Skitter’s morning nap poses have been amusing me, and she hasn’t even put on her Tie o’ the Dog yet today. But she most certainly will when she wakes up.
Just Skitter, Sleeping In
Know Thy Strengths And Weaknesses
I spent most of the afternoon at home, listening to loud music while I worked. That’s why I’m showing you my sheet music Face Mask o’ the Day. I love music, but I have no talent for creating it whatsoever. I took a year or so of piano lessons from Glenna Moody, culminating in my recital performance of a piece called “The Prairie Song.” If I remember correctly, the song sounded a lot like “Book of Mormon Stories,” so I liked it. Unfortunately, despite Glenna Moody’s skillful instruction, none of what I learned from piano lessons stuck. On most of my Delta Elementary report cards, my only bad marks were in music and art. How is it even possible for a kid to do poorly in elementary school music and art? I guess I worked really hard to find a way to fail at something every other kid had no chance of failing. Let’s face it: I was a music spaz. I am meant to sing only when alone in my car or my house, although I have always been an avid listener to most types of music. I was born to hide my musical ineptitude under a bushel for the good of all mankind’s ears, and I was also born to sit in the audience and clap my gratitude for those who have the musical aptitude.
Ready For A Tuesday
1 chopper-filled Face Mask o’ the Day, plus 1 purple Cravat o’ the Day, plus 1 S’mores 2002 Olympic lapel pin = I’m accessorized properly for a Tuesday of erranding in the bigly city.
I’m Irish Enough
You are not seeing this post on the wrong day, and I have not gone back in time. I guess I just didn’t get enough of St. Patrick’s Day this year. I think the green is out of my system now.
Hey! I got my CT scan results back from the radiologist today. Unfortunately, it’s written in Doctorese, so I need my surgeon to translate it into Patientese for me. That appointment is set for April, so… I hurry up and wait. But from what I can interpret of the CT’s report, somewhere on some part of what’s left of my pancreas is calcifying. I hate when that happens. It’s not a good finding, but for all I know it’s a minor thing that can be fixed relatively simply. I refuse to get ahead of myself and start worrying about the negative possibilities. Like I’ve said before, worrying is Suzanne’s job. I’ll wait to see what the doctor says.
I remembered something that happened when I was at my Hanky Panky doctor’s last month, where someone was helping me make the appointment for the CT scan appointment I just had. She was holding my file when she wrote something on a Post-It note and stuck it inside the file. I didn’t think too much about her writing a note about me, but while she was on the phone, my eye caught sight of the note. I read the two words: “Fart trash.” I was immediately embarrassed to think that perhaps I had unknowingly passed some gas and everyone but me knew it. How could I not know if I had done that? And it must have been distinctly horrific if this woman felt she had to write a note about it and put it in my medical file. I tried to hide in my chair. I figured I better let her just schedule my scan and get the Heck Tate out of Dodge as quickly as possible.
So the woman’s on the phone, arranging my CT scan and I hear her say to whoever is on the other end of the line, “She needs to be put on the CT fast track list. The fast track.” It took me a second, but then it hit me. The woman had not scribbled “fart trash” in my file, accusing me of creating indoor air pollution. It’s just that her handwriting was so illegible I couldn’t read the two words, “fast track,” correctly. I was elated to know I had caused no olfactory harm to anyone—I merely needed a fast track CT scan, as in ASAP. I was relieved to know I’m not Fart Trash, after all—I’m just the same redneck White Trash I was always meant to be, otherwise inoffensive to the nose.
A Friday Night On The Town
I don’t think Suzanne and I have been out on a Friday night adventure since the pandemic began, so when the soonest appointment I could get for my CT scan was an evening appointment last Friday, I took it. My CT scan at 8:30 PM was the perfect chance to finally go out on the town. And since it was an evening affair, I chose to treat it as a formal “black tie” soiree. (Note my black sequined Face Mask o’ the Evening.) Unfortunately, we didn’t go to dinner. I had to fast before my scan, and we had to get right back home after the scan because Skitter had been colicky and spitting up all day. Indeed, after I fasted, then drank two bottles of the CT scan goop, then had the CT, my reward when I returned home was to clean up the urp in Skitter’s crate. It was still a Friday night and I was dressed up, so I cleaned up after poor Skitter while still wearing my formal Bow Tie o’ the Day.
It’s CT Scan Day
Remember way back 3 weeks ago when I had an appointment with my Hanky Panky surgeon to determine why what’s left of my pancreas is misbehaving? My doc arranged for me to have a CT scan ASAP, and the ASAP appointment I could get is scheduled for today @ 8:30 PM. Finally.
Anyhoo…First thing this morning, I drove to the Farmington Health Center to pick up the two bottles of CT contrast I have to drink before my scan. It was early, and although my eyelids might have been open, my brain was still blank—as you can see by my completely blank wood Bow Tie o’ the Day.
The Very Definition
Bow Tie o’ the Day and I were flipping through Ambrose Bierce’s THE DEVIL’S DICTIONARY, which was first published in 1911. It provides what we might call somewhat silly, irreverent, “real” definitions of words. For example, the word “twice” is defined as “once too often.” Enjoy a few more words and their definitions, according to Bierce:
year: “A period of three hundred and sixty-five disappointments.”
selfish: “Devoid of consideration for the selfishness of others.”
pain: “An uncomfortable frame of mind that may have a physical basis in something that is being done to the body, or may be purely mental, caused by the good fortune of another.”
mythology: “The body of a people’s beliefs concerning its origin, early history, heroes, deities and so forth, as distinguished from the true accounts which it invents later.”
habit: “A shackle for the free.”
fib: “A lie that has not cut its teeth. An habitual liar’s nearest approach to truth.”
admiration: “Our polite recognition of another’s resemblance to ourselves.”
acquaintance: “A person whom we know well enough to borrow from, but not well enough to lend to.”
How I Celebrated St. Patrick’s Day
I got dressed, donned my golf-themed Face Mask o’ the Day and my boggy green Bow Tie o’ the Day, took this selfie, then immediately changed back into a clean pair of pajamas. Yup, that’s it. Since I gave up drinking green beer, that’s pretty much how I celebrate St. Paddy’s Day. 🍀😜
Mom Is Still The Queen Bee O’ The Prom
So yesterday morning, before Skitter and I got in the car to make our pilgrimage to Millard Care And Rehab to visit Mom, Suzanne told me she liked my shirt but she said it kinda hurt her eyes, too. I considered changing into a less busy shirt, because I didn’t want my attire to cause injury to Mom’s old, old eyes. Ultimately, I didn’t change it, and one of the first things Mom said to me when she saw me was, “I like your shirt.” I told her what Suzanne had said about it earlier, and Mom said, “Well, if it bothers my eyes to look at your shirt, I’ll just quit looking at it.” Mom is a very sensible gal.
As Skitter and I made our way through the halls of MCR to get to Mom’s room, the staff was quick to welcome us back to the facility. And I was quick to give them our family’s thanks for their quality care of Mom during the pandemic. They kept her safe and engaged, and we never doubted they would. Indeed, when I walked into Mom’s room, she was alert and chatty. When I first hugged her, she seemed smaller and more fragile than when I hugged her last. It was like hugging a bird—but I’m sure that was mostly because it had been so long between hugs.
The window in Mom’s room gives her a clear view of people going into, or out of, the care center. She can also see the ambulance pull up to the ER at the hospital across the way. She especially enjoys watching the medical helicopter come and go. Mom and I sat on Mom’s bed talking and watching the world doing its thing outside her window. Mom was captivated by the construction guys working on the hospital roof. We laughed as they took turns coming down the ladder to use the port-a-potty in the parking lot. For a moment, it felt like she and I were sitting on The Porch again—Mom holding court and scattering her spunkiness and opinions everywhere within ear-reach.
As an added bonus for Mom yesterday, her friends, Dot and Roberta, drove past her window, as if on cue, and I managed to flag them down. They were gracious enough to stop and come over to Mom’s window so she could see them up-close. The three of them yelled greetings to each other through the window glass. (Oh, and Mom made me lift Skitter up to the window, so she could introduce The Skit to her good friends.) Dot and Roberta were cackling when they left, and so were we. Mom beamed at her almost-back-to-normal day as a resident of MCR. She can’t wait to go on MCR drives again, and she mentioned wanting to get back to playing BINGO with the other residents, too. I reminded her she will probably have to be patient a little longer, and she reminded me how much neither of us Helen’s likes to be patient.
My fave-rave moment of yesterday was a classic, comedic Mom moment. I nursed my bottle of Diet Coke and Mom had Pepsi in her cup as she and I chatted. Yup, we were drinkin’ together again. At some point, Skitter—who sat right up against Mom’s leg throughout the entirety of our visit—started sniffing at Mom’s cup. Quick-witted as ever, Mom feigned horror and said, “Skitter! You don’t want to drink that! That’ll get you drunk!” It caught me by surprise, and I admit I snort-laughed at Mom and the idea that she would spike anyone’s drink—let alone her own. I asked her what the Hell-en she spiked her Pepsi with, and where did she hide it, because I wanted some too. We kidded back and forth about that for a while, and at some point I said she should tell me where her booze was so we could get Skitter drunk, and put it on YouTube and get rich. I told her she was being stingy, and that I didn’t know how she was raised, but that my mother sure as Hell-en raised me to always share my liquor with the people I love.
What a bigly splendid day it was, in Mom’s little room! I can’t wait for our next visit.
I Finally Got To Hug My Helen, Sr.
Skitter wore a St. Paddy Tie o’ the Day for our in-person, in-the-same-room visit with Mom yesterday. Mom and Skitter were glued to each other the whole time, and I was just a third-wheel. Luckily, I did manage to grab a few hugs from my very own mother. In this afternoon’s post, I will regale you with the complete tales of yesterday’s adventures with Mom. She was in fine form, so stay tuned. Ain’t Mom just the cutest old lady?