Crabby Appleton

Crabby Appleton is a term my mom used when we were little kids to describe our attitude when we were having a bad day . . . grumpy, in a bad mood, everything was terrible . . .

Today I was Crabby Appleton . . . in a bad mood for no apparent reason . . . everybody was twanging on my last nerve . . . everything was frustrating . . . if I didn’t know better I’d think it was PMS . . . but do post-menopausal women get PMS . . .

I saw a cartoon on FB that showed a cat as a therapist . . . asking the human patient if they had “tried pushing a bunch of shit off a table?” . . . and I laughed . . . then thought that might make me feel better . . . but I didn’t want to clean up the mess . . .

So I did the  next best thing . . . I got out the lawn mower and cut the weeds in the front yard . . . it hasn’t rained a lot here lately and the grass is dead but the weeds are still growing . . . the yard looked better . . . then I decided I needed to edge the sidewalk and the driveway because, well, weeds . . . and I have this fabulous new mower and trimmer and haven’t used them at all . . .

What do you know . . . it did make me feel better . . . the yard looks nicer . . . even though the grass is dead . . . and the sidewalk is nicely trimmed . . .

Thank you, my darling Prince Charming, for teaching me that yard work can be therapeutic . . . I’ll have to work on the back yard over the weekend . . .

 

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Home Is Where The Dogs Are

I’ve had dogs for all of my adult life

Started with Sheba . . . my XH’s dog when I met him . . . that became my dog when we got married because I was “mommy” . . .

Goldie . . . arrived to help heal my broken heart when Sheba passed away . . .

Blacky . . . was a lonely orphan that needed a home . . .

Luci . . . joined the family because Blacky was heartbroken after Goldie passed . . .

Rocky . . . came to torment Luci after Blacky passed . . .

Millie . . . the whirling dervish that wormed her way into Rocky’s heart . . . and mine . . .

Because of them I am Big Dog Mom Pam . . .

Loads of dog toys all over the house and sometimes on the stairs.  Dog hair on just about everything I own.  Doggie hair tumbleweeds and doggie nose prints on the front door, the back door, and all the windows in the Dog Mobile.  I sometimes spend more on food for them than I do for me.  Shoving pills down Rocky’s throat twice a day.  Realizing that it takes longer to pack for them to go to the kennel for a weekend than it does to pack my stuff for a weekend get away.

Sometimes I think that after Rocky and Millie are gone that I might like to try the dog-free lifestyle . . .

Then I have a dog-free weekend . . .

No 7 am wake up call to feed Millie because she just can’t wait another minute for breakfast.  No prancing puppies all through the house because they “know” it’s the weekend and we go on adventures after Mommy has her cup of coffee.  No wiggling doggie waiting at the front door when I come home from the grocery.  Nobody racing to the back door when I say “time to feed the birdies!”  No Millie barking as back-up when Rocky goes racing off the deck to chase the gopher down the alley.  No sad Millie eyes when she lays her head on my lap to tell me she’s ready for bed . . . and her bedtime snack!

The house is too quiet.  The house is too clean.

Maybe I’m not ready for the dog-free lifestyle

#DaytonStrong

I live in Ohio.  About 30 minutes east of Dayton . . . I was born in Dayton . . . Mom & Dad grew up in Dayton . . . sometimes it’s easier to tell people I’m from Dayton instead of Springfield because just about everyone knows where Dayton is . . .

Sadly, now a lot more people are going to know where Dayton is . . . but not for a good reason . . .

With that being said . . .

I’m safe . . .

My immediate family are all safe (my nieces sometimes visit The Oregon District and my brother has a band that sometimes performs at The Oregon District) . . .

But my heart is broken . . . I am sad beyond words . . . and I’m glued to the TV to watch the local coverage of the tragedy that happened in my little part of the world . . .

The Oregon District is a busy entertainment district in Dayton.  And also very well protected by the Dayton Police Department and other private security agencies.  I would dream this would happen here.  A bar fight gone bad – yea, it’s happened.  A drug deal gone wrong – yea, probably.  A violent domestic situation – yea, could be.  But not this.  Never this.  But yea, now this . . .

Hug your loved ones tight today . . .

 

 

 

Five Years, Six Months, One Day

This post will probably be a convoluted mess with no real point . . . pretty much like every other post . . . so hang tight, y’all . . .

Yesterday was a day I’ve been dreading . . . because I have useless stuff stuck in my head most of the time . . . and I realized that July 20, 2019 was the five and a half year mark of the day of Prince Charming’s Death . . . trying to be an optimist . . . I tried to focus on the fact that it’s also the 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon mission . . . and Prince Charming LOVED all things space related (he watched the NASA channel for fun!) so I thought I could get through the day focusing on the space mission and not on Prince Charming being gone . . .

It worked . . . until I got out of bed yesterday . . . and saw that Rocky was a bit “wobbly” and having some problems getting around.  Okay, he’s 10, has arthritis and has trouble getting around sometimes but never as bad as yesterday morning.  The look on his face broke my heart.  A mix of “WTF?” and “Mom, help me!” . . . and I went straight to panic mode . . .

He was FINE when we went to bed!! WTF happened overnight!?

Maybe he has heat stroke (he’s been inside in the AC!)

Maybe he had a stroke! (oh shit!)

We go downstairs.  Millie’s noticed he’s “not right” and is tormenting him.  He’s struggling to get down the stairs.  He’s struggling to go outside.  He does his business but it’s hard for him to be steady enough to finish.

Bad word, bad word, bad word.  “Prince Charming you are NOT taking Rocky today! I need him more than you do!” was muttered under my breath a lot.  Then I called Lovely Vet and got an appointment to have him take a look at Rocky.  The appointment was at 10:30 am . . . a full two hours AFTER I first noticed the symptoms.

Rocky gave me sad eyes, didn’t want to eat his breakfast, and stayed in front of the AC vent in the kitchen.  He did get up and move around a bit and each time he was less wobbly and steadier on his feet.  I almost cancelled the appointment but decided it was better to be safe than sorry . . .

Off we go to the appointment . . . and Rocky gets into the car like a champ . . . and Rocky explores the yard at the vet’s office and hikes his leg and pees on the flowers in the vet’s flower bed . . . and struts into the vets office like the super star he is . . .

“Darn you, Rocky.  Making a liar out of me!”

I explain the problems I saw earlier today to the lovely vet tech.  He doesn’t laugh at me for being overly cautious.  Lovely vet comes in the room and doesn’t laugh at me for being overly cautious.  Lovely Vet does a full and thorough exam and determines that it’s possibly a simple arthritis flare-up.  Adjusts Rocky’s meds.  Gives him a shot of something to help ease the pain in his joints.  Tells me to come back if things get worse.

Most importantly, he tells me I wasn’t wrong for bringing Rocky to see him . . .

So I apologized to Prince Charming for thinking he wanted to take Rocky . . . when he was actually using Rocky to help me get through what I thought was going to be a rough day.

By the way . . . the added meds and the shot to help Rocky’s joints have worked wonders.  Rocky’s acting like a puppy again . . . and wants to go out to play . . . during an excessive heat warning . . .

Bless his heart

Arnold For The Win

I had an appointment today with Lovely ENT doctor because the Lovely Audiologist noticed my ears were irritated a little more than normal at the Hearing Aid Tune-Up last week and suggested I see the doc to figure out how to stop the itching. She didn’t think my suggestion to stop wearing the hearing aids was helpful at all.

So I saw the Doc (yes, the same doc that gave me the lecture about trashing my hearing by listening to loud rock music when I was a teenager) and he looked at my ears. “Yup that doesn’t look good” is not something you want to hear your ENT doc say when looking in your ears.  You also don’t want to hear that there “appears to be a cyst of some sort” and “I want to take a closer look at this” as he takes you across the hall to a different examination room.

Y’all know that I’m a horrible hypochondriac and can picture The Absolute Worst Case Scenario in any given situation.  Yes, I’m imagining I have ear cancer (it’s a thing!), or it’s going to be something that makes me totally deaf in that ear (the cyst is in my bad ear) all while I’m trying to lie still and let Lovely Doc look in my ear with some contraption and poke around with some type of instrument.

He’s explaining what he sees, and what he thinks the problem is, and blah blah blah while I’m trying to listen and not totally freak out over whatever horrible things my imagination is conjuring up . . . when he says to me in a totally calm and off-hand manner “it’s not a tumor” and then I’m suddenly faced with trying not to laugh while he’s poking around in my ear.

Have I ever explained that I have tons of useless movie trivia stuck in my head that I don’t know what to do with?  And that these totally useless bits of movie trivia tend to pop up out at the most inopportune moments of my life . . . yea . . . it’s a thing . . . and it happened today . . . during the ear exam . . .

Have y’all ever seen the movie “Kindergarten Cop”?  Remember Arnold’s response when the kids tell him that his headache could be a tumor?  Yea, that’s what played in my head when Lovely Doc assured me it wasn’t a tumor . . .

It was all I could do to get through the last bit of the appointment without laughing like a crazy woman . . . and I’ve been laughing about it all day . . .

Thanks, Arnold!

Stronger

It’s been 5 years, 5 months, and 14 days since Prince Charming left this Earth.

I’ve tried to be brave, be strong, to carry on . . . even when I didn’t know WTF I was doing, even when I didn’t WANT to carry on.

I buried him.  And I had no idea what kind of service he wanted.

I settled his estate.  I handled a wrongful death claim.  I dealt with the Bureau of Worker Compensation, a whole bunch of insurance agencies, and some other silly government stuff that I don’t really remember.

I bought a new car.  I bought a new washer.  I planned for a major remodeling project for The Little House.  I had a new driveway installed.  I dealt with the daily stuff of living in a 90-something year old house.

I did yard work . . . winter and summer . . . even though I hate it.

Everyone told me it would get “easier”.  That I would eventually “feel better”.  Life wasn’t always going to “suck”.  I called bullshit on all of that . . . it’s still hard,  it still hurts, it still sucks.

Mostly I went through the motions of doing “stuff” so people wouldn’t worry about the “poor thing” wallowing in her widowhood . . .

Today I think I’ve turned a corner.  I still don’t know WTF I’m doing but I am starting to feel like whatever comes around I can handle it . . . because, surprisingly enough, I have been handling it all along.

And it started with a weed eater.  A string trimmer.  And spending some time edging the sidewalk in front of the house.

Sounds simple enough . . . but it’s really a massive accomplishment.  I’m a yard snob.  I like the yard to look “just so” but since Prince Charming has been gone I didn’t have the energy or desire to do the work necessary to have the yard look “just so” . . . so I didn’t do it.  Yes, the yard is cut and I did cut down the weeds but it was a half hearted effort.  The weed eater I had belonged to Prince Charming.  It was built for him . . . and he was a foot taller than me and weighed about a hundred pounds more than me.  It was big.  It was heavy.  It was hard for me to maneuver.  It was battery operated . . . and the batteries were wearing out.  That started a whole research project.  Buy batteries for the trimmer I have or buy a new trimmer?  Battery or corded?  Which brand?  How many amps?  What size cut?  It was enough to make a girls head spin.

I made a decision . . . it’s my yard and I need to be able to take care of it myself.  Buy what you want.  Buy what will work best for you.  So I bought a little 4.4 amp, 13 inch cut corded trimmer.  It’s the perfect size for me.  It works like a charm.  It was a birthday present to myself.  And I have been as excited as a little kid to get a new string trimmer as a birthday present.

So today I decided I wanted to use the trimmer and at least edge the front sidewalk and the driveway before I went to a family party.  Oh.  My.  Goodness.  I had NO IDEA that edging the sidewalk could be so therapeutic.  I didn’t have to worry about the battery running out.  I did have to be careful about where the cord was so I didn’t cut it.  But for 30 minutes it was me and the trimmer cleaning up the messy front sidewalk.  It was heaven.  It’s not pretty.  It’s not perfect.  I need to clean up a few spots.  But it’s done.  It’s not half bad for a first attempt.  And I did it.  By my self.  Me.  The girl who still wants to stay in bed under the covers some days . . .

I still get mad at the universe that Prince Charming wasn’t here long enough.  But then I have days like today when I realize he was here long enough to help me realize that even though it sucks that he’s gone . . . I can do this stuff on my own . . . even when I don’t want to do it alone . . . even if I stomp my feet and curse every single step of the way.  And now I have the desire and energy to actually do the stuff I hate . . . and even look forward to it a bit . . .

Does this mean I’m getting a little stronger?  Does this mean it might not always suck this bad?  I’m always gonna miss him . . . but maybe it will actually get a little easier?

 

 

 

 

Goofy Dog

You know it’s gonna be bad when Millie is running to the door to tell on Rocky . . . when all the dogs in the neighborhood are barking their fool heads off and the dog that always has to be in the middle of everything is running to get ME . . .

As I put on Prince Charming’s yard shoes and walked out the back door to see what the commotion was all about I said to myself “Self, this is not gonna be good . . . ”

Yep, well shit . . . this is not good . . . as I came around the corner of the garage and walked toward the back gate I saw Rocky in a stand off with a stupid ground hog . . . make that a very pissed off ground hog.  Well after I said a whole string of bad words (and throwing a shoe at the ground hog) I managed to get Rocky and Millie back toward the house.

I gave Rocky a quick once over and discovered a small puncture wound on his left ear lobe.  Looks like Mama Groundhog got only one good bite in.  That’s good.  Except I can’t get the bleeding to stop.  Well more bad words, and total panic that it might be too late to get Rocky to Lovely Vet’s office and I’ll have to make a trek to Expensive Emergency Clinic.

Quick phone call once I realize it’s not past closing time and off we go to Lovely Vet’s office.  Where we are the last patient of the day . . .

Lovely Vet assured me that it wasn’t serious.  Antibiotic shot, antibiotic pills, pain meds for a week and Rocky should be fine.  Lovely Vet Tech does her best to get the bleeding to stop . . . they use surgical adhesive (super glue!) . . . they even wrapped his ear up in a bandage to keep him from shaking his head . . . he looked like a Russian Grandma.  But nothing helped . . . so I have to keep an eye on him whenever he flips his ear.

He’s going to be fine.  I’m going to be fine . . . eventually.  He scared the crap out of me.  I look like I’ve committed a murder.  The poor vet’s office looked like it was a crime scene.  Who knew an ear would bleed so much!!

Who knew my docile guy would have such a mean streak when it comes to little furry things coming into his yard!

Right now he’s sleeping peacefully at my feet . . . bless his heart . . . and Millie hasn’t left his side since we got back from the vet . . .

It’s been an interesting day.