And So They Live On

I had the chance to visit Mom today at the nursing home. It's been over a week since I was able to go there because I've been fighting a cold and didn't want to take the chance of giving it to her. Between my last visit and now, the staff had informed me that her roommate had passed away and that she had a new roommate. So I was anxious to meet her new roommate and also to see how Mom was handling the loss of her friend.

I found Mom in the lounge having her nails manicured. We spent a pleasant few minutes catching up on family news while I waited for the manicure to be done. When it was over, I took her on down to her room to get a sweater for her since she said she was cold.

Her new roommate was sitting in a wheelchair and had some sort of headphone/radio on. It must have had the speaker turned on because I could hear it from Mom's side of the room. I wanted to introduce myself but she seemed to be dozing. As I rummaged through Mom's closet, her roommate started carrying on a conversation but when I turned to see if she was speaking to me, it still looked like she was asleep.

"Why don't I take you to the library, Mom?" I suggested. "We can read some more of your book together."

"Sounds good," said Mom. "As long as I can spend time with you, I'm happy."

So off we went and soon we were settled in the cozy little library. I read her some emails that her friend, Ruthie had sent and we had a good laugh over them. Then I grabbed the book we were reading and turned to the spot where we had last left off. But first I thought I'd better say something about Mom's roommate.

"I was sorry to hear about Rhoda, Mom," I said, tentatively.

"Who?" asked Mom.

"Rhoda, your roommate," I continued.

"Why, what's wrong with her," she asked.

I was a little confused. Her nurse had told me that Mom had been told and that they were monitoring her to see how she was taking the news.


 "Um, well, Rhoda passed away, Mom," I told her. "I was sorry to hear that."

"She DID?", replied Mom, increduously.

"Didn't you notice that you have a new roommate," I asked.

"Good grief, no!" Mom looked me over. "I thought it was Rhoda."

"Well, no-o-o! It's a new roommate. So I guess you'll have to introduce yourself," I said brightly all the while kicking myself that I had said anything. If I had just kept my mouth shut, she might have gone on for another year still thinking that Rhoda was in the next bed.

Then again, by the time Mom got back to her room after lunch, she probably had forgotten all about the new roommate. And so it's true that a person's memory lives on in the minds of others. And that's a good thing, I think.

Who's Calling Who Geriatric?

My poor baby pup had to make a trip to the emergency veterinary clinic this past weekend. Thursday, if you will recall, she terrorized her regular vet's office but they couldn't find what was wrong with her. On Friday, she still wasn't keeping anything down but the vet suggested just keeping an eye on her over the weekend to see if things calmed down. By Saturday, she hadn't been able to keep food in her stomach since Thursday, was lethargic, and would frequently bite at her side.

One of my friends suggested various possible diagnoses but they just didn't seem to fit. I'd checked her ears....no mites. Checked her body for evidence of fleas....none, zip, nada! Had never seen any evidence of worms in her stools....thank you very much. She just seemed to be in pain and was upchucking in the most inconvenient places. It was time for some drastic action.

We made an appointment with the local emergency vet clinic and headed over there that evening. I covered the back seat in case she got sick again but thank goodness, she didn't. I did keep smelling something and was wondering if she'd had an accident (horrors!). Turns out the poor baby had a bad case of canine gas as part of this malaise. It shouldn't have surprised me. I mean, she IS a member of our family.

The vet quickly got her into an examining room and after some poking and prodding decided to keep her overnight and hook her up to an IV. She was dehydrated for starters. They also wanted to run some tests to check for possible Addison's disease, pancreatitis, blockage, and liver and kidney problems. Thankfully, around 1 a.m., the vet called us to report that her tests had come back ruling out Addison's and the xrays showed no sign of blockage or masses. Liver and kidneys were fine as was the bloodwork. It looked like she had gastro-intestinal flu.

They released her Sunday around suppertime. She came out much more energetically then she had entered. They had to shave her legs to get the IV hooked up. She would NOT let them keep it in one leg so they had to shave the other and she did let them keep it in the other leg. So now she has a semi-poodle clip. It's really amazing to me that a dog that is so fluffy with all that hair has such tiny little legs under all that fur.

What was more amazing (perhaps "shocking" is the better word) was the bill. Man, perhaps we should have looked into pet medical insurance. I wonder if Obama is going to include pets in his universal health care plan? What was even MORE distressing, though, was when I looked at her discharge papers and noticed that they had labeled her at the top of every sheet as a "geriatric canine." WHAT? She's only 8 years old. She has more pep and spunk than many 8 month old dogs I see. My husband pointed to the papers and I hissed, "Don't you DARE read that out loud." Bad enough that she felt like horse hockey. No need to make her feel any worse.

The good news is that today she is much better. She's getting a diet of boiled chicken and rice and she is keeping it all down. Her energy level is rising and she is grinning again. I had to take her back to her regular vet this afternoon for a follow-up and she seems to be on the road to recovery. She was back to terrorizing the waiting room occupants again. Thank goodness she has no clue that the animal professionals consider her to be "geriatric." As for me, I'm a firm believer in the old adage that "you're as young as you feel." Come on, pup! Let's go watch Cloris Leachman kick up her heels on "Dancing with the Stars."

Fresca, the Wonder Dog, Strikes Again

It's been one of those days. I knew it was headed south when I came downstairs this morning for breakfast and noticed the roll of paper towels sitting on the dining room table along with the floor cleaner spray. That usually means I'm going to be "treated" to an explanation of something that my dear hubby had to clean up when HE came down for breakfast before me.

I didn't have long to wait. It seems our dog, Fresca...a miniature American Eskimo, had a little accident in the night plus she had thrown up. This is very unlike her. She just doesn't have accidents in the house.

As I sat there mulling this over, I noticed that Fresca was acting very strange. She was acting even more neurotic than she usually does. First she'd jump up into one chair, turn around in circles and plop down. Then, two seconds later, she'd stand up and jump down and go to the other chair and repeat the same process.....turning, turning, turning and then plopping down. Two seconds later she'd jump down and turn her circles on the floor. She just couldn't seem to get settled and this turning had me baffled. If I didn't know that she had been spayed 7 years earlier, I would have thought she was trying to nest.

I watched her throughout the morning as she twisted her blanket in my craft room into a heap going through her circling and rooting motions and then did the same thing to the bedspread and blankets in the guest room. This was getting downright wierd. So I called her vet and made an appointment to bring her over in the afternoon.

Let me just say that I HATE taking Fresca to the vet because she always makes a big scene while we are there. We merely have to walk in the door and she starts with the attitude. Today was no exception. You know, looking at her you would think that Fresca is this happy, little ball of fluff. Well, that little fluff ball turns into a tiger when she arrives at the vet's office. We careened into the waiting room and I barely had enough time to slap the urine sample (and that's a whole 'nother story which I won't go into) on the receptionist's counter before she tried to take on a Rhodesian Ridgeback. He didn't look too impressed so she peered around for other victims.


Before we were called into the examining room, she had terrorized two tiny Yorkies, one of which had to be taken outside into the fresh air by his owner because I think the little thing fainted. Fresca berated a nervous Shih Tzu so loudly that the poor thing had an accident on his owner's lap. "Don't worry," the owner graciously assured me as she pulled out a kleenex. "I needed a stool sample anyway."


The door opened and a big, black lab started in. One look at Fresca's yapping face and the poor thing tried to escape back out the door so fast that it almost knocked its owner over. During all this, I was trying all of the Dog Whisperer's tricks I could think of, to no avail. I think it would have taken an elephant tranquilizer to get "calm and submissive" at this point.


We finally got in to see the vet, who got so fed up with Fresca's attitude that she hoisted her up, carried her to the back and muzzled her to finish the exam. That was fine with me. I was just glad for a little peace and quiet. After all that drama and $80 later, they couldn't find anything wrong with her. Her vocal chords were certainly fine because she had to give the waiting room another piece of her mind while I paid the bill.


One dog owner gallantly said, "Beautiful animal. American Eskie?"


"Yup," I shouted over the din.


"They've got a lot of energy," he continued.


"You can say that again," I responded and then we beat a hasty retreat out the door. Well, in Fresca's case it was more like a "charge." As we headed for the car, we passed the Yorkie and his owner who was cradling him like a baby.


"It's safe now. You can take him inside," I assured him. "This bad girl's going home."

One Donut Shy of a Relapse

True confession time! Here I was....merrily going along without so much as ONE donut from Sept. 9 to today, the 17th. That's eight days, my friends. More days than I've probably ever gone in recent history without the familiar solace of my glazed amis. Oh man, but did I blow it. I guess I could blame it on the phone call from my son who casually mentioned that it was only 3 days before he and his wife would be flying out of the country for what will probably be at least 3 years abroad. That's usually enough to send me reaching for empty calories. But it was probably more of a combination of the fact that I feel like I'm coming down with a cold, I only got 4 hours of sleep last night, and it was already 2 hours past my lunch time and I was hungry. So I elbowed a lady away from the donut case and plopped five, yes.....FIVE donuts into my shopping bag, paid and headed out the door. And I ate every single one. To compound the sin, I ate them while reading the latest issue of "Christianity Today." Is that a double sin? I guess in my twisted way of thinking, if I had eaten a full half-dozen, this would count as a relapse of the worst kind. But, since I was actually one donut shy of a half-dozen, I'm considering this only a temporary blip on the dietary radar and getting back into the saddle (Whoa, Nelly!)


I'm apparently not alone in singing the diet blues. On Monday, I went to my weekly diet group's meeting. Weigh-in wasn't great (I'd gained, but not too badly). However, when it came time for confession, it was soon apparent that there were quite a few of us who had gained. When the final tally was given, it was something like a total weight loss of 7 pounds and a total weight gain of 22+ pounds. Ouch!


Our instructor is really trying to get us motivated, bless his heart. He read us a list of warning signs that you have a problem with food. One of them was "You've eaten in the dark." 

"Eaten in the dark?", someone said. "Why would someone ever eat in the dark?"

Someone else piped up, trying to be helpful. "Well, how about when you eat popcorn in a movie theatre? It's dark in there."

"I've eaten in restaurants that were so dark you might as well have been eating in the dark. You couldn't see the food," added another member.

"Well, I've eaten in the dark," confessed my friend. "I've eaten in bed at night. And sometimes I sit in front of the TV at night and don't turn on the lights and I eat while I watch a show."

"I've got you all beat," I announced. "Have you ever eaten in a toilet stall?"

They all swung around to look at me. "Why would anyone want to eat in a toilet stall?", said the girl sitting across from me.

I shrugged. "I used to go down the hall and stand in a toilet stall to eat Reeses Peanut Butter Cups at work when I didn't want anyone to know I was cheating on my diet. The only problem was that inevitably I'd get stopped by someone on the way back who would want to chat and I had peanut butter breath."

They all hooted. "That takes the cake," someone shouted.

"Naw, I never took one of those into the bathroom."

Our leader was shaking his head. He could tell it was going to be one of those nights.
On a positive note, I got two wonderful skeins of yarn in the mail today from one of my favorite online vendors, http://www.theloopyewe.com/
The Loopy Ewe. Both skeins are from Creatively Dyed Yarns and the colors are just gorgeous. The one on the left is the "Bubblegum" colorway. It's a sockweight yarn in her yarn line called "Luxury" which is 80% Merino, 10% Cashmere, and 10% Nylon. The other skein is a vibrant red that just glows. It is in the colorway "Salsa and the yarn line is the same as I just described. I've decided that these colors are just too beautiful to hide in my shoes. I think I'm going to have to get more of the yarn and make some shawls out of it. What do you think? The woman behind this great yarn, Dianne, comes up with the colors from memories of her birthplace Trinidad and Tobago. I can't wait to get more of her yarn.


OK, that's all for today. I'm back on the "Do-NOT eat donuts" wagon. Guess I'll go find some cardboard to chew on.

Paradise Has a Price

I've been glued to the TV the last few days watching the progression of Hurricane Ivan....er, Igor.....Isaac? Oh, one of those "I" names. I can't seem to get this one straight. My husband pipes up, "It's named after an American president." "Ah, yes," I retort. "Ike." (Menopausal minds! Who knows where they go when they're out to lunch?)

As I was saying, I've been watching the news of Hurricane Ike with both fascination and dread. With fascination because something that big is simply awesome to behold, as long as you're beholding it in a nice, dry and remote location from the action. With dread because this time, it's gotten personal.

You see, my son Jason and his wife, Laura have been visiting her parents who happen to live just south of Houston, not far from a lovely little tourist attraction located on a bay inlet called Kemah. In fact, when we flew down to the Houston area for Jason's wedding, we enjoyed several great meals in Kemah, walking off the calories later on the boardwalk where we admired the boats tied up along the piers.


On Thursday, Jason called us to say they'd just finished boarding up the windows of the house and now his in-laws, Laura, and the dog were packing up and getting ready to leave because they had just received an order to evacuate by noon. Wow! Dad B. had decided to head towards Oklahoma where his youngest daughter attends college.


Our family network was up and running by Friday. My brother, John was emailing me and phoning me as we both watched "Ike" take aim on Galveston and the barrier island there. My brother-in-law, John graciously said he could put them all up at his place outside San Antonio if they needed an alternate place to stay. Hubby was flipping back and forth between the Weather Channel and CNN for up-to-the-minute news, and I was doing what I do best.....shopping since I'm not allowing myself to eat DONUTS, which is my usual escape valve when I'm stressed.


In January, after the wedding, my brother and sister-in-law and George and I had stayed for a week near the town of Surfside Beach, which is below Galveston on a narrow barrier island. The little resort we stayed at was right on the beach. We amused ourselves by driving into the little town for cheap cappaccinos and then we'd go to the little park and walk along the water and watch the surfers. Other days we drove back into Galveston and on our way back, we'd stop at a restaurant right along the highway with the seawall on the other side of the highway. This restaurant had big helpings, great desserts, and cheap prices. Perfect! Now John and I find ourselves wondering if it is still there. It didn't look that sturdy when we were there in January. And there was nothing but pavement between it and the seawall. For that matter, what's left of the resort? Or Kitty's Purple Cow, the diner we enjoyed in Surfside Beach?


One of the amazing things to us Midwesterners was the variety of houses on stilts that we encountered. We saw your typical modest beach houses on stilts, made out of wood. Basically they looked like typical cottages built on a wooden platform that was supported on skinny little wooden legs. These were usually right out on the beach, surrounded by scrub grass but with a spectacular view. Then you had your very fancy summer homes built on concrete pillars . These homes were also built on the beach but the grounds were landscaped a little better with actual grass and a few palm trees. They, too had a great view and were usually in some type of gated community. We'd drive past slowly and imagine what it must be like living in one of those homes, taking your coffee out on the deck and watching the sun rise over the ocean horizon.


In view of Hurricane Ike, there is one house we saw that we suspect would fare pretty well. This was a beach house built out of a buoy. It certainly looked bizarre but boy, you sure hope a buoy would float if a storm surge swept over it.


Since "Ike" has hit, we've seen pictures of debris scattered over highways we traveled on the way to Laura's parents' home. We've seen footage of Kemah flooded. We've heard that most folks are without power and can't expect to have it restored for weeks. We've listened to reporters tell of destruction in Surfside Beach, especially of those homes that were on wooden stilts. We've talked to Jason and they don't know yet what is the state of Dad and Mom B.'s home.


It occurs to me that most places that could be considered a "paradise" always seem to come with a cost. Oh, you might not consider Houston to be a paradise but believe me, if you'd come to Houston from a frozen PA in January and found folks walking around in shorts, it would have seemed like paradise to you. People move to Florida for the wonderful winters in a tropical setting. Cost = Hurricane vulnerability. Southern Texas and Arizona offer freedom from winter. Cost = scorpions and scorching summers. Coastal Texas throws in hurricanes. We lived in South Carolina, a lovely state with mild winters. Cost = summer humidity, bugs galore, and the occasional hurricane. California is a mecca for many. Cost = earthquakes, high ratio of , er, strange people, and "Ah-nold." 


Then there's my own personal favorite paradise, Minnesota. Hey, go ahead and laugh but in my family, we grew up knowing that another name for Minnesota was "God's Country." If that isn't paradise, I don't know what is. Yet anyone who grows up on the prairie knows that there is a cost that can occur. Goodness, children on the prairie develop their "weather eyes" at the same time they are cutting their "eye teeth." Blizzards can come up out of nowhere. You could be found frozen to death just a yard or two from your own back door back in the old days when snow would come in so thick that you couldn't see your own hand in front of your face. Tornadoes materialize out of huge thunderclouds that roll across the horizon in the summer. One of my great-aunts was killed when the barn roof blew off and crushed her as she was running for the farmhouse in such a storm. Yes, we keep a close eye on the weather in Minnesota. But on a nice day, there's no place finer.


But back to Hurricane Ike and all those who have been in harm's way. Our heart goes out to them and our prayers are with them. I don't know yet if David and Joyce's home has been damaged. I hope it has survived just fine. Regardless, I know it will be challenging for all those in that area who will be without power for the next few weeks. Houston isn't chilly this time of year. I complain when our lights go out for a few hours in a storm but weeks? Yet, we're a resilient people. And just as that famous old author, Milton wrote "Paradise Lost", we can remind ourselves that he also wrote "Paradise Regained."

Get Thee Behind Me!

I blame it on my mother! (Don't we all?) My father, Lord love him, had the right idea as he tried to distract my toddler tears by pointing out to me that they were salty and that I should try tasting them. My mother, the ever-practical one, simply walked by and handed me a cookie. I hate to admit it but the cookie won out over the salt. It wasn't even a contest. To this day, I've been constantly lured off the straight and narrow healthy path by sweets. I can resist salty snacks no problemo but wave a donut in front of me and you'd best be quick or you'll find yourself missing a few fingers as well as the donut.

My Sunday School class is currently studying the topic of angels and as part of that subject, we've delved into the Fall of Man. I've thought about that first temptation when that old fallen angel, Satan himself, in the guise of a serpent, was able to get Eve to take a bite of that forbidden fruit. Tradition has it that it was an apple. I just find it hard to wrap my mind around someone willing to cross the Lord of the universe for an apple. Frankly, apples rank right up on my list of temptations alongside sauerkraut. But a glazed, white cream-filled donut -- ah, that might have given me a little pause. I would hope I would have had the strength of mind to say "Thanks, but NO THANKS," and have beat feet back to Adam. Yet, in our discussions in class, we have concluded that the devil is a master at finding our weakest spots and then tailoring temptations to just those areas. I'm afraid one sniff of that donut and one look at it's glazed surface and I would have battled SERIOUS weakness.

But it gets worse. You know how the Bible says that the sins of the father will be visited upon the children onto even future generations? Well, I don't know about the sins of the "father", but the weaknesses of the "mother" have led to the passing on of certain, shall we say, "UNUSUAL" skills to my children. My son reminded me the other day when he and his wife were visiting us of how I had taught him to be able to pick out the donuts with the most cream filling.

"I did?" I asked, trying to look innocent because his wife was right there in the same room. She's a doctor AND she eats very healthy foods. At the same time, I was giving him "the eye" which, as most children know by the time they've grown up means, "Hey Buster, you're treading on thin ice here. Move on to another topic." Of course, like most grown children who have the chance to poke a little good-natured fun at their parents, my son chose to ignore the signal.


"Yea, sure. Don't you remember how you showed me to pick up different ones and see how heavy they were? If they were REALLY heavy, that meant they had the most cream inside," he explained. "That little tip has never failed me, Mom."

I looked sheepishly over at Laura. "Um, I always insisted that they use those little waxed papers, though," I assured her. Sheesh! What a skill to pass on to my kids, I thought.

And so we come back to the garden and Eve. If she hadn't eaten that apple, things would be a lot more pleasant here on Earth. If I hadn't eaten all those donuts over the years, I'd be a lot healthier today. But one bite leads to another and before you know it, you've got THIS, my friends.
So I'm issuing myself a little challenge. From now on, when I see a "donut", I'm going to think to myself, "DO NOT" as in, "DO NOT eat the DONUT!". I'll keep you all posted on my progress as I see how long I can go resisting this temptation. I'm going to be doing a LOT of praying. Any prayers you'd like to send my way would be gratefully appreciated.

The Incredible Growing Scarf

Yippee! I came in under the wire on this Knit-a-Long (KAL) with several weeks to spare. I have to admit that I was a little worried considering that I was also knitting up a storm on socks for the Summer of Socks '08. But "I dood it!", as my Mom likes to say.

This was a KAL headed up by the Loopy Ewe gang over at Ravelry. If you haven't discovered Ravelry yet and you like to knit or crochet, my friend...you need to head on over and read all about it. Membership is free. You just have to sign up and wait several days until you get an email invitation to join and then the fun begins. This is a marvelous worldwide community of fiber people and the website is chock full of patterns, groups of every interest imaginable, pictures of people's projects, a library feature where you can add your knitting books, etc. Really, it is just hard to describe. You have to experience it. Imagine a big convention of like-minded folk and now extend that convention to year-round, 24 hours a day, at your fingertips whenever you want to be there. Go to http://www.ravelry.com/ and when you get on, look up "Booklassie" and say "hi." You'll find me up there most days and if I'm temporarily away, you can leave me a message.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes....talking about the KAL that the Loopy Ewe group was doing. Loopy Ewe (and I promise I'll stop tantalizing you soon) is a fantastic vendor of sock yarns and accessories and spinning wheels, etc. Sheri has a wonderful selection of handpainted yarns from some great companies and some wonderful new Indie artists. Her service is top-notch. You can find the Loopy Ewe store here http://www.theloopyewe.com/ and don't say I didn't warn you.....you might become a "Loopy Groopy."

Now, back to what I was saying. We all picked a Dream in Color Baby laceweight yarn and then each picked our own projects to knit. Concurrently, there was a Red KAL going on and so I decided to pick some DiC Baby in the colorway "Lipstick Lava" and knit it up into a Rivulet scarf. I started it and decided that I wanted a little heftier weight yarn so after doubling the yarn, I was a happy knitter. Here is how it looked as I was starting out.


If you look closely, you'll see that I actually used some "lifelines" in this scarf. For those of you not too familiar with knitting, a lifeline is a piece of string or yarn threaded through something you are knitting (usually a shawl or scarf) periodically so that if you really mess up and have to rip out a bunch of rows, you can always rip down to the nearest lifeline and know that all your stitches will be intact at the point of the lifeline. And you also try to ensure that all your stitches are correct at the point that you insert a lifeline. In almost 50 years of knitting, this is the first time I've used lifelines and I can tell you that now it won't be the last. I decided that they are a good idea.

I worked and worked on that scarf and it didn't seem to be getting long very fast but the time was ticking so eventually I decided that I was going to finish her off and just artfully cross it at my throat and secure it with a nice pin. That was the plan. Imagine my surprise when, after giving it a good soak, I went to block it out and discovered that my little scarf had grown to a full 68 inches long. Wow, that yarn just relaxed and BLOOMED in my sink. I felt like Jack and the beanstalk except that I didn't have to climb anything to find a treasure. My treasure was lying on the guestroom floor.

After giving it a day or two to dry thoroughly, I unpinned it and wrapped it around my neck. It was soft and warm and long enough to wrap around my throat and sling over my shoulders, just the way I like it.

 
Once again, I'm amazed at the way lace knitting looks pre-blocking and post-blocking. And now, I plan to go pull out that stole I've been working on off and on over the summer. I've used umpteen skeins of yarn trying to get that thing long enough to wrap around a person but I was figuring that I still had another 2 or 3 skeins to add to it before blocking it. Now I'm not so sure. If that stole is anything like this scarf, I just might have a potentially LONG stole in my knitting bag. In fact, it might already be big enough to wrap around 2 or 3 people all at once. Maybe I'll call it the "Overachiever Stole."