thisendoftheswamp

It always amazes me that most physicians are of the male persuasion, given how dippy men are about taking care of themselves.  From patients who won’t take painkillers because they “don’t like the way they make me feel” to a certain cardiologist whose idea of breakfast was a powdered sugar donut (Did they not teach nutrition when you were in school?) it’s no wonder women live longer.  The Squire’s left leg has been giving him fits lately, and his neurologist has prescribed amitriptyline.  This medication is designed for nerve pain, and it is also an antidepressant. Excellent choice for the man who won’t take them. When he does taken them, they knock him out for the night and generally keep the pain at bay for a day or two. He calls them Dynamite Pills. And avoids taking them. Don’t ask me to explain it.

It was obvious when I came down this morning that The Squire had been awake for some time, and was in a lot of pain.

“Did you take one of those dynamite pills?”

“No.” Said with black clouds and thunder bolts. 

Far be it from me to argue with him first thing in the morning, but by the time we finished breakfast I could have explained EXactly why men don’t live as long! I finally told him to go take a pill and go back to bed.  He did take a pill, and then went in to read a book in the recliner which is, to be honest, just as effective as going back upstairs. He dozed off in about five minutes and slept for over two hours.

To quote my best friend, “I must love him. I haven’t killed him.”

I received this from a dear friend.

I do not know when we can gather together again in worship, Lord. So, for now I just ask that:

When I sing along in my kitchen to each song on Stevie Wonder’s Songs in The Key of Life Album, that it be counted as praise.

And that when I read the news and my heart tightens in my chest, may it be counted as a Kyrie.

And that when my eyes brighten in a smile behind my mask as I thank the cashier may it be counted as passing the peace.

And that when I water my plants and wash my dishes and take a shower may it be counted as remembering my baptism.

And that when the tears come and my shoulders shake and my breathing falters, may it be counted as prayer.

And that when I stumble upon a Tabitha Brown video and hear her grace and love of you may it be counted as a hearing a homily.

And that as I sit at that table in my apartment, and eat one more homemade meal, slowly, joyfully, with nothing else demanding my time or attention, may it be counted as communion.

Amen.
-Nadia Bolz-Weber

It seems as if there have always been people who value “freedom” over getting sick.

We managed to keep the little tyke alive for over 24 hours, but he died this afternoon.

I began by feeding him little bits of wet cat food, but The Squire suggested that the “jelly” might be easier for him to eat. (When the juice in a can of pet food gets cold, it gets the consistency of aspic.) I made up a nest with a little bit of poly-fill and some long grasses, which I wound into an old strainer, slightly larger than a coffee cup. When evening came we set the little tyke up in the sewing room, which is always the warmest place in the house – and it has a door which shuts properly, to keep both the dog and the cat out. 

This morning, we ran some hot water into a cup and set the strainer over it, which helped to keep Tyko warm, since his Momma and siblings weren’t around to help. I fed him every 30 minutes, and he ate like a little trooper, but he wasn’t pooping, and everybody knows babies poop.  When I went to feed him at 2:30, he was gone. We were both disappointed, but it wasn’t unexpected. Raising a bird that young is almost impossible  but we gave it our best shot.  A long time ago, we found a baby robin who was just about to start flying, and we raised him until he was able to fly away on his own.  We kept him in what was then the nursery, and when I’d go in to feed him he’d flap across the room to land on me. I always put out my arm, but he preferred landing on my head. I even put him in a box and took him to work with me so I could feed him during the day. My boss was not exactly thrilled.

I don’t ever want to have to say “I wish I had done this, or that”.  If it is within my power, I will do whatever I can to make life better for any creature of any size that needs my help.

We gathered ourselves into a heap, and did the same with the wash, then headed up to the laundromat. Got all that under control and came back to hang most of the things outside. Today was a perfect day for laundry – not too warm, low humidity, and a good breeze. Things smelled s-o-o-o  good when we took them back inside.

We had a couple of errands to run in the afternoon – The Squire had an appointment with the dermatologist, and we needed to go ‘up the country’ to pick up some things for a local homeless shelter. While he was in the doctor’s office I stopped in Wegman’s for cheese; they sell grated sharp cheddar in 5 pound bags, and the way we go through it, it doesn’t last long.  I was looking for matzoh, and discovered they had some Violet Crumble candy bars in the International section. Oh, I do love me some Violet Crumble! These are made by Nestle, but only available – for the most part – in Australia. Other than Wegman’s, the only place we’ve ever found them is in an educational/tourist park called “Kentucky Down Under” which is a bit far to go for a couple of sweets. Never did find the matzoh, though.

When I was walking up to the house to collect the stuff for the shelter I nearly stepped on a tiny baby bird. Poor little mite fell – or was blown – out of the nest. His eyes aren’t even open yet, and The Squire doesn’t think he’ll survive. “Well, you’re probably right, but you know how your wife is.”

“I do, and I’m glad.”

When we got home I fed the bird three little ‘smusches’ of wet cat food on the end of a sliver of wood, while The Squire started taking down the laundry. I’ve fed the bird twice since then, and it seems to be surviving, but we’ll see what the morning brings.

Now that some of the beaches have been opened, and the weather is not yet too dreadfully hot, Penny has taken off for Biscayne National Park in Florida.

The first thing she did was go visit the lighthouse, which was built in 1825, and served, with some interruptions, until it was decommissioned in 1990. It has survived many hurricanes, and even a battle with the Seminoles. Now, it is a museum.

In honor of the occasion, Penny wore a pair of red slacks and a pretty print blouse, with sea shells and star fish on it. She takes great pride in always being dressed appropriately.

Penny isn’t much for swimming or snorkeling, but she did get a chance to go out in a glass-bottomed boat and watched the fish swim around the coral reef.

Penny thought this was all very interesting, and after she gets a chance to catch her breath, she’ll be off on another adventure.

Betty White is one of my favorite people. Somebody once asked her how she stayed so fit in her old age. (They probably didn’t say “old age”, but she’s 98, and has well and truly earned the title.)  Her answer was “I have a two-story house and a bad memory”.

And, boy! Do I know that feeling.

Working on Austin’s dollhouse has really been a case of “a two-story house and a bad memory”. When I was working on this house for Austin’s dad, we still had the old “work horse” table in the dining room, and the power saw was next door in the laundry room. Now, I’m working up stairs in what was once the nursery, but is now a junk room, not to put too fine a point on it. Every step of the way means trotting up and down the steps.  I did get the kitchen done, and am well into the living room. I still have to find a picture to go over the mantle, put on one more piece of molding between the front door and the stairs, and hang the curtains, but the room is beginning to shape up. I’m still hoping to get it done before Austin graduates.

When my oldest daughter was little I made a carry-box for her Penny Brite doll, using one of my dad’s cigar boxes. I found the box, and the doll, in the attic about a year ago, and decided to refurbish the box and make some new clothes for the doll.

I’ve had a ball! I bought scrapbooking paper at A. C. Moore to line the box, made drawers and inserted a clothes rod. I even hung a mirror!  I downloaded some patterns from the internet, and set to work making the doll a wardrobe.  I bought Barbie® hangers and snipped off the arms so they would fit both the clothing and the box.

Recently, I found a huge book with photos of America’s National Parks, and Penny has gone on a tour.  We’ll keep you posted on her travels.

I have been trying to clean and straighten my sewing room, and I swear Bartholomew Cubbins is living in there someplace, but it’s not hats he’s throwing around; it’s fabric. No matter how much I sift and sort, there is always just as much – nay, more! – than when I started.

I’ve collected all of my Fat Quarters, and got a little basket at the Dollar Store to corral them. Where I had two that matched, I’ve made a Bitty-Baby doll dress; my great-niece and our great granddaughter will have some very well-dressed babies. When I only had one piece, I made a dress for a Wellie-Wisher or a Penny Brite doll.

I’ve made masks for both The Squire and myself. I’ve even mended, for goodness sake! I’ve cut cards and wrapped up miles and miles of ribbon, bias binding, and lace.

I have made no dent in the mess at all.

I swear, it’s the Loaves and Fishes all over again.