Back in the Saddle

  

 I think I'm finally on the mend.  I've been taking probiotics to heal the gut after 60 days of antibiotics (Young Living Life 9) and can now keep food down.  It's been a really rough 8 months.  Had there not been the COVID outbreak I would have been in the hospital at the first signs of an issue, treated and probably released a week later.  But 3 months of "virtual"(known as useless) doctors that misdiagnosed me meant two subsequent hospital visits and months of antibiotics.  Not being able to eat was an issue - I lost a bunch of weight and ending up falling not long ago (just weak) and busting the back of my head hard (no stitches but lots of blood).  It's NOT been a good year.  But I'm feeling better every day and I'm forever grateful for a husband that made me soup and stuff I could get down every night.

Ate a whole Shake and Bake pork chop last night that Partner in Grime made.  Score!!!

Hope to be back to writing soon.

Please do check out my short story in this anthology of short stories published this month.  Feedback is appreciated!.  The Kindle is only 99 cents and the paperback only $5.99 (It's not a lengthy book but I'm proud to be in it).  https://www.amazon.com/Writer-Shed-Stories-Vol-Sacrifice/dp/B08L8NGDDX/26-a1cd-4e7b-87a0-a2ffae3a273c

Moving Days a Barkley Memory

A Chapter From The Book of Barkley  (Outskirts Press, Available at Amazon and Barnes and Noble online)

CHAPTER 15 – Moving Days

The car was packed, and the moving truck was already on its way.  I’d been selected for a position in a Midwest city, one with the potential for promotion over time.  The house here was selling, at a huge loss given the market, but at least it had a buyer.

Things are changing; my Stepmom’s diagnosis of cancer, Dad's talk of moving in with me after she's gone, something he swore he'd never do.  I found a little ranch house in that Midwestern city I am moving to, bigger than I would have bought for myself, but a lot less fancy and still much smaller than this house. It will provide him with his own rooms, and bath, with an entrance without steps for him.

The house stands empty. Only a few folks have been inside, a few neighbors, my parents, a couple of friends and a few dates, none of whom seemed to like dogs, which was becoming more important. We're better off moving on, even alone, I tell Barkley, there’s a big world out there with lots of things to do and people to meet.

He's only three years old.  I wonder if he will miss this place.

Barkley and I made one last trek around the neighborhood and the woods behind before we left for the first leg of our journey. The moving truck had another stop to make so we would have time to travel and catch up. So many trips we'd made around these blocks.  Barkley sniffed everything, pointing to the occasional piece of trash or blowing leaf, as I steered him toward the common area to do his business, rather than on someone's lawn.  He, of course, would only lift his leg, and then continue on, for Barkley was always looking for something, a bright picture window, a family seated in front of it at the dining room, enjoying dinner. He'd then dash over to their lawn and squat to do the rest of his business, all right in front of their dinner.  Kids squealed and giggled, adults, shot me looks that were daggers, as I would wave an apology.  Then, I'd go clean up the pile, scolding him yet again, as we walked off, my cheeks blazing with embarrassment, his head held up proudly with a "that was the biggest one yet!"

We took one last walk out into the openly wooded area that runs for a half mile behind this new development, back to a little pond where he first learned to swim.  Tonight, I stood at the crest of the rise of sand and dirt that made up the lip of this water-filled bowl.  Man-made or nature made; it was hard to tell, for the perfect shape of the pond.  But given the location, it was probably man-made. The moon cleaved the pale waste that was the sky, the sun having left like low tide, leaving this place in the shadow, just the form of a red-haired woman and the dark grieving of the earth.

I looked down and saw it, the pale abandoned nest of a Canadian goose; the goslings long having been hatched if the eggs survived both rising waters and predators. I pictured the water moving, like slow waves, but it was as still as I.  We both seemingly waited for something, an act of fate, of destiny, the irrevocable sentence of time that's passed or perhaps, an invitation.

I wondered if I came back in ten years if this place would still be here? Or would it be plowed into yet another row of Monopoly houses, another neighborhood of lives and love, fights and frustration and unborn children who can't wait to grow up so they can leave this place, then wish desperately that they could return?

They say you cannot go home again, and perhaps as far as a childhood home, that is true. But what of the memories of other places we hold firm in our mind's eye? Some of them we have a name for, our elementary school, the river where we dove as far out as we could into the dark water, a place where church bells rang. In the Book of Genesis, all were drawn out of the waters of chaos by its name, "God called the dry land Earth." Sometimes, the incredibly complex can be summed up in one word.  I read in a story that the Inuit Indians have one such word to bring to conceivable life the fear and the awe that possesses them when they see across the ice, the approach of a polar bear.  Some things have no words at all, their form remembered only in the etchings of tears.

But of those places, both named and unnamed, there are places you are drawn back to, years later, praying they are not changed, and knowing it will not be so.

I hope in ten years Barkley and I can come back here, if only to wave at the house in which I raised him to adulthood, as to an old friend.

Brigid COVID update

 

 Health update  - The doctors have the staph infection in my leg managed.  There's still some redness and swelling but that will go away.  The bigger issue was the damage to my gut from 5 rounds of antibiotics.  I can attest to being a whole week of "barf free" and have a bit more energy to annoy Partner in Grime.  If it had not been for this whole COVID hysteria I would have been in the hospital and this would have been nipped in the bud in weeks.  But I had to deal with 3 months of online docs.  I'll stop my rant there.

Thanks for all the thoughts and prayers. 

Quick!~ Call the SPCA!

I'm waiting for my yogurt treat.

Did you notice I was waiting for my yogurt treat?

Still waiting.

Did you notice I'm still waiting?

Heavy sigh.
 

Official Launch of Writer Shed Stories

The official release was Nov. 1. Get your copy now for just .99 cents. My story "Lessons on Loss" is included which details my last days with my brother who died in his mid-fifties from aggressive cancer. If you've served in the military I believe you will connect with his story and his values.  He was part of Operation Ivy Bells, which I could not get him to talk about but which is detailed in the novel Blind Man's Bluff.

 "And we talked, late into the nights, sipping a finger of whiskey, the sound of the wind chimes he crafted as a hobby tinkling from outside. We did not talk of his days under the ocean as a Submariner or my days aloft as an airline pilot. He talked about how much he missed our Mom and how he hoped Dad would live to be 100. We shared our memories, especially those as we ran as children along the edge of the waters, along the rim of the earth as though we and we alone, were its inhabitants and guardians. We talked of those days along the shores of the water, the floors of the forest, the things we unearthed, rocks and sticks and shells, and even occasional bone and brass. Some of those things found their way home, others were left where they lay, left as future treasure."

 Thank you for supporting Indie authors such as myself.

http://Amazon.com/dp/B08LCGTYTP

New Book - My Short Story in an Anthology Published This Week

My short story "Lessons on Loss" (about my Submariner brother)  has been published in the anthology "Writer Shed Stories - Love and Sacrifice, edited by award-winning author David W. Berner.  I was very honored to have my story selected as only 15 stories out of the 300 entrants were picked.  Several are Midwest authors but there are selections from all over the world. Being so sick earlier this year, this was the only serious piece of writing I did this year and I'm proud of it.

"WRITER SHED STORIES, Vol. 2, LOVE & SACRIFICE is a collection of short fiction, memoir, poetry, and creative nonfiction from authors all over the world. The aim of Writer Shed Press is to offer stories that leave lasting impressions, words that linger long after you've read them. WRITER SHED STORIES is published annually by Writer Shed Press and edited by award-winning author David W. Berner."

It is available now on Amazon and at independent bookstores. 

 https://www.amazon.com/Writer-Shed-Stories-Vol-Sacrifice/dp/B08L8NGDDX/

Essential Elements of Freedom

I took a week off to finish a short story that's going into an anthology that will be published this month.  Normally I go out to visit Dad in September but with COVID lockdown, as much as I love my Dad I'm not spending $2500 on airfare, rental care, and hotel, to wave at him outside a window when he doesn't want to talk more than 1 minute on the phone each day.

But now it's time to return to work, hours of travel, the groan and rumble of an airplane, the vibration felt from the yoke to my bones, the cadence and sorrow of air rushing past, left behind in the wake of strained metal. There are hotels in the city, waking to the staccato bursts of sound from the street, cars, shouted curses, and horns. Even where I used to live, in a subdivision with cookie-cutter homes with enough insulation to drown out the sound of brushing your teeth, there was no such thing as real quiet. There's the neighbors' lawnmower at 9 pm, dogs barking or a shouting match off in the distance between people caged too long, living eight feet at away from the next house.

You either adapt to it or you getaway. I voted for the getting away part of the reason I sold the original "Range".  A four-lane addition to the road from a less than good part of the city to the north end of our little town brought with it gang graffiti and crime. Property values were crashing. We had our first rape. A woman was beaten to death with a claw hammer. There were a number of break-ins and smash and grab burglaries in my neighborhood, kids, the cops said, taking small electronics, cash, and booze, but it worried me. I realized that I was close enough in that if there was trouble, I wouldn't be able to defend the place too long even with back up. I wanted to be further out. If not full time, at least a place for the weekends and holidays. Not so far out that when I go walk along the creek I hear the sound of a banjo, but far enough to be away from the major roads and cities in the event of a disaster where the unprepared come to loot the prepared. So I made the decision to sell the place before prices dropped even more, and save for a chunk of land.
Someone said, "you're going to get your own Walden Pond?" I've read Thoreau, who chronicles his life off the grid in his writings. I found his words moving but found little in common with a middle-aged man who probably couldn't field dress a deer if he had to. But there was one thing he wrote of that I have always identified with. He talked of judging the cost of something but how much life you had to expend to get it. I left a relationship long ago for that reason because in terms of cost to my being for what I got from it, it violated my sense of thrift. It's the same reason I got rid of a huge house of space I didn't need any longer and unnecessary possessions. Things are precious when they are few and carefully selected. If you squander yourself on things that give you nothing back, someday, when you need that part of yourself to survive, you may find yourself bankrupt.

So I gave away to those in need or sold half my possessions, rooms of furniture, all the useless decorative clutter, keeping only the art that I truly liked, my books, the furniture that's handcrafted and comfortable and the tools of my life that I really need. Some said I was foolish, as a woman alone, there's safety in a busy town, a steady finality in the noise of a large neighborhood. So there is, as well, in the sound of the scrape of metal against a pine box. These are the people who also tell me that I shouldn't have a gun, the police will take care of me; those that speak imperiously and loudly, not hesitant of argument, simply impotent to conceive either.


I bought a "fixer upper" on the water on a couple of acres.  It allowed me to save a bit of money and it was in a safer area, further from the city but close to where I can get into work. There would be my time alone, walks out, firearm on my hip, lest I encounter a mob of chipmunks. There would be my times to just sit, out on a felled log. Time to stop, without schedule as I watched the sky turn from the subtle grey of an unpainted church to the deep purple darkness of a priest's robe, the stars impenetrable and invisible, as if waiting for us before they showed themselves.

Barkley would be sitting by my side, hoping we're under a dog biscuit tree, soon to shed its fruit. We would wait, serene and still, the moon shining on nibbled shadow, content to just sit underneath the starry sigh of heaven. The only other lights were as far off and distant as memories of shame or pride or loss, barely remembered like the smell of decay, sensed only in the instant of its knowledge and then fading to dim memory as you move away from it. Dark and far away, as such things should remain for as long as possible.
From where we sat, an owl would call, the sound unintelligible amongst the vernal branches. As a satellite tracked the sky, the owl called again, a call to go home. And within, there would be an old Victrola, a ham radio, lots of books, and some board games for when I have those I love to stay with us. There would be my little computer to write and communicate. In much of the daily breath, I drew there would be noise, but it would be the sound of a blade striking wood, the sun shimmering off of the blade-like silver. It would be the crack of a rifle shooting on a range just a few miles away, the tool I would use for provision and protection. It would be the hum of machinery as the shop took shape, room for more tools, room for more freedom. There would be voices, but they would be those of reasoned discourse among friends, as though many of us lived in a time of rural living, we were not so naive to think it doesn't deeply impact us, our safety and our liberty, keeping us wary and watchful

It would be a life of still, dense sound; the sound of freedom. A life of remote quiet, the world outside spinning slowly into green smoke. It would be a life on my terms as best as is possible, walking the uncertain spaces that open before me in the deepening fields, walking out into the constant trees, alone when I need to be, but not forlorn, intractable and accountable. Walking on forward, rhythmic steps into the hushed, secret shade of life off the grid.

Now that I'm back in a big city, no regrets as it brought me to a life with my best friend,  who has his dream job here, back to a quiet hushed bungalow that's as old as time on two lots in the city,  full of 100-year old trees. Something happened between the night of my previous life and the dawn of my new one but I could not be happier, even if living in Mordor.  I may have more laws, corrupt politicians, and burning cold, but I still have my freedom and love to keep me grounded.

When it's time for both of us to retire - we will leave this place, back to that Trinity of space that is earth, God, and nature.  But until then, I'll savor the sound of a hundred-year-old home, the twitter of birds outside, and the sound of a reloading press in the shop, making our elements of freedom.

Update from the Range

Just an update here - still dealing with the staph infection in my leg.  Two visits to the hospital since March and 5 weeks of antibiotics put a dent in it, but it's still not gone and the antibiotics have destroyed my gut to the point I'm not able to hold food down.  Getting better but after I get done working I just don't have any energy for writing though I'm keeping the dogs entertained - Hugs - Brigid

Tuesday Water Dog

In a Pickle - What's in YOUR refrigerator?

Opening up someone's refrigerator is a good indicator of how they eat overall.

What's in here?  The usual -milk eggs, chicken breasts, Amish bacon, butter, lots of veggies, Greek yogurt and some gluten free muffin tops (which I got to see if I could replicate a recipe for them for a friend with Celiac).  Then the staples - whole wheat flour, stone ground cornmeal, Riehles Indiana popcorn,  mineral and other water (the tap water here is not that tasty) and cheap "I just mowed the lawn" beer, Ezekiel sprouted grain bread, Kombucha (fermented tea), almond butter, lard and a coffee cup of bacon fat, Miso and a bottle of 25 year old balsamic.  There's a jar in there with some home brewed mead as well as an assortment of olive oils and flavored balsamics for dips and homemade dressings for the veggies. And the inevitable jar of orange marmalade and large sriracha (thai chili sauce)

Refrigerators are a good indicator of many things - the size of your family, whether you like to cook or not, whether you're a college student (Dad visited my roommates and I once and all he found in the fridge was a stick of butter and a case of Olympia beer). It can show the status of both your wallet and your general nutrition.

I try and keep healthy and fresh stuff on hand, (please do not look in the basement chest freezer, that's where I hide at least two rolls of  McVities Digestive biscuits, Tater Tots and Home Run Pizzas).  Even so, I make sure I buy things when they are on sale, taking advantage of managers mark downs on items I can use immediately  The last time I hit the store there was fresh baby dill at the store for 80 cents (manager special due to the sell by date) for a huge bundle

What to do with it?  I have cucumbers.  I'll make pickles with some of the fresh dill and dry the rest for seasoning other things.   .

You don't need "canning equipment" and these will keep for several weeks in the fridge (like they're going to last that long). You just need a small sauce pan, a big bowl, a spoon and a big glass jar.

Wash thoroughly 2  large cucumbers and cut as you wish (I went for fairly large Spears), place in large bowl and toss in 1/4 cup gently diced baby dill (you want fresh dill, not dried)

In a small saucepan mix:
1 cup Braggs apple cider vinegar
1 Tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon raw sugar (or table sugar)
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons mustard seeds
1/8 teaspoon celery seed
2 heaping teaspoons of jarred minced garlic.

Bring to a simmer on the stove and remove from heat.  Let cool a minute or two then pour warm liquid over cucumbers and dill, stirring with a big spoon every 10 minutes or so, until it comes down to room temperature.  Place in tightly sealed jar, and shake every 15 minutes or so while it cools further, then put in fridge overnight.  You can eat them immediately, but they're much better the next day, and after that, they get even better.  I used a squarish glass jar (I ran over to big box mart and got it for $3) so I could rotate the jar on it's side each day to keep all of the cucumbers brined.

These are fresh, clean and crisp, with just the right amount of pickle taste for those of us that prefer a garlicy dill to the overly sweet bread and butter pickles and crisp over any limp store pickles. And fermented food isn't just tasty, it's good for you.  I try and have 2-3 servings of fermented food a day, pickled veggies, yoghurt, kefir, kombucha, miso, and homemade sourdough bread and rolls.

The kefir ferments in the redneck wine glass

(moved here from it's shadowy home for a photo)

Try the pickles.  They are easy to make, and like the Kefir I now have going daily in my home, I simply had to say "I could  make that!" And I  (and my wallet) was so glad I did.

Garlicy, not too sweet and super crunchy.  Honestly, dinner was several of these and a handful of raw almonds. And yes, I know, that's not a "French manicure, it's a Swiss Army Knife manicure.

Water Dogs

\]

My Take on Politics

OFFICE WARFARE

Some years back, I once looked up from my cubicle to see a remote control blimp flying over my head. Stranger things have happened and the boss didn't even blink. Work can be stressful anywhere, there's meetings, budget cuts, layoffs, so sometimes when the natives get restless, there are small things designed for either the battling boss or the tactical temp. Not that I would EVER use such things where I work now. Model of decorum. That's me. :-) But IF I were to contemplate, and worked in an environment that would take such antics as stress release and not "fire me now", here are a few out there.



The son of Odin and Nord, the earth goddess, Thor was the strongest of the aesir, the Norse Gods. Thor was portrayed as a large, powerful man with a red beard, a hearty enjoyment of food and drink and eyes of lightning. Despite his ferocious appearance, he was very popular as the protector of gods and humans against evil. A hero for all. Unfortunately, for office warfare, it is not that hero. However, it's the next best thing. A monkey with a cape and a mask.



Because nothing says "I'm going to kick your butt" like a cape and a mask. But this isn't just any monkey, there are little pockets in the monkey's hands that you can slip your fingers into. Then pull back his hind legs like that crazed personal trainer tried once with you and stretchhhhhhh. His arms will extend out to vast lengths while the latent energy of rubber positively trembles with potential. Then let fly! FORE!

Adding to the experience, the monkey will screech when jolted. Loudly. So if you can get a really strong launch, you'll hear that roar of the undefeated in mid air. Or, if the landing is bad enough, you'll get that scream that says "holy *(#)@(* GRAVITY!. Get both with a skillful launching and it's Chuck Norris, monkey edition.



Even the most relaxed work environments frown on hurling a 21 inch rubber chicken at work, so come break time, you must settle for 1.5 inch chicks propelled by a rubber band gun. The Chicken Chucker. Getting slapped by someone else's chicken is usually seen as an insult so be ready for counter warfare. Look, rubber bands are just for starters.
That cheap little helicopter you bought for 20 bucks broke the first time it met up with Mr. Wall.

You have other options. Get the WowWeeFlyTech Bladestar, (not to be confused with the WowWeeM61A1) and never worry about walls and ceilings again. Made to fly indoors, the Bladestar senses when it’s close to a wall, and automatically adjusts course. The same technology allows you to control it simply with your hands, walking it around like Boba Fett transporting Han Solo in carbonite.

Offices are constructed on many levels, both in terms of use of geometric space and structure social levels. This can present difficulties when planning those "we haven't clocked in yet, the night is ours!" raids and attack strategies.

Sure you can go in hard, hitting with rock hard determination. But that didn't work out so well at the LAST budget meeting, so how about going in with sugar and honey. Or at least sugar.

Ammo comes in various types, 9 mm, 45 acp, FAT-FREE? The Marshmallow Shooter. But even the best of shooters have their limitations. For such time, there is the Marshmallow Blaster. Firing one regular sized marshmallow (not included) at a time, the Marshmallow Blaster can hit soft targets 40 feet away. Easy to lock and reload I still don't understand why they didn't have this on at least one episode of Top Shots.



Just pump the handle to build up air pressure, then lock and load a marshmallow. The handle of the pump conveniently doubles as a stock for added stabilization. Don't have any large marshmallows but there's a bag of those little ones for hot chocolate? Sugar buckshot. A blast of mini marshmallow makes for a good scatter shot. (avoid the eye area, a blinded opponent may take out the overhead light fixture with his flying monkey).

Add a Marshmallow Blaster to your arsenal and sweet victory is yours.



The Microsonic Hand Grenade. Small and with the decibils of a hand saw, it will wake up the dead or even drown out your neighbor's TMI phone call about their appointment for their colonoscopy.
How does it work?"
A Reading from the Book of Armaments, Chapter 4, Verses 16 to 20: >Hans the Cleric (reading)

"Then did he raise on high the MicroSonic hand grenade of Antioch, saying, "Bless this, O Lord, that with it thou mayst blow thine loud and annoying coworkers eardrums to tiny bits, in thy mercy." And the people did rejoice and did feast upon the Cheetoes and burned popcorn and leftover Christmas cookies and caffiene and Little Debbie cakes. Now did the Lord say, "First thou shalt thou set the delay. You can have a delay of 5, 30 or 60 seconds. 5 or 30 or 60 seconds shall be the number of the counting and the number of the counting shall be 5 or 30 or 60. Four shalt thou not count, neither shalt thou count two, excepting than thou then proceedeth promptly to five .Then you shall seeth the LED flash briefly. Then, is the time of the throwing. Once the proper number, being the number of the counting, be reached, then lobbest thou, the Holy Microsonic Hand Grenade in the direction of thine foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it."

-- Monty Python Holy Grail - microsonic hand grenade edition.

Nothing like a trebuchet to break the ice (or the bosses window). Actually some of the smaller ones for sale aren't really a trebuchet but a torsion engine, but that doesn't make them any less awesome.



You can't lob a disease ridden corpse over the castle walls like they used to, but it will lob balled up copies of your last "not so good" performance review (does not concentrate on work).

Airzooka is the 'fun gun' that blows a harmless ball of air towards any object, person or anial (though I'd warn aganst zapping your feline with it least they launch a catapult in return). The airball will travel up to twenty feet and beyond. Seemingly from nowhere, you are able to mess up anyone's hair or disrupt the papers on the desk of your favorite type A personality.. Requiring no batteries or electricity, AirZooka operates simply by pulling and releasing a built-in elastic air launcher. And here's the best part: because it shoots air, you'll never run out of ammo (unless you happen to be on the moon!)







Special finds for the home office. Carrying even a toy gun into the workplace isn't smart today, and even the marshmallow blaster will probably get you fired in Illinois (they have NO sense of humor) but there are still some "office warfare toys" that are fun to have in the home office if only for a break from paying utility bills.

Practice your undead shooting skills between balancing the checkbook and scheduling the kids next dental visits! The small plastic zombie assault rifle fires a laser which is detected by the zombie targets . She shoots! She Scores! (That's because I have brains.)



Shoot each zombie as it pops out or a human hostage is devoured, indicated by a red silhouette in an upper window. As you shoot, the Zombies get faster and faster (think caffeinated zombies) so shooting them quickly increases your score which is easy to see with an LED display (requires a boatload of batteries, but worth it).

With the advent of the home office for both the layman and the professional, there's a ready supply of goodies from Walmart and Staples you brought home to equip your space. Clothespins, rubber bands, paperclips, Sporks, you name it. All things you may need to build your miniature arsenal on your lunch break. Why at home?

Well, there's the kids, the dog, the UPS man, all kinds of threats to your workspace and that last bag of Fritoes you have squirreled away in your desk. With a little forethought, you too can have a home arsenal Detailed, step-by-step instructions for each project are provided, including materials and ammo lists, clear diagrams, and construction tips.

This is also great for teachers. Think of it. You're at your desk and across from you are several ruffians, Lord knows WHAT is in their pockets, eyes sullen, shoulders hunched. They can smell your fear. Oh WHY did you think homeschooling was a good idea?

Seriously, some of this stuff would make for the best experiment for them, and ready them for when they complete their schooling and go out into the world, armed only with rubber bands and some paper clips.

Mini Weapons of Mass Destruction is your guidebook to conquering your workplace, even if it's that 4 x 6 corner in the basement between the Little Tykes In Mini Weapons of Mass Destruction, you'll find plans to build 35 devices of office warfare - including catapults, slingshots, minibombs, darts, and combustion shooters. You'll construct a tiny trebuchet from paper clips and a D-cell battery, wrap a penny in a string of paper caps to create a surprisingly impressive explosive, and convert champagne party poppers and pen casings into a three-barreled bazooka. Finally, plans are provided for a top secret concealing book to hide your stash, as well as targets (cardboard critters, big-headed aliens, and zombies) for shooting practice. Never let your home office space go undefended again.

And finally, when the enemy has only one weapon left to him, and it involves closed spaces, chili for lunch, and gas warfare, there's only one thing you can do. Secure, Lob, Drop, and Roll.
h/t to Think Geek for the inspiration and a couple of the photos. Post settings Labels Schedule 4/20/11, 8:02 PM Eastern Daylight Time

Updates fro the Johnson Household

Curled up by the Central A.C. vent - my favorite spot in the living room.

Abby Lab here.  Sorry Mom's not been posting much.  She was on antibiotics for 5 weeks due to a bad STAFF infection (do you get that at work?) in her left foot.  That made her throw up a lot.  Dad, because he loves her so much - got her a big orange bucket from Home Depot that says "You Can Do It" on the side.  He's also been cooking dinner every night which means we're having baked chicken, steamed rice, and canned vegetables a lot because everything seems to make Mom spew like a fire hose (trust me folks - it's not pretty).

Lorelei and I have been getting walks from Dad and our dogwalker and in the afternoons Mom will sit at the base of the back steps and throw the ball, but we HAVE to return it to her.

For today, just some funnies.  Thanks to all of you who also follow us on Facebook that were praying for Mom's recovery.

 For Dad.