A Visit From Santa Claus--Tabitha's Story

Note:  "Toots" and "Tootsie" are nicknames for Tabitha.  Don't ask.

‘Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the place,

People were wiping

The sweat off their face.

The house had been decked,

The shopping was done,
The humans were tired
Now for some fun!

Khai wasn’t sleeping,
Tabitha knew that
He’s just being lazy
Because he was fat!

The door for upstairs
Darn! Was shut tight!
So Toots would begin
By starting a fight.

With a leap oh so graceful
And a pounce very fierce
Her claws in Khai’s flesh
Sharply did pierce.

With a hiss and a growl
Khai tried hard to flee
With Tabitha laughing
They ran to the tree.

Through gifts decorated
With paper and bags
The two cats created
Confetti with tags.

Tabitha rolled on
The torn and bunched wrap
While Khai settled down
For a long winter’s nap.

Toots eyed the ornaments
Hanging up yonder
then heard a loud noise
That sounded like “Donner!”

She dashed to the window
Pressed her nose to the glass
And saw eight tiny reindeer
And a sleigh on the grass.

Her eyes wide as saucers,
Her heart madly pounding
Toots watched a small man
From the sleigh come a-bounding.

Her whiskers twitched once
As the small, red-clad guy
Came into the house
In the blink of an eye

His eyes, how they twinkled!
His laughter, quite merry,
Until he saw Tootsie
And blew a raspberry.

“You’re nothing but trouble.”
Santa said to the cat.
“You torment your housemates,
You define the word ‘brat’.”

“Santa,” said Tabitha
“I’m sure you are right.
These humans do love me,
But I must be a blight.”

The cat hunkered down,
Licked her coppery fur,
Forced a tear to her eye,
And looked up through the blur.

“I could say that I’m sorry
And that I’ll repent.
I could make you a promise,
Give 100 percent.

To try to behave
And to tell myself ‘Don’t”
To be a sweet angel,
I could, but I won’t”

“Why not?” Santa questioned,
His heavy brow wrinkled.
“I’m Alpha.” she answered,
Her little nose crinkled.

"I'm Queen of the Realm,"
She proudly did boast,
"I'm the Number One Cat,
I am really the most.

“Now, go take your sleigh
And tracks out of here make,
Or tomorrow we’ll dine
On fresh venison steak.”

With a look filled with horror,
Santa’s face turned quite pale.
He grabbed his bag, turning,
And stepped on Khai’s tail.

Khai yowled very loudly
As the man disappeared.
Khai yawned and he stretched
And said “That was just weird.”

Tabitha said nothing,
She grew rapidly sleepy.
Khai stared for a moment,
Then said “You’re so creepy.”

Tootsie’s last thought
“What a wonderful trip,
We’ll have when we waken
With that pile of catnip.”

Deck the Halls

I am so into decorating for Christmas this year!  For the first time in almost a decade, I want to put up boughs of holly.  Well, probably not holly.  Holly is poisonous and I wouldn't want one of the cats to eat it.  But there are lots of other things to brighten the place up at this time of year.

Outside, there isn't much.  Back when the weather was better, I was fighting with that darn overhang.  (No it's not down yet.  Weather got cold.)  I did put out the red and green poinsettia windsock.  On my way to get the mail, I managed to wrestle the pole into the holder out front.  After yesterday's windstorm, I hope it's still there!  The other decoration for outside isn't actually outside.  But you can only see from outside.  Unless you open the door.  Yep, it's a door banner.  Full-length, sky blue with a dove and "Peace" above and below the dove.  Just enough Christmas-y stuff on it to look, well, Christmas-y.

I'm still decluttering.  So inside, I had to move boxes out of the way to decorate.  In the living room, I managed to push the boxes off to the sides.  Yeah, they're still in the room, but not in-your-face.  I boxed up more give away stuff, too, and piled it in the back room.  Made space in a corner of my daughter's current room to store the "keep" stuff.  And I have a couple of small boxes of stuff in my room which I want to try to sell on ebay.  I think.  But that's a story for another day.

With boxes pushed to the sides, I vacuumed and washed the couch slipcover.  I took down a picture and a mirror to hang up a wreath (it didn't fit between the front door and the storm door), and a card holder.  I moved framed photos from the largest opening of the shelviing unit and set up the nativity set.  Then I put wooden angels on the bookshelves, a candle by the TV and, today--finally--I got the tree put up.  I'm using the cheap, slim, fiber-optic tree again.  We decided putting up a nicer tree was just asking for trouble with Tabitha.

The cats, if not helpful, were at least always in the way.  Yeah, I know that sentence sounds weird.  Welcome to my world.

Tabitha watched--with great interest--as I set up the Nativity.  First, I put down the white runner that my friend, T, embroidered with "Joy to the World" on each end.  One end hangs down below the Nativity.  Then I carefully positioned all the figures.  Years ago, my mom had a different stable with a flat top.  I always put the angel on top of the stable.  Now our stable has a pitched roof.  I'm never quite sure what to do with her.  Last year, she knelt to the side with the shepherds.  (I figured they had, after all, followed her to the Babe.)  This year, I put her at Baby Jesus' head, between Mary and Joseph.  I had to put the sheep well inside the stable because, being the smallest pieces, Tabitha looked very intrigued with them and even touched one with her paw.  She didn't care about the camel, but the donkey might have caught her eye, so I moved that back, too.  I forewent the straw again this year.  Much too tempting for a mischievous feline.

Tabitha also watched me unpack, set up and fluff the tree.  She was quite interested in the ornaments, but I shook my finger at her and told her "no!"  It was really nice to use some of my own ornaments that I had found at various times during the decluttering.  I have all my Precious Moments ornaments together again.  I opened some Hallmark "sister" and "mom" ornaments that hadn't been used yet.  I will probably put a few more of my mom's ornaments on it, but it was enough for today.  I was tired.

But not too tired to have "the talk" with Tabitha.  I told her, in no uncertain terms, that she was not to touch the Nativity figures and she was to leave the tree and ornaments alone.  No chewing, no batting, no clawing allowed.  With her ears back a little and her eyes narrowed, she hunkered down on the couch and sulked.  I went to my room to take a nap.

When I came down later to eat, my mother told me I had "the talk" with the wrong cat.  Now how could that be?  I wondered.  It seems that while Tabitha sulked, Khai, our fat siamese, decided to chew on a bottom tree branch and tried to burrow under the tree skirt.  My mother, bless her, had to squirt him with water several times before he stopped.  So I had to reiterate--and add to--the rules:  no chewing, no batting, no clawing, no burrowing, no messing of any kind with any Christmas decorations by any cat is allowed.  I shook my finger at Khai during this lecture.  He squinted at my finger, then strutted away.  I have to give him credit.  It's very difficult to "strut" when you're overweight with a gimpy leg!

I'm not quite done decorating.  If the weather breaks, I want to do more outside.  We have a large, 5 foot tall silhouette of Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus.  The kind where the strings of lights form the shapes.  I have some 3 foot candy canes I wanted to line the sidewalk, but the ground is too hard already.

Inside, I want to put lights around the windows.  I would like to put out my little one foot Christmas tree in my room.  But every flat surface is covered with books.  I used to put one of those up at work every year, back when I worked outside the home.   I used paperclips to hang the miniature ornaments.  Most people got a kick out of that.  A few thought it was weird.  Yet again, welcome to my world!

A couple of years ago, I watched a special on HGTV about how the White House get decorated for Christmas.  What a production!  Obviously, they hire a service.  It takes several days and a couple hundred people to get it done down to the last detail.  Did you know that even in our suburban, middle-class neighborhood, there are people you can hire to hang your outdoor lights?  My nephew used to do that.  That's one of my dreams.  To hire a service to decorate with lights outside and a live Christmas tree and real evergreen swags over the doorways.  Aahhh, yes, it'll be wonderful.

Thanks and Giving

In 1621, the Plymouth colonists and Wampanoag (wahm-pah-no-ahg) Indians shared an autumn harvest feast that is acknowledged today as one of the first Thanksgiving celebrations in the colonies. For more than two centuries, days of thanksgiving were celebrated by individual colonies and states. It wasn't until 1863, in the midst of the Civil War, that President Abraham Lincoln proclaimed a national Thanksgiving Day to be held each November.  --History.com



"The First Thanksgiving" by Jennie Branscombe

On the same day that many Americans will be overindulging in turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes or lasagna, salad and garlic bread, many Native Americans and their supporters will gather on Coles Hill, overlooking Plymouth Rock for The National Day of Mourning.

The first National Day of Mourning was held in 1970. The Commonwealth of Massachusetts invited Wampanoag leader Frank James to deliver a speech. When the text of Mr. James’ speech, a powerful statement of anger at the history of oppression of the Native people of America, became known before the event, the Commonwealth "disinvited" him. That silencing of a strong and honest Native voice led to the convening of the National Day of Mourning.  --Pilgrimhall.org

See, history books were written by the winners.  It takes a lot of digging to find the Wampanoag version of historical events.  Within 50 years of that First Thanksgiving, they were driven from their land, oppressed, enslaved and even killed for being who they were.  (The Puritans were especially execrable.  They pressed the Native People between boards piled with rocks.)  Black Americans do not hold the title of Most Discriminated Against.

I'm getting off my soapbox now.  This short alternate-view history lesson is to show you perspective.

The 4th Thursday in November has become a time for gathering together with family and being thankful for our blessings.  For me, I really try to stop and be thankful for all I have.  To count my blessings.  To look around me at those who have less.  And to prepare to give.  In our commercialized society, it has been the day of rest before the "official" beginning of the Christmas shopping season.  Think Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.  The most in-your-face advertising strategy I know of!  This year, I noticed many retailers--stores and websites--started their Christmas sales a few days before Thanksgiving.
 
I have no need of charitable contributions for tax deductions.  As a Social Security Disability Benefits recipient, I don't pay income tax.  Even when I did pay income tax, I never felt the need to wait until the end of the year to give to charity.  There are people needing help all year round.  I'm a generous and thoughtful person.

Perspective.

I am also greedy, envious and covetous.  And an egregious steward of money.  I lack discipline and self-control.  My profligacy has caused me no end of regret, remorse and consternation.  Those closest to me try to keep me in line, and that helps.

BUT--I love to give.  And reflecting on what I have helps me to prepare for the Christmas giving season.  At the same time, I need to plan.  If I go out to buy toys for the Toy Drive without setting limits, I'll spend compulsively--to my own detriment.  So, I make my list, plan my route and brace myself for the plunge into the sea of humanity that makes Black Friday the retailer's D-Day.

But first, I'm going to eat!!
Yum!

The Joys of Ratcheting

Whoever invented the ratchet wrench, or even better, the whole principle of ratcheting, is a genius!  He should be up there with Einstein, Edison and Bell.

Last week, the Chicago metropolitan area had Indian Summer.  Beautiful, mild weather that just called me outside.  And to the overhang over the backyard door.  The one with a dozen wasps nests decorating the underside with their clusters of hexagonal cells.  The wasps, thank goodness, are gone for the year.

After the first frost, I was planning my attack on that overhang.  I went outside to see if the wasps were gone.  It had been a light frost, so I wasn't sure.  I didn't see any wasps.  I took my straw broom and whacked it on the edge of the overhang.  A couple of drunken-looking wasps staggered in the air.  Okay, so no.  They were not totally gone.  And I was not about to dismantle the overhang with even one nearly-dead wasp anywhere near it.  So I waited.  A couple of weeks later, we had a second frost.  Not a heavy frost, but a bit more than the first one.  I banged on that stupid overhang several times, but no wasps appeared.  Great!  Time to go to work.

Locking Pliers

I grabbed screwdrivers (I'm still missing most of my Phillip's head screwdrivers) and, what I thought at the time, wrenches.  I got to work removing the nuts and bolts.    

Water Pump Pliers

I had to use two "wrenches" to remove most of them.  One to hold the bolt in place and the other to turn the nut.  This worked fairly well for the exposed areas, where I could maneuver the tools. I discovered the actual names of the tools I was using--two different types of pliers (see pictures).

They were all very rusty and difficult to loosen.  It never occurred to me to use a spray lubricant (of which we have several) or even a liquid lubricant (again, several available).  As I got to the places nearer the ground, the rust is much worse.  And it's harder to access them, especially using the wrong tools!  After scraping my knuckles on the patio cement for the fifth time, I remembered something called a ratchet wrench.  You can turn it in one direction and it catches on the nut or bolt, but when you turn it the opposite way, it slips.  So I could remove the nuts and bolts without removing the wrench from its position.  I remembered seeing these wondrous inventions in the big (mostly empty) tool chest in the garage.  *sigh*  The garage.  That obstacle course of lawn and home equipment, tools, storage, Christmas decor and hundreds of other (mostly useless) items that still muddle the floor.

I am proud to say that I had the forethought to bring a nut and a bolt with me to the garage to find the right size wrench!  Yay, me!  Otherwise I would've been either running back and forth with wrenches, or bringing the whole set of wrenches to the backyard.  It's the little things, you know.  I found the correct size on the second try.

Ratchet Wrench or Socket Wrench

I still didn't think of a lubricant to help remove the rusted nuts and bolts, but armed with my trusty ratchet wrench, I was able to loosen them anyway.  I used leverage.  With the wrench firmly in place on the nut, and the locking pliers keeping the bolt from turning, I simply used my not-inconsiderable weight to loosen the blasted things!  You have to use what you're given, I always say.  Well, I don't always say that.  Sometimes . . . okay, this is the first time.  Whatever.  It worked.

But the overhang is not down yet!  There is a screw (not a bolt) holding a crossbeam to a support post (look at me, with all the correct lingo!) that I cannot budge.  Between rust and old, swollen wood, it's stuck tight.

No worries.  I've got a circular saw!    I'm just going to cut through the post and knock the bugger down!

There is one other problem.  Make that three problems.  But they're the same.  Problem, that is.  The roof of the overhang is attached by these big ol' jakey hook bolts to these ginormous eye bolts.  And someone decided to squeeze the hook bolts almost closed.  I've got to try to loosen the eye bolts, or the whole dang thing is going to rip the siding off the house!  It's tempting, but no.  I don't want to rip the siding off.  We'd have to hire someone to fix it.  I've removed the nuts and washers from the hook bolts, so they should turn when I turn the eye bolts.  There are probably ratcheting pliers out there, but I don't have them.  I don't think.  Hmmm.  It might be worth looking around the garage a bit more.  I can only search the garage during daylight--preferable a sunny day.  The lights in the garage don't work.  I tried to replace the flourescent bulb in one fixture, but nothing happened.  But I digress.

Tomorrow is supposed to be decent weather.  I will again tackle this overhang!  Hopefully, it'll be down by afternoon.  I'll try to remember to take pictures.  Prayers for my safety are greatly appreciated!

STILL Cleaning Out: The Vase is Familiar

I've been hampered in my cleaning efforts for the past few weeks due to plantar fasciitis (pronounced "plant-er fash-ee-i-tis").  Or, for people in the know "sore heel syndrome."  How do you know if you're in the know?  Well, you are now, because I just told you!  Anyway, it hurts when I walk and there isn't a doo-wap* thing I can do about it.  Oh, I got advice from my doctor.  No going barefoot.  Shoes with high heels are best.  (The only shoes I have with a heel are my party shoes!)  Prognosis:  Whenever it's over, it won't hurt anymore.  Huh.  And he gets paid for that!

For a few days, I still had boxes from the shed that I was sorting through.  So I sat on the couch and, during old episodes of Hart to Hart, Hawaii Five-O and Gunsmoke, I sorted through the last several boxes.  They were mostly decorative items.  I put some starch in my spine and even weeded out some of the Precious Moments figurines.  After three or four boxes, I realized that there were a lot of vases.  Not big, fancy heirloom pieces.  Just regular vases sized from one bud vase through some for a half-dozen flowers up to a couple for two dozen roses.  (Not that I've ever received two dozen roses, but you never know!)

It's ironic really.  A couple of years ago--I think it was for my birthday--a dear friend of mine gave me a rose.  Just a single rose, but I was touched.  When I got home, I looked for a vase.  I found the little bud vase.  I found a big bouquet vase.  Nothing for a single rose.  So I improvised.  I used a champagne flute.  Why not?  I rarely get champagne.  Might as well use it for something!  I brought the flute with it's single, perfect rose up to my room.  Where it sat.  And dried out.  I couldn't have dried it more perfectly if I tried.  (What does that say about the aridness of my room??)  For a while I pondered what to do with it.  I considered a shadow box.  Then, a few months ago, the choice was taken from me.  ~Sigh~  If you know me at all and pay attention to most of my subject matter, I'm sure you can guess what happened.  A certain copper-striped cat clambered over the shih tzu* behind my little frig and got hold of the dried rose.  Ripped it to shreds and ate half of it.  She didn't touch the baby's breath, though.  She is, after all, a discriminating gourmand!

So, back to the vases.  In order to more expeditiously weed out some of the vases, I brought the ones I'd unpacked into the kitchen.  I retrieved another couple from the china cabinet.  I evaluated each piece by 1.  How old it was; 2.  Whether I bought it or it was a gift; and 3.  Did I like it.  When I was done, I was left with these keepers:

L-R:  A green vase just because I like the color; a cut-glass vase
 that was my grandmother's; a Princess House vase;
a bud vase I found at an arts & crafts fair; a blue and white vase
because I like the scenes; a crystal bud vase my daughter gave me;
and a clear, fat vase because it's good for a larger bouquet.

Not that I need to justify my choices, of course.  I'm just sayin'.

Tabitha trying to look cute after I scold her.
I think she looks more annoyed than
submissive, but what do I know?

Because Tabitha insists on helping me, two vases were broken.  Fortunately, I was going to put them in the give-away, but still, it's the principle of the thing.  She had no business trying to jump up on the boxes where I had set the vases.  It wasn't my fault that they were perched rather precariously on a rickety box.  That's my story and I'm sticking to it

So, what's left is going in the give-away:

These were all freebies, I think.

I'm still thinking about that milk-glass vase.  No special attachment to it, but...  No.  No, I must not second guess myself.  It stays in the give-away box.  Probably.

There are still boxes in the shed and, I'm reasonably sure, there will be another vase or two.  It seems to me I had bought a vase in Israel.  I'll keep that, of course.  There may be a ceramic plant pot from when Brittany was born and I got a lot of plants in cute little baby-themed pots.  I guess I'll find out soon enough.  

With my foot on the mend, and a couple of nice days ahead, I'll try to pull in the other boxes.  However, I need to get that backyard door overhang down.  It won't be easy!  You should see the bolts my father used.  And the support posts are affixed to cement shoes.  But that's what sledgehammers are for, right?

*I'm trying to clean up my language a bit.  Not that I'm particularly foul-mouthed, but anger-management advice is "No curse words!"  So, I'm trying.

Cleaning Out and Ugly Babies

I took advantage of the warmer weather and opened up the storage shed in the backyard.  I pulled about 10 boxes inside.  Today, since it was raining this morning, I went through three of them.  I found more pictures, of course.  We have always been a photographic family.  Some of us were even photogenic, too.  I found other miscellany as well.  Decorative items, mostly.  I had sorted a lot of this when I moved from my condo, um, hmm, 12 years ago?  I think that's how long it's been.  I did throw out a few things (broken), put a few in give-away (old, but in good shape) and kept a few things.  I found myself packing up some slightly burned candles in the "keep" box.  I caught myself, but now I can't remember if I threw them out or not.  I'll have to check.

What happens is, I get caught up in a TV show (in this case, the original Hawaii Five-O) and I'm not really paying attention to what my hands are doing.  Then I end up with garbage in the keep box and give-away in the garbage and...well, you get the idea.  Sometimes I end up with several garbage boxes!  Which is not altogether a bad thing, really.

Along with the TV distracting me, I also had Tabitha.  For whatever reason, she found my fake flowers fascinating.  No, she didn't play with the blossoms or leaves.  She rubbed all over them!  I know, they are "marking" when they do that, but she was purring, too!  Loudly.  Then she jumped in the box that I was sorting.  It was almost empty, but had a few pictures and frames remaining.  I found a piece of curling ribbon and tempted her out of the box with it.  Of course, a few minutes later I had to get up and take it away from her because she was eating it!

Okay, purposeful digression here.  You know how there is clumping cat litter now?  And you have to scoop out the, uh, waste to keep it clean?  Well, I always know when Tabitha has been eating things she shouldn't.  Her "deposits" are extremely colorful with a wide range of textures.  That cat must have a cast-iron digestive tract!  Curling ribbon, yarn, feathers, even potpourri!  Yecch!

Anyway, once I had the box empty, I gave it to her to play in.  Most of the time, the cats can't wait to their hands, er, paws on a box.  This time she ignored it.  I think she was peeved about the curling ribbon.

Well, once I sorted through the third box, Hawaii Five-O was over, so I cleaned up for the day.  Most of the pictures I found today were of Brittany when she was two and three.  I've always thought she was a cute kid, even as a baby.  I know I'm biased, but I looked at these photos as objectively as possible and I still think she was a cute kid.  Believe me, I have seen some babies who could never, under any circumstances, be called "cute."  When my oldest niece was born, I went to see my sister at the hospital.  I stopped by the nursery and, next to my niece, was a nearly 13-pound baby.  Now that alone wasn't any big deal, as far as looks.  It was the fact that about five pounds of this kid was all nose.  Jimmy Durante had nothing on this baby!  A few years later, a couple I knew through church had their first child.  The first time I saw this baby, he was swaddled, so I went up to the mom to see his face.  When she uncovered his face, I literally took a step back!  I must have made some sound--a squeak or a gasp--because the mother looked at me with concern.  I turned my head and pretended to sneeze!  I bravely took the step forward again and said, "He's so little!  I didn't want to sneeze on him."  Pretty fast thinking, if I do say so myself.  The best I can describe that poor little boy was "a wizened, old man."  Now if you think I'm being mean, you need to know what the kid's uncle called him.  Yoda.  The saddest part?  Nobody ever laughed when he said it!

Back to Brittany.  I do admit there are a few awkward stages during her first couple of years.  Like at nine months when her ears looked too big for her.  Or when she would pudge out just before a growth spurt.  But once she was about three, I didn't see those awkward phases again until she hit puberty.  For a couple of years, she was overweight and had glasses.  Fortunately, she had perfect teeth.  Then, just before high school, she slimmed down and got contact lenses.  At about 5' 1", she's slender and petite.  (She says she's 5' 1-3/4".  Whatever it takes to keep you going, I guess.)  In this picture, she's about 2-1/2 years.  How old was I?  Old enough.

She even has dimples!
Her hair had been blond up to this point.

Fashion Quest--Part IV

Details, details.  *Sigh*  Details and I have a rather ambivalent relationship.  Things like spelling and punctuation in anything printed are important to me.  Other things, like whether the throw pillows match the sofa--not so much.  As long as they don't blatantly clash, it's all good.  I was thrilled when "lumpy" mashed potatoes became the rage.  I can't be bothered to make sure all the lumps are gone.  And when it comes to fashion, makeup is nice, and I feel like I look better with it, but it isn't a big deal to me, either.  Jewelry rises up the scale, mostly because it's details that are (usually) easy to put on.

So, the details of our wedding fashions.  I already mentioned, the pewter and blood-red stone necklace that my mother will wear with her grey, beaded top tomorrow.  It came with matching earrings, but, since the piercings in her ears have long since closed, she won't be wearing them.  She wants to wear them.  She even hinted at having her ears repierced.  At one point I said "Why would you want to draw attention to your big, droopy earlobes?"  Not one of my finer moments, I confess.

This isn't a very good photo of the
"disco" necklace, but you get the idea.

For the New Year's Eve wedding, I already had a necklace that I knew would be perfect with for my mom's jacket and shell set.  My daughter has been using it for several months, but I managed to get it back with a minimum of fuss.  She calls it the "disco" necklace.  (My daughter, not my mom.)  It is 24" long and is comprised of shiny silver squares.  I have   had this for years.  I remember wearing it at least back to '01.

As far as other jewelry for my mom, she has some rings that we may consider, if there is time.

For myself, between the studs on the cardigan and the fancy necklines on the shirts I'll wear under it, I don't think I'll need necklaces.  When I dress tomorrow, I'll see if the pink tank needs anything else.  I already have a grouping of pewter bangle bracelets that I'll wear both times.  I also have really nifty pewter spiral earrings--that are rather outre for me--that I planned to wear to both weddings.  But tomorrow the temperature is supposed to reach 82 degrees.  I thought maybe I'll wear a nice pair of dangle earrings my friend, T, made with pink crystals and ceramic beads.  They're a little more demure, but that could be good. Leave the spirals for the more splashy New Year's Eve fiesta.

A brief mention about socks.  A lot of people don't really think about socks, or stockings.  I needed to find a pair of navy dress socks for my mom.   Aka, trouser socks, I found all kinds of textures in black.  After four stores, I was getting perturbed.  Finally, at Catherine's of course, I found navy nylon dress socks.  They even had a couple of textures to choose from!  I didn't even care how much they cost at that point.  For my mom's, uh, bad feet, I got the ones with cotton soles.  Feet gotta breathe, ya know?  While I was checking out the knee-high stockings, I realize that I needed something.  My eye was drawn right to the off-black color.  With my black pants and pewter shoes, I think they'll be great.  Will anyone really notice our stockings?  I really hope not.  The point is for people to notice our pants and shoes (especially my spiffy part-ay shoes!).

I realized I needed a clutch bag.  Besides the usual driver's license, tissue and lip balm, I'm going to have to bring both my mom's and my evening medications.  So I didn't want anything too small.  A couple of weeks ago, a shoe catalog came in the mail.  I was sitting with my morning tea, waiting for my mother to finish her breakfast, when I saw the perfect bag!

From Urban Expressions, the studs match
the studs on my cardigan.  It's about 14" wide.
It just has a wrist strap, but it zippers completely,
so no worries of anything falling out.

By the time I found the clutch, it was less than two weeks to the wedding so I wanted to have it ship Express.  The shipping costs in the original catalog was almost as much as the bag itself!  So I got the great idea of Googling it.  Found it on another website with free shipping!  I had to pay a modest fee for the Express, but that was cheaper than the first site's regular shipping!

My mother has an appointment to get her hair set in the morning.  My hair is at just the right length and coloring.

These are "Demure."
They were the least
obtrusive I could find.

Last, but definitely not least, is the makeup.  I will put a light foundation on my mother's face.  Maybe a light stroke of eyeshadow.  Mostly, she just wants her age spots covered up.  For myself, I ordered my expensive, hard-to-find OcuLash mascara.  It is made for extremely sensitive eyes.  I have mineral foundation (because I have Rosacea it has to be organic) and my trusty eyebrow powder.  In another bold move, I bought false eyelashes.  In the last few years, I have noticed that the lashes on my left eye don't curve upward anymore.  The other day, when I was trying to curl them, the eyelash curler slipped.  Besides yanking on my eyelid and making it sore, it also pulled out a half dozen lashes.  Left with a fairly large gap in my straight lashes, I'm going to try falsies!  LOL

I think we're ready.  I can't remember the last time I spent so much time and energy on an outfit.  Oh wait, yeah, that would be when I worked in corporate America!  I would not have had this much fun or been able to expend so much energy on these outfits if I still worked outside the home.  Gotta love being a caretaker!

Fashion Quest--Part III

Two days after my fashion recon, I took my mother to the shops to see what I had picked out.  Mind you, this was a Saturday.  Not my favorite day to shop retail.  Unless it's a small used-book store.  But, I digress, as usual.  With all that's involved in getting my mother up, fed and ready to go, I realized how much easier it had been with an infant or small child.  Between her trips to the bathroom and the painstaking process of dressing, I have to allow her an hour just to get to the breakfast table.  So we got a later start than I planned, but it was still morning when we left.

It was sunny, but cool and breezy.  My mother wore long sleeves, but was still freezing.  We took her larger, more cumbersome walker (Winnie--really, that's the brand name) because it has a seat which she can use to rest.  It is never more apparent how slow she is than when she is crossing a busy shopping-mall parking lot on a Saturday.  Since Winnie has four wheels and the seat, I was tempted to sit her down and push it like a wheelchair.  But she needs the exercise, so we crawled across the traffic, backing it up about 10 cars in each direction.  (The shopping mall has a WalMart and Sam's Club near the clothing stores.)

Inside Catherine's, she was awed by all the styles and colors.  I steered her toward the dressy clothes and found the pants I thought would work for her.  As I went through the rack looking for her size, she was in the middle of the main aisle, trying to sit down on Winnie.  She didn't seem to have the wheels locked and I was worried she would fall.  There is a chair in the middle of Catherine's--I guess for tired shoppers or bored companions.  Someone beat her to it--big surprise.  I helped her to sit on Winnie near the pants I was looking through.  During all this, over-enthusiastic sales ladies were hovering nearby.  I made a loud comment on how someone beat her to the chair, hoping the women sitting on her behind would move.  (Yes,

I love the studs down the front
and the shirring at the wrists.

I know, very passive-aggressive, and rude, too, but what can I say?  It irks me when people who can walk don't defer to people who can't.)  A few minutes later the chair was unoccupied (see?  it works!) and I convinced my mother to sit there.  Using Winnie as a display rack, I brought clothes to her to consider.  As I expected, she liked everything I had chosen on my recon trip.  (No, I'm not being conceited, I just know my mother's tastes very well.)  She was like a queen with her court.  The sales ladies talked to her and she told everyone about the two weddings we had and how it was just like what happened with her son and daughter.  The sales ladies did help me, however, we couldn't find another top for her for the 2nd wedding.  After getting the navy pants and a T-shirt on clearance for her, the grey duster/cardigan and a wine-colored top for me, we were ready to move on.

We bypassed Lane Bryant and headed to Dress Barn.   Since the sidewalk was in shadow, she complained about being cold.  And I thought the stores were close to each other!

In Dress Barn, there was no choice but for her to sit on Winnie.  I got her set up in a relatively out of the way place and proceeded to bring items to her.  The palazzo pants and the pewter shoes for me were a given.  We looked at a couple of dressy jackets and tops for her, but nothing really went with the navy pants.  While I was looking through a rack of sleeveless tops for something to go with one of her possibilities, I found a medium-pink tank top for me to wear to the 1st wedding.  (The wine-colored top from Catherine's would be for the 2nd.)  I was pretty well set.  But what to get my mother?  Well, there was plenty of time before New Year's Eve to find something.  Although the October 1st checks would need to cover wedding gifts for the 1st one, and the November 1st checks would need to cover car insurance and start Christmas shopping, and December 1st would be Christmas . . .  Well, you get the picture.  On a last sweep, I went over to a section I hadn't looked at before because, from a distance, it seemed like the tops were all black.  But as I got closer, I saw it!!  Ooooh, it was perfect!  Technically, it's black and blue.  That combination didn't work with the navy on other tops, but, for whatever reason, it worked on this!  And it shimmered!  I just knew she'd love it and she did:

This is a jacket and shell set.

So we had our outfits.  My mother was delighted with her finds.  With our clothing in garment bags, I went to head back to the car, relieved the worst was over.  My mother looked exhausted, yet she sat through most of it!  But I took pity (on her or the other shoppers, take your pick) and took our stuff to the car (where I spent nearly five minutes trying to get the hanger hook down) and pulled the car to the sidewalk for her.  I really don't remember what we did after that.  Well, went home, of course, but after that, it's all a blur.

Next time:  It's all about the details.

Fashion Quest--Part II

The silver cami that I ordered to go under my mother's beaded top came and looks pretty good.  Now I need to get her to try everything on together.  Usually she would be happily modeling her finery for me, but she's sick right now.  I'm saying prayers that she recovers in time for the wedding, which is just over a week away!

A week or so after we had perused catalogs and Web sites, I spent the greater part of a Thursday reconnoitering the plus-size stores.  There are three in a row at a nearby mall, so I checked out everything that was remotely appropriate for a wedding.  This was not a shopping trip.  It was data collection, which would be collated with catalog and on-line finds and decisions made from there.  I found the navy pants for my mother at Catherine's.  (However, even the petite length needed to be hemmed for her.)  She would need another top for the New Year's Eve wedding, so I kept any eye out for something suitable.  She wanted a little more glitz for the second wedding--but still not gaudy!?!?  But once I found the dressy navy pants, my mind switched to my favorite subject--ME!

I haven't been that
skinny since I was six.

One of the newest trends in women's clothing is the uneven hemline.  Handkerchief hemlines are big again, also.  For myself, I was thinking of a duster with one of those hemlines.  In Catherine's, I found a grey tunic-length top.  They called it a cardigan, but it wasn't at all like a sweater.  Maybe a jacket--but that implies a certain level of heaviness to it, at least in my mind.  So I call it a duster, even though it's not that long.  Anyway, I really liked it right from the start--even though it didn't have either of the the new hemlines.  But this was only a recon trip, so I went next door to Lane Bryant.

Lane Bryant had camis in all kinds of colors and fabrics!  The display took my breath away!  But as I hunted through the dressy clothes, it became apparent that the store didn't have what I wanted.  I went through the racks twice, just to make sure I didn't miss anything.  Oh, they had some nice tops, but not what my mother and I had discussed.  But, I would definitely keep them in mind for the camis.

Next up was Dress Barn Women.   For my outfit, I was thinking of something along the lines of palazzo pants.  I found the perfect pants at Dress Barn.  Palazzo pants with two layers of fabric!  Underneath is solid black; the top layer is shear black.  Very dressy and very chic!  Then, something caught my eye from the small shoe section they have.  Kind of silver, but darker.  Like pewter!  They were beautiful!  Not really wild, but definitely not something my practical, conservative self would have chosen.  For me, they are somewhat outre.  I didn't buy them that day, but I can't wait until the next posting to show them off:

My part-ay shoes!

By the time I looked through Dress Barn, I was pretty sure of what the main part of my outfit would be.  I would get two different tank tops or camis to wear underneath to have a different look.  But I still didn't buy anything!  I took a last look around for the second top for my mother, still didn't see anything that really caught my eye, then made my way back to Lane Bryant.  Even though the cami display was lovely, I decided I wanted more substantial tops for underneath the duster.  The duster doesn't button or zipper, so it'll hang open to show the blouse underneath.  Then I went back through Catherine's one more time, where I looked at the duster again.  It has pewter diamond-shaped studs running down each side of the front.  I knew those pewter shoes would be perfect.

I went home with my mind full of possibilities, yet I was fairly sure of what I would get.  It seemed like angels had led me to these beautiful clothes and shoes!  The plan was to bring my mother back with me on Saturday so she could see everything for herself.  And to look through the dressy clothes for her second top.

Up next:  Taking my mother shopping--a lesson in patience!

Fashion Quest--Part I

The first wedding (I'm invited to) for this fall/winter season is in less than two weeks.  Some people would wait until the day before to plan what to wear.  Others (like me) need or want to plan in advance.  For me, the planning in advance is both a need and a want.  I need to because I only get paid once a month.  I want to because my OCD causes me to panic if I'm not prepared well in advance.  But, no panic attacks for me!  At least not in regards to what to wear to the wedding.

It's not enough to just worry about myself.  I have to help my mother, too.  About six weeks ago, we sat down with plus-size catalogs and my laptop to get an idea of what was out there for this fall.  It quickly hit home that, for my mother, we were going to have to plan her outfits around her shoes.

My mother loves these shoes.

Shoes? you ask.  Well, you would until I tell you that my mother has horrible terrible nasty bad feet.  First, she has tophaceous gout.  Gout is a form of arthritis.  Tophi are nodular masses of uric acid crystals.  I was going to put a picture of it here, but, trust me, it isn't pretty.  Second, my mother's feet have always been wide.  She could never get shoes at Sears or Penney's.  She always had to go to special shoe stores (before wide-widths became standard in most stores).  Third, she has sprained her ankles more times than I care to count, which has left her ankles somewhat . . . misshapen.  All of this means that my mother's shoes are difficult to find and very expensive.  Since she had a fairly dressy pair of navy blue MaryJanes, we had to work with those.

After a few days of perusing catalogs and surfing the net, we decided that, for mom, she would get a dressy pair of navy pants and then different tops for each wedding.  My mother's style is rather oxymoronic.  She loves sparkles and froufrous and embellishments, but doesn't want anything gaudy.  ?!?!  The first top turned out to be relatively easy to find.  She found, in Roaman's catalog, a grey beaded top and was awestruck.
It was rather pricey, but I told her to be patient.  I get two or three emails a week from Roaman's and others with discount codes.  Once my mother makes up her mind, however, she does not want to wait!  (And you wondered how I got to be the way I am?)  Fortunately for both of us, that very evening I received an email for 40% off one item.  Wow!  I'd been hoping for 30% off and expecting 25% off, but this was great.  I didn't even bother with the intercom.  I ran down the stairs and burst into her bedroom.  Well, okay, I hurried down the stairs and carefully pushed her bedroom door open.  I had to mute the TV first, which entailed a search for the remote-control, which had gotten tangled in her blanket and buried under some books.  I told her the good news and her eyes lit up!  "Go order it!" she demanded.  I realized at that point that I should have waited to tell her because I still had a week before I got paid.  I assured her the coupon would still be good and it wasn't likely that the top would be out of stock in a week's time.  It was one of the loooongest weeks of my life!  That last week or so before I get paid is always a killer.  This time I could have cheerfully committed murder.  My mother fretted and fussed the whole week.  I'm surprised she didn't make me wait up the night before payday to wait for the direct deposit to show up in the bank.  But I did make sure I ordered it before I went down to breakfast!

The ordeal was NOT over at that point.  Every day she asked if the package from Roaman's came.  "Not yet" became my mantra.  I didn't even point out to her that it didn't ship until four days later.  It arrived two days after shipping, though, so she had it in less than a week.  It is very pretty:

I found a short necklace at Fashion Bug that has pewter and blood-red beads.  That'll give her some color by her face.  There was some upset when she realized that the V-neck showed more of her bypass scar than she would like.  This prompted a whole 'nother search for a cami or tank that would go under it without looking tacky.  I found a silver shell in some obscure mail-order store that (fingers crossed) should look very nice with it, hide her scar and look great with the pewter-and-red beaded necklace.  Now we are waiting for that to arrive!

Note:  This narrative will take a few postings to tell.  I will show parts of the outfits as we go along and then post pictures of us in all our finery.

Brain Sprain

I have Bipolar Disorder.  I am not ashamed of that, nor do I believe there is any stigma associated with it.  I know some people are still afraid of mental illness.  Technically, Bipolar is a Mood Disorder, not a Cognitive Disorder.  But I didn't start out with Bipolar.  After a number of events, which I'll get into another time, 12 years ago I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder and Anxiety.

Please note:  This is a very simplistic description!  I would not even call it Bipolar 101.  More like Bipolar prep.  I've boiled it down a whole lot and you lose quite a bit when you do that.

There is physical proof that these disorders are not imaginary.

Further, there are electrochemical impulses in the brain which have been proven to be associated with Depression.

First, a neuron (brain cell) receives an electrical impulse.  That first impulse is triggered by something happening to us.  Perhaps a physical threat or life-changing news.  Then, the neuron sends a chemical message to the next neuron.  The messenger (neurotransmitter) could be seratonin, norepinephrine, or dopamine, each of which has a known relationship to depression.  We'll use seratonin for this example because I have pictures for.  The seratonin takes the message through the gap (synapse), between neurons to the receiving neuron.  The receiver takes the message, sending the seratonin back into the synapse.  Some of the seratonin will be taken back into the first neuron. That is called reuptake.  And that seems to be where the trouble is.  Medications such as Zoloft, Paxil, Effexor, etc., are Selective Seratonin Reuptake Inhibitors.

The medication blocks the passage that would allow the seratonin to get back into the first neuron.  This has been proven to relieve depression in many people.

It doesn't work for everyone with a Depressive Disorder, but it works for a lot.  And there are other types of antidepressants, too, that work for other people.


This is all taking place in the Limbic System area of the brain.  The Limbic system regulates emotions, physical and sexual drives and the stress response, among other things.  The transmitting of those "messages" is called impulse.  These impulses are about 1/5000 of a second.  Very difficult to catch as it happens.  But there are results of these impulses and that's what scientists look at.

Depression is just one-half, well more like 45%, of what constitutes Bipolar Disorder.  Another 45% is the manic side.  But just putting all this together gave me a headache.  We'll look at the other parts of Bipolar, and how someone ends up there, another time.

Blind Driving

Just a little joke between . . . well, me and myself.  That's how I feel driving at night.  The glare of oncoming lights reduces my vision.  I can't see well in the dark.  What does that leave?  Not much.  There are a few well-lit streets that have those softer-toned bulbs in them that I don't mind driving on at night.  And I can manage just fine in my own neighborhood.  Beyond that, it gets hairy.

My trepidation has increased exponentially with each invite I receive to an evening activity.  This Tuesday night, I have a friend's husband's 50th birthday party to go to.  It'll still be light when I go, but it'll be dark coming home.  Ditto for my nephew's wedding on October 8th, which is on a Friday, and, of course, at night.  The major stomach-wrencher will be my niece's wedding on New Year's Eve.  That's also a Friday and, being December 31st, it will be dark when we go there, as well as coming home.  In addition, it's New Year's Eve.  Half the drivers on the roads will be buzzing, if not outright drunk.  Did I mention the wedding will be in the north-west suburbs of Chicago?  On New Year's Eve!  For those of you who've been living under a rock and have no clue what the weather is like during a Chicagoland winter, we could have three feet of snow!  Of course, it could also be 60 degrees, but that's not likely.  It could also be raining, which could change to sleet.

Am I being pessimistic?  Possibly.  Oh, all right, probably.  But I would rather be prepared for the worst and have things turn out better than expected, than to plan for the best and have things turn out worse than expected.  Make sense?  Well, it does to me.  And, while I am a born-again Christian, I still firmly believe in jinxes and superstition.  So, I'll knock wood, avoid walking under any ladders and beware of black cats.  Oh, wait.  I live with a black cat.  Well, technically, she's a deep coffee-brown that just looks black.  Yeah, that works.  Whew!

If it was just me going, I would crash at my sister's place (which just happens to be five minutes from where the 12/31 wedding will be) afterward.  But, of course, I'll have my mother with me.  There are no bedrooms on the ground floor of my sister's townhouse and I can't expect my mother to sleep on the sofa with her bad back.

Maybe I can talk my daughter into going to her cousin's wedding that night.  She could drive.  Pfft.  Convince my hedonistic, 23-year-old daughter to give up New Year's Eve parties for a family wedding?  Not anywhere near bloody likely!  Maybe I could pay her to drive us . . .  Well, heck, if I'm going to pay someone, I could hire a limo!

Hey, maybe I'm on to something there!  A limo!  Or, at the very least, a cab.  That way I could have champagne, too!  I like champagne.  I would not be exaggerating to say that I love champagne.  I wonder how much a cab from Justice, IL to Lisle, IL would cost?  On New Year's Eve?  Oh sh--, I mean, darn!  We'd really have to tip the drivers bigtime!  There is free limo service to the nearby Hilton, but we don't have money for hotel rooms.  Or even one room.  So we probably can't afford a cab, either.  Oh well, it was a good idea.  I really hate being lower middle-class with upper middle-class (or maybe lower upper-class) relatives.  But that's a gripe for another day.

So, I'll just focus on one day at a time.  Tomorrow or Tuesday, I need to find a gift--in my price range--for a guy who is turning 50 and is also upper middle-class.  I'm thinking a nice card and an herbal alternative to Viagra.  That would be a joke.  A gag-gift, you know?  Fine, I'll just pick up a generic version of Geritol.
Party-poopers.

Photographic Treasures

I finally got all the pictures (that I've found so far) in bins and stored in my closet.  My niece, who is getting married on New Year's Eve, wanted a picture of her grandparents' (my parents') wedding day.  Since I was still sorting through photos, I found an entire album of their wedding day.  I did send the formal picture of my parents and their attendants, but I also included a picture of my mother giving my father a flirty little look at the reception:

It was October 28, 1950.  My mother was 18 years old at the time.  My father was not quite 20.  They'd known each other for four years already.  There's a pretty nifty story to their meeting, but I'll save that for another day.

I've found a lot of old pictures.  By "old" I mean before my siblings were married and had kids.  Some are really old.  Like the one of my father parent's wedding day, January 1930!  There are a lot of pictures from when my oldest brother was a toddler.  And quite of few of Christmases at my paternal grandparents' house. My dad had gotten a new camera and he made good use of it.

This is just four families of cousins.  That's me in front, second from left.  I was about 5.
The really tall kid in back is my oldest brother, who was about 14!

Then there are the "newer" pictures.  This ones of my nieces and nephews when they were small in the early 80's.  Then the pictures of my daughter, who was born in 1987.  And, of course, pictures throughout all the years of various pets that have enriched our lives.

Every photo is a treasure.  Even photos I found of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, or HWSNBN, for short.  HWSNBN is the person I threw away my life on.  Okay, that sounds a little overdramatic, but that's the way I felt when it was all over.  Fifteen months was gone and I could never go back to what I was before.  Immediately following HWSNBN, was my daughter's father.  Uh, yeah, that makes him the rebound guy.  I found a couple of him, too.  The daddy wasn't such a bad time.  Stupid, sure, but not bad.  So why did I keep the two pics of HWSNBN?  I'm not sure.  One is of the two of us at a friend's wedding.  I look really good in it, so I tell myself I'll scan it in and crop him out.  Maybe I will, too.  The photo of HWSNBN by himself, tho, I did have in my hand and held it over the wastebasket.  Like I said, I don't know why I didn't drop it in.  When I go through the pictures again to actually organize them, I will toss it.  Probably.

Anyway, all the pictures, whether of family, friends or worthless scum-sucking ex-lovers (not that I'm bitter or anything) tell of my history.  They show me where I've been and who was there with me.  I don't want to dwell in the past, but I think it's important to remember it.

We should not look back unless it is to derive useful lessons from past errors, and for the purpose of profiting by dearly bought experience. 

George Washington

Yet More Decluttering

I've been working on the back bedroom closet.  Pulling boxes out, packing up give-away items, etc.  I'm really glad to have help in this endeavor.

Tabitha perusing the closet's contents.

For those of you who are not well informed on the nature of cats, there just isn't anything a human could do well without the assistance--or better yet, the supervision--of a cat.

Tabitha races ahead of me into the back bedroom, ready and eager for more exploration into the depths of the unknown.  Nimble of foot, she traverses boxes and bags and various Christmas decorations in search of something.

In search of what?  Well, you'd have to ask Tabitha and, quite frankly, I don't think she'd give you a straight answer, even if you spoke Cattish (my own word--don't you love it?).  But I can tell you what she has found in past adventures:

1. Yarn.  Now you might think that she plays with it, pulling on it and batting at it.  Well, she does do some of that.  Mostly?  She eats it.
2. Bugs.  Does she chase them and bat them around?  Sure.  Mostly?  She eats them.
3. Paper.  She likes the crinkle sound as she walks on a piece of note paper or, better!--wrapping paper.  If it shreds and tears, well that's all part of the Paper Experience.  But mostly--she eats it.
4. Anything small and roundish that will roll or slide across the floor.  Those are fun to chase, to pick up and toss in the air to catch it again.  So far, she hasn't eaten those (that I know of).

Feline facilitation isn't limited to Tabitha.  Khai has been known to check on us every so often.  He doesn't climb into the closet because of his gimpy right legs, but he investigates the stuff I--I mean "we"--pull out.

All those pictures I had found up in my closet have been stored in my (clean!) closet.  I'm finding much, much more in the back bedroom closet.
 This pile of boxes and picture frames is an actual stack in the corner of the back bedroom closet.  Without slanted ceilings to keep the stacks short, this pile has an old laundry basket full of more pictures and frames underneath the white box, so it's quite tall!

I've been bringing boxes of photos and frames up to my room. *sigh*  I sort through them in the evenings (I have actually turned my TV on for this) and am aided in this task by Bebe.

Bebe is quite willing to add her input to my task.  While she doesn't eat everything, Bebe has hands.  Yes, hands.  Her dew claws look like thumbs.  You want me to show you picture?  Are you serious?  We're talking about a CAT here.  You don't just go up and . . .   Wait a minute.  This is Bebe.  Maybe I could get a shot of her grabbing at a treat!  Okay, wait here.  This might take a while.

You can just make out her "thumb" on top.

While that was relatively painless, it's not the best view of her paw.  She was getting, uh, grumpy.  Anyway, she's very good at grabbing things and is surprisingly strong.  She reaches over and pulls stuff out of my hands--or rips it in the case of paper or photos.  She also likes to sit on the papers and photos.  After a few wrinkled pictures, I finally made a pile of old greeting cards that she could sit on.  I didn't tell her that I was going to throw them out.  Fortunately, she fell asleep and she didn't see me toss them.

Bebe is exhausted after a grueling
 hour of picture sorting.

Work on the back bedroom closet is moving along nicely.  I've already got a bagful of old coats and a large box full of old draperies.  But there's still a long way to go.  I haven't even started on the Christmas stuff and there are old Calphalon pots and pans in there.  I can't let my mother see the Calphalon, though.  We already had a, er, um, disagreement over an Eddie Bauer coat.  It was two or three sizes too small, but my mom was determined to keep it.  Fortunately, Brittany backed me up and while they argued, I mean disagreed, I shoved the coat into a bag.  Now, don't think I'm heartless.  If the coat was newer, I might try to sell it on eBay.  But the coat was in the closet for years before my dad died.  I still say it is harder to declutter with my mother around than with a half dozen cats!