“I can deal with shit.”
I was making dinner. My mother’s aide had called me.
“But not the constipated.”
She went on to tell me about having to put her finger up past “clients’” butts when not even enemas did the trick.
I was flipping burgers. For dinner. I had to feed my family while discussing feces, the phone cradled on my shoulder. The sizzling ground meat were beginning to look a bit less appetizing....
My mother is on Coumadin to prevent blood clots. And which, evidently, can thin your blood to the consistency of tap water. I say “tap” because when turned on, the blood will flow.
And I say “evidently,” because when she fell and gashed the back of her head on the corner of an open bureau drawer, within minutes she gushed enough blood to saturate her blue bedroom carpet, paisley bedspread, fleece nightgown, even the medical alert button around her neck which she did still have the panicked presence of mind to activate.
Where've I been?Well, there was the Woven Tale Press to get out; catching catchless cats for flea blaths and flea-bombing at Gramma’s house; Target back-to-school shopping; fleas to bomb at my own house caught by Pup from Gramma’s house.All tales of their own. Which I haven't had time for due to excessive daily vacuuming....more
Yes, Tale Tues is tardy again.
Because on Tues I had a tantrum and tore the phone off the wall to hurl onto front lawn. Not as satisfying as an old cord phone which might have left a gaping hole and couldn’t so easily be rehung on its little wall clip:
And I'm tardy because dog ate the eye off this:
We’re in New Hampshire. I packed for summer. You know, shorts, bathing suits...for hot weather.
It’s freezing. Gale winds. Whistling around the corners of this cute little cottage, a prelude to some freak summer nor'easter.
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