The Leaning Cow

thinking of calling

AmeliaJake — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 14:42:27 +0000

It is gloomy here - no sunlight at all, just an overcast sky without any variations in the gray. So, is my mother sleeping in or is she up and around, all coffee-fied with wood in the stove and the crossword in her hands? I don’t know. Should I call now or later. This would be what Quentin would refer to as the morning death call. Yes, I know, horrible, isn’t it. And, of course, there is the night death call. He was still a teenager when he first used the phrase. Now, if the topic comes up, it is “the . . . call” - but we know it’s the death call. I guess when she was in her early 70’s and really robust, it was kind of a Saturday Night Live thing. Now, she’s in her 80’s, tires easier, is afraid of strokes and Alzheimers and, well, it’s not obviously as much of a joke. Even I, when she doesn’t answer for a few times in a row, start gathering my car keys and wondering about calling someone working nearby. Then she answers and says, “I was out chopping wood or rebuilding the garage door . . . something like that.

Okay, I’m calling.

Picked up on about the fifth ring - said she was signing her name on a check and finished that. Okay. This did not bode well; I figured she was going to say she was paying her health insurance and that would have triggered a long oft-heard speech on how she doesn’t take medicine, go to doctors or intend to go to a hospital. Pays in all this money and illegals are getting free care at the ER - except she’s the one paying for part of their care. Yes, she has a point . . . like a bulldog with an indestructible bone.

My mother has “moods” - often. I suppose to her I have “whatevers”.

Well . . . whatever.

Lois?

AmeliaJake — Mon, 05 Jan 2009 19:43:13 +0000

Today has not been my best day and I have a long and involved story about having to make several phone calls that entailed being on hold for quite a while. One number I had to call three times; it would have only been two times had I not dropped the phone just as the music cut off after 20 minutes and a voice said, “Hello, how can I help you. This is Lois.” Right then the top part of the phone slid down over the bottom and ended the call. I could only sigh, “Oh, Lois.”

Twenty minutes later, I got another representative . . . and I don’t remember her name at all.

Oh, obviously I am not going into this long and involved story . . . just reporting on the Lois part. Don’t be concerned; it’s not that interesting of a tale.

Ah, a regular Sunday

AmeliaJake — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 18:46:13 +0000

Let’s see, two weeks ago we were listening to Christmas carols and munching on special cheeseballs and getting recipes pulled out of drawers . . . and duct taped when needed. Last Sunday, it was the lull after Christmas and the gathering of non-alcoholic sparkling drinks for New Year’s. This Sunday, ah, this Sunday is the day before the return to school and the march through midwest winter and early spring. It is slush time - slush time without any glimmering lights.

I am considering hibernation. Hibernation with some books, some nice warm afghans and shortbread cookies, left over from the holidays. We have expanded our cable choices and now can get Turner Classic Movies and much more. I am now watching a show on the London Blitz. January, February and March in Northern Indiana have a teeny, tiny bit of a blitz about them. Hunkering down and waiting it out, hoping you don’t have a flat tire in a blizzard or power outages.

I exaggerate.

My itching is better and my shingles are drying up.

Oh, yeah, the Colts lost. Well, rats. They are wannabe Cubs . . . and they are succeeding.

I’m here . . . in this new year

AmeliaJake — Fri, 02 Jan 2009 01:44:07 +0000

We made homemade pizzas today; I crusted and chopped toppings. Now my shoes and socks are off and I’m watching some more of the Twilight Zone marathon. Oh no . . . It’s the one where Burgess Meredith has all the time to read in a destroyed world and his glasses break. Hope that’s not a sign of how the year’s going to go.

The Shingles Blog

AmeliaJake — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 14:27:38 +0000

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

AmeliaJake — Tue, 30 Dec 2008 12:13:48 +0000

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

AmeliaJake — Mon, 29 Dec 2008 21:16:27 +0000

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

AmeliaJake — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 15:54:42 +0000

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

AmeliaJake — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 12:35:24 +0000

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

AmeliaJake — Sat, 27 Dec 2008 15:46:53 +0000

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.