with Robin at Blue.  While I forgot to get a shot of my lunch, this was my view.  Not sure which was better. 

Food glorious food!!!  Life is exceedingly good!!!!

surprise . . .

This post is brought to you from the infusion clinic at Moffitt Cancer Center!!!

Yes, you read that right.  Finally, yesterday morning we got THE call to be at Moffitt at 7:45 THIS morning and so we are.  YAY!!!

But it seems that Moffitt was as surprised as we.  The meds arrived unannounced and before we could get our education packet, sign all the releases and get our final questions answered.  When my call was finally returned, panic ensued and it was suggested we postpone the infusion to another day.  Over the 9TS's dead body.  They listened. We are here.

So after they draw his labs, we are headed to the Cutaneous Clinic for our class, back down to the infusion lab to get their information and then finally, finally, finally, his first infusion of IPI!!!!  The first of four.

It will be a long day, I suspect we will not be allowed to leave after the hour and half long infusion.  The usual wait is six hours.  Good thing we drove over last night.

So for all of you who have hung in there with us while we waited for this day, thank you, thank you, thank you.



P.S.  Just in case you think the 9TS can't be a bear during treatment . . .

crash . . .

the 9TS and I finally made it to the grocery store yesterday . . . a day late but none the less, we made it.  Swooping down the aisles spending an obscene amount of money while adding very little to our basket. I remember shopping with my mother in the 50's and our grocery total was always right about $25.00 for a family of four.  What happened???

As we came out and started stashing said measly groceries in the trunk of the car, a man came up and tapped the 9TS on the shoulder and apologized for hitting our car.  I honestly thought it was one of the 9TS's friends joking around.  From the look on his face, I think my sloth was thinking the same thing.  Surely no one would clobber the gray goose!?!?!?!  But sadly, they had.   But it was a very nice man who apologized profusely, gave us all his pertinent information and said he would call his insurance company as soon as he got home.  And he did.  I was still in the middle of cooking dinner at 6:30 when the caller I.D. flashed Geico. 

This morning at 9:00, the 9TS was sitting nose to nose with a man from the body shop and the Gecko.  By 10:00, he was home in his rental with a smile on his face.

Just when you think the world is full of non-repentant jerks behind the wheel. Along comes Mr. Nice Guy, who waits around to tell you the truth and ponies up and does the right thing.  Oh, glorious world, we need more of this man.

Oh, and the 9TS is scheduled for another PET scan and an appointment with Dr. K.  STILL waiting for a date for the IPI infusion.  Snail, thy name is Red Tape.

army the dillo . . .

yesterday, I dragged the 9TS out of his chair and into the pool.  Yes, I am mean like that.  If he slept all day, he'd be up all night again.  Not a good thing.

So there I am floating around the pool in lazy circles and he stands at the edge of the deep end ready to toss himself head first into the pool and stops.  Dead.  He's looking at something my eyes don't see.  Finally he announces he sees a baby in the bushes between our house and the neighbors. 

You know I have to inspect said creature.  You know I have to take my camera.  You know I have to hunt him down:

Isn't he adorable??  He's only about six inches long.  I adore these little throw backs to the dinosaur age.  I really do, but they are destructive as all get out.  They dig and make a mess in your yard.  Your lawn becomes toast.  But seriously, could you move this little character???  He needs his mom.

Meanwhile, the 9TS has landed in the pool and is happily paddling around.  I hop in to play with him.  What a really good afternoon it was.

freebie friday and the princess . . .

every Friday, Nook releases a new book . . . freebie . . . all you have to do is download it.  I've actually read some really good books that way . . .  also, some real sinkers.  I quickly learned to read the reviews before I download.  Nope, not interested in werewolves, vampires, throbbing members or alabaster globes  . . .   oops, am I allowed to repeat that on my blog????  Of course I am, it's my blog.

This Friday, I ran into a snag.  The book refused to download.  I tried five or six times.  I rebooted.  I prayed to the heavens.  I murmured bad words under my breath.  I stomped around the house and then broke down and called the Barnes and Noble help line.  Something I loathe to do.  Nothing particular against B&N, I am just not a fan of hour long conversations with the help folks of the world, although they do come in handy on occasion.

Her name, as she identified herself, was Princess.  I guess the queen was busy.  We repeated all the steps I had tried before, minus the verbal mutterings, still to no avail.  Finally, she had me rekey in my credit card number.  That seemed to work as my new book began to download and I watched the percentages fly by.  Until of course, we got hung up at 92%.  Sigh.  But Princess prevailed and I finally received my tome.

The problem was, I couldn't get Princess out of my mind.  I mean really, who names their kid Princess??  A nickname for a sweet little pink bundle, yes, but a grown woman eking out a living on a hot line for dummies????

But then I remembered a local family who named their sons: King, Baron, Duke and Earl.  To each his own and I must admit, they are far better than Clarence or Percival, both of which were in contention when my father was born.  Luckily cooler heads prevailed.

So parents, please, for my sake as well as yours . . . unless you want some mad woman ranting on her blog about your choice of names for your children . . . think twice . . .  maybe even three times  . . . before you choose the moniker for your heirs.  Thank you.

more play . . .

not as happy with these.  I think I may end up redoing them before I send them out for print:

 

credits:  all things Anna Aspnes.

play time . . .

spent the afternoon playing in Photoshop . . . .  still working on our cruise:

credits: all things Anna Aspnes

yay!!!!

THE 9TS GOT HIS APPROVAL!!!!!]

Doing the biggest happy dance ever!!!!!

Thank you one and all for your prayers and thoughts.

boondocks, burps and basa . . .

I woke up with a jolt this morning.  I smelled smoke. Half awake, it startled me until I realized it was just the great outdoor ablaze.  There are 44 fires in our county alone.  It is dry out there folks.  As in I can't remember the last time it rained.  And I don't mean to be flippant with the word 'just' but I was very relieved the fire was not inside the house. 

Joanie called to suggest that, since the smoke was so thick and the view overcast, she drive on our outing instead of taking the little red Miata.  And then I saw it out the window, the little *plink*, *plink* of something damp hitting the pavement.  RAIN!!!!

It had been previously decided that four of us girls would be dining al fresco on the water today.  At Boondocks to be exact, because neither Lee nor Linda had ever eaten there and it certainly fit the criteria of eating on the water. 

Look at this:

You can't get much more on the water unless you own one of the boats and were offering us a sumptuous repast on deck.  Would you do that please???  See all the *plink* *plink* *plink* on the water.  Wonderful, wonderful water.

And so as we noshed on things like fried basa:

and chatted and told stories and lied a little here and there.  Well, maybe I was the one lying a tad.  I tend to stretch the truth now and again.  And Lee just brings out the worst in me.   Hee hee hee.

But this little tale does happen to be true and took place at Boondocks many, many years ago.  The 9TS and I were down there with my father and Kidlet for our ritual Saturday lunch.  The benched tables were packed with diners and we were just about finished with our meal.  There was the kind of a lull in the generalized clatter that happens when everyone has dug into their eats and found themselves quite satisfied.  And it seems one five year old Kidlet was so satisfied that she let out a burp.  No little thing this burp, it was worthy of Yertle and shook the outbuildings.  The deck started to wobble and first one diners head and then another and another popped up from their fare to see from whence such an enormous belch had emanated.  All eyes focus on a rather pleased Kidlet.  All eyes including those of my 82 year old father.  A man who set great store by all things mannerly and correct.  A man whose eyes clearly said, 'I am not amused', and he was not.

Poor Kidlet, center of attention she did not want was clearly befuddled by the turn of events.  It's OK, Kidlet, you graduated from high school and went on to college and the earth did not swallow us up.  And it makes for good retelling every time Boondocks is mentioned.

Burp!