At 8:30 this morning, Badger and I were on the road, chasing fog.
We woke up to heavy fog, and she wanted pictures of the fog on the river-it’s about a mile there, a mile back.
By the time we got out there, the fog had lifted.
But she got a good picture of a hawk taking a bath in the Methodist Creek.
Right before we got to the cemetery road, I wasn’t paying attention and slid in a big old puddle of mud.
One leg went right, the other left, and I grabbed Badger’s arm to keep from doing a full-on split.
She yelled, “Ow! No one else can find a vein, but you found a vein. Ow!”
I told her it was her veins or an ambulance, and I wasn’t about to explain to the ER how I managed to break a hip.
Not to mention, Cowboy was still at home snoring in bed.
He wouldn’t have a clue where we got to.
It didn’t hurt at the time, but after a hot soak, something on the right side started hurting.
Dr. Google and AI say I’ve got a groin sprain.
There isn’t a lot to chitter-chatter about.
Heron worked.
He honked at us as he went by the river.
Badger and I made darn sure we were well, well out of that road by the time he zoomed past.
Cowboy works.
Duh.
He always works.
Raven headed to the other parent’s house.
He works 5 p.m. to 5 a.m. on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.
I’ve got a terrible memory, but I’m pretty sure that’s right.
Raven gets prickly if you ask him more than once, so I don’t.
On Fridays, Raven goes up to spend time with his littles.
It’s about an hour round trip from our house to hers.
He could keep them here overnight, take them back early Saturday, and stay at her place until work.
But he doesn’t.
He chooses not to.
Badger and I have occupied ourselves-mostly TV.
She stayed in her room a large part of the day.
I was reading-still haven’t finished that darn Cronkite book.
I even took a short nap.
Let me tell you, Badger’s come up with this recipe for what I call candied pineapple.
Healthy?
Heck no.
But tasty.
I know it has schnapps, brown sugar, and butter in it, but the rest is a jealously guarded secret.
That was my supper tonight.
It’s 9 p.m. and almost medication time, so I’m calling it a day and going back to dumb old Cronkite.
I’m about ready to abandon that book.
I’ve been reading it since July.
Everything’s timed around medication.
A.M. is thyroid, P.M. is hives.
The hives meds come with side effects, one of which is drowsiness and dizziness.
But I’d rather put up with the side effects than the hives.
Oh, have y’all seen the moon?
It’s a pretty shade of orange now.
It was pink when Badger and I took our night walk earlier.
Nap or no nap, I’m sleepy.
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When I was young I could do the splits. Years ago when I was taking my young stallion out of his paddock he decided to do a pirouette. I somehow was finding myself doing the splits. I'll just say I truly feel your pain!
ReplyDeleteWalter Cronkite, when news was news. I think I'd give up on the book. I take 2 antidepressants, a statin and prescription pain meds. The older I get, more pill bottles are in the drawer.
Sandra: I admire you—even when I was young, I couldn’t do a split! Getting forced into one by a frisky stallion must’ve hurt like the dickens—there’s no pain quite like it.
ReplyDeleteI was 10 when Cronkite went off the air—I wish I remembered him. The news today isn’t quite the same.
I’m stubborn, so I refuse to let a book beat me, 😄—but it’s well over a thousand pages, and I’m nowhere near done.
It is true, the older you get, the more pills they hand you. My husband has a literal cigar box full of pills. So far I’m lucky to only have two, although I’m supposed to be on statins and I keep refusing.