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

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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.

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