The Shingles Blog

Did I mention I have shingles? Well, they are kind of getting my attention. They itch . . . a lot, sometimes. And, other parts of my body have started playing the “Let’s make AmeliaJake ask, Is my knee (elbow, hip, foot, neck, cheek, stomach . . . ) itching?” game. Oh, that cheek reference – I meant the facial cheek; AmeliaJake would never ever refer to buttockal cheeks. Although, all these years of hearing others do so has allowed that usage to creep into her mind. How about this exclamation: Kick your ass so high, your buttcheeks will be earmuffs!

Auuuuggggghhhhhhh . . . .

More shingles

That is a literal post title. My shingles area has spread around my side, pretty much doubling in size. We will see what today brings. There is more itching. At least I have a quick response to those who inquire, “How was your holiday?” Shingles. This case of shingles could turn out to be like the stories  little old ladies told about their gallbladder operations before surgeons adopted the little incisions.

I was so lucky; I was in the first wave of the new surgeries – I had a two-inch incision and a three day hospital stay instead of the same day four tiny incisions and home. When my nurse friend explained to me how the old procedure reached all around one’s side and included drains and a long hospital stay and lots of pain, I felt like getting down on my little post-operative knees and giving thanks. Instead, I did it from my bed while sitting Indian fashion. She couldn’t get over seeing me like that.

But, now that I have the shingles, I will get everyone here at the PBC&R to wait on me. I’m just itching to get them to hop to and bring me foldovers and Diet Cokes and twinkies and . . . twinkies?

Shingles

I have an appointment at 2 pm to see if my self-diagnosis is correct: shingles? I fit the description of the symptoms and the breakout is right at my pudgy waistline. Come to think of it, skin pain at my waistband could result in a necessary loss of weight to give me more room in my pants . . . or, wait . . . I could get bigger pants.

Fifty-five years ago this very season, I had a heck of a case of chicken pox. They combed scabs out of my hair, shook them out of sheets, and swept the floor behind me as I walked. I was covered with those poxlets. I am hoping there is no correlation between the severity of the chicken pox adventure and the foray into shingle land. Well, that’s not accurate – I wouldn’t mind a correlation of indirect proportion.

And, oh, here is a little secret we need to keep from Der Bingle: We knew where Bing and Otter were, but we also knew they were dirty . . . and now they are getting washed.  Ah, I think little giggles are forming behind our lips. Yes, a lot of heehee fermentation going on . . .

Should we do a before picture? Maybe.

Bing and Otter.

UPDATE:

I believe Otter took it well . . .

and now he’s finishing up –

Now it’s time to go check on Bing

Oh . . .

Well, it will probably work out okay. Also, I went ahead and plucked Otter from his perch and tossed placed him comfortably in the dryer with a fabric softener sheet. Gee, I hope I remembered to put him on the gentle dry cycle with the moisture sensor engaged.

Anyway, yes, I do have shingles, although I think I am going to start referring to the condition as “the shingles” – I’ve got the shingles, dontcha know. And Valtrex is my friend.

Uh, I’m going to check on Otter now . . . and Bing.

Hmmmm . . . maybe Otter needs another go round. Oh, was that a pun? I’m certain it was unintentional.

the slow packing begins

So, my dears, I just finished packing up the first box for the post 2008 Christmas season. Early? you say. Well, this box has the nutcrackers that didn’t make it our for this year. so they are rearranged in their lodging and marked with a big

#1

and a paragraph that says they didn’t make it out in 2008 and have major priority for 2009.

The reason I’m posting this is to keep me honest; if I don’t mention more boxes, may a pox be on me. Say, have you ever known a little kid who thought the phrase was “a fox upon you”? Just asking, no reason.

Needs ice

Yes, I look at the snow and appearance of grass and the absence or presence of ice on the trees, but the true indication of the phase of winter we are in lies in the temperature of the soda in the back vestibule. It can be quite chilly or biting or  frosty. Frosty, by the way, means you need to consider bringing it inside, which I am loathe to do because then it gets hot.

Nestled in a stack by brick wall the vestibule shares with the kitchen and across a narrow walk from another brick wall shared with the  garage, and with a door between the actual “out” outside as opposed to the vestibule outside, it is generally protected from, you know, the big KABOOM. When the temperature drops a lot, I often throw an old sleeping bag over the stack and we are fine.

But sometimes and lately would be one of them, we haven’t been careful about keeping the stack compact and truly up against the house wall . . . and we neglected to grab a sleeping bag  . . . and someone left the door to the “out” outside open . . . and we did have some explosions. In the scheme of things this year, I just sighed. (The trick is to get a broom and sweep of the frozen stuff before it melts)

Yesterday it was soooo warm and this morning when I reached out for a wake-up zing of cold Diet Coke to accompany my peanut butter foldover, I found I had in my hand a relatively warm can . . . and so now you understand my first cogent thought of the day: “needs ice”.

Uh, the temperature is over 50

Last night we watched TV footage of cars sliding and slipping all over the area. The Toll Road, which was built partially on our old farmland, was a parking lot – semis could not make the small inclines and many vehicles went off the road. Had Mother been home she would have seen a ribbon of headlights and taillights in the distance out back. Or, wait, there was heavy fog; she probably would have seen nothing – not even the old schoolhouse.

Of course, some people would say she wouldn’t see the old schoolhouse because it is no longer there. Well, that’s true, but after around a hundred years of being there, we locals just call the air above the site “the old schoolhouse”.

A few days ago I was in a wind chill of -23 and more; now the warm rain is washing away snow. Oh, did I mention they cancelled the ice carving festival at Shipshewana? Well, the did. The guys did the best they could on the small blocks of ice, but the weather wouldn’t permit the combined blocks to fuse for the giant statues.

Many big sales . . . but few could get to them, although I think maybe today the mall will be filled with sopping shoppers.

I have started my rehabilitation program – I lay on the floor in the pre-exercise position. I am cutting back on diet soda and going for the citrus flavored iced tea drinks.

Lordy, this sounds like a memo with a little clickety click rhythm. I will report for posting therapy . . . and then maybe I will look at all the slashed prices in the ads. Yes, yes . . . that sounds promising. Gosh, I feel my pocket getting hot – better hurry to beat the hole.

yesterday

Despite trying to get everything organized, I just fell short. I grew tired on Christmas Eve and let it slip away. But here is Christmas morning of sorts. Der Bingle on hearing me say I was editing photos, commented I always edit AmeliaJake out. So thus I start off:

Now:

Blurry Cameron

Cameron and nutcracker

Colin, who is autistic and who had a good time.

Summer

Der Bingle himself

Rummage sale Santa on little tree

Our funky 2008 tree

And, of course, the chip monk

Oh, yeah, we had a bit of excitement . . . I sat watching Alison hand out the presents to the kids and thought the big package was the XBox 360 from Der Bingle (and me). Then she handed that large, obviously light-weight package to Robert.  So I mouthed to her, “XBox?” and she looked back  blankly at me. I thought she had wrapped it, but, no, actually it was missing in non-action. Too many hiding places . . . too many covering afghans. But, I the amazing AmeliaJake, found it upstairs in the sitting room in the big flex garbage bag in which Der Bingle had brought it.

I really should have been very grateful and, therefore, festive this season. But I wasn’t, even though I kept trying to talk myself into it. The harder I worked to make myself realize things had worked out okay, the more unsteady I became. Maybe next year, I will have lived well-enough to earn Christmas spirit.

Oh, this sounds so maudlin, but I guess I mention it because if I have seemed low, it is no one’s fault. And it’s okay.

4:17 on Christmas Eve Afternoon

We had enough of a break in the weather that I could scurry over to the nursing home to see Mrs. Feller and take the cookies Alison and Summer made – and a can of candy. Plus 34 episodes of Bonanza with three bonus episodes of Wagon Train with Ward Bond. Kathryn got a phone call and when she came back, I was the one almost napping on the bed. I will say this: It was warm and cozy in their room and the bed was – I think I’m quoting someone here – just right.

The eggs are boiling for deviling, but right now I have my legs stretched out on the sofa and my shoes are off. oooooooooh. stretching and streeeeeettttccchhhing and then do it some more. Oh, golly gee, it feels so good.

deviled eggs . . . oh, yeah

Ah, I forgot about the devilled eggs . . . so another trip to the grocery. One of probably many last-minute forays. I have a tradition of closing down a nice department store on Christmas Eve and sucking in the Christmas Eve spirit – sometimes at Chili’s. But we are in the middle of partially melted ice and new ice coming. So . . . it is . . . wait for it . . .  Wal-Mart and Kroger’s.

Soon I must poke the turkey and see if he is defrosting on schedule of if we need the cold water treatment – and the turkey breast which will be tucked under his legs, not to mention the extra drum sticks. It is a big roaster. A big old roaster.

Two salads are made and on the top shelf of the refrigerator – Strawberry Pretzel with cream cheese and cool whip and butter and brown sugar and strawberry jello and strawberries and a lemon-lime affair with pineapple and jello and cream cheese and cool whip and sugar and pecans. Today I will tackle the Buttermilk salad, if I can find the recipe. The recipes for the first two are on mimeographed green paper with duct tape holding the torn folds together. On one, Mother has written “very good”.

i do not like to cook or bake, so my Christmas present for folks is to suck it up and just do it. I have found the Christmas plates and now must re-start this sucking up business and head for the kitchen.

I will be dancing with the deviled egg in the pale moonlight.

too old for smurfs?

I do not know the Smurfs’ names; I did not know they had names. I did not know the recently-stated admission until about five minutes ago when I decided to take the quiz on how your mind works. I thought it would be a series of pictures and the questions would be along the lines of: What did you see first in this picture? Can you identify this part of a whole? What color appeared dominant? and whatever else. But, the little push button to take you to the quiz just led to a batch of multiple choice questions. And one of those questions wanted you to name your favorite Smurf. I had to randomly pick one; there was no “I have no idea who these guys are other than part of a blue group.”  I had issues with a couple of other questions as well, sort of like a witness being forced to answer “yes or no” and not allowed to add an important condition.

Example:

Was the phone ringing?

Yes, but it is faulty and rings all the time.

or

No, it is broken.

But back to Smurfs. I remember when they were popular;  I remember when Christmas paper featured them for one year . . . and then everyone realized blue folks didn’t go too well with red and green decorations. I did not know they had names, although I am acquainted with Cindy Lou Who of Grinch fame.

Oh well. One thing, though, the quiz didn’t want to know who my favorite Duggar is.

I’m logical, by the way. Old, but logical. But I suspect that is only when I am not in my customized alternate universe.