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!!!