Flour-eating eskies

While I was sitting here at my computer, I heard a funny slurping licking sound from across the room. I knew it was coming from one of the dogs, but it didn't sound like they were drinking water or chewing on something. It was an odd sort of sound.

I got up and walked across the room to investigate. That side of the room was rather dark, so at first, all I could see were two white shadows.

Suddenly it dawned on me! I had a couple bags of flour I needed to take out to the extra freezer in the garage. I had put them in plastic bags and set them in a milk crate on the floor to wait until my next trip out.

The eskies were eating flour! Raw flour out of the bag!

It's not like I don't feed them. Eskies are known for getting into eveything and anything they can. But flour?

As I quickly picked up the milk crate, they both looked up at me disappointed, like I had just taken away a favorite treat. I noticed the white flour on their black noses. They looked like they'd been snorting coke!

When I turned the light on I saw the evidence -- all over the floor! Mogul had been digging the flour out of the bag while Blizzard was licking it off the carpet. Flour was everywhere! Looks like the vacuum cleaner will get a workout tomorrow, but that can wait until morning. Maybe I'll get lucky and the eskies will clean up their own mess by then.

Rebate check

This afternoon my mom announced, "That came for you," as she waved toward the kitchen table. I could see a postcard sitting at my place at the table.

I picked it up, "Cool, my rebate check."

"Your what?" she asked.

"It's my rebate check...from Staples."

"Rebate check? Did you buy something?"

"Yes, and this is my rebate check...for twenty dollars."

"What did you buy?"

"I don't remember right now."

"And that's a check? It doesn't look like a check!" she said, indignant.

"Yes, it sure is, my rebate check for twenty dollars from Staples."

"Oh. Then I'd better get the other one for you."

"Other one?" I thought as I watched her walk over to the kitchen garbage.

She picked out another postcard from the top of a pile of coffee grounds, brushed it off, handed it to me and said, "I thought it was just an ad for something, and you had gotten two. I didn't know it was a check. Are you sure it's a check?"

I looked at the stained postcard. "Yep. It's a check alright. This one's for twenty-five dollars." I showed it to her.

She examined them both closely. "It doesn't look like a check, " she commented, shaking her head. I had to admit that they really didn't look like checks but more like junk mail postcards.

"Why did they send you two?" she asked.

"Because I bought more than one thing."

"What did you buy?"

"I don't remember right now."

"And they sent you two checks? You can keep both of them?"

"Uh huh," was all I could say.

"Well, from now on I won't throw any of your mail away," she affirmed, "just in case it's something important I don't recognize again. I'll leave it all on the table for you."

I quickly reviewed in my mind any other rebates I had sent for and any other mail I was expecting but hadn't received. I couldn't think of anything else. I'm sure someone will let me know...eventually...if I've missed something really important. I hope!

Change the Bible

Last night, my mom and I were watching The Ten Commandments on TV. Late in the movie, Mom turned to me and said, "I don't think they should have put the little boy to sleep."

"What?" I asked, not sure if she was talking about a boy or a dog.

"I don't think they should have killed the little boy." Ah, I suddenly realized she was talking about Pharoah's son.

"Mom, that was God. That's how the story goes. It's that way in the Bible." I thought that was the end of the discussion.

When the movie was over, she told me again, "I still don't think they should have made the little boy die."

All I could get out was, "Uh huh."

I guess I need to have a little chat with God about changing the Bible.


[For those of you who don't clearly remember the story of Moses, God sent plagues of locusts, boils, frogs, burning hail, and such to coerce Pharoah to "Let my people go!" The last straw was the death of all the first-born in Egypt (including Pharoah's son), unless they had lamb's blood on their threshold to let the Angel of Death know to pass them by. That became Passover in Jewish tradition. ]

The Chinaman

The other day, as my mom and I were pulling out of the driveway to go shopping, she looked over at the front of the house and commented, "Oh, I see you put that little Chinaman out in front."

I laughed and said, "Mom, that's not a Chinaman. That's Buddah!"

"Oh, is that supposed to be good luck or something?" she wondered.

I thought for a moment about explaining to her who Buddah was, and how the term "Chinaman" is not PC, but thought otherwise. All I could get out was, "Uh huh."

Somethings are just not worth getting into.

Undercover queen

Ceilidh is the little queen of the house. She's the only furry female that lives with us full-time. She just doesn't like other women much--unless they're human--although occasionally we do babysit my son's little Jack Russell girl. She takes great pride in bossing the boys around, letting them know when they can and can't eat and what toys they can play with at the moment.

She never ceases to make us laugh at her attempts to remain dignified under any circumstances. So we do things like fold her ears back to make her look like Princess Leia from Star Wars. The indignant look on her face is priceless.

Ceilidh (pronounced KAY-lee; Gaelic for party) loves to be covered. Not just part of her, but ALL of her. Totally covered. The more the better. Several times I've nearly finished making the bed before realizing that the lump in the middle isn't a wad of sheets. Haven't figured out how she breathes. I've looked for a snorkel but haven't seen one yet. Although her nose will peek out on occasion.

Each night she shares my mom's bed, comfy under a little blanket. This morning when I let her out of the room, she brought the blanket with her -- still fully covered, head and all. With her sight so impaired, I was waiting for her to run head-first into the wall or tumble down the stairs.

Tonight she was cozied up on the couch with my mom who had lovingly covered her with a throw. When she heard someone go out to the garage, she immediately woke up and started barking, then jumped off the couch with the throw still over her. She couldn't figure out how to get out and go after the intruder, so she frantically ran back and forth barking fiercely the entire time. She looked like the Horta from the original StarTrek. Once we got our laughter under control, Mom rescued her from her bondage and she emerged doing her best to maintain her royal dignity.

Doing democracy

Greg and I were delegates at our county convention on Saturday. It was really cool to sit in such a huge crowd with so many fellow Democrats. (Yes, I admit, we're Dems, liberals, progressives).

There were over 5000 people there, more than twice what they expected. We were all crammed into the gym at a local university, but no one seemed to mind the coziness. We were all just excited to be there, participating... doing democracy. We cheered, laughed, clapped, yelled, and chanted. We listened intently to powerful uplifting speakers. We saw several familiar faces, some we'd campaigned for. Greg and I agreed we both felt honored to be there.

At this point in the race, it's still undecided who the Democratic presidential candidate will be. Greg was a delegate for Barack Obama. I was a delegate for Hillary Clinton. People laugh when they realize we're together, but wearing different buttons. Like we're on opposing teams or something. We're not, but it does make for some interesting, and sometimes heated, discussions. We agree that we'll each support whomever the Democratic candidate is. Both are qualified. Both will create change. Both will be awesome presidents.

This is democracy.

Participating, engaging, listening, reading, researching, attending, campaigning, discussing, advocating. This is democracy in action.

Who ate my hearing aids!?

My mom has... or had... hearing aids. One set is the very expensive tiny aids they call "Completely In the Canal" or CICs. The other set are over the ear type that belonged to my stepdad and had been modified for her, more or less. This second set she had just for spares.

Over Christmas, she first lost one of the spares. She had misplaced it once, but found it stuck inside her address book. But the second time, once it was gone, it was really gone. I say it got thrown away with wrapping paper and what not. She says the dogs ate it.

The second one she lost was the CIC aid for her right ear. She took it out somewhere, set it down, and that was the end of it. Never seen again. She says the dogs ate it (and says that to anyone and everyone who will listen). I say it got thrown away.

Every time she gets up from the couch, Blizzard rushes over to where she was sitting to see if she left anything yummy behind. He has found a few treats there now and again, like the too-sweet inside of a mint chocolate, a couple crackers, tissues, already-chewed gum, cookie crumbs, etc.

Eskies aren't great at covering their tracks. I usually find evidence somewhere around the house. Mangled pen caps, shredded toilet paper, half-eaten dollar bills, empty lip balm containers with the lid chewed off. I'm now collecting these items in a drawer and will share them with you later. No evidence of any eaten hearing aids.

So who's right? What happened to the missing hearing ads? We'll probably never know. For weeks I looked closely (but not too closely) every time I picked up dog poo in the backyard. We also looked everywhere we could think of around the house. If they're still in the house, I'm sure they'll show up once she's got new ones.

Chocolate chip cookies

My mom prides herself on her baking. She loves it! She bakes for everyone. Cookies for her doctor. Brownies for her eye doctor. Cheesecake for the priest. And anything for Greg.

In fact, we just shipped off 4 boxes containing primarily... you guessed it... cookies. One box to each of my brothers, one to my cousin, and one to my aunt. $30 just for shipping. They better be some goooood cookies!

Greg loves chocolate chip cookies, but... He loves his chocolate chip cookies. For several days he was craving his chocolate chip cookies, but didn't want to risk pissing my mom off by telling her he preferred his recipe. Or worse, baking them himself. One morning he woke up early and started mixing a batch, long before she would be up. He quickly had them baked, in a giant zip-lock bag, and safely hidden away before Mom ever came into the kitchen.

Somehow, she knew something was up. So she went over and felt the oven door, which was still warm. She looked around... nothing out of place, not the tiniest piece of evidence left behind. She didn't say anything.

Like little kids, sneaking around, we savored those forbidden cookies for days afterward.

Eventually, Greg got much braver and went ahead and baked cookies, while she was still asleep again, but didn't try to hide the evidence. She tried one and thought they were great! She had to admit that they were even better than hers!

Now she's decided that Greg can bake the chocolate chip cookies, and she'll bake everything else. Of course, that means I don't get/have to bake anything.

Oh well. Fine with me. I get to eat them all!

Mixed beans

Conversation with my mom in the car...

Mom: "I know what I forgot to pick up... my bean pot."

Me: "We'll get it next time. The crock pot worked just fine the last time."

Mom: "Did we soak them all night?"

Me: "Yep. All night. Then cooked them all the next day."

Mom: "They turned out okay?"

Me: "Yes they did. Next time we go to the store we can get those mixed beans you like."

Mom: "What?"

Me [louder]: "You know, a package of the different beans mixed together."

Mom: "And we can get those mixed beans next time."

Me [sigh, shaking head]: "Uh huh."

Lemons and poop

You've probably already heard about the tainted lemons in restaurants. If not, read this article:

Stop! Is that poop on your lemon?

The lemon thing I can understand, more or less. I used to tend bar when I was in college. I didn't think much about how I handled the lemons, limes and oranges I sliced. We weren't required to scrub them or disinfect them in any way. Just rinse them off and cut them up to put in drinks later on.

Didn't Odwalla have an issue with e-coli in the '90s? As I remember, they determined that the likely cause was organic fertilizer -- aka: manure. I guess some of the poop is already on fruits and vegetables when they are waxed to make them look more appealing in the grocery store. Doesn't the waxing just lock in any contiminants? How well do you wash your veggies before you serve them? Do you just give them a quick rinse, or do you really scrub? Do those sprays like Citrus Magic really work?

This has totally ruined the fresh fruit garnish thing for me. Can I still squeeze a lime on my fish taco? Or lemon on my lobster? Or eat the orange slice garnish on my plate? I know I'll think twice about it for awhile and say to myself --- Yuck! Gross!

Then I'll tell myself that alcohol will kill the germs and it's a homeopathic dose of bacteria which is good for you. That's true. Isn't it?

Strange sound

A couple of years ago, Greg and I had gone to visit my mom and stepdad. Earl told us he thought there was something wrong with the VCR or TV. Curious and willing to help solve the problem, we asked him to show us what was going on.

He pushed a button on the remote, and there it was... a very strange sound. It was sort of like a muted machine gun or a rapid stuttering mechanical something.

Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh!

Greg and I looked at each other. "Hmmm, do it again," we told him.

He pushed a button again. Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh!

Very strange. Greg tried it. Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh! I tried it. Uh uh uh uh uh uh uh! Right on cue every time.

I looked closely at the TV, VCR, all the components. I couldn't see anything that could possibly be causing such a noise. I was perplexed.

In the meantime, Greg had gone outside to look around. He came back in with a little grin on his face. "Teri, come outside with me, just for a second."

He pointed up at the roof, the chimney to be exact. Lo and behold, a woodpecker was sitting right on top of the metal cap of the chimney. I ran into the house and got Earl. This time the woodpecker gave us a little percussion performance, pecking happily at the chimney cap. We all started laughing.

"Well I'll be damned," Earl said. "Isn't that the funniest thing."

The TV is next to the fireplace in the family room. The sound was echoing down the chimney. That woodpecker must have thought it was the best sound he'd ever made. But how he managed to do it right on cue when my stepdad used the remote, I've never figured out.

Now, whenever I hear a woodpecker I'm reminded of that story. Occasionally, I'll hear that same sound coming from my fireplace, but now I know what it is. And I hear Earl laughing, "Well I'll be damned!"

Which card and where am I?

This has been an ugly week. My fibromyalgia has made me a total wreck. We've had a couple small storms blow through this week, and I'm very sensitive to weather, so I suppose that's what's affecting me.

This flare-up came with pain, fatigue, and "fibro-fog": when your brain just doesn't seem to work right. You can't process information, talk, connect thoughts, like you would on a normal day.

Yesterday I had to run to the grocery store, just to pick up a few things. When I was checking out, I kept running my discount club card through the scanner, but it wasn't picking it up. Finally, the clerk asked me for my card.

He looked at it and asked, "Don't you have a SooperCard?"

I said, "Yes," wondering why he would ask such a question.

"This is a Safeway card."

I had to think for a minute to figure out what he was telling me... I had given him the discount card for the wrong store and hadn't realized it. At that moment I wasn't even sure which store I was standing in. I gave him an embarrassed smile and asked if he wanted the correct card. He said he didn't need it because the Safeway one worked anyway.

To add insult to injury, when it came time to pay, I couldn't get the credit card machine to work. Again, I kept swiping my card and nothing happened. Finally, the clerk pushed a button on the machine to reset it and told me to try again. Ta da! Success!

The poor clerk was very patient, but glad to be rid of me, I'm sure.

These are two tasks I do regularly without difficulty. I've been to the grocery store hundreds of times and managed to use the correct discount card and pay with plastic. It's very frustrating and embarrassing when these things happen in public. All you can do is laugh at yourself and move on.

When you're in fibro-fog, most people look at you like you're drunk or on drugs. Some just think you're a total ditz. With fibromyalgia, you look "normal" otherwise... no scars, crutches, etc. People think, "She looks fine; what's wrong with her?" That's one of the problems; people create a story for you that fits their experience.

There was a story on 20/20 about Kevin Connolly, a man without legs who snaps photos of people staring at him. He discovered that "people really need to be able to tell a story, to be able to place you in a context within their own world." I think that's true no matter who you are.

We may say "You can't judge a book by its cover," but we do. We may not judge, but we do try to make things fit into the puzzle that is our world. Those stories we create affect how we treat others, how we react, and what we think. Everything is colored by the lens of our experience. With fibro, sometimes the lens gets a little foggy.

You know you're getting older...

You know you're getting older when you start wearing reading glasses. But you're really getting older when you find yourself discussing with a coworker whether or not you need to go for the next stronger pair...or bifocals, God forbid.

A couple of years ago I had lasik surgery on my then very nearsighted eyes. I don't regret it, but unlike some folks, I wouldn't say it's the best thing I've ever done. I had super...I mean SUPER...close vision. If you ever had a pimple or splinter that needed to be removed, I was the one to do the extraction. I really miss that. It was sort of like having a super power. I was Super Close Vision Woman!

And now, like the majority of people in my age group, I wear reading glasses. So I carry a pair in my purse (Greg uses them more than I do), and I'm always hunting for really cool reading glasses. That's because, at my age, I have to believe reading glasses really are cool. They don't make me look older, they make me look smarter.

Now I can put on my eye makeup and actually get it on my eyes and not my cheeks and forehead. I can buy really expensive sunglasses that aren't prescription (my "reward" purchase). I can see the clock across the room during a bad night of insomnia. And I can drive anyone crazy, day or night, without glasses or contacts.