How Does Your Garden Grow?

 

On the sunflower. Is it a new flower? A petal that fell. I looks a little like a bubble.

The phone took a picture all by itself. 

Not from my yard, but through the windshield driving home.

How does your garden grow?

Happy, Little, Time Wasters

 

Top 10 Funny Cat Video

The Friday Five Good Things

 

Five good things, all about food,  that happened this week.

1. We visited Himself's Nana at the cemetery and then had dinner at the Texas Roadhouse

2. Happiness is a fresh cucumber and tomato (from the garden) sandwich with a little mayo on white bread

3.We had leftover apple pie from the Texas Roadhouse. It was delicious

4. After dental appointments and Himself's doctor's appointment, we celebrated out 41st wedding anniversary at Giacomo's in Wayland.

5.Teague and I had lunch at Murphy's in Framingham. I had a chocolate frappe

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.

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

One Car Funeral

Ma’s youngest brother and last of her siblings passed away. I knew as soon as the arrangements were made it would be up to me to see that Ma got to the funeral. The funeral would be in East Boston, and that posed a problem for me.

See, I’m petrified to drive in the city. Put me on a highway, let me go fast and straight and I’m happy as a clam. Get me in the city where I don’t know my way around, where all the streets are one way and I lose my cool. I also don’t do well making left turns without a light and I panic if I have to parallel park. That’s the only kind of parking in East Boston so right away I was having conniptions. I did the only thing I could think of. I begged Himself to take a personal day from school so he could drive. I owe him big time.

Ma called to give me the details of the funeral.

“The funeral is at Wednesday at three o’clock at the Sacred Heart Church. We don’t have to go to  Rapino’s (funeral parlor) and there won’t be a graveside service, but I don’t know how we are going to get to the church!”

I heard the unmistakable sound of Velcro loops locking together as she raised her wrist to her forehead. Part of me wanted to sing the song by Vanity Fair. “A thumb goes up, a car goes by Oh, won't somebody stop and help a guy? Hitchin' a ride, hitchin' a ride” Instead, I stifled the ‘Help me, Lord’ sigh and said, “Don’t worry, Ma, Himself and I will see that you get there.”

I called my friend, Red, to see if she could pick the Young One up at school. I owe Red big time.

I knew where the church was. It was down the street from Grandma’s house and around the block from Auntie’s. I had walked to confession and Mass a million times as a kid, but I had no clue how to drive there. Himself and I consulted Mapquest. Sacred Heart Church. 336 Saratoga Street.

Armed with our directions, the Weebles firmly buckled in the car, we headed to East Boston, near Logan Airport. It was pretty much a straight shot down the Pike from the Weebles. We drove through the new, pristine Ted Williams Tunnel and marveled how quickly the ride to the airport now was. The Weebles haven’t driven into Boston since the beginning of the Big Dig (1991) and they were amazed at the changes.

Ma mentioned her brother-in-law, Salvatore, had invited us back to his house for coffee after the Mass. I called Uncle from the car to tell him we were on the Pike. He said he would meet us at the church and reminded me we were to go back to his house for coffee.

We were zipping along splendidly, found the exit at the end of the Pike, made the left turn onto Bennington and then onto Neptune Road. According to Mapquest, a left at Neptune would put us onto Saratoga. Neptune Road ended and suddenly we were in the middle of the Circus Maximus.

Ben-Hur (3/10) Movie CLIP - The Chariot Race (1959) HD

All the streets were marked one way and none of them seemed to be in the direction we wanted to go in. Even though the Weebles grew up in the area, they weren’t helpful with directions.

“The church is around the corner from Guy’s.” Guy owned a small grocery store and surprise, the store is no longer there.

Himself patiently drove up and down streets, weaving through the maze of one way streets like a mouse searching for cheese. He turned down Morris St.

“This is the street Grandma used to live on!” I said. “Look, there’s the Sister’s school (Sacred Heart School). The church is down the next block.”

Sure enough, we found the church at the end of the street and could legally make a left turn onto Brooks Street. Himself pulled up to the curb where there was a handicap ramp. We offloaded the Weebles and Himself and I negotiated the maze of one way streets looking for a place to park. We ended up back on Morris St. and there was a parking space right in front of Grandma’s door. I liked to think the old lady was looking out for us. Himself parked the car and we walked to the church.

As I started to go up the steps of the church, I saw an old lady at the corner. The old lady was wearing a black coat with a fur collar. The old lady was pushing a walker.

What the hell? “Ma! Ma!” I yelled and ran up alongside of her. “What are you doing?”

“The church is locked. Your father went to find a way in.”

I saw Dad by some brick steps.

“The church is locked.”

I climbed the stairs and looked through the glass window of the door. I saw a doorbell and rang it. The door was opened by an older woman and I suddenly realized I was at the rectory.

“May I help you?”

“Yes, we’re here for the funeral for my uncle, but the church is locked.”

She looked at me as if I my horns were showing, and I worried that the lintel was going to collapse because I was standing on the hallowed threshold.

“The funeral isn’t today,” she said.

I looked at her as if she was speaking a foreign language.

My mouth opened and closed and I realized I must have looked like a codfish.

“Won’t you come in?” and she opened the door wide.

I stepped into the foyer and she lead me into the church office. She pulled out the church record. “The funeral is tomorrow at 3pm.”

“But the funeral for the Uncle is today!” I pleaded. The small voice in my head reminded me there was no hearse out front and a submarine klaxon began to blare.

She stepped across the hall and stuck her head into another office and asked about the date and time for the funeral. "Father..." I could hear her voice drop in volume to a respectful whisper.

“Father Salducci has the Uncle’s funeral at three o’clock tomorrow afternoon,” said the priest.

I wanted to scream. But we came today! We came from Worcester [Land of Here There Be Dragons]. We drove the Weebles. There damn well better be a #$$%&^%^ funeral today! If not the Uncle’s, somebody’s! Can’t the priest say the Mass today? We don’t really need the casket. It’s just a decoration anyway.

All hands! Rig for crash! We're headed to the bottom!

The woman gently ushered me out to the steps. “Who told you the funeral was today?”

I pointed at Ma at the bottom of the stairs. J’accuse! I wanted to throttle someone. Ma was the first choice, followed by the church secretary, the Pastor, and Dad for good measure.

I spent a good ten minutes trying to get through to Ma the date and time were incorrect. Both Ma and Dad were befuddled. I tried calling Uncle Salvatore’s house, but there was no answer. He must have been on his way to the church. I told Ma and Dad to stay in front of the rectory and Himself and I would bring the car around. We headed for Morris St.

As we rounded the corner in front of the church, there was Uncle Salvatore walking up and down the sidewalk.

“Uncle! Uncle!”

He smiled, shouted my name, and opened his arms to me in a big hug.

“Ma got the date wrong. The funeral is tomorrow.”

“Where’s your mother?”

“She and Dad are waiting out in front of the rectory.”

Uncle introduced Himself and I to his lady friend, Bee. We shook hands and she invited us back to the house.

Himself said he would bring the car around and I was to bring Uncle Salvatore and his friend to Ma and Dad.

It was quite cold and the wind had picked up. Ma was shivering and whining she was cold. Not much I could do because the church was locked! We stood like penguins and the old folks caught up with each other. The last time we had been together was three years earlier at Uncle Salvatore’s surprise 80th birthday. So we waited and waited for Himself to bring the car around.

Uncle Salvatore and Bee had walked to the church, and Bee decided she would walk back to put the coffee on.

I caught a glimpse of Himself coming around Neptune, but he missed the turn and disappeared. I ran to the front of the church hoping to flag him down as he came down Morris St. No such luck.

Uncle decided to go get his car so he could take Ma and Dad back to the house to get warmed up. I would wait for Himself. Uncle Salvatore gave me the directions to get back to his house.

Uncle brought his car around to the rectory and helped Ma and Dad to get in. I turned to walk to the front of the church and there was Himself parked in front of the church by the handicap ramp where we started nearly an hour before.

"Only my family can screw up a one car funeral! Can you believe the church is locked?"

"Sad, but the churches don't stay open like they used to."

"That sux! You can't claim sanctuary anymore!"

"Sanctuary!" - Charles Laughton as 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame' (1939)

We negotiated the streets with Uncle Salvatore’s directions and pulled up in front of his house. There was an empty spot right in front of his door and Himself started the maneuver to parallel park the car.

“Wait! Don’t park here. This is probably Uncle Salvatore’s space. Go further down. If we don’t find a space we can take a right and park on Bremen St., behind Uncle’s house.”

Maybe the old lady was still watching out for us because there was a space about 3 or 4 houses down from Uncle Salvatore’s.

At Uncle Salvatore’s, Bee was bustling around the kitchen, setting the table with cups, plates and food. Italians always celebrate moments of great joy, sorrow, or the mundane with copious amounts of food. She poured coffee and tea, and brought out cheese and crackers, Scali bread, eggplant Parmigiana, a frittata, and calzone.

It felt strange sitting around the dining room table and Auntie (Ma's sister) not there. Auntie passed away 6 years earlier and her daughter, Dee (2 yrs older than me), passed away 8 months later. Bee was very gracious and I’m pleased Uncle Salvatore has a companion.

We spent the afternoon reminiscing and catching up on the doings of Uncle’s son, grandchildren, and great grandchild.

Bee thought I looked a lot like Cousin Dee’s friend Margaret.

“Oh, no,” Ma piped up. “Margaret is thin.”

“Want some ice for that burn?” Himself whispered.

The conversation turned to the improvements Uncle Salvatore made in the house.

“You know, Sal,” began Ma. “I need a good plumber, not you.”

I passed the ice pack to Uncle Salvatore.

Ma went on about the remodeling she wants to do in the bathroom when her millions come in.

Since Bee was a new audience Ma began telling her how I only go out to them once a month, if that, and I never visit. (Surprisingly, she didn’t sing the ‘He’s Stupid’ song. She must have realized she would be slam dunked with the ‘Who Effed Up the Date of the Funeral’ song.)

“Whoa, back up the Elder bus,” I said. “I take you to the foot doctor, the heart specialist, and the primary care doctor. When you broke your wrist, I took you to the emergency room. I took you to three follow up appointments with the orthopedist.”

“Well, you don’t come to visit,” she sniffed.

“I came to visit you one Sunday. You said ‘I fell, look at my wrist.’ I took you to the emergency room. I visited with you for four and a half hours in the emergency room. It wasn’t my fault, you fell and we had to spend our time in the emergency room.”

“Well, you don’t stay for lunch.”

“I planned on staying for lunch. It wasn’t my fault that your primary care doctor kept you waiting for your appointment for an hour and a half and I couldn’t stay for lunch because I had to get back to pick the Young One up from school. If I’m such an awful kid, see if my twin sister will do better by you!”

Ma furrowed her brow. “But you don’t have a twin.”

“Bingo! Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Sensing the conversation might deteriorate to blows, Himself mentioned how it was getting late and we had best get on the road.

Uncle invited us back to the house tomorrow after the funeral.

Uncle Salvatore gave us directions back to the Pike. We missed the turn and passed the gas tanks.

Ma started singing the “You’re going the wrong way song.”

“We know!” we shouted.

“Why don’t you go through Chelsea?”

As kids, when we were annoying, one of the adults would say “Here’s a quarter. Go play in the tunnel.(Either the Callahan or the Sumner)”. The tunnel fare has gone up and I was tempted to give Ma three dollars.

A right turn brought us out to 1A. Himself missed the turn to the Pike, so we ended up going around Logan Airport on the exit road. Fortunately, Ma had nodded off and we eventually made it to the Pike and the tunnel and Boston rush hour traffic. All we would see for miles was red tail lights strung out like Christmas lights.

Back at the Weebles, Ma sank wearily into her chair. “Oh, I don’t know what we are going to do tomorrow. If you can’t make it, don’t worry about us.”

I should have said, “Great! See ya.” Instead, I told her not to worry. We would see that she got to her brother’s funeral.

After all, we were in an effin movie. Tomorrow, it would be Groundhog’s Day all over again.

The same day, over and over" | GROUNDHOG DAY

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

One thing that I want to mention, that I didn't mention last week, is my diagnosis was found on a routine mammogram and the cancer was caught in a very, early stage. I had no pain, no bumps, lumps. Nothing out of the ordinary. I had no clue anything was going on. So, if you're putting off getting that mammogram, don't! I urge you to keep up with the mammograms. I know it's a PITA, but I'm the poster child for routine mammogram and early cancer detection.

I finally got a call from my primary care and she went over the results of the biopsy and diagnosis. I told her that I would like to be treated at Dana Farber and she said she didn't think that was a problem. She thought many patients from the medical group had been treated there.

Now that my diagnosis was official, there were so many emotions that I felt. Worry, fear, and not knowing what was going to happen. Shock, sadness. Why me? The feeling of being lost at sea and anger because I was not going to have control.

My cancer was caught very early. So reasonable to assume a positive outcome. That also made me feel guilty. What I was going to go through wasn't close to what others had gone through. I had  Imposter's Syndrome. Like saying I had cancer when it really was a hangnail. So that's why I didn't tell many people I had cancer.

T Stands for I Wish

 

I was the cup and saucer. Today. would have been Robert Be Still My Heart Redford's 90th birthday. Happy Birthday, Bob.

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

Monet and Miro, and Me

are resuming Two Old Ladies on the Road from the Ogunquit trip at the end of June 2026

27. June. I woke up at 6:30 am and thought TFE. Too early. I thought I'd just lounge in bed, but fell asleep. I woke up at 8:30. I had a leisurely breakfast of oatmeal and a bagel.

Mornings are luxuriously slow for us. Quiet. Minimal chatting. We each have downtime to work in puzzle books (Teague) or journal (me). 

For a late lunch, we decided to head North to the next town over in Wells. We stopped at Billy's Chowder House. It's on the Ogunquit River. We were seated at the window (I think it helps being old ladies) and had a nice view of the river and marshland. I had a salad and a cup of clam chowder.

After lunch we drove along the coast to Kennebunk. There were lots of beautiful beach houses to admire and dream about.

On the way back we stopped in Saco at Sherman's Maine Coast Book Shops. It was a nice shop to putter in. Books, souvenirs, stationery. I was glad there was a nice art and stationery area as I had forgotten to bring a pencil sharpener and my colored pencils were pretty blunt. I found a nice blue sharpener that would catch the shavings. I also found, to my surprise, a Micron Pigma Pen. The one I had brought was drying out.

 

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Around the farm. Lots of squash flowers, but no fruit. Some sort of pest has been after the plants so Himself sprinkled them with diatomaceous earth, a natural insecticide

A tomato plant took over this garden. It looks more like one of the sea monsters from Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea

Red Amaranth

A green thing that looks like lettuce, but I don't think it is.

Asters

Brown Eyed Susans

Peaches though I think they should have been removed so the tree puts its efforts into roots and leaves for strong growth. At least according to Mr. Google

If you look very carefully, you can see one, small ear of corn

Nasturtium

Rocky, the knight I carved some 25+ years ago is still holding up

Goldenrod. I read some gardening thing that said when the goldenrod blooms, there are six weeks left until the first frost. Very sad face.

Beans and marigolds

Cherry tomatoes and nasturtiums

The moss rose has a companion and looks like the made a little moss rose

Sunrise

Sunset

Cucumbers and Brown eyed Susans

How does your garden grow?

Happy, Little, Time Wasters

 

Did you know you can laminate anything at home using nothing but a Ziploc bag?

The Friday Five Good Things

 Five good things that happened this week.

1. Himself had fried eggplant and zucchini. I put them together to make a Parmigiana. Himself went to get Italian bread because it was too humid to bake.

2. Leftover Parmigiana and no cooking for me

3. The Eldest and I took a ride to Hopkinton State Park. The lake was closed because of poor water conditions. On the way home Himself asked us to pick up a Powerball ticket ($9 M.) so we also got Iced Blue Coconut Matcha from Starbuck's

4. Errands and dinner at the Post Office Pub

5. Blood test, and 6 month oncology check up. 😊Out to breakfast

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, November 25, 2007

The Perfect Gift

From the F.N. Toothfairy Co. (a division of the International Organization of Smartasses [INOSA]) comes the perfect gift for your holiday giving.

Introducing The Mahta-Cro ® at the amazing low price of $14.95 plus shipping and handling. Help your favorite martyr express their woes in perfect posture and pathos without the discomfort of keeping their arm raised to their forehead.

The ingenious Mahta-Cro ® is comprised of two small squares of Velcro with an adhesive backing. Simply attach one square to the forehead (adhesive side to the forehead) and the other square to the back of the wrist of the dominant hand (adhesive side to the back of the wrist). Bring the wrist to the forehead and the Velcro loops will engage. You’ll be able to strike that perfect martyred pose for hours on end without your arm becoming tired!

The Mahta-Cro ® is the perfect solution to your holiday gift giving. Perfect for Martyrs, Harried Bosses, Drama Queens, and especially Teen Girls. It's the gift that keeps on giving!

Call 1-800-MHT-ACRO

Call now, and we’ll include a special letter with a Jamaican telephone number for you to call to see if you’ve won a chance at $2M.

Hurry! Act now! Supplies are limited!

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

I was notified of new test results in the patient portal of the medical group my primary care physician belonged to before I heard anything from my primary care. That's good an bad. The wait is over, but bad because you're reading things that you may not completely understand.

For 7 years, I worked in a hospital laboratory. I started as a receptionist, worked up to an extra pair of hands for some of the departments, I sometimes filled in typing pathology reports from a Dictaphone when one of the medical secretaries was out, I was the computer operator when the lab became computerized, and I was a bench monkey plating specimens in Microbiology. All this to say, I have enough medical background to make me dangerous.

I think I stared at the word carcinoma for several minutes. How could that be? I had no pain. No lumps, bumps, or anything out of the ordinary.

Ductal Carcinoma in Situ referred to as DCIS.  Ever notice how diseases are known by acronyms? I'm with DCIS like I belong to some sort of special law enforcement task force.

A little medical reading got me to the cancer cells are located in the milk ducts and pretty much stay there. DCIS is called Stage 0 or pre-cancer. That made me laugh because it's like being sort of pregnant. You either are or you aren't.

I also found that Dana-Farber Cancer Institute in Boston, Massachusetts is the only facility in the Northeast United States that has a program specifically for DCIS. I decided that's where I wanted to be treated. 

T Stands for the 13th Anniversary of T Day

 

Erika from BioArtGirl was my swap partner for the 13th T Day Anniversary. Erika had me at the Kitty Love Stamp and she also included a Historic Main Street Railroad Station stamp.

On the back of the envelope she stamped this nervous feline

Inside, this gorgeous card with two of my favorite things. Ink (my beloved black cat now with me in spirit and any black cat I see real or in print is Ink) and a cup of tea. The sentiment on the card: May your cup overflow with Hope.

The inside sentiment was a belated T Day anniversary wish (sometime in July) and a birthday wish.  She also included a fun tag with having coffee/tea at the beach. I love the googly eyes on the teacup. She also tucked in an Ink bookmark. His paws are cut out so his paws hang over the top of the page and his body hangs on the back of the page. There was also an Ink silhouette.

Thank you, Erika, for going through so much trouble with an injured shoulder. I hope you're feeling better.

Thank you to our hosts, Elizabeth and Bleubeard for hosting T Day. 13 years. Here's to many more T Days.

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

Monet and Me

 

and Miro admired Happy Mail from Columbus, Ohio. I knew it wasn't from the Young One because she was here when the card arrived. The card had to come from the one and only Finnbadger of Envelope 100

I love how he coordinated the Star Wars card with the Star Wars stamps of the droids issued by USPS in 2021. Not only that, but Monet was tickled that the envelope coordinated with his coloring.

The inside sentiment. I am Amaze, Amaze, Amaze! Thank you, Finnbadger for remembering me.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

 

"A" did a great job of trimming down the snowball bushes.

Another moss rose gifted to us by somebunny or birdie

This giant weed is American Burnweed

Another moss rose

The sad sunflower because the goldfinches ate all of the top petals

Red petunias in Petunia's Queen of Hearts planter

How does your garden grow?

Happy, Little, Time Wasters

 

Wellerman (Ragtime Sea Shanty) - Scott Bradlee Piano Cover

The Friday Five Good Things

 

The Lung and Allergy Department was celebrating National Watermelon Day, 8/3/2026

Five good things that happened this week.

1. Part 1 of the antibiotic testing. A 3 hour test. I'm still allergic to the cephalosporin antibiotics, specifically Cephalexin. We stopped for lunch on the way home at the 99 Restaurant.

2. The NP was going to book the part 2 of the antibiotic testing. The earliest date middle to end of September.  A cancellation came in for Friday 8/7. I'll take it!

3. I couldn't log onto my work account or access work email on my phone. Emailed G ( from my home email address) in IT. All sorted out very quickly.

4. I made ciambotta (Italian vegetable stew) with vegetables from Himself's garden. I made it in the crockpot. Ma, why didn't we think of doing that before?

5. Teague made a delicious zucchini bread with zucchini studded with chocolate chips. The zucchini came from Himself's garden. I had a slice with my afternoon cup of tea.

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.

Friday, November 23, 2007

Your Weeble is Showing

After the performance of the Shaolin Warrior Monks, we walked back to Park St. Station to catch the outbound subway.

As we descended the stairs, I breathed in the stale air. I’d been riding the Green Line since I was 7 years old and was taken with a wave of nostalgia. The stations have been cleaned up considerably. When I was younger the stale air had an underlying tang of beer, beer waste and by product and unwashed derelict. I sighed. Even without the pungency, entering the station felt like a homecoming.

We walked through the station took the stairs down to Park St. Under to the Red Line and then climbed another flight of stairs up to the Outbound side of the track.

The platform was crowded and I was surprised how many people, especially young people, were milling about waiting for the Outbound “D” train to Riverside.

My Young One was taken with the novelty of riding the subway and she looked up and down the track searching for the train. I reached a hand and pulled her behind the yellow caution line. As a youngster, I remembered stepping over the line with The Brother as he laid pennies on the track. We would watch with glee as the old green trolley cars would flatten the pennies into thin sheets of copper. With so many pennies laid end to end and stacked five high, it’s a wonder we didn’t derail any trains.

A blast of stale air, bright light from the tunnel, and a roar announced the arrival of the train. Even though the hour was late, the train was crowded. The doors whooshed open and we surged with the crowd like salmon swimming upstream. We moved to the back of the first car where it joins the second car. There were no seats available so I grabbed the hand hold on one of the seats. I poked the Young One to hold on. Himself was standing at the back of the first car and a glance behind him revealed all the seats in the second were filled too.

Sitting in a single seat facing me was a young man. He looked to be in his late teens or early twenties. “Excuse me,” he said. “Would you like to sit down?” he asked me.

I knew seats would be available after a few more stops so I declined. Then I caught sight of Himself hanging onto a hand hold and desperately trying not to laugh as the train lurched forward.

Now, I was perfectly happy thinking the young man was being polite and chivalrous. He couldn’t possibly have offered me his seat because he thought I was a old.

Himself pressed his lips in a tight line in an effort to stop them from curling into a smile. He quickly looked away from me and became engrossed in one of the advertisements across the aisle. His shoulders were shaking with suppressed mirth.

After several stops, the young man disembarked and other seats became available. The Young One and I sat in a double seat and Himself sat behind us. We swayed and lurched through the dark to the end of the line.

As we walked to the car, Himself started to laugh.

“He was just being polite!” I said sharply.

“He probably thought you were as old as his grandmother!”

“Shut up."

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

Biopsy Day. Himself dropped me off on his way to class. Teague was going to pick me up. 

The biopsy was an hour and a half long. The same machine that is used to do the mammograms was used to collect the biopsy samples. Instead of standing in front of the machine, the machine is tipped on it's side, and you are seated and rolled into the machine. I was numbed up pretty well so didn't feel much. A bit of pressure as the machine inserted a needle in a circular pattern collecting samples from the PLB. The hardest part was sitting still with my left arm draped in an awkward position around the machine. 

I couldn't hear much of the dialogue between the surgeon, his nurse, and the mammogram technician above the hum of the machine. It seemed to take decades, but finally I was released from the machine, bandaged, could get dressed, and sent home.

Teague was waiting for me. It was snowing a bit when we got outside of the building. She said the snow wasn't bad so we went to Owen O'Leary's an Irish pub for lunch. Then she took me home.

And a small plea, my friend and colleague, Andy Fish, found out he has cancer. His cousin has started a Go Fund Me. If you can help out, your kindness will be greatly appreciated. Even if you can't make a donation, consider sharing the link through your social media network. That helps out a lot, too. Thank you. https://gofund.me/87ec3148b

T Stands for Zucchini Bread

 

Zucchini from the garden is coming in fast and furious. I used the recipe my neighbor, Prissy, had given me decades ago to make zucchini bread. I think she would have been pleased with how it turned out. Dense, moist, and studded with raisins and walnuts.

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

Monet and

 

Miro waiting for me to get back home after antibiotic allergy testing.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

 

Short and sweet this week. A fairy circle of pink clover.

I caught the Goldfinch yellow-winged eating the petals of the sunflower.

How does your garden grow?

Happy, Little, Time Waster

 

No Glue Giftwrap