being dead is no excuse

That's the name of my favorite cookbook featuring funeral food recipes that Ms Jeanne gave to Mama years ago.  I stole borrowed it one day and never took it back.  It now sits among a chosen few that I will keep post purge.  Martha gets the ones I don't want which  is a BUNCH.   The cats will have to share a room with all her loot.  One of these days she'll open up her shop named The Pie Hole and we'll all bake together as old ladies to supplement our checks.  I can see it now!

Door and window guys are here finishing up and even cleaned the yard and my part of the mess, bless 'em.  Now that we're current on trash I can use the service I've paid for and do it a bag at a time.  No more pickup truckloads if you know what I mean.  It's a new day on Pecan Lane, as gawd is my witness.  I could seriously use an IV hit of Vitamin D + B12 about now because even though the sun's out, everybody's sick AGAIN and coughing up a lung.  The flu hasn't taken off really bad yet so maybe it will be a light season.  We can only hope for that and for Trump or Cruz to become mysteriously dead.   Whoa...there's my homeland security "catchphrase" right there.  I'll be in their files by 4.

I ran out of my happy pills about a week ago and went two days off when I realized that my inner child was about to hit the wall and promptly got a refill.   I do not play with that med, and I take very few.  Right now the regimen includes ibuprofen and naproxen for the other shoulder which has a bitch in residence.  BG  has been blindly trying to fight all of it without proper treatment and well.  We're just a hot mess right now.  I started crying  at work today while we were looking at pictures of Mama in our log home.  She decorated it beautifully, especially at Christmas.  I have a lot of respect for the man who is preserving the history of our families in place.

Gerald put it in his will that I can be buried in the Carter family cemetery out front of his home.  They live almost dead end, right before you hit the turnaround where Danny is. It's where I fell in the nasty ass Forked Deer that day.  It is also where I tore a hamstring smooth in half after exploring the grave markers with BG one summer.  The hill goes straight down and I did a wishbone landing in the ditch.  That leg was purple all the way down to the point that Baker Stewart ordered an ultrasound to rule out DVT.  I could not sit for 3 months on that side, yet I healed and walked again.  I was 15 years younger, by the way.  The feeling came back in about an hour after the fall but I've never had my bell rung that way before or since.

I think about my mother and father's struggles with life and death and feel blessed that  we had so many years together in an honest to goodness almost Cleaver family setting.  Well, I  mean it was the south and all but still........Norman Rockwell meets Martha Stewart.  I remember when her eyesight failed miserably and her beloved world of reading became an audio experience.  Even with a tape, she was "reading" a book.  Thank you to the great state of Tennessee for that service.  This is walking the yard time in its' early stages with a tad more daylight and more moderate temps for a few days.  Too early for asparagus, but you can bet your sweet ass it's coming.  So are more straw bales.

Gratitude ~