How Does Your Garden Grow?

 

All the leaves are brown, and the skies are grey.

(California Dreamin' by The Mamas and The Papas)

How does your garden grow?

Happy, Little, Time Waster

 

Homemade Modge Podge

The Friday Five Good Things

 

Five good things that happened this week.

1. With the time change, everyone gets an extra hour of sleep, unless you have a cat.

2. Unseasonably warm weather this week. Yay!

3. A follow up visit to the podiatrist. I did not need the $500 custom orthotics.

4. Out to breakfast after the foot doctor visit

5. A very tall young man in the grocery store was able to reach the Bell's Seasoning for me

How was your week?

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

 Weebles Don't Wear Prada

Wednesday. On the itinerary a visit to the foot doctor to order shoes and then upstairs to the eye doctor. Both appointments for Ma.

Ma was rushing to get ready and I told her we had plenty of time. The appointment wasn’t until 10:30 and then we’d go upstairs to the eye doctor.

“No, the eye doctor cancelled the appointment,” said Dad.

“When?” I had been with him two weeks ago when we went upstairs while Ma was having her feet checked to make this appointment so Ma could get her eye drop prescription refilled.

“I don’t know, but it was cancelled.”

“Did they reschedule?” He blinked at me like an owl.

I could hear Himself’s voice echoing in my head. Never trust appointments made by Weebles.

I found an old appointment card with the eye doctor’s office number.

“Yes, I want to check on an appointment for Ma. Is she scheduled for today? She is? At 11:30am. Thank you.”

Dad just shrugged.

The medical center parking lot was filled to capacity. They must have been running a sale. I offloaded the Weebles at the front door and cruised four circuits of the lot. As I’m in the holding pattern, I was thinking eyes and feet, eyes and feet. That lead me to a joke The Brother told me. What’s occularassimatosis? Dunno. It’s when the nerves of the eyes are crossed with the nerves of the a…butt which results in a crappy outlook on life.

At the top of the fourth circuit, I spotted a handicap spot. Great! Just as I was making the final approach, a weeble zipped into the spot. They can barely walk, but they sure drive like bats out of hell. I called the poor woman all sorts of names in as many languages as I could think. That was my space, damnit! Occularassimatosis, indeed.

A circuit of the main lot, and the far employee lot yielded bupkiss. Back to the medical building lot. At the top of the circuit, I saw another handicap spot opening up. I sat at the top of the loop, gunned the engine and pulled in on two wheels just as the driver cleared the space.

I poked my head into the foot doctor’s office. Standing room only so I told Dad, I’d wait in the lobby waiting area and settled in with a book. The door opened and closed and weebles filed out. A few minutes later, more weebles came out. I went in.

Ma had just finished. She was standing at the receptionist desk frowning at three pair of athletic shoes.

“But I wanted dress shoes!”

“I want dress shoes too,” piped up another weeble lady in the waiting room.

Ma wanted to see other shoes. The doctor gave me a help me look. I shrugged, but tried for the Gipper.

“These are your choices.” No strappy shoes for you!

She looked at the doctor as he took the next patient’s chart.

“What about the New Balance shoes. I want those.” She pointed to the case where he had samples.

“They don’t make them any more!” he snapped. He grabbed the shoe from the display and tossed it in a box.

“But I want those. They really help me.”

“Ma, New Balance is the name of the shoe company. They don’t actually help improve your balance.”

She scowled at her three choices. “I want white.”

There were two white shoe choices. White with putty trim, and white with lavender trim. The remaining shoe was black on black. All had deeply grooved soles more like tires than soles.

“I’ll get the black. I want a Velcro strap.”

The doctor was heading back into his office. “No! The Velcro strap wouldn’t be good for her! She needs her shoes to be tied securely.

I didn’t tell the doctor that Ma doesn’t tie her shoes. Once the shoes are tied, she just kicks them off and steps in. After awhile, the shoes aren’t any more secure than they would be if they were held by Velcro loops.

Resigned to have no strappy shoes, Ma turned towards the door. The other weeble lady frowned in sympathy. No cute shoes for you either.

And an amusing note. On November 4, 2026, I had an appoint with the same foot doctor Ma visited. No cute shoes for me, either, and I didn't have to shell out $500 for custom orthotics. 

Adventures of the Poor, Little Boob

 

   This journal is about my journey with DCIS which began in January 2024. Ductal Carcinoma in Situ. A form of breast cancer. I didn't tell many people. Family, a handful of close friends. I didn't even tell my bosses at the museum where I teach. Somewhere along the line after much prodding and poking, I decided the My DCIS Journey was too boring so retitled the journal Adventures of the Poor, Little Boob.

The Poor, Little Boob has been cancer-free since June 0f 2024, and still has another year of taking hormone therapy and being monitored by an oncologist. My target date for ending the medication and this journey is June1, 2027

On February 27, 2024 (morning), I had a phone appointment with the pre-op nurse. She went over all the do's and don'ts prior to surgery. She had a delightful Irish accent. She told me to purchase a product called Hibi-Cleanse for bathing prior to surgery. I had read using original Dial soap was okay and she said it was. The usual no eating or drinking after midnight except clear liquids. We both agreed that clear tea without cream and sweetener was uncivilized.

In the afternoon, I went to Dana-Farber in Milford to have blood drawn for genetic testing. I wished the pre-op appointment wasn't scheduled in the morning. Otherwise, I would have asked my friend, Teague to come and pick me up after the blood draw so we could have a play day.

T Stands for Ink's Birthday Dinner

 

With Ink's birthday on Halloween, I used to do a Halloween themed dinner especially when the girlies were little.

This year, I wasn't planning anything special until Himself showed me a Halloween version of Pigs in Blankets. That is a hot dog (frankfurter) wrapped in biscuit dough and baked. In this version instead of rolling the franks in the dough, you draped the dough over half a hot dog, poked eyes and mouth with a straw and baked with the hot dogs standing up. The pigs were now ghosts and so stinking cute.

This is the recipe I followed https://kidfriendlythingstodo.com/ghosts-in-a-blanket/#recipe If you can find the Crescent Roll sheets, the dough is easier to work with than the regular crescent rolls. You don't have to worry about pinching seams closed. While some of the hot dogs baked nicely standing up, about half of them fell over. They still baked the same, looked just as cute, and tasted just as yummy.

This year, Ink's birthday fell on a Saturday. A typical Saturday night supper in New England is franks and beans. The ghost variation was fun with beans, potato salad, a blob of yellow mustard and relish. For my beverage, I had water with Stur Lemonade Flavor Water Enhancer.

 Drop by hosts, Bleubeard and Elizabeth’s blog to find out what the rest of the T gang is up to. If you want to play, include a beverage or beverage container in your post. Don’t forget to link your blog from Bleubeard and Elizabeth’s page.

Monet and Me

 

Along with Bruce and Miro are admiring the Halloween postcard sent to us by Anne's Creative Cornucopia. She created this fun postcard digitally using vintage images.

For those who like stamps, this colorful Frigatebird issued by the USPS in 2015. At the time, the price of a postcard stamps was 34 cents before May 31 and increased to 35 cents after May 31.

Today, the cost of a postcard stamps is 65 cents.

Anne thank you for brightening up my mailbox. You made my day.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

 Getting back from the Ogunquit weekend, the week was busy as I tried to catch up. I didn't take pictures of my own garden. You get to look at the views from Ogunquit.

Walking on our way to dinner, the Blue Heron posed for me.

I've seen this movie before

A Loon (I think) looking out over the Ogunquit River through the restaurant window

Sunset. Reflections of the restaurant lights look like flying saucers

Sunrise from our balcony looking over the Ogunquit River to the ocean

Flowers at the parking lot

An area to relax at the hotel

Waterfall

Marguerites

A faded rose

On the walk back from the beach, Bittersweet

The moon from our balcony

The Beachmere decorates lobster traps according to the season

Estuary of the Ogunquit River and the Atlantic Ocean

Cat

Seahorse

Nevermore

On the way into our hotel, a waxing gibbous moon, and I can see the Man in the Moon!

All over town, the businesses were decorated with giant and mounds of pumpkins. Bye bye, Ogunquit. We hope to see you next year.

Happy, Little, Time Waster

 

Because today would have been Ink's 29th birthday, a fun video about black cats

Black Cats Are NOT Like Other Cats 15 Things Owners Never Notice

and Happy Halloween

The Friday Five Good Things

 

Five good things that happened this week.

1. My tote had a hole in it. We stopped at a gift shop in York and I found the perfect size tote and it was on sale!

2. On the way home Teague and I stopped at Dairy Queen for lunch. I had been promised ice cream

3. Himself and I voted.

4. The continuing Tuesday calligraphy students weren't thrilled with the project I had for them. As they started working, they really got into it.

5. I misplaced the new tote and found it under the computer desk in the studio

How was your week?

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

  In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Monday, January 21, 2008

Spread a Little Sunshine

Some days you just get everything right. Before the holidays, I had promised to take Ma to get her hair done. Between the holidays, bad weather, and my hairdresser being booked, the plan never happened until Friday.

There was a threat of bad weather, but the storm fizzled and a snowy mix turned to rain. Himself went to pick Ma up and bring her out. I’d take Ma to have her hair done, and then bring her over for lunch. Dad would have a welcome day off. That was the plan.

Himself called me just as he was getting on the offramp from the Pike. It was getting close to Ma’s appointment time so he dropped her off at the hairdresser’s and I bolted out the door to meet him. We executed a perfect Keystone Cops drill with the cars.

The hairdresser pampered and catered to Ma. She did a beautiful job cutting and evening out her previous do which Dad had done for Ma. That was the reason for getting Ma to the hairdresser. My bad, just didn’t think about her hair. Didn’t think Dad and a pair of scissors was a good thing. I could just imagine one wrong “you’re stupid remark” and pffft! Sweeney Todd.

I had also decided to invite Prissy over for lunch. I figured Ma would have a new face to talk and sing to. Prissy would have a change of pace. It was a win win.

Lunch went well. The weeble ladies had a nice time chatting with one another. As Hannibal used to say, “I love it when a plan comes together.” Let the sun shine!

Adventures of the Poor, Little Boob

   This journal is about my journey with DCIS which began in January 2024. Ductal Carcinoma in Situ. A form of breast cancer. I didn't tell many people. Family, a handful of close friends. I didn't even tell my bosses at the museum where I teach. Somewhere along the line after much prodding and poking, I decided the My DCIS Journey was too boring so retitled the journal Adventures of the Poor, Little Boob.

The Poor, Little Boob has been cancer-free since June 0f 2024, and still has another year of taking hormone therapy and being monitored by an oncologist. My target date for ending the medication and this journey is June1, 2027

The surgeon's office contacted me to say the insurance company approval didn't cover the consult I had with the surgeon on February 5. They wanted the insurance company to back date the letter.

More hurdles to jump over. Maybe it would have been better if I had just kept my mouth shut and gone to be treated with the doctor's group of my primary care physician. Since the cancer is slow growing and rarely moves from its location, maybe just not bothering with treatment.

The insurance company said they couldn't back date the letter and to just submit as a reinbursement form. So many worries for the poor, Little Boob.

T Stands for Brunch at the Omelette Factory

 

One of the place Teague and I hoped to have breakfast/brunch at

was The Omelette Factory. In all the years the Two Old Ladies have been going to Ogunquit, Maine, we've never been able to get in to the restaurant. It's a very cozy restaurant (tiny), popular, and always crowded. Since the weekend before Halloween was pretty much the last weekend of the season before things shut down, we figured we might have a chance.

and we did. I had a Monte Cristo which is a ham, cheese, French toast, spread with homemade strawberry jam and a side order of home fries. I also had my second cup of tea.

The owners of the Omelette Factory are at the center of a controversy with the town 

over metal roosters that their six year old daughter fell in love with and now adorn their home which is next to the restaurant. You can read about the controversy here.

Because of the controversy many of the businesses and neighbors have their own roosters to stand in solidarity. The movement has been named the Roosters of Ogunquit. 

One of the things I asked to do was to be able to see some of the roosters as we drove around. Teague obliged me

Since a lot of them adorn the main road, it was hard to photograph them from a moving vehicle.

They just sort of popped up

I missed these skeleton roosters the evening before so was really happy I was able to photograph them as we went by and Teague tried to remember where she was them.

The Omelette Facory sells swag which benefits The Youth Enrichment Center at Hilton-Winn Farm until the family can establish their own non-profit, The Roosters of Ogunquit

Drop by hosts, Bleubeard and Elizabeth’s blog to find out what the rest of the T gang is up to. If you want to play, include a beverage or beverage container in your post. Don’t forget to link your blog from Bleubeard and Elizabeth’s page.

Monet and Me

 

and Miro and Bruce admire some happy mail from colleague, Dave the Mailman. Spooky lettering on the front and the cancellation mark is spooky, too. It looks like it got stuck in the cancellator. I wondered if it was a seasonal cancellation. I can make out "Dog Bites". The cancellation mark features a Labrador Retriever and is to highlight awareness about dog bite prevention to US Postal workers.

More spooky writing on the front of the card

Inside, Bruce loved the pun. Thanks for the fun surprise, Dave.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

How a community rallied around a little girl and her love for roosters

Two Old Ladies On the Road are back in Ogunquit, Maine. I hope as we drive around town, we get to see some of the Ogunquit Roosters. The matter with the town hasn't been resolved yet.

Happy, Little, Time Waster

 

7 Projects From Paper Scraps I Almost Threw Away

The Friday Five Good Things

 Five good things that happened this week.

1. We watched Phantom of the Opera starring Claude 💖 Rains.

2. We watched another Claude 💖 Rains movie, The Invisible Man

3. Hooray for new toys. The portable paper cutter arrived. It handles paper that is 6 inches and will fit in my art journal travel kit.

4. After a couple of weeks of her not feeling well, I finally had a fun video chat with the Young One.

5. Two Old Ladies are on the road again.

How was your week?

TBT Reprints from CJ's Whine and Cheeze

 In 2003, Ma had a stroke. Dad was her full time caregiver until he he had a car accident that totaled the car. So in 2006, I became their chauffeur among other jobs.

At the time, to deal with the stress of running two households and working, I kept a blog entitled CJ's Whine and Cheeze. Egged on by some friends who enjoyed the first read through, you'll see your part when it comes by.

Sunday, January 06, 2008

Optimistic Song

The day before the shopping expedition to Market Basket had been blessedly short, but not pleasant. In anticipation of the shopping day, I prepared as an athlete before running a marathon only instead of carbo loading, I acetaminophen loaded. Took some after the meltdown day when I got home. Took some before I went to bed and took some just before I left being careful not to exceed the maximum dosage in a 24 hr. period.

Thursday. 3. January. Market Basket day. After Wednesday’s weeble meltdown, I debated giving the Weebles the “There Will Be No PDA” speech while we were out in public. PDA. Weeble shorthand for Public Displays of Attention. They appeared to be in a good mood so I back burnered the speech.

Since the Summer, one of Dad’s friends had been taking the Weebles shopping sparing me the aggravation. I should have realized my freedom would have been short lived. Ma had said something to the woman and she refused to take them shopping. Maybe forever. Deep sigh. Forlorn look.

Driving down the road I was keeping my jubilee close to hand when Dad’s voice piped up from the back.

“This isn’t where you turn! You’re going the wrong way.”

Nothing can kill my good mood quicker than a backseat Weeble driver or a front seat one for that matter. Fortunately, Ma had dozed off and wasn’t paying attention.

“This is where we always make the turn!” I snapped. The morning dose of acetaminophen hadn’t quite kicked in.

“Oh, I see. You’re right.”

At 10:30AM, we pulled into the market parking lot. Us and every weeble from miles around. The third of the month. The date when all of the social security checks hit the weeble accounts. There were no handicap spots to be had so I offloaded the Weebles at the front door and went to find a parking spot. Every weeble for miles around coupled with lots of snow piles made parking rather scarce and I ended up parking in Nebraska.

Venturing into the store, I found Ma and Dad in the dairy aisle. She was caroming down the aisle with him pushing his carriage at a safe and respectable 20 paces behind. Ma had the little basket on go cart filled with two gallons of milk, a gallon of orange juice, two containers of cottage cheese with pineapple and her steamer trunk of a handbag (aka pockabook)

She came through dairy to the deli. She debated about getting deli meat asking me what I would like for lunch. I explained I wouldn’t be staying for lunch, but I took a ticket for the deli.

“Nevermind. He doesn’t deserve anything here.”

“Oh, I need eggs!”

Eggs live at the beginning of the dairy aisle which we had already passed through.

“How many dozen?”

“Three”

I sprinted back to dairy and found Dad by the eggs with a deer in the headlights look.

He had a 12 pack of root beer in the carriage.

“She wants 3 dozen of large, brown eggs.”

He picked the egg cartons, put them in his carriage, crossed eggs off a shopping list .

“I need to get milk and…”

“She has milk, orange juice and cottage cheese.”

He crossed the items off the list.

I thought we would continue on our way on the outside of the store to the ritual of the Blessing of the Meat when Ma banged a left up the pickle and olive aisle. I could see Dad coming down the other end of the aisle. What the?

Before the friend had taken them shopping, they had a fairly organized way to shop. Ma did the outside circuit, covering dairy, the blessing of the meat, produce and frozen foods. Dad meandered his way through the aisles.

But now, they were duplicating where the other had already been.

We’d be here for days! Maybe months! This was not good. Not good at all.

At the end of the pickle aisle was a display of canned vegetables 10 cans for $5. Ma was trying to offload cans of peas into her cart. Dad came up behind us and I shifted the peas to his carriage.

I tried to convince him the wisdom of going back to them dividing the shopping chore. I was blinded by the reflection of his deer in the headlights glow.

“I want 5 cans of French cut green beans and 5 cans of regular green beans!” she demanded.

The cans were stacked 5 feet high and all the regular cut green beans were on the bottom.

“You can have 10 cans of French cut. I’m not unstacking cans!”

“I want 10 cans of corn, but not the creamed kind!”

I was tempted to toss one can of the creamed kind into the mix.

With cans of vegetables picked and stacked, Ma zoomed off to the other end of the store. Dad was following behind.

“No!” I shouted at him. “Go up and down the aisles. Let her do produce and meat. Her basket can’t hold all that and stuff from the aisles.”

Ma had turned the corner into produce.

“I need a 10 lb. bag of potatoes. Make sure they are big ones.”

I hefted a few bags, showed her the large potatoes peeking through the mesh. She nodded in satisfaction. She took a fast right and whammed into the stand that holds the plastic produce bags. It banged to the floor with an almighty clang. Activity in produce came to a halt. Ma hit the accelerator and kept going with the dead stand blocking her way.

“Stop!” I yelled. “Just stop.”

She released the button.

“Back up. SLOWLY!”

I picked up the stand and moved it out of her way.

She was looking at eggplants. Pawing them. She had two candidates and handed the one she wanted for me to put in her basket. Ma went to put the other one back when it happened. The poor eggplant suicided with a ripe thump to the floor. There were no weebles in the aisle so no one saw and gave me an accusing, murderous look.

Unconcerned, Ma continued rolling along.

“Get me those pears. Those brown pears [Bosc] for him.”

Now since the summer, Dad had taken over the household funds. Ma had relinquished the purse strings, albeit reluctantly, in an attempt to “show HIM HE can’t manage the household funds by himself”. So far, if you’re keeping score, Dad was managing.

She began picking more produce. Bananas, apples, 2 pounds of tomatoes which I hand picked and none suicided.

“Get another one. He’s paying for it.” That became her mantra as she tried to sabotage Dad’s funds.

We finished in produce and then like salmon swimming upstream headed to meats. We blessed a few.

“Go over there,” Ma pointed, “and get him some sausage with fennel.”

I put the sausage in her now overflowing cart.

“Go get another one. He’s paying for it!”

Ma continued down the case eyeing specimens.

The meat manager had come out and was stocking that section of the case. He tried to remove a box that was in the way.

“Take your time,” I said inclining my head towards Ma by the roasts. “We’re going to be here all day.”

He chuckled.

With meats out of the way and her basket in the shape of a small mountain, Ma went down the cleaning aisle.

She stopped behind another weeble lady in another go cart.

Ma was fingering a box of Swiffer wet jet pads and frowning.

“Get me the thing that goes with the thing.”

“That’s a very helpful description.”

The other weeble lady snickered.

“Are you looking for the Swiffer cloths?” I asked.

“Yes, but not the wet ones and the store brand.”

“Oh, I have a plastic box with a lid,” said the other weeble lady. “I put the dry ones in the box and then add my own Lysol,” she added helpfully.

I smiled politely.

We continued down the aisle leaving Heloise [ ed: used to write a syndicated household tip and cleaning column] to do her shopping. Ma grabbed laundry detergent, (2 because he’s paying), and a jug of bleach. There was no possible room in the basket so we put the detergent on the floor between her feet and Dad just happened down the aisle so the bleach went in his carriage.

Ma was contemplating brands of dishwasher detergents.

“I need to get laundry soap,” said Dad looking at his list.

“She got it.”

He crossed off his list

“Let’s see. Bleach.”

“Got it!”

“Well, we still need…” and Dad rattled off several more items from his list. “We’re going to need another carriage. You’ll have to get one.”

“Excuse me? I don’t think so. I don’t do my own shopping and now you expect me to push a carriage?” I said in my best Little Princess voice. Another empty carriage would just be begging to be filled. We had already spent an hour and a half in the store. Dad still had room in his carriage for the items left on his list.

As if Ma realized the time, she announced she would get into line and Dad would get the couple of items he still needed.

I was never so happy to bolt out of the store and sprinted to Nebraska to retrieve the car.

I trolled the parking lot, but there were no handicap spots to be had and after the second circuit, I lost my space in Nebraska. I pulled up to the end of the building and with my emergency blinkers flashing sat in the fire lane.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes went by and Ma came out. I offloaded her into the car because it was wicked cold outside. I started loading the car with grocery bags expecting Dad to come trotting out any minute.

I went to sit in the car to get out of the cold.

“Where’s Dad?”

“He was right behind me.”

Another five, ten, fifteen minutes. Right behind you. Right behind you and every other weeble across the country.

Dad came out of the store with that charming deer in the headlights glow.

We unloaded his carriage.

“I’ll take the carriage out of the way, you get in.”

“No, I have to give her this.”

He went to the passenger side and opened the door to hand Ma the receipt to show her how much they had spent.

I shook my head. Why didn’t he get in the car and hand her the freaking receipt? Weebles!

With Weebles and groceries loaded, I headed home.

“Oh! I forgot the frozen foods,” Ma said as the left arrow light out of the parking lot turned green.

I took the corner sharply and burned rubber down the street away from the grocery store.

“Well, I’ll have enough to get by. You’ll have to take me shopping in two weeks.”

Maybe we would have a blizzard.

As we got to the large intersection by Dennison Crossing, I debated going back by way of 135. It was now 12:15pm and the Labs would be letting out for lunch which meant 27 would be backed up in both directions. I decided to go by the Dennison plant to pick up Hartford Street cross Speen and down Rte. 9 to Weeble home. Ma nodded off.

Just as we passed by Boston Scientific, the old Carling Brewery, Ma woke up.

“Where are you going?”

“Taking you home.”

“I knew what she was doing,” said he who accused me of making the wrong turn at the start of the expedition.

Dad and I unloaded Ma and the groceries in record time. I announced I would be cutting it close to pick up the Young One and rolled to the Pike as fast as my Taurus wheels could go.

As I crossed under Rt 495, the imaginary demarcation of the Land of Here There Be Dragons and Ground Weeble, I felt as if a weight had been lifted from me. I described the sensation to Himself when I got home.

“The sky turned a brilliant blue and rays of sunlight streamed through the clouds.”

He started to sing the song from the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy and companions come out of the forest and realize they have reached the Emerald City.

"You're out of the woods, You're out of the dark, You're out of the night. Step into the sun, Step into the light. Keep straight ahead for the most glorious place On the Face of the Earth or the sky. Hold onto your breath, Hold onto your heart, Hold onto your hope. March up to the gate and bid it open.

"I'll go get the Young One," he said while I was still laughing.

"Thanks! I need more drugs."

Adventures of the Poor, Little Boob

  This journal is about my journey with DCIS which began in January 2024. Ductal Carcinoma in Situ. A form of breast cancer. I didn't tell many people. Family, a handful of close friends. I didn't even tell my bosses at the museum where I teach. Somewhere along the line after much prodding and poking, I decided the My DCIS Journey was too boring so retitled the journal Adventures of the Poor, Little Boob.

The Poor, Little Boob has been cancer-free since June 0f 2024, and still has another year of taking hormone therapy and being monitored by an oncologist. My target date for ending the medication and this journey is June1, 2027

The backstory. When I was in computer school, I met a young man, Derry, who started the program a couple of months before me. (The school started a new class each month). He was 13 years older than me. He came to my aid one afternoon when my car wouldn't start. I was going to call the automobile club, but he said he had cables and he jump started my car. He gave the cables to me because he was worried I'd have problems on the road. "At least with cables, you can flag someone down to jump start your car." The following day on break we went out to the parking lot so I could give him his cables back and my car had a flat tire. He was going to change the tire for me and I told him after class, I'd call the automobile club. He wasn't going to have any of that. It was a matter of pride. "Can't have anyone [in there] think what a pantywaist I am that I can't change a tire for a little girl." After that, Derry became another big brother. Sadly, Derry became ill with leukemia and passed away in October 1990 at the age of 48. His birthday was February 16.

February 19 was a Red Letter Day. A letter of approval arrived from the insurance company. I could be treated at Dana Farber Cancer Institute. 

What's astonishing was the letter was dated Friday, February 16. Derry's birthday. The same day I spoke with the insurance representative late in the afternoon to ask for an Organizational Determination. That means that someone gave the approval and had the letter typed and put in the mail shortly after I hung up the phone. I was told it would take 3 or more business days before I got an answer. I received the answer on Monday, February 19.

I think Derry was looking out for me.

T Stands for Blame It On Iris

 

Iris, in  her Tea, Anyone post mentioned Dunnies. A Dunny is an Australian Outhouse. I didn't know what my Tea Day post was going to be about, but then I remembered a gift my friend, K from Australia had sent to me many, many years ago.

She sent two books on dunnies and two souvenir teaspoons that were popular to collect while traveling yonks ago (a long time ago) as K would say. Good reading while you're occupied

The first spoon shows an open dunny. Make sure before you enter or sit down, you check for the deadly Huntsman spider. Embossed on the handle of the spoon is the 'Strine (Australian slang) word "Dinkum" it's usually used as the expression "Fair Dinkum" meaning the real deal.

Back of the spoon.

The other spoon has the cartoon pub from the no longer Australasian Post magazine. The pub was named the Ettamogah Pub by cartoonist Ken Maynard. According to Wikipedia a chain of four pubs were built in various parts of Australia.

Etched on the back of the spoon is the word Sundowner. I think it must be the manufacturer

Here is my new mug that I got on the trip to Lake Winnipesaukee. One morning we went to a small Ma and Pa breakfast restaurant called Sunshine and Pa's.

Drop by hosts, Bleubeard and Elizabeth’s blog to find out what the rest of the T gang is up to. If you want to play, include a beverage or beverage container in your post. Don’t forget to link your blog from Bleubeard and Elizabeth’s page.